Cole was thankful to at least have that small mercy. The humming comforted him, even as the end drifted nearer. He leaned back onto the ground and started to close his eyes, as the humming comforted him.
“It’s over . . . or it will be soon,” he said. “I’m so sorry, for everything.”
That’s when the sky opened up and a ray of light pummeled the ground below. It was happening in the distance, about two hundred and fifty yards away. Cole watched as ice and snow was tossed into the air in big chunks. It was close enough that Cole could feel the shockwaves. He held the Box close for fear that it might blow away.
“They’re starting orbital bombardment,” Cole said. “Tully must have reached the Astraeus in time.”
Because everything always comes up aces for Tully. Everything always goes his way.
He had held out hope that something, anything, would have stopped him. He pictured his precious Scout ship splattering against one of the rocks, or perhaps the shielding on the ship failing and Tully flash frying. He immensely enjoyed picturing Tully sweating up a storm in the Scout ship until all his flesh peeled out in a radioactive firestorm, revealing the hollow, useless bones beneath.
But Tully had made it back to the fleet. And now the Astraeus was bombarding the moon with everything it had. They were probably using the long-range scanners to detect any vibrations on the moon caused by the railgun fire. Once they detected tremors, they would dispatch shielded nukes in the same location.
It was an exercise in futility, Cole knew. The Sovereign had people in the fleet. There were others like him throughout the FDF who were quite far up the chain of command. They would nip this in the bud, preventing this campaign against the Sovereign from ever getting underway beyond that mission.
Still, it was of little comfort to Cole, slowly dying on a cold moon as the enemy prepared to rain hell down upon him. By now, Cole guessed, the Astraeus had launched a shielded nuclear mission. He guessed it would take five minutes before the missile struck where the rail gun had. If the blast didn’t kill him, the resulting EMP would knock out any remaining life support functions in his armor.
If his air supply lasted that long to begin with.
He cradled the Box closer. The Box had showed him the wonders of the universe. It had made him understand that human life deserved to be brief, since it was short-sighted and self-destructive. The Cure would be complete, with or without him. Every last strain of humanity, in all its pestilent variations, would be wiped out sooner or later.
He just wished he would be around to see it. Cole wished that he had succeeded in his mission. He wanted so badly to please the Sovereign, and his desire to do so outweighed his current need to wrap his hands around Private Lance Tully’s throat and squeeze the life out of him. He wanted so badly for that to happen. But in the end, he had failed. The seed-ship would be destroyed, along with him and the Box. This mission ended in death and failure. He wanted to cry, but he knew it would be a useless waste of air.
“What . . . what do you mean it’s not over?” Cole said.
The Box hummed in response. Cole’s eyes lit up.
“The Signal . . . it got through after all!” Cole felt his heart racing.
If the Signal made it through the radiation band, Cole realized, all was not lost. There was at least one other seed-ship somewhere in the cosmos. Perhaps more. And if the Signal made it all the way to the mothership, that that meant the mission hadn’t been a failure.
Quite the opposite, it had been a sweeping success.
“This is . . . is . . . wonderful,” he coughed. He could feel the life rushing from his body as his air supply plummeted. His limbs felt heavy and he could only achieve the slight tremble in his body without serious effort.
“Once the seed-ships are active,” Cole said. “The Fleet won’t know what hit them. No one will be ready.”
Not even Private Lance Tully.
Twenty-Three
Cole would have his revenge. Tully might think he was safe, entrenched with the rest of the FDF on the Astraeus, but once the Sovereign seed-ships grew to maturity, there’d be no stopping them. Not now. Not ever. Either way, Lance Tully would die along with the rest of humanity. Cole just wished he’d be around to see it.
“Thank you . . . I’m glad . . . I could help,” Cole told the Box in a weak, dreamy voice.
Still, Cole had doubts. It would take time for the seed-ships to grow. It would take time for the mother ship to arrive. What if the FDF grew too strong in those ensuing years? What would he do then?
The Box hummed in response.
“Do I want to see it?” Cole asked. He frowned as he considered it.
He had interfaced with the Box directly before. The same material which made up the Seed-ships also lingered within his body. He could interface directly with the Box and see what she saw . . . but it also took a lot of his strength to do so. Cole grinned. What did he need with this strength anyway? He would be dead soon.
“Sure, why not,” Cole said as he laid his hands upon the Box.
He felt the humming grow louder, until it was a steady rhythm. He felt her energy course through his body. His eyes began to darken until they were a deep, dark shade of green, like the color of algae. He’d never get used to that part. Fortunately, he knew he wouldn’t have to, not for very much longer. The link was complete. He was one with her, just as he always wanted. Just as she promised.
And the Sovereign always kept her promises.
He could see what she saw, and the Sovereign saw everything across multiple galaxies throughout the cosmos. He was no longer confined to this dying moon. He was everywhere. He could see through the eyes of a flight tech officer holding a tablet aboard the Astraeus. He instinctively knew he was like him, a holder of the Sovereign. The man crept through the flight deck of the Astraeus, making necessary adjustments to the various ships and fighters docked on the Astraeus. And then, when no one looking, he transmitted the files to the Sovereign. The man glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. No alarms rang through the ship. Confident that his message had been received without any intrusion, the man went back to his work.
Cole saw through the eyes of many such people that day. Some of them were aboard the Sovereign. Some of them were scattered on various ships throughout the Fleet. Some were Marines like him. Others were medics, flight techs, officers, and even a few commanders. But all of them felt, like he did, that humanity’s best moments were long since behind them and the Sovereign’s Cure was the only true hope for the future. And there were so many like him in the Fleet.
So many.
He wasn’t sure if he was still breathing. He only felt the occasional breath leave his body. He could no longer see with his own eyes. He didn’t know if the nuke had been launched, if it had hit the planet yet, and how close he was to the end. But he didn’t need his own eyes to see.
Not anymore.
He felt as if he was lifted far into the cosmos, beyond the edges of the known space in which the FDF dwelt. That’s when he saw the Sovereign’s mothership. It was huge, far bigger than any seed-ship he had seen, and far larger than even the most insecure Fleet architect could ever construct. It was slowly inching towards the edge of known FDF space.
Cole was back on the icy moon now. He looked over to see the fiery mushroom cloud in the distance. The nuke had hit the moon. He lay back and saw the sky littered with green stars. He soon realized the Sovereign was still talking to him, still communicating with him. Each one was a seed-ship, sending their own signal back lightyears, filtered through the Sovereign and back to him. There were dozens, no hundreds of them.
And they were all awake.
This was Cole’s end. But the Sovereign’s work was just beginning. He was taking his last breath now. He understood this, just as the fiery shockwave of the nuclear blast raced towards him.
“Thank you,” he said with tear-streaked eyes. “Thank you for showing me.”
The green-tinted darkness cleared from hi
s eyes as the Sovereign ended her connection with him. He took his last breath before a cold stillness finally overtook him. He made one final motion before suffocation claimed him. His body and the Box were covered in the radioactive flame of the nuclear blast seconds later.
Cole died with a smile on his face.
Lone Marine Page 10