Global Explorer II - 22. Chapter 22: Window Rock

Chapter 22: Window Rock

Gallup, New Mexico, USA
March 18, 2018, Sunday

“When the Lord God made the earth 6,022 years ago, he put in it things that were meant for mankind to use: the coal, the oil, the gold. Them things was a gift from God, and no man can deny them to us, his chosen people.”

The preacher at the Gallup UFC had captured the attention of his congregation. Many of them were miners. They were not Navajo, but Anglos who worked for the Navajo on the reservation, pulling from deep within Earth the coal and uranium that fed the voracious energy-appetite of the civilized world.

Now, however, there was talk of hydrogen power: free power from the air. Power that would not need the coal and uranium on which these men’s livelihood depended.

The sermon didn’t ask for nor did it encourage any specific action. The preacher had been taught better than that. His words were designed to incite, but not to direct. In that way, the UFC maintained its innocence—and its tax-exempt status. On the other hand, not everything that was said was said in the sermon. Some things were said in private, afterwards.

The next morning the pre-dawn sky, colored like a purple-gray, provided scant illumination to the men gathered in the parking lot of a coffee shop in Gallup. One man stood in the bed of a pickup truck. The men knew him as their pastor.

“You all know about Winder Rock. It’s their headquarters. It’s a sacred place for them heathens, too. Your job is to destroy that place. You’ve got guns, you’ve got dynamite, and you’ve got rock drills. You can break that winder into a million pieces!

“You do that, and they’ll fall in front of us, like heathens should fall before God’s anointed race.”

The memorial at Window Rock listed the names of soldiers from the Navajo Nation who had given their lives in service to not only their people but also to those around them—the people of the United States of America—some of whom were now challenging them. That memorial was protected by more than electronic sensors.

Only a few of the rednecks from Gallup reached the parking lot between the Navajo Nation’s headquarters offices and the memorial at Window Rock. Many found themselves stranded along the highway with blown tires.

“Who’d a thought a damn injun arrow could put a hole in a tire like that?”

The few that reached Window Rock, the leaders of the rednecks, found themselves isolated, cut off from the others.

A figure wearing only a breechclout, moccasins, and a beaded necklace stood at the entrance to the memorial.

“This is sacred ground,” he said. “You may not pass.”

One of the men from Gallup raised his rifle. Before he could fire, a bullet from a .50-caliber sniper rifle pushed the man back three feet and knocked him to the ground while blowing a fist-sized hole in his chest—and a basketball-sized hole in his back where the bullet had exited.

“Holy . . . ” one of the rednecks began. Then he and the others saw from where the shot had come. Behind each of the memorial stelae, figures rose. One would have had to look closely to determine that they were Navajo. They wore the uniforms of the USA military—Army, Navy, Marine Corps, and Air Force of World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Their uniforms were torn and bloodied. They were armed with weapons ranging from M-1 Garands to M-18s.

“Do not raise your weapons,” the figure in the breechclout said.

“Crap!” the leader said. Then, “Ain’t no goddamn injun gonna—” That’s as far as he got. He lifted his shotgun. Before he could fire, he was struck by a fusillade of bullets from several directions. His riddled body fell to the ground. The rest of the rednecks dropped their weapons and raised their hands. “Please, don’t shoot.”

The man in the breechclout wrinkled his nose. At least one of the men had pissed himself—or worse.

A dozen cars of the Navajo National Police arrived at the entrance to the memorial. The men from Gallup were handcuffed and stuffed in the back seats of the cars. Men from an EMT van bagged the dead. After watching this, the soldiers who had defended the memorial walked silently toward the desert, turned behind a boulder, and disappeared.

Bedroom, Winter Palace
Davey Jones’s Journal
March 19, 2018

Leonid screamed, and jerked away from the thing the doctor had pressed to his arm.

“What was that?” I demanded. “You’re hurting him!”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. I felt that he was truthful. “That should not have hurt as much as it seemed to,” the doctor said. He turned a knob on the thingy that the gadget was hooked to. “Please, let me try, again?”

This time, Leonid’s arm just twitched a bit.

“Young man?” the doctor said. “I don’t want to hurt you. My oath as a doctor says, First, do no harm. Still, there is something about your nervous system that is different. Tsar Jonathan and Mr. Anconia said they wanted to know all about you, and you’ve agreed to the tests. I will not do them, however, unless you understand that they will involve pain, and unless you agree to that.”

The doctor had arrived on a Canadian Air Force plane, arranged by Mr. A at Jonathan’s request.

“Lukas says this is important,” Leonid said after a moment’s thought. “Yes, do what you must. I will be brave for him.”

I felt a chill when Leonid said this, but nodded when the doctor looked at me. I was glad that Lukas—Jaf—wasn’t here, however.

The next tests involved sticking an electrified needle into the nerves that branched from Leonid’s spine, and went to his hands and feet. The doctor had to dig around to find the right nerves, and I knew that Leonid was in pain, but he didn’t even whimper. I gritted my teeth, and tried to be as brave as he was.

