Chapter 8: The End of The Line
Four months had passed. The Terran Empire reeled from the savage blows that the enemy had inflicted on them. The Interstellar Alliance had been ravaged and what was left was a shell of former power and glory. There was something very...Roman in the way the Hand continually marched, pushing further and further into enemy territory. No stop, no rest. An inexorable movement that ground down the defenses of the enemies they encountered. Planets were a washed in fire and death, and all resistance crumbled.
The Imperial Leadership of the Terran Empire fell back to Babylon 5, abandoning everything for a tighter defense. There was simply too much to defend. Perhaps they stood a chance in a very compact formation.
Stars. There are so many stars. Each one a ship, a fighter that lights the galaxy for those who but looked.
Prince Vintari, the son of Emperor Cartagia stood on the observation deck of Babylon 5. All these thoughts passed through his mind. He would let that young what's-his-name continue leading the fleets in the field. And he'd let Lord-General Marrago continue planning the overall strategy. He was simply here to give a good face for the people of the Empire.
"Your Highness," a voice said from behind him, and he turned slightly to see a small human with black hair and black leather uniform approach him.
"Yes?" Vintari asked, frowning, "May I help you?"
"I was going to ask the same for you," the man said, "My name is Alfred Bester. I am a telepath and a pretty strong one, not that I boast of course."
"Of course," the Prince nodded although he couldn't be sure just how sincere the proclamation of modesty could be if one touted about it. "But no, no, I am fine."
"Really?" the man asked, moving to his side, "Your empire stands on the edge of ruin. Your emperor lies in a coma due to the injuries he received on Centauri Prime. Your military is about to revolt against you in protest to the never-ending war. There's alot of crap going down."
"Yes," Vintari nodded his head, his youthful complexion hiding his inner turmoil, "It is a bunch of 'crap' as you so succinctly put it."
"Words come easy for me," Bester said, moving closer to him. Vintari could feel the Imperial Guard stiffen as he moved closer. "As does leadership. I am a man of many talents. One of my talents if very helpful for one wanting to shed the responsibility of command for a while."
"Oh really?" Vintari asked, folding his arms. "I am responsible for forty billion subjects. The war makes no differance. Nor does the fact the Emperor is indisposed. We must carry on."
"Yes," Bester smiled, now at his side. "A nation needs it's leader. Without it, they would fall."
"Of course," Vintari agreed, his accent rolling his words to make it sound so rich and full of life.
"That's why you shall die," Bester said and throwing his hands out, the windows shattered to the observation deck.
The guards were sucked out into space and Vintari was pulled out with them, the vacuum of air trying to take him with it. His hands desperately clutched at a twisted piece of framing for the shattered viewport. The man sneered at him, turning and walking away. The fierce howling of the air drowned out his hearing, but slowly he pulled himself up and in, knowing that emergency bulkhead would slid into place. And he really didn't want to be caught out here in case his body was caught in it.
Alarms blared throughout the station as Lord-General Jonah Marrago walked with a limp around the Operations Center of Babylon 5. Explosion after explosion shook the inside of the station and he was at a lose of what was going on.
"Brown Sector has sustained fifty percent internal damage," one of the Ops technicians reported as another explosion shook the station. "The entire section has just been gutted. Emergancy bulkheads have been erected at any hull breach we might have."
He rubbed his forehead, the loose skin dragging as he pulled his fingers together and spread them out. This was not what was supposed to happen. These people were supposed to die in glorious combat. Not internal explosions.
"What exactly is going on?" he demanded, "Are these bombs?"
"I really don't know sir," she replied, "But whatever is going on, it's coming this way."
So much could possibly be happening that it was hurting his brain to think of. Any number of things could be going on. A return of Shadows. Temporal vortex. Bombs. Invisible warriors. Cloaked ships. Hopefully that wasn't going to be the case, because he'd hate to find out what was going on.
"Seal off Green Sector," he ordered, slapping the railing near the command console, "Get a containment crew down there."
"Jump gate activated," the navigations officer called from his station.
"There was no scheduled visits today!" he snarled, spinning around, "Activate all defenses. Scramble the Epsilon Defense Fleet to move into Battle Formation Gamma Baker. We will make sure whoever comes through will die."
d out of hyperspace, it's weapons firing at the Terran fleet gathered before it. A massive wave of star-ship preceded it, firing as well, providing cover for it. The Hand had come to eradicate Babylon 5, the last great hope of the Empire. Once it was destroyed, all people would cower before the might of the Hand and the war would be over.
The space became a flood of directed energy blasts from weapons. Ship to ship weapons roared and defensive fire zig-zagged throughout space. And the Hand marched on.
