Chapter 19

Zeus

As I was cleaning the rifle in the workshop, I brought up the subject of payment for the scope. Peter Soaring Eagle refused to accept any.

"Hell, man. You're gonna use it to take down some 'squirrels.' I hope you can get away with it. I know you'll take them out. I haven't seen shooting like that since we were all back in the unit. And I saw damn few who could equal what I saw out there. I just hope the Federales don't take you down, afterwards.

"I don't want any money for building that scope. I've got a good life, here. I've got what I need. People are coming to me from all over for my scopes. I was building that scope you have now for some oil dude in Denver. I'm gonna charge him about double what the thing is worth. In fact, I think I'll put in a special squirrel hunting tax, and charge him forty-five hundred for it. He can afford it, and I'll even get a special engraving tool, so it'll have 'Soaring Eagle Optics' on it. That's worth something extra, right? You don't have to worry about the money."

He tossed me a long metal box, sized for the scope.

"As for you, I won't give you anything that's signed," he added with a laugh.

I ran the cleaning rod through the barrel one last time, and began disassembling the rifle.

"Know anybody that can make me some .408 cartridges? Handmade, I mean. I have to start thinking about getting out of this, with no trace left behind. Never had to think about that before. I figure that means the rifle barrel's gotta get gone and the bullets have to be untraceable and clean."

He nodded agreement. "About the only person I can think of who'd do the cartridge job and keep his mouth shut would be Hollowpoint's father, down in Austin. Did you ever meet him? As for the rifle barrel, I really have no idea. You might have to buy a new gun, entire."

I had to fight to keep the smile off my face.

"Maybe I'll look him up. Austin, you say?" There was a pause in the conversation. "Say, what's the story with Sharp? Is he still in school? Is he planning on college?"

"You mean the Honorable Steven Soaring Eagle, Esquire-to-be? He's decided that's going to be his name to the white man. 'Sharp' would be just impossible for an attorney, which is what he wants to be. He's home schooled, taking some college courses already. He took off these few days, to escort Artemis around the country. I think she had some fun. There's nothing between them, by the way. He has a chica down near Sedona. Met her in a state student leader convention last year. She's headed for Stanford in the fall, and I think he's gonna try and follow her as soon as he can. They are as serious as any 18 year olds can be. You know what that's like.

"Assuming that her family doesn't object too seriously. They're Mexican Catholic. I have no idea how they feel about the son of a Navajo medicine woman, and a half-breed Creole-Navajo. That's also assuming that 'home school' can prove itself, and meet Stanford's standards.

"Listen to me. I can rattle on for a long time about Sharp. I'm damned proud of him."

"From what I've seen," I said, "you have a right to be. He's a great kid. I'm sure Stanford is going to admit them both, even without the affirmative action program. You know that just means the smart kids who are from a preferred population will get accepted everywhere, right?"

He grunted, which I took to mean that he didn't like preferential treatment.

"You think with a last name like Soaring Eagle, nobody's gonna notice that he's an American Indian? Listen, that affirmative action thing just means he's almost guaranteed to get a chance at someplace like Stanford. Doesn't mean he's gonna cut it. He's still got to do the work. But I don't think that'll be a problem, with a son of a bitch Master Chief like you for a father."

That got a smile. "Actually it's his mother who's the tough one. I met her when I was still in the unit, you know. She was a nurse in Okinawa while I was there on Special R&R." Special R&R meant he was wounded, to our brand of 'SEAL-ese.' "When she found out she was pregnant, after I got back to the unit, I got married by internet. And the rest is ancient Navajo history.

"How about the change in Artemis? I started out thinking she might be useful, but she really took charge."

"Yeah," I agreed. "She started out being a pain in the ass, who I needed for – well for some special projects. But she really took over. I hope I can survive," I laughed.

"I like her a lot. If you ever feel like kicking her out ... well (a) you're nuts and (b) you just send her my way. She'll have a place here," he said.

The gun was now in its case, in pieces, each carefully wiped to obliterate fingerprints. I hefted it and the much smaller scope case. "Time to get ready to go. We'll be out of here tomorrow with the sun."

"Right. Kill a squirrel for me," he said.

Funny. That was the second person who'd said that to me.

We rejoined the women. They were in the kitchen, and apparently BlueBird had passed along the mystical secret of Navajo cornbread.

"Now, we all sit down to eat. It's the middle of the week, but I'm moving our Saturday night meal up," said BlueBird. "Go and sit. I've been cooking my fingers to the bone all day."

