Back at Hopi, Juniper followed the momentous news streaming out of Window Rock. First, the Navajo Tribal Council voted to approve the Esplanade during an emergency session. Then, a young hitherto unknown rebel, Lyndon Za, had orchestrated a potentially course-changing protest rally under Window Rock. Thousands of Navajo had heard Za announce that he was the reincarnation of Navajo mythological hero Dawn Boy. Za—or Dawn Boy—had denounced the Chairman and Tribal Council as witches. Then he thundered the call for a total strike across all of Navajo land. Everything had closed down, and the tribal leaders were nowhere to be found. You couldn’t make this stuff up. Juniper, like the rest of the Navajo, was stunned—but hopeful.
Nobody claiming to be Dawn Boy had made himself known at any environmental protest where she’d been. Nor had such a person—or god—spoken before the Navajo Council.
Juniper had gone digging on the internet to find out who Za was. She turned up nothing but an announcement three years before in the Lake Powell Chronicle about a kid named Lyndon Za who had taken first place in a Page High School computer contest. Now he seemed to have risen from out of the blue—or from the Navajo First World.
Juniper decided to reach out to this mysterious leader of a new indigenous movement focused on stopping the Esplanade. They both seemed to be battling the same demons. Maybe they could work together. But it needed to be done carefully.
She made first contact with Lyndon by sending him an anonymous and encrypted email containing some very incriminating information about the Esplanade that she had uncovered in combing through Vladimir Petrov’s company files.
Less than an hour later she got an email back from Lyndon addressed to her personal email account, asking how she liked the Navajo jail in Window Rock. Lyndon Za had easily discovered her identity.
Juniper was both scared and intrigued.
Who was this clever young man? He must also be a fellow hacker.
She replied to his email, inviting him to come to her house in Oraibi the next day.
Za arrived early the next morning on his battered Indian Chief motorcycle. With the bike’s sputtering engine reverberating between the stacked houses of the ancient village, people came out to see what the racket was about.
They saw a Navajo styled after Hollywood rebels like Marlon Brando, not that they knew who he was. Za wore a black leather jacket, cowboy boots, and wrap-around sunglasses but no helmet. His long black hair was tied in a tight ponytail.
Juniper watched from inside her pueblo while Chuka scratched at the screen door, trying to get out and greet the noisy stranger.
“Stop it, Chuka,” ordered Juniper in a hushed voice.
Lyndon dismounted and stretched his arms to the sky. The man was a tall drink of water. He adjusted his sunglasses and smiled up at the sun. Then he unzipped his jacket, revealing a green T-shirt with a black drawing of a smiling Bob Marley. Above the Marley likeness were the words “GET UP!” Under the headshot were the words “STAND UP!”
Juniper smiled. “This guy’s cool,” she said softly to herself.
As Lyndon walked toward the door, Juniper felt a tingle of excitement. A giant of a woman herself, she favored tall men.
She decided not to make Lyndon knock, instead opening the door and letting Chuka break the ice. The three-legged mutt spun excited circles in the dust and whined to be petted.
Lyndon obliged. As he leaned down and scratched the happy hound around the ears, he looked up and almost lost his balance. Standing before him was the most striking woman he had ever seen.
Juniper had not dressed specially for him. She was wearing her usual Tevas, purple swim shorts, and a red tank top over a black sports bra. Her red hair hung loosely around her shoulders. She stood in a ray of sunshine just outside the door; in that light, her head seemed to give off a soft glow.
Lyndon felt about fifteen years old again, an awkward fool in the presence of an Amazon goddess.
Juniper could see what was happening. It had happened before. It was her height and red hair. She usually got off on wielding such power over stupid little boys. But not this time.
“I liked you better on the motorcycle,” she said with a laugh.
Lyndon, confused, returned his attention to Chuka.
“Let’s start over,” said Juniper. “I am Juniper Hatch. And I don’t bite. Neither does the dog. His name is Chuka.”
Lyndon felt himself relaxing and he extended his hand. “I am Lyndon Za.”
