Assault on Atlantis

CHAPTER EIGHT

“God-damnit,” Captain Anderson cursed. The mitten on his 19ht hand was still smoking from his vain attempt to hold Ensign Graeheme out of the gate.

Frost had the crystal skull cradled in his hands. There was a blue glow in the center of it, and his hands were warm. He pressed the skull against his chest, feeling the warmth penetrate the layers of clothing.

Anderson turned to Frost. ‘’Where the hell did he go?”

‘’To deliver the message. As I told you.” Frost reluctantly put the skull back in the box. He glanced toward the southern horizon. The glow was brighter. “Dawn” was only a few days away.

“Using a person’s life to deliver a message?”

“It’s war,” Frost said.

“War against who?” Anderson demanded ‘’What the hell ‘as that?”

Frost was latching the top of the box, apparently unconcerned about the loss of the ensign or the captain’s anger. “I don’t understand myself, but the thing that destroyed the sky, le big sphere, that’s the enemy.”

Anderson didn’t give up so easily. “You didn’t tell me this thing would take him. Did you see his skin? It was burning him alive.”

Frost stood with difficulty, hefting the box. “My dear sir, we’re all dead. At· least he went quickly and served a purpose. Let us all hope for the same fate.”