I am either travelling to Venus on a spacecraft, or more likely I’m controlling the spacecraft from Earth using a sophisticated imaging system which lets me see everything on board in 3-D. The spacecraft is filled with small, vaguely humanoid figures, brightly painted like matryoshka dolls but lacking heads (the effect not unlike electron micrograph images of tardigrades). I can’t figure out if these are living creatures in charge of the spacecraft, or if they are simply patterns, perhaps shadow-patterns, formed by turbulence in the liquid with which the spacecraft seems to be filled — I keep noticing obvious signs of conscious interaction between the figures, and then a jolt seems to return them to being accidental patterns in the liquid. The last thing I remember is when they all take part in a stage presentation given in honour of a sixty-year-old — I don’t know whether he’s a man or a larger cousin of the small humanoids, as he doesn’t seem to have a head — who was born severely disabled but has been able to live a full and active life with the aid of the small humanoids. He performs a very slow but quite creditable dance.