Chapter 28: Defense of the Remnant

General Samuel Thompson strode into the war council chamber in the underground Epsilon Defense Command, the area where all the decisions for the military decisions of the Human Remnant were made. Standing in the room was also General-in-Chief William Hague, the sole commander of the military after General Richard Franklin's unfortunate death.

Also in the same room was Mr. Morden. Who knew what was going through the mind of that small weasel of a man. Thompson thought him to be a fool, and a particularly dangerous one at that. But, he didn't have any control over what happened.

"Thank you for coming, Sam," Hague nodded to him, his hands behind his back and glancing up at the see through glass sector map, "It's nice to have people hurry to these meetings."

"No problem, sir," he replied, stopping a few feet short of him, "My Shadow Squadron has been running routine checks and whatnot. But basically, just lots of boredom. Always nice to get off the ship."

"Oh," Hague said, "You'll be happy then."

Thompson raised his eyebrows, "Sir?"

"As of a few weeks, there has been a division among the powers that be in the galaxy," Morden explained, "Clark has been watching the situation keenly and believe now is the time to no longer sit on our hands."

"I don't understand," Thompson said, trying not to let the disgust towards the man show (and failing horrible).

"Two of the four rebel ships that joined Sheridan in Markab space have broken off and went off to do their own thing," Hague explained, "We aren't sure why, but we know one of the other ships was destroyed recently during combat. This is the one chance we have to pounce while these guys are vulnerable. I want you to take Shadow Squadron and hunt these guys down."

Thompson might not have been in one the know with a bunch of stuff. And frankly, he could care less. What he did care about was achieving military glory. And they were already calling him "The Modern Alexander" for his successful campaign again Minbar during the last war. This would solidify his claims to power. H-l, if he played this right, he'd be in charge of the military, and not the 'Doodling Gentleman'.

"Okay sir," he said, "Where do we go?"

Hague pointed at a small triangle of major stars roughly seven systems away. The Sh'lassen Triumvate. Yeah...Thompson felt with a scowl...this would be easy.


As Shadow Squadron jumped into hyperspace, the Governor smiled. Well, grimaced was more like it. Ever since Garibaldi and his cult had taken over the Raiders, they had been planning to strike a major blow against a major power. And the major power they'd be striking against was the resurgent Human Remnant.

He didn't understand why he had chosen the Remnant. But, it was clear he wanted to attack Epsilon III itself, New Geneva even, and retrieve something there. But, the Raiders fleet was small by comparison. Even with the losses inflicted by the year long civil war, there was still a hefty defensive force and it was growing.

The departure of the Shadow Squadron didn't even take out every Shadow Tech ship. There was a new Remnant Omega Destroyer-X called the Dark Worshipper commanded by Dexter Smith that had just become commissioned only a week previous. And not to mention the Babylon Stations, like Babylon 5 which defended the planet itself. But, the Raiders fighters had been upgraded somehow, although he doubted it'd be enough to stop a pulse cannon blast.

"Shadow Squadron has left the Epsilon Eridani," Milton reported, "Shall we commence the attack?"

At the nod of Garibaldi from his command chair, the Governor sighed and gave the order, "Attack."


"I don't like Sheridan controlling the Empire," Morden said, glancing over at Clark, "And luckily, I have enough power to keep the Shadow forces here out of Sheridan's complete control. Believe me, between the Squadron of Shadow ships here, and your own forces, we won't have to worry about him or the Vorlons."

Clark wasn't really paying attention. It was odd they hadn't flushed Garibaldi out. That was the whole deal behind sending out that information they'd recently gotten. But no, this Garibaldi guy wasn't so easy to bait. Well, once this battle was over, the rebels would be basically crushed.


"This is Captain Dexter Smith of the HRSS Dark Worshipper. You have violated Human Remnant space. Identify yourselves or be destroyed. You have ten seconds to comply. This is your only warning."

The massive warship bore down upon the thirty Raider ships as they flew forward. Very quickly the ten seconds were up, and firing a combination of lasers and pulse blasts, the whole area that had been taken up by the Raider ships was light up with explosions and booms.

But, the Raider ships flew through, not so much a scratch on what should have destroyed them. Starfuries moved to engage in V formations. They were plucked from the sky as if by a finger flying them aside. But the Raider ships blew past the Dark Worshipper which continued to pepper them with heavy fire, hoping to destroy one of the ships. Other starfuries joined the battle from the Babylon stations. But, each were destroyed at ranges that were well outside normal Raider ranges.

