When everyone was seated at the table, there was a frozen, quiet moment when Jasper began the meal holding his open hands out and upward. He then softly recited a Navajo prayer. Once again, Blake could see the sincerity in his weathered face. It was clear to him and Russel that the Native American people, at least the older generation, were close to their roots and traditional convictions. As the group began serving the food to one another and themselves, the newest guest, Michael, spoke up with surprising eloquence.

"I understand we'll being seeing some interesting things tomorrow, Blake. Some elements discovered by your father which you are willing to share with us?"

Blake merely nodded.

"If you're wondering how I'm aware of that, and my association here, I must confess . . . Jasper called me and invited me to attend this outing tomorrow."

"OK . . . great," was all Blake could think to say.

"You see, though Jasper and I are from different tribes, and not without some friction between our peoples over the ages. . . as shamans, we consider maters of the sky and its distant messengers, our heritage."

Russel stopped chewing his food upon hearing this. He looked up and slowly nodded as well.

"So . . . which of the universities on the West coast do you two hale from?" Michael casually asked. He inquired this while picking up a large portion of barbecued chicken with his fork and laying it carefully on his plate, smiling at Dan as its benefactor.

"UC Santa Cruz," Blake answered, while serving himself a helping of potato salad. "Do you also . . . attend somewhere?" he asked, safely convinced he must, based on Michaels educated diction and delivery.

"Well, I'm on Spring Break now, but yeah . . . Yale, actually. My major back in New Haven is world religions. I've already started my senior paper on the tenets of my people . . . the Zuni."

"Nice," Blake responded, almost incoherently with his mouth full of food.

The tea was being poured and passed around, with Russel secretly wishing that the rust-colored liquid was actually ice-cold beer. Clearly it was not.

"So, it's pretty commendable, Blake, Russel . . . for you two to bring us in on your father's finds tomorrow . . . however impressive they may be. You see, Jasper briefly filled me in on William's tireless industry over here. For so many years. And considering what he may have uncovered and stored away . . . well, it most likely concerns us, the Zuni as well."

"Blake just nodded again in agreement, realizing with relief that Jasper had actually given them a more beneficial role, hopefully, to insure their safe exit from the surreal world they had found themselves in.

"And so . . . what's up with your young life, fair Valerie?" Michael asked the youngest of the dinner attendants.

Valerie lit up with this unexpected directing of his attention to her. Appearing somewhat embarrassed, yet eager to engage with him, she made a gesture of turbulence in the air abover her plate and smiled. "Lot's going on," she answered. "School . . . my community projects . . . family, and well, I don't know . . ."

"Facebook?"

"No way!" She indignantly denied. Then smiled, "Instagram!"

Everyone laughed, including the young interrogator with the black ponytail and piercing eyes. It was that very look Michael projected that no doubt had to do with his power—perceived or real, being a young shaman among his Zuni people to the east.

"Thought so," he said, laughing again. "But you know, sweet sister, we Indians have always blamed the Whiteman for poisoning and polluting our land. Our air, and our water. And now . . . with the Internet . . . they are raping our minds, too."

The old shaman Jasper nodded and raised his glass of tea up to his guest in agreement. Everyone else was quiet in their recognition of the sad truth, expressed so effectively.

"I know," the girl said, guiltily. "But everyone's on their cell these days. It's hard to stop!"

"You have it in your DNA to be better, young lady," he said. "To use the willpower your ancestors left you. You can spiritually conquer the Internet, you know. Because our great essence is greater and more enduring than all that binary bullshit thrown at you every day and night."

"Exactly," Dan said, pointing in agreement at Michael.

"It's all just commercial propaganda," the young shaman added. "Hitting you and your school mates where you live. Your innocent passions. Your delicate egos. And envy . . . tons of envy!"

The girl had now a more sober look on her face.

"You are so right, Michael," Milat, her mother said. "It's like giving poisoned candy to babies."

Valerie was now looking at her mother with disdain.

"Trust me, young lady," Michael said in a soft, clear voice. "Someone as bright and beautiful as you should be swimming in the deeper currents of these times. Your wonderful grandfather has lived all his life with such wisdom. He listened to his instincts. Messages given to him from the heavens, where all creation began. And where it burns on . . . emanating from the stars and those who come from there."

The girl hung her head slightly, reacting to this unexpected lecture. Her respect for him, as was her physical attraction, was obvious to all.

"You know," her mother, the hostess added. "It's not unusual for us to speak English over dinner in this house. Mostly it's when other tribal members visit us. Like Michael, and of course, on this evening . . . you two from California." She smiled cordially at Blake and Russel.

"Most Native Americans speak English in this country," Dan told them. "But many only as a second language. Michael's dialect, Zuni, has no resemblance to Navajo, which is the mother tongue of Jasper, Milat, Val and me."

"Exactly," Michael weighed in. "In fact, both our languages have little resemblance to any others. Anywhere in the world. Many indigenous people of the Americas have languages with certain linguistic connections. But not here in this vast desert. My Zuni people speak a tongue which is not only one of the rarest in the world . . . but probably the most mysterious with no known origin."

"That's pretty interesting," Blake finally said.

"During the Second World War, some of our grandfathers were enlisted in the Navajo Signal Corps," Dan related. "It was a division of the US Marines. Our guys volunteered to use their Navajo language to send top secret messages across enemy lines on the Pacific islands, where much of the war was fought."

"These guys were decorated as heroes," Michael added. "Neither the Japanese or the Germans could decipher their tactical messages. And all this recognition from a government that pushed their native people completely off their ancestral lands." The young man expressed these facts with a certain hyptotic  expression in his eyes.

"That's pretty amazing!" Russel added, not to be left out of the lively discussion.

"So where will we be traveling tomorrow," Michael asked them, seeming to want to get his mind off the ire which all Native Americans felt for the government. It was after all, the very institution which historically decimated them. And continues to marginalize their peoples to this day.

"Will it to be some hidden cave your father was using over the years?" he asked.

"No. It's no cave," Blake said guardedly, still mindful their escape and well-being was more less a negotiated agreement with Jasper.

"Where then?"  Michael asked pointedly.

"Out east of here. In Farmington," Blake answered.

"Can I come with you all tomorrow?" Valerie asked, directing the question over her mother's authority to her grandfather.

Her mother spoke up, however, to spare her own aged father the burden of denying the girl's request.

"Val, I don't think it's a good idea. There may be some danger where they're going. It's Saturday tomorrow and you have a lot to do. Besides, sweet one . . . you really don't understand what this all about. And . . . "

"Of course, I do! " the girl said emphatically. "It's about . . . them, mother. The aliens. Why doesn't everyone just call them that?"

"Because they are not alien to us, Valerie," Michael responded defensively. "The Star People never were alien to our people. They are closer to being our brothers. And have always been great mentors  . . . since time before time."

Blake and Russel realized they were hearing something quite phenomenal and not widely exposed.

"It's only been since the White Man stole their power that they no longer commune with us as guiding spirits," he went on. "They now avoid our contact. Hiding behind the clouds and mountains. Only to observe us. Suspicious and dissatisfied with what we have become."

The old shaman, Jasper, raised his hand, signaling to Michael to not say more in the guests' presence.

"Whatever we find and see tomorrow," he said, defiantly, "will not be new to your grandfather, to Dan or to me. We've seen it all many times."

Again, Jasper raised his hand to silence him.

"But whatever we are shone, I will tell it to you, Valerie. For you deserve to know. As all our people . . . and the people of the Earth deserve to know. Not kept in the dark, as the most powerful governments of this world have chosen to do to us."

* * *