Two nights ago I dreamed I was spacewalking outside a Russian space station with Nathan Fillion. We watched as a Soyuz docked at the station, then he turned to me, the stars his backdrop, and said, "Well, I guess we should be heading back to Earth."
By way of reply I saluted jauntily and let myself fall freely toward the planet, for after all that's how astronauts returned, not in spaceships, but by simply allowing ourselves to be recaptured by the gentle tug of gravity. At first our descent was slow, but then Nathan pulled off his helmet and tossed it aside, and that seemed to accelerate us; we drilled man-shaped holes through the clouds, hooting and cawing in delight as we hurtled through the sky.
Nathan disposed of the rest of his spacesuit and I was unsurprised to see that he was wearing his Captain Mal costume from Firefly. But I was comfortable in my marshmallow-like costume, and I performed midair antics as we fell; I made silly faces (unseen, of course, through my helmet), posed like Superman, relaxed with my hands on my head as if I were napping in a hammock.
It was in that relaxed pose that I slammed into the ground, at the same instant as Nathan, and each of us created a massive network of splinters through the already-cracked desert landscape.
"Wow!" I exclaimed. "Those last few meters sure come up fast!" I finally pulled off my helmet and began the beat the dust from my spacesuit. Nathan had landed on his feet, which annoyed me a little; he had remarkable poise.
Suddenly I was alone, looking up at an azure sky that faded to deep black, and the stars above gleamed.