"We got more wounded incoming," Doctor Sarah Chamber called out, Stephan Franklin rubbing his brow as he rushed over to the triage section of sickbay. A constant stream of people were flowing towards his medlab, and he hated to think they were going to run out of space as fast as it was threatening to happen.
"I want minor injuries to remain in the main medlab," he ordered, working his way past patients, "Secondary injuries will be moved to Medlab 2. I want Medlab 3 and 4 to be devoted to those who need surgery. Triage doctors go to those rooms. Nurses and pediatricians and whomever else we got, they will remain here and help out the less injured."
He stepped out of the door, moaning filling the room. And there was Bester, standing there. The man wasn't doing anything, taking up space and that annoyed him. He grabbed him and pushed him to the side, out of his way.
"If you aren't going to help, leave!" he growled.
"No Doctor!" Bester shouted, lifting his hand, "It is you who will leave."
A flash of light surrounded him and spreading outwards, the entire medlab and outside erupted in fire and death. Franklin was thrown down the hallway and smashed into a bulkhead, his head cracking open. Blood splattered against the wall as he hit, his body slamming down against the floor. The bulkhead above him shattered and collapsed, pinning him underneath it.
The Imperial Fleet fired everything they had, ships moving in to try to flank the Hand ships. But more stars came flying towards them, each one firing their powerful weapons. Ships hulls fractured, fire consuming them.
One sat on the bridge of the Abyss Destroyer, the main weapon charging. He drummed his fingers on the throne, the high metal back sizzling from the hatred and base desires that poured from him. No one dared look upon him.
He wore black armor, a smoky haze surrounding the black metal. On the pieces of armor were etched screaming faces. Moans rose from his armor, which not only was made of metal, but also subjugated souls. A midnight black cloak was bound on his shoulders, spikes rising from the shoulder plates. A pillar of black fire was seen where the hed would have been, and a crown of silver and diamonds sparkled.
"Is the weapon ready to fire?" he asked, his voice of infinite rage, timeless love, unending hate.
"We will be able to fire in ten minutes, My Lord," his servant said, standing near the front of the bridge, his face turned away from his Lord and Master. He might have once been Minbari, but his skin was cracked, his eyeballs a milky mass held by the thin film that encased them.
"Very good," he smiled, leaning back in the chair, clasping his hands together. The gauntlets the hands were in made a sizzling sound as they came together. "Begin the assault on Earth. They will pay for birthing the man who made this Empire."
"Yes, My Lord," the servant acknowledged the order.
"We've got incoming ship dropping out of hyperspace at the very edge of the solar system," a controller said, calling back to Sol's Defensive Commander.
"Whose ships?" General Sarah Chambers asked, swerving around in her chair from her cup of tea.
The Controller went ghostly white. "The Hand," she replied.
"It's time," David Martel said, sitting on his ship. It was a White Star, one of the original models. He had saved it from becoming scrap by bribing the manager of the decommission center at the edge of Drazi space to give it to him.
His crew had for months searched for the planet that the Great God was coming through. They knew a portion of his soul was already on this side, leading the assault on the powers of the Galaxy. But he was not completely across, and if they attacked now, while his soul was still transitioning from one universe to the next, they'd effectively kill him.
And with his death, the Hand would cease to be.
He looked at his crew. Nafeel, the hearty Narn. Tirk, loyal Drazi. His wife Sarah, who had stuck through it with him. And others who had joined him recently. This would be hard to accept their deaths, but they did so for a greater cause.
"We live for the One," he said, turning towards the viewscreen, "We die for the one."
The White Star exited hyperspace, and where a planet should have been, was instead a massive ring. Sickly green light throbbed for it, and they could see a black cloud seeping through it, heading in a single direction.
"Where's the planet?" Malcolm frowned, squinting at his panel, "There surely was a planet."
"Zalecious Prime," David shrugged his shoulder, "it would appear is a doorway, not a planet. Either way, we go in and destroy it. Full speed ahead."
"Increase forward firepower!" Marrago ordered, the station shaking as another wave of stars flew in a strafing run, plastering the hull with fire.
"We're down to thirty percent effective firepower," the weapons officer replied, a series of explosions erupting from the wall, "We aren't getting anymore."
"We won't give up!" he slammed his fist in his palm, "We won't."
"They're charging their main gun!" another officer reported, "We've only got a minute to firing!"
The fifty weapons platforms surrounding Earth continued firing a barrage of missiles, the missiles flying through space at the oncoming ships. Their enemies were not flying the traditional star shaped fighters, but they were flying an armada of ships similar to Minbari cruisers. They were only six times larger, six times thicker armor and six times as armed. The missiles splashed against the hulls, sections blowing away, but these missiles could not completely penetrate the seventy feet of hull.
