INTRODUCTION

This dream seems a weird jumble--but no wonder! Its content turns out to be predictive.

(Narrative stream compressed to fit. He swam ashore way earlier.)

A SIRIUS MISSION

Our first ship to Sirius vanished. All that we find is a little inlaid thing: a Vision Box. Through its yellow cellophane wndow, we see images of the NEXT two ships destined to disappear. We will too, I fear. The images are delicate through the fragile, crinkled little screen, but detailed--they show even the INSIDE of the ships. Dim silhouettes walk jerkily, like old movies. Run. And fight.

What was that crew fighting over? Who got them to fight?

We have robot sensors that can feel cold as intensely as human skin, but can survive in deep space without risk. All of us on this expedition chose some amount of robotized skin to shield us from the cold of space. Different crew members, different amounts. Tough plastic--if you have enough, and curl up, you can survive minutes of exposure to full vacuum.

Now we the crew are on a planet, swimming down a river--at first we tried to cross, but we couldn't, the current was too strong. The river's high, even in flood, but if you just go with the current, it can't hurt you. We collect driftwood and make rafts and relax, enjoy, just float down and watch the woods go by.

Then a man who looks Native American jumps in the water and tries to stop us. We can't understand him what he's yelling, and most of the crew takes it as an attack, and pushes him off till he swims back to shore discouraged.

Then we go round the next bend, and hear the falls. That guy was trying to save us! At the brink before we can even come about. Ten or twenty meters--we might well survive them if we were skilled rafters knowing what we're facing... but this crew's half asleep, trusting automatic airbags will pop on impact and save us. Like any of our other technology has worked right.

Should have heeded him. Here we go...

OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS

• Space vessels, tough skin handles vacuum: predictive! Next day, working at the library, I stumble on a new book by Fred Hoyle, on dust clouds in interstellar space that have an odd spectrum matching... dried bacteria! Presumably knocked off planets by impacts. Tough skin lets them drift dormant across interstellar space, seeding new systems with primitive life...
• Quarrel on doomed vessel--first a starship, then a river raft: This theme turns out to be predictive too! Four days later, my so-called "housemate" (I didn't pick him, the landlady chose him while I was away; he filled the house with druggy "friends"; at last I warned her he'd been selling coke, and she gave him notice) drops a bombshell--claims he can't move out by October 1. Stuck with him thru Halloween! Not a fatal letdown--but it hurts.
• The guy warning us, only to be rudely ignored: my dream itself, I think. I discount dream-warnings, much the way Anglos patronize Indians as unscientific--when my intuition warns me of future books--and future bombshells. The Anglo view of time and dreams is Siriusly wrong. Smug and wrong.

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