George Brown and the Protector (4 page)

“Blasted bird!” muttered George as he
cautiously approached the car window. He looked carefully around
for anyone who might be the car’s owner. The man on the park bench
was still asleep and no one else was in sight.

George carefully peered through the window on
the passenger side but couldn’t see the bird anywhere. He looked up
and down the street again to make sure no one was watching, then
poked his head in the window. The bird was still nowhere to be
seen.

“Darn thing must be under the seat,” mumbled
George, leaning in the open window to see if he could spot the bird
anywhere. The area under the seat was still too far below him for
George to see anything. He leaned farther into the window,
stretching as far as he could. But it still wasn’t far enough. He
tried to lean in just a bit farther—and suddenly found himself
falling.

What happened next was so strange that George
could never really describe it afterward, no matter how hard he
tried. When he first lost his balance and started to fall, his head
had only been a short distance from the bottom of the passenger
seat. But to his amazement, as he fell George watched as the floor
of the car seemed to shrink away from him and get farther away the
longer he fell toward it. Twisting around, George looked up to see
the open window far above him, which seemed as massive and distant
as a giant movie screen.

George finally landed with a thump, and for a
second the wind was knocked out of him. Then he quickly stood
up—and was amazed to see the passenger seat of the car towering
like a distant cliff, far above his head.

George stared down at his hands and legs and
feet. They looked the same as always. Yet, amazing and impossible
as it was, he was now apparently a miniature version of his former
self! In some impossible way he had shrunk while falling through
the window and was only about two inches tall.

George stared dumfounded at his new
surroundings. Straight ahead of him was the area under the
passenger seat that he had been straining to see before he fell. He
could see scraps of paper bigger than bed sheets and bits of
popcorn that looked larger than tree stumps. The bird was nowhere
to be seen, and considering how small he now was, George was kind
of glad.

To George’s right was the gearshift lever,
towering taller than a tree. To the left George could see far above
him the rotating handle used to roll down the car window. The
handle looked as big as a horse.

Turning around, George saw more popcorn
kernels scattered across the car floor, like miniature boulders.
And then, to his surprise, as he peered into the semi-darkness
towards the front of the car, he saw a door exactly his size!

“Wow!” said George softly. “This is
incredible!” He knew he should probably feel frightened at suddenly
being only 2 inches tall, but he was strangely calm. He couldn’t
explain why. It was the same relaxed, curious feeling as the night
he had seen the falling star, and had known that somehow it was
meant just for him.

He began walking cautiously toward the door.
It was so quiet that it seemed as if the world had stopped. He
tiptoed forward as carefully as he could; trying to avoid any noise
in case someone was on the other side of the door.

But when he was nearly there, the silence was
shattered by the ringing of his cell phone.

CHAPTER 7: The Protector’s Lair

George stared
stupidly at his phone for a minute, as it blared 'You Ain't Nothin'
But a Hound Dog!' It had apparently shrunk with him and was now no
bigger than the tip of a pencil. He was surprised it still worked
at that size. Finally he answered it.

“George?” came his mother's worried voice
over the telephone. “Are you o.k.?”

“Yeah, sure mom,” said George as quietly as
he could. He knew there was probably little reason to be quiet
since the phone had made enough noise when it rang to wake the
dead. But he hadn’t forgotten he was in someone else’s car and that
the bird (who might be hungry) was probably still around.

“Where are you?” his mother asked. “Your
voice sounds faint.”

“At the park,” replied George truthfully. He
wasn't ready just yet to tell her he had shrunk to about 2 inches
in height.

‘Well, that’s o.k. I guess,” said George's
mom. “But I want you back home in one hour, o.k.?”

“O.k.,” said George weakly. He knew he
probably wouldn’t be back by then (or perhaps for a long time after
that) given his current size. So, he could expect another more
frantic call from his mom in exactly one hour. But what else could
he say?

“One hour!” his mother repeated forcefully.
“Bye.”

