Perfect Life in Outer Space

Only a Little Bit Wrong

Several times, back in the mid-70's before I believed any of this was real, I would dream of the same
strange place. I arrived by drifting down slowly from a sky that seemed solid, like a huge dome. The
first time, this was as far as I got--I could see ribs and supporting structures in the skin of the "sky,"
but I couldn't tell what was on the other side except that it felt cold. With a jolt, I woke up in the
darkness of my bedroom in Seattle, wondering what that was about, and after awhile I shrugged
and went back to sleep.

A few nights later I dreamed the same thing, but I got a little farther. Looking down, I saw a wide
plain of tall grass surrounding a pine forest, a lake and a river, and near the pines, some apartment
buildings. I knew I was supposed to be there and I began floating down to them as though pulled
there. It was a strange feeling, not like flying and not like falling, and the newness of it broke me out
of the experience, back again to my puzzled self in my familiar bed.

The third time I was more prepared. As I fell slowly closer through the night air I saw what I thought
were roads tracking across the plain, but when I touched down on one near the apartment complex I
saw no tracks in the loose gravel. No one drove on these roads; they were raked smooth, no tracks
and no footprints except for the ones I was leaving.

Walking across the damp grass to the apartment building I saw that there were four apartment
doors on the first level, and I climbed the steps leading to the first floor landing without being certain
of where I should go. The second door seemed familiar. I looked at the paint where it was cracked
and peeling and remembered that I was going to fix that. By habit I put a hand into a pocket and
found keys. I tried one in the door and it turned the lock, so I went inside, thinking I'd probably get
into trouble for wandering into some stranger's place.

It was an ordinary but nice apartment. Two children were lying on the floor reading school
books--one a boy about ten and the other a girl about eight.

"Hi, Dad," the boy said to me.

"Hi, Daddy," the girl echoed.

I was a little confused. I didn't know these kids but they seemed to know me. "Hi," I said. "I'm back."

It was a very normal scene, a TV playing in a corner of the living room, a couch across from it, a
desk and a set of shelves along the front wall, and a wall mounted telephone beside them. In the
back, behind a partition, I heard someone making dinner. A woman, short and stocky with dyed
blonde hair, walked out from the kitchen with a frying pan in one hand, food of some sort sizzling
in it, and with the pan to one side leaned against me and gave me a welcoming kiss.

"How was your day, honey?" she asked, brushing me not so subtly with her chest and winking.

"It was all right," I said. She went back to the kitchen.

I just stood there. Something was wrong with this. It felt too real, nothing in it to indicate that I was
dreaming, and no hint of any way to wake up from it. This wasn't the life I had; it wasn't even a life I
wanted. Memories were itching inside my head like bugs about to hatch. I put my hands on my
temples and tried to clear my thoughts. Flashes came through, ships and people, a white table, men
in dark robes. I put my hands down and opened my eyes. The kids were staring at me.

"Mom . . . ." The boy called out quietly. She came around the corner again, stopped and watched
me.

As I looked from one member of my "family" to another, what I saw began to change. Instead of
faces, I saw blue electric light, sparking and swirling where heads had been. Perhaps for that reason
or perhaps for another, I began to scream, with each breath.

My wife very calmly walked to the telephone and dialed a short string of numbers. "Security?" she
asked in a competent tone. "My husband is starting to remember." She hung up and stood there
while I screamed. Heads and faces returned and I kept screaming. No one was very upset by my
behaviour.

Inside a minute the door crashed open and two men in dark police style uniforms rushed in. They
were unarmed, but some unusual devices, black and the size of transistor radios, hung from their
belts. Each man reached down and turned a dial, and began to levitate several feet off the floor.
They darted forward, grabbed my arms, and dragged me away.

Welcome home, Jimmy.

This was my first memory of the community aboard the Ship.