Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (4 page)

The three horses were loaded into the horse trailer early the next morning, along with their tack, bedrolls for the men, canteens, rifles, and jackets in case they got caught on the mountain after dark. Of course, they made sure to bring their all-important coffee thermoses. By seven a.m., they left Shiprock for Sheep Springs, arriving at the Sheep Springs Chapter House just before eight o’clock. They found Officer Roanhorse talking with two men on horses in front of the house. Nez pulled the truck and horse trailer up to the parking lot, put it in park and shut off the engine as Roanhorse approached the truck.

“Yá’át’ééh, Chairman, Captain, Lieutenant.”

“Yá’át’ééh, replied Nez, and the other two men nodded.”

“Well, what brings us all here so early?” asked Fowler.

“A flying machine crashed on the mountain on Mary Yazzie’s grazing lease. I never saw anything like this in the military. I did not enter the vessel, but all the crewmembers I saw were dead. They were not human.”

Captain Fowler turned to Chairman Paul Jones, who had remained silent so far. “How do you want to play this, sir?”

The chairman was curious about the description
not human
. “Sergeant, you did not call us out here to look at dead animals. What do you mean by not human?”

“Looks like something in a science fiction movie. Thay are small beings, hairless, no ears or eyebrows, pale skin, not like the bilagaana.”

Chairman Jones pondered the implications. His parents had been traditional Navajos, but he learned to read in a missionary school. To find beings, not from this world was an idea that would disturb anyone’s religious beliefs: Navajo, Christian or Mormon. He suspected but it was probably worse for the traditional Navajos.

“Was there any evidence of foul play?”

“No, sir, it looked like a crash, probably mechanical failure.”

Chairman Jones paused to consider the best course of action. Navajos did not consider silence to be awkward. Since Jones was rightfully in charge, the men all waited for him to speak again. The chairman seemed to have figured out what he wanted to do, and broke the silence. “Who are these men with you?”

“Sam and Pete Dooley, Salt Water Clan,” Roanhorse answered. “They live about ten miles toward Nava, and they are Mormons. I drove over to their house last night and asked them to ride up here on horseback with picks and shovels today to bury the sky travelers.&rdquo (Navajos who converted to Christianity or Mormonism were not concerned about getting ghost sickness. It was preferred to get a nontraditional Navajo to handle burials.)

“We need to see this for ourselves. Sergeant, you are right about the burial. If they are bilagaana, the government will want to collect the bodies for burial. But you say they are not… Ride with the Dooley brothers and go directly to the crash site and wait for us. Do not bury anything until we get there, and do not stop by Mary Yazzie’s hogan. I do not want her to know about the burial until we see the site.”

”Yes, sir.”

Roanhorse rode along with the Dooley brothers while the chairman made arrangements to look after his truck. The chairman locked his truck, and the three men mounted their horses and headed out to the Yazzie hogan.

The Sergeant had already been to the crash site and would be escorting the Dooley brothers there. The chairman and the two policemen would go to Mary Yazzie’s hogan first and George would guide them to the crash site.

The chairman, Fowler, and Nez made it to the hogan by ten thirty, dismounted, tied their horses to the sheep pen and greeted George Etsitty.

The chairman, Fowler, and Nez arrived at the foot of the Chuska Mountains just after eight fifteen and started on horseback to Mary Yazzie’s hogan. By ten thirty, they made it to the hogan, dismounted, tied their horses to the sheep pen, and greeted George Etsitty.

“Yá’át’ééh, George,” greeted Captain Fowler.

“Yá’át’ééh, my friend.” He nodded respectfully to the chairman and Lieutenant Nez. “Mary has been expecting you.”

The matriarch didn’t know who was coming, but with the aircraft crash, she knew there would be more than just one policeman. The men knew they should respect the matriarch, so they entered the house and greeted her.

“Yá’át’ééh, Ama’ Sa’ ni?” asked Chairman Jones.

“Yá’át’ééh,” responded the matriarch. “I have food and coffee for you all.”

