“Good morning, George!” said the Protector cheerfully, as George walked bleary eyed into the kitchen the next morning. “Have any interesting dreams last night?”

George looked up sharply at the Protector. Did he know something? “Yeah, I did,” said George simply after a moment. He sat down heavily in a chair, and poured some of the greenish-blue berries in a bowl for breakfast.

“Well, I’ll tell you what I dreamed about,” said the Protector calmly, while spearing a root with a fork. “Globgarts.”

“What?” said George, looking at the Protector dumbly.

“Globgarts,” repeated the Protector, as if merely saying the word would cause instant understanding in whoever heard it. “It’s a game on my planet. Everyone is given a ball with a number on it. Everyone picks someone to throw their ball to, and while all the balls are in the air, a number is called out. If you catch the ball with that number, you have to quickly tackle three people, or you’re out.”

“Sounds weird,” said George through a mouthful of berries.

“It is a bit odd, but very exciting,” replied the Protector. “It gets more exciting when more than one person decides to throw their ball to you, and you have to try to catch them all at once. If you drop any, you’re out. Then of course if one of the balls you catch has the called number on it, you have to also quickly tackle three people!”

“Good morning all,” said George’s father cheerfully, as he suddenly came into the room. “Did you sleep well?”

“Sure,” said George, giving his Dad a curious look. He normally didn’t come into the kitchen while the others were eating. And he usually didn’t act this cheerful, either.

“I’ll tell you, I had the most marvelous dream last night,” said his father, while picking up one of the bluish-green berries, and examining it carefully. “It was about a tree house I had when I was a boy. Isn’t that silly?”

George and the Protector looked at each other. His father had a dream? But he never dreamed!

George nearly choked on his berries when he saw his father tentatively put the berry in his mouth, and chew slowly. “Mmm …” his father said in fascination, as if tasting it for the first time. “It’s quite good!” Unexpectedly, he spit it out on a napkin. “But probably not good for me right now.” His chin was bluish-green, where it must have stained when he spit it out.

“So, what did you dream about last night, George?” asked his father pleasantly.

George hesitated. Should he tell his father? How would he react? But what harm could there be in it? “I dreamed about home,” he said simply. “And about seeing Mom and Janet.”

“Wonderful!” said his father, suddenly standing up. “I think I’m going to go out and find that tree house. Who knows? Maybe one night of dreams will be enough for it to be there!” He rounded the corner and was gone.

George looked over at the Protector curiously. Not knowing what to say, he mumbled, “Maybe your worries were wrong after all,” he said. “He seems to be normal.” Yet, George suddenly felt that his father was acting more abnormally than he had before. In a way, his new behavior was even more frightening.

“Maybe,” said the Protector, a curious look in his eye. “Still, I’d like to see something. Especially since it’s a sunny day outside.” He got up and went out of the kitchen, with George following.

George’s father had already gone outside. George and the Protector watched through the forward window as his father made his way through the dancing Praetorians.

“Do you notice anything unusual about your father?” asked the Protector.

“No, I don’t think so,” said George slowly. It was sunny out, and the bright sunlight seemed to penetrate right through his father’s shoulders.

“Where’s his shadow?” the Protector suddenly said.

George’s eyes opened wide. Where was his shadow? It was there—and yet, it wasn’t! It seemed to be a shimmering shadow, as if it couldn’t make up its mind about whether to stick around. Sometimes it would be on the ground, following his father dutifully as a shadow should. Other times, it was simply gone!

His father had reached the edge of the clearing. He entered the trees, and seemed to wade effortlessly through the bush, easily dodging the many branches in his path. In no time he had disappeared.

“What does it mean?” said George in concern, turning on the Protector. “How can he not have a shadow?”

“I don’t know,” said the Protector, his eyes narrowing. He walked slowly over to the scattered parts of engine number 2 that he had been working on. Absently, he picked up one of the parts. Suddenly, he turned swiftly, and tossed it to George. “Here, catch!” he said.

George caught. The engine part felt cold in his hands.

“Bend it,” said the Protector unexpectedly. George just looked at him stupidly.

“Go ahead,” said the Protector again. “Bend it.”

So, George tried to bend it, even though he knew it was solid metal and he wouldn’t be able to do it at all. Yet, to his amazement, the part started to bend!

“This is impossible!” cried George. “This is solid metal! It can’t bend!”

