The Last Eternity
A super soldier that hears voices from the past must use his skills to preserve the future.
cover art by Matt Forsyth
Jerr Manivo, a super soldier protecting the Dominion, can see seconds into the future. This grants him such battlefield supremacy that he’s been cloned by the thousands over many millennia. But when his visions show the empire’s future destruction, his superiors mark him for termination. After escaping, he steals a warship and searches the galaxy for answers. What he discovers will not only bring the Dominion to its knees, but reveal who he once was—and who the empire’s victims hopes he will be.
The Last Eternity: Excerpt
“Evasive!” he cried as the dropship came within three hundred feet of the station.
The pilot shouted over his shoulder. “Sir, there’s nothing--!”
“Do it!” Jerr yelled.
The dropship swerved away as the craters around the station exploded, flinging shrapnel and stone out into space. Part of the asteroid crumbled. The station’s outer towers burst with flame, then blew apart in terrifying silence, the vacuum extinguishing the brief fires. Warning alarms blared aboard the dropship as pebbles and wreckage enfiladed its hull. The main cabin depressurized, but with every soldier in a Starjumper, and the crew in full gear, no one would suffocate. The loss of pressure made the vessel wobble, however, and more wreckage struck it. Jerr’s bones shook from the impact.
The dropship spun away from the asteroid.
Jerr’s boots kept him in place with magna-grips, but his stomach churned from the spin’s velocity. His HUD lit up with g-force warnings. Several soldiers puked in their suits; a few blacked out. Some, their bodies not enhanced like Jerr’s, screamed as the forces inflicted pain. He tried reaching the cockpit but too many troops blocked his path.
They were spinning toward Bhaellator. It would be like a fly impacting a solar shield array on Uria, his homeworld.
“We warned them.”
Jerr let his mind slip into Rezal state. Only the most elite Dominion troops mastered it and scant few among those could maintain it longer than a few seconds.
A few seconds was all he needed.
Rezal was a trance-like state of mind, during which the brain received even more of the body’s energy, calculating faster. One could make snap decisions, normally requiring too many precious seconds, in the most stressful situations. Rezal state had saved Jerr’s life, and the lives of his comrades, on a hundred different worlds.
Blast open hull fire thrusters then cannonade while braced against the bulkhead.
The plan, complete with estimated chronology, trajectories, and success ratios, zipped through his mind. He had to catch his breath after devoting so much energy to the brain. If not for his suit, he’d probably be lying in a heap on the deck.
The dropship continued spinning. More soldiers blacked out. The pilot sat limp in his restraints. The HUD warned of mounting g-force pressures. Bhaellator loomed closer.
Firing his diffusion blasters, Jerr turned the portside hatch into slag. One final shot flung it off its liquefied hinges. Atmosphere blew out the opening, along with a few cups and tools. The ship’s spin slowed but the rotation’s direction remained the problem. If he was wrong, they’d all become scrap within twenty seconds.
Jerr braced himself against the starboard hull. Timed his shot with the interval of spotting Bhaellator above and the interval of observing nothing but space. Without Rezal he’d never make such a mark. He fired.
The pilot shouted over his shoulder. “Sir, there’s nothing--!”
“Do it!” Jerr yelled.
The dropship swerved away as the craters around the station exploded, flinging shrapnel and stone out into space. Part of the asteroid crumbled. The station’s outer towers burst with flame, then blew apart in terrifying silence, the vacuum extinguishing the brief fires. Warning alarms blared aboard the dropship as pebbles and wreckage enfiladed its hull. The main cabin depressurized, but with every soldier in a Starjumper, and the crew in full gear, no one would suffocate. The loss of pressure made the vessel wobble, however, and more wreckage struck it. Jerr’s bones shook from the impact.
The dropship spun away from the asteroid.
Jerr’s boots kept him in place with magna-grips, but his stomach churned from the spin’s velocity. His HUD lit up with g-force warnings. Several soldiers puked in their suits; a few blacked out. Some, their bodies not enhanced like Jerr’s, screamed as the forces inflicted pain. He tried reaching the cockpit but too many troops blocked his path.
They were spinning toward Bhaellator. It would be like a fly impacting a solar shield array on Uria, his homeworld.
“We warned them.”
Jerr let his mind slip into Rezal state. Only the most elite Dominion troops mastered it and scant few among those could maintain it longer than a few seconds.
A few seconds was all he needed.
Rezal was a trance-like state of mind, during which the brain received even more of the body’s energy, calculating faster. One could make snap decisions, normally requiring too many precious seconds, in the most stressful situations. Rezal state had saved Jerr’s life, and the lives of his comrades, on a hundred different worlds.
Blast open hull fire thrusters then cannonade while braced against the bulkhead.
The plan, complete with estimated chronology, trajectories, and success ratios, zipped through his mind. He had to catch his breath after devoting so much energy to the brain. If not for his suit, he’d probably be lying in a heap on the deck.
The dropship continued spinning. More soldiers blacked out. The pilot sat limp in his restraints. The HUD warned of mounting g-force pressures. Bhaellator loomed closer.
Firing his diffusion blasters, Jerr turned the portside hatch into slag. One final shot flung it off its liquefied hinges. Atmosphere blew out the opening, along with a few cups and tools. The ship’s spin slowed but the rotation’s direction remained the problem. If he was wrong, they’d all become scrap within twenty seconds.
Jerr braced himself against the starboard hull. Timed his shot with the interval of spotting Bhaellator above and the interval of observing nothing but space. Without Rezal he’d never make such a mark. He fired.