Juniper smiled and shook his hand. “Let’s go up on the roof.” She led Lyndon to the back of the stone pueblo, where they climbed the ladder.
Chuka barked at being left behind. His mistress pointed her left forefinger at the dog and he went silent. “Good dog,” said Juniper. “You guard the front.” Chuka obediently turned around.
“Now that’s a well-trained dog,” said Lyndon admiringly. “Our dogs won’t even come when we call them to dinner.”
“Try cutting off one of their legs,” chuckled Juniper, “that’ll get their attention.”
Lyndon’s mouth opened with alarm.
“Kidding,” chuckled Juniper.
And Lyndon’s heart melted.
Lyndon stared at the San Francisco Peaks with wonder. Though over a hundred miles away, they seemed close enough to touch. “You have an amazing view,” he said.
“Thanks. I made it myself,” Juniper said, sitting in one of a pair of once-white plastic chairs.
“So, you’re like the queen of the one-liners, is that it?”
Juniper suddenly lost her glibness.
“I have an old Hopi friend named Albert—like, I mean he’s really old. He says I use humor like a stick, to keep people at bay.”
Lyndon nodded as he sat down in the chair next to Juniper. “Yeah, I usually just run away.”
Looking into the Navajo’s green eyes, Juniper didn’t feel like running away—or keeping him at bay.
For the next two hours, the tall young people strolled together down their separate memory lanes. Unconsciously, they touched each other lightly to make their points—on the hand, on the knee—and with every story, they grew closer. And after hearing about their lonely childhoods, each realized they had a lot in common. Especially both being twins. What were the odds?
When Juniper described her vision quest to Lyndon, and he revealed his Dawn Boy dream, they agreed that it looked like they both just might be working for the gods of their respective tribes. The odd thing was that neither had ever been drawn to their tribes’ religion.
That revelation led to a rambling discussion about how closely tied the Navajo and Hopi cosmology seemed to be, like Navajo Witches and Hopi Two Hearts. When both previous worlds were flooded, they had escaped through a reed tunnel—the Navajo came through one in the sky and the Hopi from underground. Both tribes landed here together on the earth.
The connection they felt was more than sexual. They were finishing each other’s sentences and were like giggling electric wires. There was chemistry between them.
“I know we just met, but I really like you, Juniper,” said Lyndon as he took her hand in his own.
Juniper leaned forward and they kissed softly, and only briefly. There might have been more touching, but a large black raven landed on the stone block wall in front of them, parading back and forth like Charlie Chaplin, screaming its head off.
The Navajo word for raven was Gáagii, so Lyndon started calling out to him Gáa-gii! Gáa-gii! It sounded remarkably like the raven’s call.
The raven went silent and then tipped its head to the side as it hopped up and down, looking at Lyndon and Juniper with great interest.
The humans fell into laughter that ended in embraces, their hands tentatively exploring each other’s bodies.
Juniper was the first to come up for air. “Whoah, big fella. I think we need to remember why we’re here.”
Lyndon blushed as he rubbed his crotch with embarrassment. “You’re right, we need to focus on the target. How can we defeat the Esplanade? How can we together use our talents most effectively?”
Juniper brushed back her loose hair. “Did you get to look over the material I uncovered from that creep Petrov’s files?”
“Yeah,” replied Lyndon as he eyed the woman next to him hungrily. “You did an amazing job. If we can get that information into the right hands, that guy Petrov and the Tribal Council are going to be in hot water.”
Juniper nodded. At the wall, the crow was still sitting quietly like a sentinel. Was he listening?
“I’ve put a lot of thought into this. I’ve noticed there is one reporter who seems to always be around covering the Navajo Council, and he manages to get the story right most times. The guy’s name is Josh David, and he’s with the Arizona Republic.”
“I’ve noticed that guy too,” said Lyndon. “I never met him, but he’s usually on the right wavelength.”
Juniper pointed downward. “What say we go downstairs and send Mr. David an anonymous message that can’t be traced, with a file attachment, providing him with all of the incriminating evidence about Vladimir Petrov’s crooked business dealings we have found so far.”
Lyndon stood up. “Let’s go fishing.”