Billy Weir was creeping Jobs out. Walking in his sleep. Predicting the future in his sleep. He was psycho!
"You'll be there!" Billy said. "And Cordelia. She'll be there, too."
"Shut up!" shouted Jobs, grabbing Billy by the shoulders and shaking him hard. "You don't know what you're talking about. Cordelia's...dead! Haven't you been watching TV? San Francisco? All the dead people? She was there, Billy. No way Cordelia could have survived."
"You're wrong," said Billy. "I see it clear as day. You're married. With a son. He's your only hope. The World's only hope. Yago's gang has taken over. It's good versus evil and good is way outnumbered. Thor. Thor is your only hope."
"You read too many comic books, freak," said Jobs as he walked away. Best to leave the dreamer alone before he got angry. Jobs pinched himself. He was normally a likeable guy but Billy was getting to him. Cordelia was dead...a memory. She deserved a proper burial but it was too late. Soon she'd be cremated by The Rock and he'd blast off on the rocket. Headed for God's know where and God knows what. Unless you believed anything Billy said which, of course, Jobs didn't. But if he did then the future held hope -and horrors- in its hand. And hope was something Jobs needed more than anything now. He went back to his bunk and tried to sleep but tossed and turned instead.
"Save me, Jobs" Cordelia called to him in his dream. "Take my hand and get me on that rocket!"