The kitchen looked pristine to me, but I wasn't going to say 'nay.'

She brought out a feathered centerpiece. "You will please forgive an old, superstitious woman. This is the beginning of a modified Hózhójí, The Blessingway in your language. We modify it, today, because you are leaving tomorrow. The rest of the singing takes place later with the elders of my tribe.

"Hózhójí is a special rite. It is done frequently to bless one, especially one who is going into danger, or one who is giving birth."

She sprinkled a mix of dried flower petals across my head and shoulders and across Arti's also.

"I hope, Together with the Spirits, that your Spirit Advisor approves."

"I most certainly do, Mother Soaring Eagle," said my Spirit Advisor. "I don't know if you can hear me directly, but I thank you."

She stopped and turned to face me, a big smile showing on her face.

"Spirit, I do hear you; and I thank you, for gracing us!"

Then she began singing a chant that lasted a minute or so.

When she finished, she said, "Sharp, help me in the kitchen, please."

Sharp delivered a roast of lamb with flower blossoms stuffed with cornmeal and all sorts of veggies. There was a veritable mountain of food. Pete described the bowls of food as they appeared. I wondered what aisle in the supermarket you went to, to buy flower blossoms.

"I love The Blessingway meal. We'll have the elders for dinner tomorrow, and do the final honors to the leftovers then. And of course, there will be chanting and songs all day. It's a splendid ceremony, you'll see."

"Pete," I said, "we have to leave early tomorrow."

"So, you drive a little sleepy in the morning. I'm sure you and Artemis – and whoever – will have no trouble."

We ate a small hole in the lamb and vegetables. It was getting dark as we were pushing back from the meal, when there was a single loud knock on the door. Pete got up to answer it and opened the door wide to admit about a dozen tribal elders. I'd like to report that they were in what we white men considered to be 'traditional ceremonial garb;' but while there were elements of that, especially in the staves the men carried, and the baskets the women brought with them, they were mostly in jeans, and the like. The staves and baskets were adorned with feathers and pendants and carvings of animal shapes. They didn't look like the stuff that Indians carried about in the movies. Another strikeout for Hollywood.

BlueBird touched my arm as I rose to go into the living room, where the elders were gathering.

"Spirit? Speak only if you wish them all to know of your presence, for they can all hear you better than I," she said quietly.

I smiled and nodded. Then I joined Arti in the living room. She, of course, was greeting them with simple Navajo phrases, gaining her billions of brownie points. I was only able to speak English, but I was effusive with my thanks to them for coming and honoring us.

A very old and almost infirm man pulled himself to his feet from the couch he'd been sitting on. He leaned heavily on his staff.

"It is we who are honored, Together with the Spirits and Huntress. We come only to help celebrate a Blessingway. It is the simplest of ceremonies. It will guide you and protect you both. I understand that you may need it, though I know not why. Sit, please."

He began a chant, lasting several minutes. Arti tried to translate for me, but BlueBird stayed her effort with a touch.

"He does not need to know the words, young Huntress. His spirit will guide him. You must attend the songs."

Each of the twelve sang in turn, some long with long chants, some with shorter ones. With each giving a preamble it took quite a while to finish, and at the end, we were all herded to the outside. Sonny, who had been sleeping under the camper, lifted his head.

I hadn't heard any motors when they had arrived, and now I knew why. They had all arrived on horseback. There was a string of ponies hitched to what I had thought was a decorative hitching rail. I knew that many of them must have come a long way, and I wondered how they'd arranged that. After all, twenty miles was only half an hour in a car; but it was the better part of a day on a horse for a senior citizen ... even if he was an Indian.

Anyway, BlueBird went over and started chanting near the H2. That started the cycle of chants over again. When that was finished, they began to filter back into the house. The old man who'd started it all said something to Arti, in Navajo.

When they were gone, she went to BlueBird and asked what he'd meant, as she didn't have that extensive of a vocabulary.

BlueBird smiled enigmatically and said, "He said to refrain from sex tonight, because the Blessingway is not complete."

I was close enough that I could see Artemis Desmonopolous blush in the light that shone from the house.

We were alone in the darkening desert. I said, "Well, that's one activity that's out. Any other ideas?"

"You're a dirty old man. We should get ready for the trip," said my Drill Sergeant.

The next morning, the first thing I did was go outside. I was exiting the camper to begin to break down the jacks and braces that held it in place.