“Bye, mom,” George said weakly. He hooked the
phone on his belt and turned back to the door. Somehow he suspected
that if he had any hope of finding how to return to his normal size
or of ever getting home—in one hour or not—he had to go through
that door.

It looked like a very ordinary door, with a
few scuffs and scrapes at the bottom, and a dull brass handle in
the middle. If it wasn’t so small and weren't located in such an
unusual place, George would have paid no attention to it.

He listened at the door for a moment but
could hear no sound from the other side. Slowly he turned the
handle and pushed on the door, and as it swung open he was amazed
at what he saw.

In front of him was a large room, with some
pieces of furniture and a number of strange looking devices in it.
Nearest the door was a good-sized booth, big enough to stand in,
with clothing, fur and feathers lying on little shelves inside.
Next to it was a large oval shaped mirror that seemed to be hanging
in mid air, with nothing holding it up. Farther into the room was a
couch that looked normal except for several rake-like claws
sticking out of it at odd angles. Next to it was a lamp table with
two big, strong looking arms jutting out of it. Against the far
wall was what looked like a refrigerator that seemed to be wearing
a bizarre type of purple sweater, and by it was a sink that
appeared to be made out of towels. There were a number of other odd
desks, booths, boxes and strange contraptions scattered about the
room, and at the far end was what looked like a doorway without a
door, the border or outline of which was shimmering and glowing and
constantly shifting with different colors.

In the middle of the room, seated in front of
a desk on a little stool, was a bizarre looking creature. It had
what seemed to be fuzzy, grayish skin, and a long, scrawny neck
with a bald, head at the top. When George came through the door the
creature turned and smiled at him, showing a mouthful of green,
triangle-shaped teeth. It had big, bulbous eyes and a crooked nose,
and the skin on its face hung in loose grey folds and flabs.

“Good morning,” the creature said in a voice
that sounded like water going over pebbles. It made a half-hearted
effort to smooth out the wrinkled, red smock it was wearing, then
said, “You are George Brown, and I am known as the protector.” Then
it scratched its bald head with two long fingers, making a sound
like a mouse running through weeds. “Or, at least, I was known as
the protector a century ago. Or rather, two centuries ago. Or it
could have been only yesterday. The time on this planet always gets
me so confused. And so does this funny language of yours that took
me so long to learn.”

George opened his mouth to say something, but
nothing came out. He was still so shocked at having been shrunk,
and the strangeness of the room and the bizarre looking creature
that he couldn’t say a word.

“Oh, my!” said the protector, smacking his
head with a hollow sound. "Where are my manners?” He rushed over to
the refrigerator wearing the sweater, opened it up (causing the
sweater to stretch so much it looked like it would rip), and
rummaged around inside with a lot of banging and mumbling. Finally
he emerged holding two glasses with some type of red liquid in
them. Waddling over to George, he handed one up to him (even though
George was now only 2 inches tall, the protector was even shorter
and wobbled around the room on stubby legs that had six-toed
feet).

“Drink up,” commanded the protector. “It’s
called Vleck. It helps you get used to being shrunk when you've
never been shrunk before.” The protector rubbed his chin. “Although
sometimes it can make you shrink more if you drink too much. But I
wouldn’t worry about that, since I think I gave you the right
amount. I guess. Drink up! It tastes great!”

George took the glass but didn't drink any.
He was small enough already. The Protector however downed his Vleck
in three gulps.

“Delicious!” he said as he licked his purple
lips. “Even if you're used to being shrunk.”

He waved his three-fingered hand toward the
couch while going over to put his glass in the towel sink. “Have a
seat. Or I guess I should say, feel free to sit down. You can’t
actually have the seat because if you took it out that door it
would unshrink and break my whole car to pieces because it's too
big to fit in the passenger seat of a Volkswagen.”

“Unshrink?” said George, finding his voice at
last. “You mean if something goes through that door, it will go
back to normal size? Even me?”

“Yes, absolutely, if you walk far enough out
toward the seat to get away from the shrink zone,” said the
Protector. Then he paused. “Although sometimes things only seem to
go back to about 70% of their original size, if I remember right.
But you have nothing to worry about since you’re a growing boy, and
you’d soon grow back the other 30%.”