“I agree,” said the Protector mysteriously. “Yet it does bend, doesn’t it?”

George tried bending the piece again. Once more, it started to bend. He felt like superman, bending a hunk of solid metal!

The Protector came over and put both of his hands on George’s shoulders. “George, tell me something,” he said calmly, while looking into George’s eyes. “Are you awake, or asleep?”

George stepped back, startled, breaking free of the Protector’s grip. “What do you mean! I’m awake, of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

The Protector looked at him for a moment. Then he said unexpectedly, “What time did you get up this morning?”

George looked involuntarily at the clock. To his surprise, it was almost noon. “Wow!” said George. I guess I overslept.”

“So did I,” said the Protector thoughtfully, while stroking his chin. “So did I …”

He turned back to the pieces of engine number 2. Slowly George came over and put the part he had been holding down with the others. “What’s going on?” he asked quietly. “I don’t understand any of this. Why are you asking such strange questions?”

The Protector looked up and smiled at George. It was a sad smile. After a moment, he said, “It’s nothing, really. Go on out and see if you can find your mother. She might be expecting you.”

George looked at the Protector in confusion. “Meanwhile, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” said the Protector. “Since these engine parts aren’t quite as solid as they need to be to actually work, I don’t think I’ll waste my time trying to put them together anymore.” He paused. “I think I’ll go out and try to find a rousing game of globgarts.” He sauntered over to the door, and went outside. George could see him walking slowly across the clearing. After he a moment, he disappeared into the bush.

George stared for a long time at the bushes and the dancing Praetorians with Emberly in their midst. Finally, he went slowly into the kitchen, and packed a few roots to take with him on today’s hike through the forest.

There appeared to be a clearing up ahead. George could tell that the sunlight seemed to penetrate more brightly through the thick, jungle-like foliage. He hastened his steps, nearly stumbling over the tangled mass of roots that seemed to grow all over the forest floor.

Parting the bushes at the outskirts of the clearing, George saw a house ahead. It was his house. It was standing by itself in the midst of the forest, looking as out of place as a ballerina in a bowling alley. And on the front porch, he could see his mother, quietly watering the petunia’s in the flower boxes.

Unable to control his excitement, George burst through the bushes and ran up the front walk.

“Mom!” he called excitedly.

His mother looked up, and smiled. George raced up the steps and stopped. She looked at him expectantly. But 12 year old boys don’t do hugs. They just … well … sort of, stand there.

“Dad’s back!” cried George. “He’s come back!”

“Really?” said his mother in gentle excitement. Her eyes shone, but she didn’t move. “Where is he?” She looked all around, up and down what should have been a street, but was just green foliage.

“I don’t really know,” said George in confusion. Where was his father? Where was the Protector?

“Hi, squirt!” Janet had suddenly come banging through the front door from inside, out onto the porch. “Who’s day have you been ruining so far?”

Same old Janet. “Nobody’s,” he said simply. “Guess What! Dad’s back!”

“Really?” said Janet, looking around. “That’s nice, but I don’t see him.”

“Well, why don’t you come in and have a cup of cold juice while we wait for him,” said George’s mother calmly. “I’m sure he’ll be along any minute.”

George looked at his mother and Janet curiously. They were there, and yet they weren’t. Something wasn’t quite right.

“But, he’s back!” cried George again, as if this simple statement was such a profound truth that it needed to be stated again. “Aren’t you excited? Don’t you want to go find him?”

“Of course we’re excited,” said his mother in a pleasant tone. “But there’s no need to go looking for him. He’ll be along. Now come inside, please.” She went through the door and into the house. Janet gave him a nasty look, then went in as well.

What was wrong? This wasn’t making any sense. George rubbed his head in confusion. Why weren’t they excited? Where was his father? And what was that buzzing he kept hearing in his ears?

“Come on in, George,” his mother’s voice called to him from inside the house.

“Go ahead and stay out,” came Janet’s voice. “Then I can keep all the stuff I took from your room while you were gone.”

George shook his head, still confused. Then what Janet had said suddenly clicked in his mind. They knew he had been gone a long time! Why weren’t they excited to see him? Why wasn't his mother both crying and scolding him at the same time? He suddenly yelled, “Hey, I’m back! Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Or course we are,” replied his mother’s voice calmly. “Now come along inside, and we’ll talk about it later.”

