Crazy Horse shook his head. He knew this land intimately. A force coming from that direction would be channeled into one of several cuts coming down to the river. It would not be wise tactically, although a foe could approach unseen from the land beyond in that direction.
But the white man was not known for his tactics. Maybe tomorrow, Crazy Horse thought. Maybe they will come out of the hills in the morning. If that were the case, then he had better be prepared. Crazy Horse went in search of one of his ponies. He wanted to make a quick scout of the east side of the Greasy Grass to get a feel for the lay of the land.
But first, there was something he must do. Crazy Horse rode through the large encampment until he found the Miniconjous lodges. He saw several boys gathered near one, and he nudged his pony in that direction. The boys all stopped their play as he rode up.
Crazy Horse dismounted. The boys watched him without saying a word. He looked at them one by one. He felt a charge of power when his eyes touched upon a slight boy near the r: ear. The child held an old rifle in his hands. The stock had splintered and was wrapped with buffalo sinew to hold it together.
Crazy Horse crooked a finger and the boy came forward. The warrior held out his hand and the boy gave him the old rifle. Crazy Horse inspected it. Although old, it was well maintained.
“Have you counted coup?” Crazy Horse asked.
The boy shook his head.
“You are Walks Alone?”
The boy nodded.
“Can you speak?”
The boy began to nod, but caught himself. “Yes.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes.”
Crazy Horse took the leather satchel off his pony and held It out to the boy. “This is for you.”
Walks Alone took the satchel but didn’t open it, which Crazy Horse liked. “Where is your father?”
“He was killed by the Snakes while hunting.”
Indians versus Indian again. Crazy Horse thought. “Your mother?”
“She died giving birth two summers ago.”
“And the child?”
“Dead also.”
“Who takes care of you?” Crazy Horse asked.
“I take care of myself,” Walks Alone said. He paused. “But e old warriors who stay in the camp when the young warriors go to count coup — they let me enter their fire circle.”
“You listen to them?”
Walks Alone nodded. “I have learned much from listening.”
“And keeping quiet?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Crazy Horse pointed at the satchel. “Do riot open it. But keep it with you no matter what happens.”
Walks Alone nodded.
Crazy Horse mounted his pony. He looked up at the sun. The day was advanced past the mid-point. Perhaps it would not be today. But he felt his “brother’’ closing. He looked down at Walks Alone, the damaged, old rifle in one hand, the · satchel in the other. Everything fell into a shadow for a moment, and he glanced up, expecting to see a cloud passing in front, and he glanced up, expecting to see a cloud passing in front of the sun, but the sky was perfectly clear. A great weight pressed down on Crazy Horse’s heart as he forced himself to ride away from the boy.
He rode across the Greasy Grass and toward the bluffs on the eastern side when it struck him like a white man’s bullet in the chest that by giving the stone skull to Walks Alone he was helping fulfill the prophecy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“There’s only one problem,” Earhart said.
Dane Was examining the golden globe set on the pedestal in the center of the power room. “What’s that?”
“We need power to get this thing moving and no one has come back with a crystal skull yet.”
“We have to trust the Ones Before,” Dane said.
“We don’t even know who or what the Ones Before are,” Earhart pointed out.
Dane noted that the surface of the globe was marked. He leaned closer. Thin lines curled around the surface. It reminded him of something he had seen before. He felt a strange tingle in his hands.
“Let’s get going,” Earhart said as she turned toward the tube exiting the power room.
Dane reluctantly turned from the globe and followed her.
The ship’s engineers and reactor specialists had seemed happy simply to have something to do, although they had at first eyed the crystal skull with disbelief when Frost showed it to them. When he had explained as best he could what he had “seen” and “beard,” their disbelief faded and their interest perked up. They’d been at work ever since.
Word of the activity had spread quickly in the confined space of the submarine. After all, even though the Nautilus was a relatively large submarine, almost two thirds of that length was taken up by the reactor and shielding. By the second day of work, every member of the crew had been by the officers’ wardroom to see the crystal skull and the intricate wire frame the engineers were weaving around it. Although Frost had described what they were building, he’d had no idea why.
One of the engineers had tried to explain, as much as he understood, what they were doing. In essence, they were wrapping copper wire around the skull to help make it a part of a Tesla coil, but unlike one any of the engineers had ever seen before. They weren’t sure what the changes would produce, but they were faithful to Frost’s vision.
“It’s done,” Captain Anderson told Frost as the poet poked his head in the galley for about the fortieth time.
The skull was enshrined in copper wiring, only glimpses of it still visible. A dozen members of the crew were crowded in the wardroom, admiring the work. Captain Anderson seemed much less than happy that the work had been completed, and Frost knew why, because he had already told the captain what needed to be done next.
Anderson grabbed a mike hooked up to the ship’s intercom system. He clicked it twice to get everyone’s attention. Then e began. “Men, this is your captain. As you all know, we’ve n doing some special work for Mister Frost. Part of our mission up here. I know many of you have questions as to the exact nature of that mission, as I do,” Anderson looked over at Frost. “We came here because we were ordered to by Naval Command. Those who issued us those orders are dead. Our families are dead. Everyone on the planet other than us is most likely dead, and we will be shortly. That is our reality.
“Mister Frost believes, though, that there are other people who we can help.” Anderson paused. “I’m going to let Mister Frost tell you the rest.” He held out the mike.
Frost took it in his liver-spotted hand. He cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I” he paused as the captain pointed and whispered. “You have to press the button on the side.”
Frost nodded. He pressed the button and waited until the brief burst of static passed. “Gentlemen, we are indeed doomed. You have all heard the reports and seen the film footage of the strange craft that destroyed our planet’s atmosphere. I believe you will all agree that craft is not of our world. There are others, not of our world, but like us, who are also threatened by those who flew that craft and attacked us. “We can help them. I cannot explain it all. I ask you to have faith in what we must do.”
Frost released the button and took several breaths before pushing it again. “It is an axiom that man is at his best when times are the worst. We are facing our worst time, and I ask you to be your best.”
He released the button and handed the mike to Anderson. “You know what must be done.”
Anderson took the mike. “I need two volunteers. Two men to take what we have made here in the wardroom and bring it into our reactor core.”