Before George could say that he didn’t think
he could grow 30% of his normal size very quickly, he suddenly felt
something furry rubbing his foot. Looking down he saw a pink fluff
ball rolling back and forth across his shoe. With a yell he jumped
back, spilling his Vleck and nearly knocking over the mirror
hanging in mid-air (but of course it didn't fall since there was
nothing supporting it to start with).

“No need to get excited,” said the Protector
as he picked up the whimpering fluff ball. “It’s just Emberly.
She's a Praetorian.” He patted her gently. Then he added sadly,
“She's the last of her race.”

“What’s a Praetorian?” asked George,
forgetting for the moment the strangeness of his surroundings, and
the billion other questions that would have been more sensible to
ask. He reached out a tentative hand to touch Emberly. Her fur felt
soft as silk. “And why is she the last of her race?”

“A Praetorian is someone from the planet
Preatoria of course,” replied the Protector. “It’s in the Gularia
sector.” Then he scratched his carrot shaped ear. “Or is it the
Soolmar sector? I always get those two mixed up.”

“Anyway,” he continued, shoving Emberly
unceremoniously into George’s hands, “she’s the last of her race
because the others were all petrified. Turned to stone. A Nulami
trade ship stopped on Preatoria one day and found nothing but a
bunch of Preatorian sized rocks all over the place.”

George held Emberly awkwardly in his hands.
She kept bouncing from hand to hand and humming happily.

“She likes you,” said the Protector
approvingly. “Maybe you could marry her someday. I'm going to turn
her into a human, you know.”

George nearly dropped Emberly in shock.
“Marry her?!!” he cried.

The Protector laughed. “Oh, I forgot. Boys
your age on this planet don’t like girls yet. Perfectly natural.
It’s like that on my planet too for the first 45 stars of a
person’s life. But of course, on Kena, people can’t actually get
married anyway until the passing of 60 stars. A very long
time.”

“60 stars?” said George blankly. So much had
happened in the last half hour that his mind couldn’t keep up with
it all. He could feel a headache coming on.

“That’s 5,000 years in your time,” the
Protector said casually. He flopped down on the couch and
immediately two of the claws that were poking out of it at odd
angles started scratching his back. “Ooooh! That feels good!” said
the Protector, shifting around so the claws could reach him more
easily. He rolled his eyes happily.

George’s mind was still reeling. There was
silence for a moment (except for the scritch-scratching of the
claws on the Protector's back) while George tried to figure out
which of his 1000’s of questions he should ask first. Finally he
said, “You’re from another world? A place called Kona?”

“That’s ‘Kena,’, not Kona,” the Protector
replied. “Kona is a city in Hawaii, but Kena is a planet. It’s
about 50 billion light years from here, out in the Lipet sector.
Just past Nagow, the amusement park planet.” The Protector smiled
and his eyes glowed. “I’m going to stop there on my way home when I
finish my assignment here in another three years.”

“Your assignment?” George repeated without
thinking.

“Yep,” replied the Protector. “It’s part of
our education to go out into the universe for five stars, pick a
planet, and take an assignment as its protector. I’ve been here for
almost five stars now, so my time as protector on this planet is
almost up. Then I'll go back to Kena and go to high school.”

“High school?!” exclaimed George in
surprise.

“Yeah,” said the protector sheepishly. “By
comparison with the age of people on my planet, I’m just a
teenager. Even though I came here in the year 1500 and something or
other, and I’ve been here for almost 500 years of your time. Do you
want to see my contract?”

George stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“I had it signed right after I got here.
We’re supposed to make sure the natives want us to protect their
planet before we get started, you know.” He jumped up and went over
to a tall structure that looked something like a bookshelf. It had
a number of oddly shaped volumes and wrappings along its shelves.
Carefully the protector pulled out a faded parchment that looked
like it might crumble into dust any second. Carrying it back to
George, he pointed proudly to a large ‘X’ at the bottom.