George gripped the doorknob, and pulled on the door. It seemed to swing very slowly, as if it were in slow motion. He started to take a step inside—

—and then stopped. He let go of the doorknob, and the door swept closed with a bang.

“Please don’t bang the door,” came his mother’s voice from inside the house.

George turned swiftly around, and started to run. He didn’t stop when he reached the edge of the clearing, but just crashed through. He jumped wildly over the tangling roots, and ran almost blindly. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know where he was going. But somehow, he knew that he would be back at the ship in a moment if he just kept running. He had to get back to the ship!

“Hold on, there!” came a sudden voice from his right. George stopped. Looking around, he saw his father standing under a particularly large tree. He was smiling, a light of happiness shining in his eyes brighter than George had seen in a long time.

“It’s up there!” said his father, pointing straight up. “My boyhood tree house! Want to come up and have a look?”

George stood frozen. “Maybe some other time, Dad,” he said finally.

“George, what’s wrong?” said his father, a look of concern coming across his face. He stepped toward George.

George stepped back. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Was he dreaming, or was he awake? What was going on?

His father took another step closer, and this time George didn’t step back. And as his father came up to him, George reached out his hand, and gently touched his father’s arm.

It was soft. And warm. It was his father! He was real! This was no dream!

But wait! What was this? George pressed down gently on his father’s arm. It felt spongy, as if it was made of moss.

George pulled his hand away, and stared at his father’s arm. Where he had pressed down, there was an indentation, about ¼ of an inch deep!

“Well, will you look at that?” said his father, staring at his arm as if he had never seen it before. Then he looked up at George, and the look of joy in his eyes was so startling that George caught his breath involuntarily.

“You touched me!” his father said, as if that fact were tremendously unusual. “You touched me—and I’m real!”

They stared at each other for a moment, father and son. Then abruptly, George turned, and started to run again. He crashed through the brush madly. The branches swatted mercilessly at his face, stinging him until his eyes watered. He didn’t look back.

All of a sudden, he crashed into another clearing, and fell on the ground, panting, and completely out of breath. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the vision of the dent in his father’s arm, of the madness of the visit to his mother—of everything!

“Hello, there,” said a familiar voice above him. Opening his eyes, he looked up into the smiling face of the Protector. He was holding a ball with a number on it—the number 13.

Without warning, George reached up and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “What is going on?” he screamed. “Am I going mad? What’s happening?!”

Calmly, the Protector helped George to his feet, and removed his hands from his shirt. “Now, then, there’s no need to get excited—“

“Don’t act calm with me!” screamed George again. “That’s what my Mom and Janet did—and they’re not real! Aren’t you real anymore?”

“I assure you, I am very real,” said the Protector, gently pushing George’s hands aside, where they had gripped his shirt again. “Perhaps it’s time you and I had a little talk.”

The Protector turned, and walked over to a tree stump a few feet away. “Come over and make yourself comfortable,” he said gently, motioning toward George.

A ball suddenly flew past George’s nose. “Hey, be careful, there!” called out the Protector. “You almost hit my friend. You know you’re out, if you hit anyone with a ball!”

George turned and looked stupidly into the clearing. There were a number of leathery creatures throwing numbered balls at each other. They were obviously having a game of globgarts.

Slowly, George came over and sat down next to the Protector.

“You remember,” said the Protector abruptly, “how yesterday we discovered that dreams on this planet become reality?”

Yesterday. It seemed an impossibly long time ago. “Yes,” said George slowly, his throat parched.

“Well, we’ve seen the truth of that again today. I’ve found my game of globgarts. You found your mother and sister. I suspect your father even found his tree house.”

“He did,” said George suddenly. “I ran into him back there.” George felt a huge lump in his throat. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to tell what had happened when he touched his father.

“This planet has an amazing ability to transform dreams into reality,” said the Protector slowly, gazing at his fellow Dluronians on the playing field. “But it appears to do something else at the same time. Something a little more frightening.”

“What?” cried George anxiously, turning with frenzied eyes on the Protector. “What is it! You’ve got to tell me!”

“I think,” said the Protector slowly, seeming to choose his words carefully. “That is, I would guess, or surmise, although I don’t really know …” He looked at George, almost helpless and at a loss for words.

“Oh, bother!” he suddenly cried. “I’ll just come out with it bluntly then. I think it also turns reality into dreams.”