The ships roared past them, many flying right through the defensive platforms, destroying them as they rammed into them. Damaged though they were, they continued onwards, nearing planetary range.
"This ring is too powerful to destroy!" Malcolm shouted, their weapons striking the energy barrier protecting the ring, which absorbed each blast with a wavy effect on the shields. The White Star flew around the outside of the ring, the whole thing larger than even Z'ha'dum had been.
"We can't just give up!" David growled, his fist clenching, "We can destroy it! Heck, they don't even have a fleet protecting it!"
"That's because the shields are too strong for anything we might have," Sarah replied, pushing the button to fire the weapons. "We're draining the weapons faster than we can even think.
David sunk his head into his hands. No, this wasn't happening! He had spent years tracking this thing, trying to find it. He was this close to defeating the Hand, and was it really just going to end like this? Even David of Old had slain the giant Goliath, and that had been with a pebble! Surely this was no different.
"We can't destroy it?" David asked, hating the words as he spoke them.
"Perhaps you can't," a voice said. A flash of orange appeared on the deck and it condensed, becoming a holographic figure. It was Draal, Keeper of the Great Machine. His arms were folded and he looked very sad. "But I can."
The transmission ended and David saw a massive vortex open from hyperspace. The Great Machine arose, the machine looking like a city of metal and stone, flying on a sphere. The city glowed as the main weapons of the Great Machine went into effect, and soon massive beams of energy lanced forth, slicing through the shields and striking the gate. The shields collapsed, and the beam kept slicing, cutting great sections from the gateway.
"Fire when ready, my servant," the Great God said, smiling as his victory was near.
His servant smiled, and turned to his crew. It was time to do what was needed to be done. Destroy the infidels that dare inhabit that station. They still had many ships, firing away with everything they had, but it was nothing but pests. With the Great God on board, they would not be harmed.
Suddenly, a scream rent through the ship as the Great God felt the Gateway collapsing, being destroyed. His life force was split in two, and there was no way he could save the gate. He thrashed around, tearing at his chest. The Dea-Mans, the tortured prisoners, his ghastly priests, his warriors. They all felt his pain and wailed, gnashing their teeth.
The great soul of the ship screamed in pain as well and the weapon misfired. Hie fleet became confused, standing still, unsure of what to do. Forces all across the galaxy stood at a stand still, suddenly unsure of what to do.
"The Gateway!" he screamed, "It's under attack!"
Lotaria had been moving to the Operations deck, a path of destruction behind her. No one had dared resist her, thinking she was this Alfred Bester. Fools! But then she felt the Great God...dying. She stood there, eyes wide. No, this could not be!
There was a popping noise, and Galen and Gideon moved to either side of her. She did not move, the dark red lights of battle throbbing around her, as if they were a heartbeat for Babylon 5. A heartbeat she detested.
"Surrender!" they said in unison, pointing the tips of their staffs towards her. "We know who you are, foul prophetess! But we know you can be redeemed. Surrender, and we will spare your life."
"No!" she screamed and with a wave and twirl of the male body she now posed, stretched out her arms to strike them both down. Galen and Gideon fired red light at her, spells of death. They hit her and as her body fell to the ground, her last though was, I live and die for Thee.
The Terrans had rallied, and they had lined up on either side of the Abyss Destroyer, firing massive broadsides that were unending. Explosions shook the ship, and most everyone was already dead. The Great God was paralyzed, unable to react. And with him, his ship was.
His ship had meant to be an axe. Cutting through the unfaithful. He had come to proclaim the truth of the universe, convert everyone to a way that would save them all from the unbelief of others. But now he was immobilized, watching everything fall apart around him.
He would live though. Even if this body failed and he would die, a portion of his soul would always exist. He would never truly be dead, and he'd be able to inhabit the bodies of those who were mean-spirited, self-righteous. Hypocrites and liars. Those who looked for the truth but were unable to find it themselves.
An explosion ripped through the bridge, and his servant was cast to the ground. The ship was in turmoil, begging him to save it. But he could not. His soul had also provided the shielding for the gateway. And with it falling apart, he was too divided.
"Forgive me," his servant said, his once red blood now the dark ooze of the blessed.
"There is nothing to forgive," the Great God said, closing his eyes. "Sleep now. We shall save these people. One way or the other."
He felt the fires of death consume him as the whole ship erupted, flames roaring up to take him away. Oh yes, he'd live, but only a mere shadow of himself.