I was taken aback by the fifteen Indians standing on the porch of the adobe ranch house, some were wrapped in blankets to keep away the early morning chill. They were all singing some sort of repetitive chant, quietly. The volume picked up when they saw I was awake. Navajo Pete broke away from the chanting group, and came over.

"They've been at it all night, and they're going to be at it 'till sundown. You just finish your hookup and get going. We're all glad you came."

He melted back into the chanting group. If you listened carefully, you could hear a Creole accent, mixed in among all the Navajo words.

Arti came out and did a little bow toward the group. She hauled a cooler into the H2, and went around to get in the driver's side. The car fired right up, of course. It pulled forward and backed up perfectly aligning with the hitch on the camper. I lowered the camper onto the H2's trailer hitch and made the electrical connection.

With a final wave, we headed out of the Navajo Nation. About a quarter mile down the road, we passed a caravan of trucks and horse trailers, parked on the side of what passed for a road. That ended the mystery of a dozen very old Indians riding all day and night to arrive. It was a real LOL moment.

"Io, when we get a little way down the road, pull over a moment. I have to transfer the rifle back to the camper."

She did, and I did.

"What is our new destination, Zeus?" said the avatar of our abiological companion.

"Back to Austin, by the fastest route possible. We have to make a stop, there, and we have to get to Central Florida 'tout de suite.'"

"I can not go any faster over these roads, Zeus. I am sorry about that. I think it would be unsafe considering the camper."

"Io," said Arti, "I don't think anyone could do better than you at handling this vehicle. That was an amazing job in lining up the hitch. You got it on the first time!"

"It was a simple matter of vector analysis, Artemis. You were wrong, you know. It is no harder to back up than go forward."

"Yeah. For you maybe. I'd still be back there trying to get everything lined up," she smiled, and turned to me. "Zeus, do you want to discuss the Spirit Advisor that's inside you?"

Uh oh. I didn't think that would slide past the consulting detective living at 221B Camper Street – or was that Baker Street.

"No, I'm not ready to discuss that," I said. "It's complicated."

"Sure thing. Just say 'Good morning' to the Spirits for me."

"She knows," Martinez said in my and Io's 'input buffer.' "Not the details, but she knows."

"Yes," said Io.

"You, too, Io?" Arti said, lightheartedly. "I'm starting to get a complex. Everybody's in on the secret but me. But that's okay. I can cope – and not freak out."

"Arti..." I started.

"Really, it's okay."

We continued to raise a dust cloud, as we went down the dirt road, one that would have made the 7th Cavalry proud. On reflection, maybe General Custer wouldn't have been so proud. It wasn't exactly stealthy. Besides, I didn't think the Big Horn area was desert, it was mostly grasslands. I found myself getting mentally tied up in all the old Indian stories that I'd heard and the movies I'd seen.

Finally we found the paved road, and Arti suggested we take the road she'd taken to get down to the Petrified Forrest. Fastest way to the Interstate, she said.

We accelerated to about sixty for about an hour and there it was: a Waffle House. I knew we weren't lost. In the south or southwest, there was a Waffle House at just about every Interstate exit. Then we varied between sixty-five and ninety-five, depending on the nearness of the local police and highway patrol cars.

"Io, I have to make a call to my supplier in Austin. Can you make it untraceable and scrambled please?" I asked after a while.

"Zeus, I do that as a matter of course."

"Wait," said Arti. She pulled a new mobile device from her backpack. It looked like all the others of its genre: like a cell phone. "This is a new one I picked up for you. It's shock proof, water proof, everything else proof, including totally secure, thanks to Io."

"Where did you get that? How did you pay for it?"

"I did a little shopping at a store that Io found for me. Remember when I took the morning off? It wasn't just to buy melons you know. I paid for it with my credit card. And before you get too excited, Io said my card was now invisible to anybody but her."

"That is true, Zeus. I have isolated Artemis' cards and phone, as I have done for yours," chirped the avatar.

Damn women are ganging up on me.

"Or doing the things you'd have done, if you'd thought about it," Martinez said.

You too? I thought to my 'Spirit.'

I took the new phone from Arti with a small nod. "Did you get one for yourself? You need one, too, you know."

Arti tried to stifle a laugh, and failed. "Mine's in camo color. Yours is black, 'cause you're more sneaky."

I sighed and activated the phone. Once I found out the high-tech methods it used, I pushed a button and got a dial tone. Punching in Papa Hollerith's number, I waited while it rang. Nice of the Arti/Io combine to move all the numbers in my phone index to the new device.