“Later when we return, we will sit a spell and visit, and have some food. Now I have to get George to show us the bilagaana flying machine. They say the ship crashed, and all are dead. If they are bilagaana, it is probably a military ship, and they will want the bodies and ship back. Keep the coffee on and the stew warm. We will be back.”

“I will,” she promised.

George saddled his horse and led the men to the crash site.
This is a beautiful day for a horseback ride
, thought Nez.
It is a shame that this kind of business is ruining harmony of it.
The men arrived at the clearing of grama grass where the object rested. None of the men had ever seen anything like this. They approached the craft, and Nez pried the door further open with a wind broken branch of an oak tree. All three men looked in, and their worst suspicions were confirmed. The craft smelled as though something had died, but it was no smell they recognized. The beings looked unlike any race they had ever seen. Their lifeless bodies were hairless and earless, the color of campfire ash. They were the size of ten-year-old children. No one said anything for at least two minutes. Each man was sorting out in his mind what the existence of these beings implied in his life’s view. The police captain had deferred to the chairman, as this didn’t appear to be a police matter. Chairman Jones spoke.

“This could be very bad. If this is made common knowledge, we will have skin walker or Yei Bechei stories, possibly curses or witching by tomorrow. This is fertile land. Our father Barboncito called the Chuskas, the ‘goods of value range.’ I do not want any skin walker or dead Yei Bechei talk cursing this mountain. I also want to control how and to whom we tell about this vessel. The worse thing that could happen is some shaman might decide these were Yei Bechei,
holy beings
, and George or Mary witched them and they died. I think I can get the government to trade us something for it, but if we report this to the local authorities, they will just come take it, and not too quietly.

I assume we are all in agreement that no laws have been broken?” All the men nodded in agreement. The chairman continued. “Since these are not human, there is no law that says we have to report this accident. Captain, may I have your camera?”

Captain Fowler retrieved his camera from his saddlebag and handed it to the chairman. “Could you men uncover the flying ship?” asked the chairman.

George and the two officers worked to remove the juniper branches covering the top of the vessel. The chairman had the Dooley brothers remove two of the dead crew members, and stretch them out on the ground. The chairman took pictures of the aliens and the vessel from several angles until he had no more film. One by one, he peeled off the backing of each picture and handed it to Captain Fowler, who in turn, wiped the photos with the print coater appliqué and laid them out on a rock to dry.

“Now would you men please cover the vessel back up?” asked Jones. To the Dooley brothers he said, “They have no relatives, and they deserve to be buried. Please bury all of them with respect in a secret place and speak of this to no one.” He pointed to the dead bodies. “I know that this is particularly disturbing, but this could be big trouble to the Diné if it were made public.” He handed each brother a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, and they assured him they would comply with both requests.

Satisfied the pictures came out all right and were dry, Jones handed the camera back to Fowler, put the pictures in a manila envelope he brought and put it in one of his saddlebags. “I think I like this camera of yours. It can develop pictures without leaving a negative behind, and without the help of an outsider.” The men had already finished covering the vessel.

“I think we should go back to see Mary Yazzie and reassure her that everything is all right,” said Nez.

Turning to the chairman, Fowler asked, “Exactly how much do we tell her?”

The chairman looked thoughtful. “Tell her as much truth as we can, but nothing to incite her imagination.” He inhaled, and then exhaled slowly, carefully choosing his words. “We tell her this. A flying ship like nothing we’ve ever seen before has crashed, and all are dead. We think the government will want this vessel, and we intend to give it to them. The crew of the ship did not look like soldiers, so we arranged for their burial, to prevent predators or skin walkers from taking their bodies. We will ask her to make sure no one goes up there until after the government has removed their vessel.”

The men all nodded in agreement.

“I like it. All you said is true and we will not tell her anything about these beings,” commented Fowler.

“Chairman, what do you think these beings were?” asked Nez, asking the question they were all thinking. All of the men except Chairman Jones were ex-military and policemen. None of the men were given to fearful displays of emotion, but they were all in shock. All eyes were on the older man. Instead of answering right away, he asked a question.

“Captain, George, when you went to Japan, had you ever seen Japanese before?” Both men shook their heads no.

“Were they gods?” Again they shook their heads no.

