As I came close to the underside I glimpsed structure – radial ribbing, perhaps circumferential pipework – and a central circular area that opened like a camera iris. It was just wide enough for me, still lying horizontal, to rise through. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of metres across. As I passed through it I screwed up my eyes, expecting a flood of bright light. None came. Warily I opened my eyes wide. In the dim, reddish lighting I could see a low, domed ceiling above me, with some kind of thin, curving radial struts, rather like the inside of a yurt made from taut Mylar and bicycle spokes. My upward levitation stopped, and was replaced by a movement sideways then down. I felt my normal weight pressing me against a flat, slightly yielding surface that might have been stretched canvas. Like, say, an operating table. Uh-oh. Here it comes. Then I found myself sitting bolt upright. My mouth opened and I yelled. It was as if my body were completing the action that the sleep paralysis had prevented.