As the Dark Worshipper banked starboard in an attempt to swing around and hit them. Hyperspace opened, and a large dark green laser lanced out, striking the ship. The Dark Worshipper's side seemed to shrivel and soon, the entire ship was engulfed in a massive sheet of flames in the shape of a hand wrapping around it and squeezing.

Babylon 5 opened fire with their own defensive grid. One of the Raiders erupted after taking so many poundings, but they also blew right past it and another vortex opened. Another lancing beam hit it, and the side crumpled as if a large fist had hit it. It had been hit so hard it lost its orbit and began to slowly descend towards the shattered surface.

And from deep inside the planet, the Great Machine responded. And a heavy barrage of missiles rose from the surface.


"What's going on?" Clark demanded as the whole planet surface began to tremble from the explosions racking it. He stumbled as the planet seemed to buck.

It was impossible. Already one of their finest warships was destroyed and one of the stations was falling out of orbit. And from reports, the Great Machine was fighting back against the invaders. But, they were too fast, and they were strafing the planet's surface with explosive missiles that penetrated nearly a mile deep.

"It...it can't be," Morden muttered, "Not...not...the Hand."

Clark didn't get a chance to respond as the whole building collapsed upon him and Morden, killing both instantly.


Bester stumbled towards the evacuation shuttle, one of the few that was still on the planet. He shoved his way through the gathered crowd and forced himself onto the ship. He could feel the pilot was frantically trying to get the ship moving, but, he was too panicked to think clearly. Bester wouldn't die, not here, and walking into the cockpit stood behind the pilot.

"What...what...what are you doing here?" he asked, nearly bouncing off the walls in panic, "Get back to your..."

Bester crushed his hand and the man's brain simply imploded inside his skull. Bester swept his hand and the straps came undone and the man slide out and onto the floor. Stepping over the body, he settled in his seat and began to calmly get the ship up and running, flying towards the safety of space.


Garibaldi's shadowy image appeared in the underground facility. He dare not bring in the Eclipse to fight with the Great Machine directly. Three of the great races that inhabited this galaxy had built it, and it could easily match the Eclipse for firepower. And with the Shadow ships already flying towards his ship, he didn't want to have to fight both forces at the same time. Not that he couldn't but it would be too much a show of strength.

He looked around the patients, scanning their minds. When one mind didn't show what he wanted, the skulls fractured and the heart imploded. After twenty, he discovered the one he was after, and throwing his hand up, the tubules and devices retracted from her frail body, the hospital gown revealing more than it hide. But, he was above such petty concerns and base desires. Here was his love, but beyond that, her body would be a vessel to the Hand's Messiah for this Galaxy. He needed her to carry that child.

With a lifting of his hand, she levitated from the chair and flowed to his arms. Clutching her in his shadowy incorporeal image, Garibaldi swept his hand and flames erupted all around, the remaining patients and faculty screaming and writhing with pain as the flames engulfed them, both inside and out. As he and the woman vanished, the room exploded and a large sinkhole collapsed.


The Remnant fleet was in tatters. They were fighting a fierce containment action, trying to contain the Raiders, who continued massacring the seventy thousand people still living on Epsilon III. Every building was destroyed, and for every Raider ship shot down by both the Great Machine and the Remnant forces, five thousand people would die and a square mile would be destroyed of the cities. Almost as sudden as the assault began, the Raiders turned and raced away from the fleet. And if they thought the battle was over, they were mistaken, for the laser fired again, and the entire planet surface began to collapse. The Great Machine barely escaped, flying from the planet and the great energy shield surrounding it, keeping it from behind exposed to the vacuum of space. It fled into hyperspace, to seek the First Ones as they gathered elsewhere. But Epsilon 3 was destroyed.


Elizabeth Durman, love of the Michael Garibaldi that had been, awoke to a room, full of priests in white robes and acolytes in black robes. They bore a knife in one hand, and in the other, they bore a book, thick volume and with black binding. They chanted in a tongue she could not understand, but it filled her body with a putrid feeling. She tried to move, but only now did she realize that she was held down. She looked and hands, with long bony fingers with a reddish-black skin clutched her into place, hands too powerful to allow her to move.

And before her, stood Michael Garibaldi. His eyes were dark and empty and at once she felt it was a dream. Of course this couldn't be Michael, the man she loved.

"Mi-Michael?" she asked, "Love?"

"I am Michael Garibaldi," he said, a dark flame smoldering in his eyes, "But I take upon myself the name, Bopor Cbitna, Prophet of the Hand and you shall be called Cbrwehha Matn Anrbona, Mother of the Hand's Messiah."