“Just because you had never seen them before, did not mean they were gods. They could be some other mortal race we have never seen, or Yei Bechei. I do not think they are skin walkers. From what I have heard about them, they do not need a flying machine to fly. Even if we turned them over to the bilagaana, our land would not have rest from crazy white people, all wanting to see where they landed. In any case, they are all dead. They deserve to be buried, not left for the coyotes to eat, or skin walkers to use their corpses for witchcraft.”

The four men mounted up and rode back to Mary Yazzie’s hogan, and it went rather well. She was not suspicious they were withholding anything. The men all looked uneasy, but that was normal for Navajos after viewing death. The men ate lunch and drank a couple cups of coffee, observing the right amount of socializing that good manners required. The chairman charged Mary to keep everyone away from the wreck for the sake of the chindi, and to speak of it to no one. She solemnly promised to do so and the chairman was relieved. It was five o’clock by the time had reached the Chapter House. Roanhorse put George’s horse in the corral behind the Chapter House, where George would retrieve it later.

Captain Fowler addressed the chairman. “I guess this one is all off the books, right?”

“Yes. I’ll drive down to Gallop area office of the Bureau of Indian Affairs tomorrow in my pickup truck and see if I can negotiate a trade for the ship. The reservation is in need of many things.”

Chairman Paul Jones left Shiprock before daylight the next morning, arriving in Gallop around sunrise. He’d skipped breakfast, so he stopped at a local diner and had the special of sausage, eggs, hash browns, a biscuit and hot coffee. The tribe’s lawyer offered to come, but Jones wanted as few people knowing about this as possible, so he refused. Besides, he was a very shrewd negotiator, and was not afraid to speak with the BIA chief alone. He was remarkably fit for a man sixty-eight years old. He wore his gray short hair in the style of the modern world, which helped in dealing with outsiders. Dressed in a dark suit and tie, he was ready for the meeting with the bilagaana BIA chief. Finishing breakfast and a second cup of coffee, he paid his tab and drove over to the bureau’s office. BIA Chief Hal Wallace was going over his budget and estimating projected spending for the next quarter, when his secretary buzzed him.

“Chief, Chairman Jones is here to see you.”

“Thank you Betty, send him in.” Chief Wallace rose to meet the older man, and greeted him in customary fashion as one would a business associate.

“Good morning, Chairman Jones.” Chief Wallace never tried to honor the Navajo leaders by learning their customary greetings or social manners. It was mostly because of the bureau’s attitude that the Navajos were best served by being assimilated into American mainstream culture. He wasn’t malicious in his thinking. He honestly believed Washington’s policy that replacing the Navajo culture with modern American culture was good for them.

“Good morning, Chief Wallace.”

The men exchanged courtesies, shared local news, and discussed the weather. Finally the elevator talk exhausted, and Wallace knew it was time to get to the point.

“Chairman Jones, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Jones retrieved an envelope from his shirt and slid it to the younger man. Chief Wallace removed the contents, studying each photo carefully. He looked up at the older man, ran his hand through his thinning hair, carefully considering.

“Looks like a military prototype. The government will want it back.”

The Navajo retrieved a second envelope from his shirt and offered it to the agent, who examined each photo. As Wallace studied the photos of the aliens’ bodies, the realization dawned on him that this was something more—much more than he’d anticipated.

“This is no military prototype. I’m sure the government will want it, though,” the chairman stated.

“Where did you find it?”

“On Navajo land,” he flatly stated. “Salvage laws favor us, but then the whole thing would be hard to keep quiet if it went to court.”

The tribe had a lawyer to handle lawsuits, but the Navajo came alone, without his lawyer. Wallace knew the government would not want this to be made public. Jones wouldn’t be here unless he wanted to deal. The question was not if he wanted to deal, but how much would he settle for?

“What do you want for the ship?”

Jones made an offer, and Wallace knew he was going to need deeper pockets than he had to close the deal. It was time to play his ace card. Wallace had spent a lot of money to get his only son into an Ivy League school, where he majored in government studies. Jesse lent his youthful energy and enthusiasm to the Eisenhower presidential campaign and was rewarded with a white house job as an aide to the president himself.