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Chapter Nine


The remainder of discussions that evening mainly were questions to Blake and Russel about their university, the life in California, and much about the Pacific ocean, not surprisingly from people who had not lived near a coastline, and none of whom, except the more worldly Michael, had ever been the West coast. From the guys' side, the two captive visitors had to listen to the news Michael had brought from central New Mexico, mostly about tourists, domestic problems with the Zuni people, whom he passionately identified with, and the weather patterns across their ancient, barren lands.

Being the youngest at the table and someone Michael clearly saw as a threat to the Native peoples' heritage, he engaged Valerie in the conversation, trying to draw her out for criticism. To her credit, she was cunning and evasive when detecting this, and yet smiled at him often during the verbal cat-and-mouse game, not the least everyone could see, was Michael' playful glee in enjoying the process.

"You and your school friends have probably all bought into the Hollywood version of our Star brothers, right, Val? They wanting to come down from the skies and suck out the brains of people from Earth?"

She laughed. "As much as you talk about aliens being our brothers . . . well, I can believe our people were visited by them. Maybe even for thousands of years. I've been taught that in this house all my life. But I would not trust them. They're just too creepy looking!  I would probably faint if I saw one outside near the house in the dark right now."

Both Blake and Russel chuckled at the girl's fears and her homogenized, teenaged reaction. She seemed more culturally attuned to the two of them than they had expected. It was all about the Internet, Blake thought. And summer fright films. Yet, they both also nodded in agreement with her repulsion with the standard impression people had of extraterrestrials, primarily due to television, those movies and conspiracy YouTube videos.

"What if I told you some of them look more like me . . . and you, Valerie?" Michael proposed. "The ones that have infiltrated our systems of government and military establishments here on Earth. They have many similarities to our bodies. Synthetically, of course, but often they are genetically processed."

This sent a chill down Russel's back.

"I don't know. Have they?" the girl asked, still looking at Michael with a sort of unmasked desire.

"Of course, they have. And as far as your ideas of the typical Grays  you're picturing in your mind right now. . . there are at least five different alien forms besides them. All encountered and documented now on virtually every content."

This was playing out to Blake and Russel as an extension of what the two were finding to be some frightening dream they couldn't awake from. The two were pleased, however, that Valerie was asking all the critical questions they themselves were too intimidated to ask.

Suddenly, Milat entered the conversation, attempting to give some semblance of familiarity at her table.

"Michael, we trust the things you have studied and found through your travels are true. You have been able to go to places we here on our lands can only imagine. But Valerie needs to know that most of what you are saying tonight is not known by most people . . . and many would have trouble believing these things. Much of what we Indians know about the heavens and the Earth is symbolic. But it is still powerful. And worth living by."

"And spiritual," Jasper added, after a long silence. "These spiritual elements can move in and out of this physical world. As shamans we have eyes and ears to know this. There is a spiritual reality our peoples had reached over time that sustained them all like shamans. And it was the Star People who in our deep past came. They taught us this. Many are losing that spirit, that sight today. And many . . . like our beautiful Valerie here, do not know it or are skeptical of it."

It was interesting to Blake the diversity of knowledge and understanding the three generations of Native Americans at the table shared. It was all too obvious their belief systems after thousands of years of stability were in a state of flux.

Following a fruit desert that Milat brought out with a honey toping, everyone seemed to suggest sleep was the next event within the Hopi house. It was agreed the four men would convene back there in the dining room at seven o'clock the next morning to depart for Farmington. Dan the Navajo Ranger offered to drive his 4x4, ferrying Blake and Russel, and Jasper stated he would commandeer his Ford pick-up with Michael. Together, they would travel out east to see for themselves the entirety of what Blake's father had apparently stored so carefully for some potential revelation. But to whom? When?

* * *

Just after sunrise, down stairs in the adobe-block home, Milat had coffee, toast and jam placed on the table for the California guests, along with her father, the Navajo elder, and the young Zuni shaman who had come by special invitation and did most of the talking the night before.

