Free Falling Star by Philip Chen Page B

disease at a young age and had quickly lost her vision.  Maybe it was her blindness that allowed her to see the young Mike in a light so different from other people.  Mike had never met any other girl who was as accepting as Corrine.
    After college, Mike was commissioned as an Ensign in the Navy and sent to Stanford.  Corrine went to graduate school at Columbia University to study linguistics.  After graduate school, Corrine went into government service.  Mike would write Corrine often, but her responses seemed less enthusiastic over time.  Writing letters were difficult for Corrine, as she had to use a Braille typewriter.
    In one letter, Corrine mentioned that her room mates thought he looked Mediterranean, not Chinese, in his photo.
    Eventually, time and distance proved too great; the letters became fewer and farther in between.  Then one day, Mike received a long letter from Corrine saying that things had changed and she could not write him anymore.
    Mike never married after losing Corrine.  He learned through friends that Corrine dated and married another researcher at the government linguistics laboratory where she worked.  But the dream was not about Corrine; it was the other dream; about dark shadows and enormity the likes that the world had never seen.
    Mike jumped out of bed and went into the bathroom.  He had a busy day planned with the SystemGraphon deal stalled as it was; last night had dragged into the early morning hours.    As Mike dressed for work, he glanced quickly at the clock.  Damn, he thought.  I should've set the alarm.

    0530 Hours: Wednesday, June 9, 1993: Navajo Indian Reservation, New Mexico

    The power that compels men does so inexplicably.  The affected do not understand or even, for that matter, begin to comprehend the power.  Such was the case of the lonely figure kneeling on the hard dirt of the barren, windswept mesa, his curved back contrasting dramatically with the sharp edged geometry of the rocky ledge.
    "O Bearer of Light, Creator of Day.  Give me a sign to chase the darkness away," he cried.
    The early morning sky was a rich royal blue.  Thin wisps of dark gray clouds traced with white spotted the dark blue sky.  In the distance, the cold, desert sky had begun to lighten.  There, the deep rich blue of night started to give way to the softer pastel blue of the day. 
    As the first golden light peeked over the horizon, a lone hawk floated over the plains searching for early morning thermals; hunting for his daily meal.
    In the darkness of the valley below, the soft, haunting tones of a Native American flute floated languidly into the waking sky.
    The old man knelt toward the beckoning dawn, resting on the heels of his naked feet.  His arms rested easily on the rough cloth of his trousers.  His wrinkled hands lay on his knees -- palms up as if in supplication.  He had welcomed the morning at this place and in this manner numerous times over the ninety-plus seasons he had walked the Earth.  It was not just a fascination with ceremony that called him to this place; it was his solemn duty as the medicine man, the Shaman, to understand the earth and its place in the cosmos.  The constellations in the rich darkness would guide his people through the many dangers that faced them on earth.
    Like the hawk floating effortlessly in the sky, the old man sought sustenance from the life-giving rays.  The urgency of this particular morning gave even more purpose to his entreaties.  It was the certainty of this date -- a certainty known only to Johnny Thapaha.
    Johnny Thapaha's white hair fell gently to his shoulders and was kept off his wrinkled face by a red bandanna tied around the crown of his head.  Around his neck was a turquoise bead necklace that ended in a silver and turquoise breastplate in the shape of an eagle with outstretched wings.
    His shirt was made from the flaxen cloth favored by older members of his tribe and was loosely gathered at his waist by a leather