You know this story before you read it. Y̸͎͇̝͊̍̄o̵̗͆ủ̴̻̲ ̷̡̀a̵̰̼̼̎r̷̼͉̤̈̅̕e̶͖̳̪͑͗̅ ̷̻̽͜a̵͓̞̭͌̿ ̸͍̜͈̈́̀s̶̨͔͒͑̈ṯ̶̒͠r̶̝͈̳̅a̵̝͠ͅt̴̗̬̤́e̸̲͇̟̅̃̚g̵̘̔͒͜į̴͙͚̒̀̄c̵̦̐́ ̵̟̻̟̃̊͛b̵̢̞̎̆̓ä̶̬̟́͘ţ̸͉̎̀t̷̜͕̼̅l̴̖̦͗̐e̵̗̬̒́͜ ̶̻̌͒͂p̷̗̣̻̉̏͌l̵̢̘̏͛̚á̵̻̜n̸̥͋n̶͗́̾ͅẹ̵̡̜͘r̴̦̈́͌͝ who possesses short-term precog abilities. Not only is this useful for predicting how a space b̶͍̀̍̍ͅạ̵̾̃̈́t̵͉̲̐ţ̵̮͐͑̉l̵̨͖̈́͝ě̷̲̰̜̕ might go, it's also handy for blackjack. You joined W̴̭̤͐ä̴̤͂̕ŗ̴͖͑͘͝p̵̪̪̉̎̒ ̵͓̞͙̔̉Ś̶͍̚q̴̧̛̭̔ͅṳ̷͖͠â̸̞͈͐͘ḏ̷̍̉ because you predicted you would. You insist your ship should have a circles cockpit. You're fairly sure that The New Frontier Territories plan to kidnap you and tie you to a mast as a future-predicting radar, but you're always one step ahead.