Arriving at the storage facility in the two vehicles before 9:00 AM, after just under an hour of driving through the bright desert, the four men were in Farmington's only storage facility approaching the security guard. They let Blake do the talking.

"Hello again," he said to the fit and sun-tanned employee, seated in his golf cart. "I'm here with some potential buyers of my family's property," he added fictitiously.

The golf-shirted man handed him a clipboard to sign in with and took a brief look at Blake's California driver's license. He then smiled cordially and allowed the four to pass in through the gate. Blake and Russel walked their guests down the specified row to the single locked storage room. Taking out his father's key, and with a familiar difficulty the large door was rolled back upward into its cavity. As the early sunlight filled the interior, the many secured boxes and crates were seen still stacked and in the orderly manner Blake and Russel had discovered them.

Walking them over to the copious book shelves and pointing at the floor where Blake had thrown the collection of strange dolls, Jasper picked several of them up reverently and placed them in a line on one of the nearest crates for observation.

"Kachinas." The old man said under his breath.

"Hopi." Michael chimed in. "And highly collectible."

Both the men observed them closely for several moments, silently and seriously.

"Are there more of these?" jasper asked.

"A whole other crate of them . . . here," Blake pointed out. The two men looked down inside the opened wooden box and could see more small boxes, closed and tied neatly with strings. Obviously, this indicated the storage system William had used for keeping the rare dolls carefully preserved.

"Kachina dolls are the symbolic reminders of our spiritual messengers," Michael said. The ones you have taken out here are clearly old. Like antiques. They're usually given as gifts in the Pueblo peoples' homes, and have for centuries. They represent the souls of rain and seeds and children.

"Fine carving and proportionate," Jasper added, touching the small arm of one of the dolls, looking to be frozen in a dance. It had horns on its head and a painted face. "These here are hand-carved from cotton wood roots, original materials," he said. "The faded color looks to put these around . . . the 1930's or 40's. Would you say so Michael?"

"Maybe older," the young shaman replied.

"Are they valuable?" Russel asked.

"To us spiritually, of course," Michael said. "If you're talking money . . . at least five hundred each for these on the collector's market. Native American artifacts are in vogue now internationally."

"Wow." Russel responded.

"It looks like in those crates there's Kachina dolls of a number of standard personas. Rain, hunting . . . fertility, the sky, corn. They all represent the living spirit of natural things. Things our people worship. The Hopi, Zuni and Navajo."

"These Kachinas are Hopi . . . definitely," Jasper said, placing the effigy back in line with the others he had observed in formation. The Hopi are descended from the original Pueblo people, a culture aligned strongly with the stars."

Blake took a screw driver off the table and began to pry the lid off another crate nearby the first with more dolls stored in in it. Soon the four were carefully opening the small secondary boxes housing similarly colorful dolls, all individually distinct.

"Jesus!"  Michael exclaimed. "These ones are all Zuni Kachinas. Again, vintage!"

Jasper held one up to the light.

"Look," he said to Michael. The head on the doll was more oval, pointed at the chin. It had characteristic large black triangular eyes. As colorful as the rest but featuring a distinctive alien-like head. Two more of these types were inspected by Michael as they were removed from individual boxes.

"Definitely Star People," he said. "In our seasonal dances the men who dress like this and hold these dolls remind us not only of the star messengers we owe so much to, but even our own origins."

Blake broke his silence. "Your origins?"

"Precisely," Michael said blankly. "All living things on this planet were brought here to evolve physically or spiritually. Humans are a manufactured species. Just like the rest."

Russel remained speechless—now just a bewildered observer.

As Blake opened other boxes, more clay pottery and ceremonial vessels were carefully removed for inspection. In one crate were vessels with a similar painted motif. They had intriguing decorations depicting what Jasper called the "Ant People." They were shorter creatures than the men and women standing next to them, with flexible feelers on their heads. And again, alien, with insect-shaped heads.

"The Ant People were our legendary forefathers who lived under ground out here in these deserts. They originally came from the sky. Thousands, maybe millions of years ago, according to the Pueblo peoples' legends. They brought us up out of the ground to be who we are. Now in this fourth manifestation of the world."