“There’s one more thing that I think we need to do,” the doctor said. “A nerve biopsy. I am not qualified to do that, however. We need a plastic surgeon.”

I’m afraid that my reply was a bit . . . stupid? “Plastic surgeon?”

The doctor knew better than to smile. “It’s a very precise bit of surgery. A tiny section of a nerve is removed, encased in wax, sliced longitudinally, and examined under an optical microscope. Plastic surgeons are good at such precision.”

The biopsy confirmed what the neurologist had suspected: Leonid’s myelin sheath was different from that of humans. No one was quite sure what that meant.

One data point, I thought. Their nervous system—at least Leonid’s—is different. Not much to go on, but it’s a start.

# # # # #

Farmington Sentinel, March 20, 2018. “Two Dead At Window Rock.” Two men who police say were bent on damaging the Navajo National Monument at Window Rock were killed in a shootout with police. Fifteen other men were placed in custody.

# # # # #

“The founding fathers wrote the constitution
to keep government out of religion.
They failed utterly at
the more important task:
keeping religion
out of government.”

Global Explorer and
Anconia Montana Compound
March 20, 2018

“Alexander? Did you hear what happened at Window Rock?” Francesca had initiated the call.

“Just what was on the AP wire. Wait, let me put this on the speaker.”

Francesca described details that hadn’t been in the AP report, and then said, “The UFC was behind it.”

“Anything besides the dark net? Anything we can use?”

“Two open sources,” she said. “The Navajo police got confessions from the survivors. Four of them implicated the preacher of the UFC in Gallup. Also, a child of one of the miners was at the church and heard the men talking. After the shootout, I received an email.”

“If his father finds out—”

“Her father was the first one shot to death.”

“Oh. Any chance we can do something to help her?”

“Not directly, but you know someone who lives in Window Rock.”

“Joe White Eagle Wings,” I said. “We need to add a node to the neutrino net. There’s one at the Navajo power plant, but Joe needs one. How is the phone production going?”

The two cousins who were the only people allowed in one of the underground labs were busy creating neutrino phones. Some were built in MIL-SPEC hard cases, and were being installed in USA and British attack submarines and naval command centers. Others looked like iPhones.

“I’ll pull one off the line and get someone to courier it to Joe,” Francesca said. “As soon as he’s got it, I’ll let you know.”

“You said open sources,” I said. “Were there others?”

“Yes. The darknet node had messages, but I don’t want to use that, yet. It’s our ace in the hole.”

“Is there anything we can do about the UFC?” I asked Francesca.

“Not from this; however, we’ve picked up and documented a lot of things from open sources, including messages to their preachers that are clearly political in nature, including endorsements of specific candidates. Tom suggested a lawsuit to remove their 501c3 and 501c4 status because of that political involvement. It’s been tried before, and failed because the pussies on the Supreme Court won’t—”

“Did you just say pussies?” Nicky interrupted.

“Grow up, big brother,” Francesca said. There was a giggle from her end of the circuit.

“At least she said big brother this time,” I whispered.

“Is Tom going to file it?” I asked Francesca.

“Actually, he’s gotten an international Humanist organization to file the suit.”

Jaf’s Journal
March 20, 2018

Leonid had been pale when Davey brought him to my room, yesterday afternoon. Davey had refused to allow me to be with Leonid during the examination. Now, he seemed sorry.

“Jaf, Leonid suffered a great deal during the examination. I’m sorry you weren’t there to comfort him. Would you do that, now? Please?”

I jumped to my feet and rushed to the door. Leonid almost fell into my arms. By the time I’d helped him to my bed, Davey had left, closing the door behind himself.

“Leonid!” I rubbed his wrists. That had seemed to help in the past. “Do you want water? Do you need to go back to your tree?”

“No, Lukas,” he whispered. “Just hold me? Please?”

I lay beside him and wrapped arms and one leg around him.

I think we fell asleep. When I opened my eyes, I saw that Leonid was still pale.

“We do need to get you to your tree,” I think. “You need energy. Should I call Yuri or Spartak?”

“You could give me energy,” Leonid said.

My mind was blank for a moment. Then, I remembered what he’d said when we first met. Could he mean what I think he means?

His hand. He’d slid his hand between us, and was pressing gently on my penis.

“Eto no’rmalno? Is it okay?” he asked.

“Da! Yes!” I said. I thought for a minute. “But it would be better if we were naked, I think.”

I was afraid of making a mess in my clothes.

Leonid was strong enough to help me remove his clothing and mine.

“Mogu li ya? Pzhaluysta? May I? Please?” I asked. Leonid nodded, and I grasped his penis; he, once again, reached for mine. I thought, maybe, we’d just jack off each other, but Leonid had another idea. Before I could cum, he sat up, and then kissed the tip of my penis. And then took it into his mouth. I nearly passed out when I exploded.

Leonid seemed to enjoy himself so much when I ejaculated, that I wanted to try what he had done. I was afraid, at first. I could feel and taste the little bit of his fluid that leaked early. I was afraid I wouldn’t like it when he ejaculated, but by that time I was so . . . involved? So happy? So whatever, that when he did, I drank every drop.