"Who are you?" He asked the child.
"Me? Oh I'm just a rumor." She answered.
"And who are the other ones?" He questioned her knowing that somehow she would know who he was referring to without having to explain it to her. It came to him that this child, was not a child at all, for some reason this entity chose to take the form of a little girl to ask for his help. And now that the task was accomplished the ruse was up, and the sweet little voice slowly became that of an old woman, whose words and accent carried with it years of wisdom.
"They are the unclean. You've spent so much time around them, you could clean up your face." She began to massage his face with her little hands. More words were spoken, for some reason the dreamer couldn't get past how she referred to them, the unclean. The fallen was the term he had assumed was universal, were there more? Had they become something else after all this time? Who exactly was she referring to and who was she really? He began to question her more, and had question the reality of the entire situation as he always does.
"You still have trouble believing even when it's rubbing you in your big red face?" She joked. They shared a short laugh, he apologized, a one on one face to face conversation was a rare occurrence, even more rare given the incident that had just taken place, even more rare was the presence of good. No matter how many times the dreamer traveled, he always seemed lost.
When the dreamer returned, his road weary travel symptoms remained the same. Now more than ever he began to ponder the implications of this reality. Either the knowledge of this being true changed his interactions with the other side, or his insanity has reached an all time high. Being a no one is easy. Being normal is easy. Being crazy is even easier. But this being real brings with it a slew of issues. Do I tell anyone? Who do I tell? What do I tell them? What will they think of me? Will anyone believe me? How could they? I still don't really. The dreamer's rig was still in auto pilot, long time til' the next rock. The same thought reminded him of why he wanted to sleep in the first place. Without him, would the ship still be traveling? Would what he harvests from the rock have found it's way back to earth? Why am I doing this? Why am I here doing this? This ship needs a pilot, that rock needs to be dug, material harvested, turned into a thing that can be bought and used, by me or someone else. Without me, no ship, no material, no product? Not necessarily, need creds. Do I? Everything moves. Even if I don't see it moving. People, move, machines move, one for the other. That big machine outside earth, only there because we're there. Without us it wouldn't be there, without it we wouldn't be there. We don't need it, but it needs us. We crawl all over it inside and out while it grows. If we go it stops growing. It dies. It's our crowning achievement, and it's completely useless. We don't need it, it needs us. We give it life, we operate with or without it's knowledge or permission. We are the machine's blood.