"There were other worlds?" Russel asked, perplexed.

"Yes. Three confirmable separate and major devastations before our time. And these were preceded by long periods of evolution and change. But each was destroyed. The surface of the Earth was completely cleared by natural astronomical catastrophes happening cyclically. A natural phenomenon of the universe. The Earth experienced pole shifts and total annihilation to most life forms on its surface.

"Christ!"  Russel whispered under his breath.

"But the Ant people, our ancestors, stayed alive deep within the ground."

"A complex of subterranean cities," Jasper added. "Much like what the US government is constructing today. Right under our noses through black budgets. Our ancestors brought us up into the light," her added. "Now in the fourth world. To farm and build on the surface of the land. We are the grandchildren of the Ant people . . .and they were themselves created by the Star People."

Michael chimed in. "These sightings of aliens . . . celestial beings which some people have seen today, and have for millennia, are not only technical engineers and great builders. We see this evidenced by their influence on our own ancient buildings in Egypt, Mesoamerica, India and Greece, but they were also genetic wizards."

"Genetic wizards?"

"As mythological as it all sounds, the cold facts are . . . these beings who came to our solar system were master race and species builders. Using advanced gene science which before we might have called magic. They systematically shaped the life here on this planet. We are also the products of their handiwork. All species on this Earth are their creations."

"God!"

"Yes, you might say they are gods," Jasper added. "The Kachinas you see here are reminders of them which we have carved over the centuries to carry and hang from our ceilings. They are objects to appreciate our origins daily and in ceremonies where we dance, dressed like them. We tell in those dances how the Star People created us and our world."

"But now they simply come to check on us," Michael added. "No longer to guide us, as they once did. To watch over our misuse of their original powers. Now, amid our own creations and weapon systems. Technologies we have stolen from the messengers."

"The military? NASA and the like?"

"Exactly. Over half of the unexplained phenomena people of the Earth see in the heavens right now are of our own copies. Our own attempts to steal their gifts. And all hidden from us by those major government players working with the massive powerbrokers who control the human population today. Controlling it with wealth."

Blake went over to the boxes with the photos taken of rock and cave art. The two Native Americans looked through them, not surprised to see forms of art they had seen all their lives in and around the Southwestern deserts. But it was not until Blake took out the small metal box which he had placed carefully back into the refrigerator's freezer section, that the two silently stood and peered in.

It was the pieces of the thin metal he had earlier taken out of the box and thrown together on a crate top. As before, when Blake dropped them near the others on a flat surface, they simply slid together creating a mass of the pieces, as if healing themselves into a whole. When Michael took the pieces of light material in his hand and tried to crease it, upon release, the joined whole flattened out once again with no sign of creasing or folds.

Seeming to know the properties of this flat gray metallic material, Michael said, "Watch this." He then took the screw driver out of Blake's hand and tried to puncture a hole through the thin sheeting. It could not be punctured by the sharp tool, even when he employed all his strength trying to do so."

"Christ! What is that stuff?" Russel asked, obviously shaken by the demonstration.

It's the metallurgic, organic skin of a space craft," he said calmly and quietly. A piece of the outer cover to what the media calls a crashed UFO. There has been a number of crashes out here beside Roswell, and on other remote areas of the Earth," he said definitively. The military wants you and the rest of the world to know nothing about their efforts to study and reconstruct these crafts and their dynamics of flight. Nor will it admit to the systematic duplication of the power source . . . the energy system these things use navigating the earth and seas every day on this planet."

"I don't know what's in these other boxes and crates," Michael finally told the others. "But I suppose that's why we're here today," he concluded, placing the metallic sample back in the box. "Your father, Blake, had made a sizeable contribution to something not easy to come by in this age of organized deceit and non-transparency . . . hidden at all levels of government."

"What is that?" Russel innocently asked.

"The truth," Jasper said, staring down at one of the small and wonderfully decorated Kachinas. The simple truth."

* * *

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