The Coming (chapter 3 added)

Re: Early (a fanfic by Phil...please read!)

Chapter 6

Hail-Mary

The young crew of The Drugann had seen more death in the past three hours than most retired generals. Bloodied and beaten, their original meager ranks had been cut in half. They silently stared at each other, some nervous, some terrified, all proud. Some of their uniforms were in tatters, others were splattered with crimson blood. But they waited. Gathered in the massive hanger, in the very belly of the prototype, they waited in Valen's name. In order, one by one, they fell into line. Surrounding them, some of the most advanced fighters in the galaxy. Many of the Rangers had flown only in sims. Some of the fighters lay strewn about on the ash-colored floor, many of the other fighters were visibly damaged. But the Rangers stood tall. They brushed off their brown vests, and clasped their hands behind their backs. They awaited greatness personified. They lived for the one, they died for the one.
As the large door to the great chamber opened slowly and timidly, Sinclair calmly entered, flanked by Trulann. The remaining Rangers bowed. Sinclair raised his hand in appreciation, but motioned for them to stop. He had something to say. Sinclair gently lifted the tarnished hood, revealing his gray hair, speckled with ash, and red, and his bloodied, yet unbowed face. With his compassionate gaze, he seemingly looked at each Ranger, separately, yet all at once. His stare gave them strength and confidence and the knowledge that their life stood for something greater--something that even the Entil'zha could not yet comprehend. Everything that had been said about Entil'zha they now knew was true. With one look, the young Rangers knew they stood in front of greatness. Sinclair stopped suddenly, and let his head fall. He rubbed his brow, and then began what he knew would be one of the last voices these young Rangers would even hear.
"Taralenn II has one chance here. Us. If all goes as plan, we'll be able to distract the Earth Force ship long enough for Trulann to send a signal down to the planet, telling them that their only hope failed in one catastrophic explosion. Hopefully, some will be able to get the hell out of there. Hopefully. I'm not going to lie here and say that thirty fighters are going to be able to bring that monster down--because they can't. We can't. But we can try to save as many innocent Minbari as we can, and even if only a thousand escape to safety, it'll be worth it. Trulann told me you all know how to pilot these things," Sinclair's hand swept around the chamber,"you're all probably better than I. Hell, I only had a few months training on Minbar, so I know you're better. But before we go, you need to realize that I'm not expecting any of to make it back--but I am expecting us to go down in one hell-of-a blaze of glory. In Valen's name." Sinclair's head bowed down as the other Rangers echoed his final words.
"In Valen's name," the Rangers responded quietly yet proudly. After a moment of silence, the Rangers looked up one more time to their mentor, and then turned and quickly hurried to their fighters.
Sinclair watched the young recruits slide, headfirst into their compact fighters. He then turned to Trulann, and softly rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Its been an honor, Trulann. Truly."
"It is strange Entil'zha. I no longer see you as a human. I see you as more than that...something greater."
"I don't know whether to take that insult or a complement Trulann, but I'll take it nonetheless." With that Sinclair smiled. Trulann had never once let him down, and there was no doubt in his mind that as long as he lived, he never would.
Trulann made a strange nod, almost as if he was holding something back and then turned around, and slowly walked away to find a fighter.
Sinclair found one of the only fighters still unoccupied in a littered corner, and cautiously slid in. He always had found Minbari fighters uncomfortable in the sims, but the real things were even more dreadful. Claustrophobic, dimly lit, and hard to control, the Minbari fighter was one piece of technology that Sinclair had always shied away from. He was beginning to wish he had taken Trulann's offer and stayed on the bridge.
One by one, the fighters shot from the mouth of the helpless Drugann, until they had all taken position in front of the motionless ship. The twenty-seven fighters took position, creating a vertical square of ships. Silently, they waited for orders; in front of them, the ice-blue planet of Tarelenn II, and somewhere, cloaked in the planets shadow the Earth Force monster lay in wait, repairing, preparing.

Re: Early (a fanfic by Phil...please read!)

Wow, that was phenominal. Sinclair's 'go get 'em' speech sounded like something he would literally say.

Re: Early (a fanfic by Phil...please read!)

Well, its taken me awhile, but here is the final chapter (excluding the epilogue). Enjoy!



Chapter 7

No Way Out

Sinclair lay motionless in his fighter. He stared out through the front portal, and saw only a glowing blue sphere. He noticed the white clouds, which stirred slightly in the planet's atmosphere, and he wondered. It looked so serene, angelic even; its inhabitants would never know what had happened in the cold darkness which engulfed them. They would never know the many lives that had been lost, the many sides that had been played, and the bravery that had shone through it all. Sinclair shook his head, and slowly rubbed the back of his neck. It was too early for something like this to have happened. He wondered if perhaps this would be his final stand, and in many ways, he had begun to hope it would be. Suddenly, the neon controls began flashing in his cockpit, lighting the cramped area. It was time.

Back on The Drugann, the young Minbari had finally made his way to the bridge. He hung for a few moments, just outside the bridge, as if waiting for something, and then quickly hurried in. The bridge was just as Sinclair had left it--in tatters. Removing a silver card from his pocket, the young Minbari moved towards Sincair's chair, and nervously slid the shimmering piece of metal into a slot on the arm. Abruptly, the computer asked a question.
"Please enter allotted time."
"Five standard minutes," the Minbari softly hissed.
The computer beeped loudly, and then began its final countdown. Pleased with himself, the Minbari finally smiled, and hurried out the room to his new destination.

Sinclair quickly pressed the button, which blinked furiously above him, and began to talk. He was not nervous, but he was afraid. His voice displayed neither, but instead conveyed his strength and his confidence to the men who lay in the coldness with him.
"Alright. This is it. I'm sorry it's come to this, but I can't for the hell of me think of anything else."
Sinclair took a deep breath. "Fighters one through fifteen, form up on Trulann's wing. Everyone else: with me. Now, Trulann. Run. Run like hell."
There was no response, only the firing of engines. Trulann had given one goodbye, and that was one more than most Minbari ever gave. Sinclair watched out his portal, and saw the sixteen fighters take a harsh left and head straight down towards the glowing planet. He sighed. It was done. As expected, a second or two after the fighters began their descent, his sensors furiously lit up. The hybrid was on the move.
"The bastard's following them down. If he gets to them, all of this will be in vain. Remaining fighters, follow my lead! We've got to intercept him before he can get to the other wing! Full burn, and the second it comes into firing range...A'hell my young Rangers, A'hell. Sinclair out."
Sinclair brought his fighter around, and at full burn, shot it down towards the black mass, which steadily gained on Trulann's wing. The closer they got to the beast, the more horrid it became. It's skin was living. It changed shades of black, reflecting nothing, but continually morphing into a living oil. And it screamed. As Sinclair's wing grew near, the screaming became louder. It was the scream of the dying, or perhaps that of those who wanted to die, but whatever it was it was awful. Sinclair had heard it before, and he was ready for it, but the others had not. He had forgotten to warn them. The sound of evil and pain filled the thirty or so fighters--the call of death.
And then, abruptly he was on top of it--below him, the black ooze, swirled and moaned. As he had instructed, the heavens erupted, and neon-green beams pulsed continually from the fourteen fighters. Like he had promised in the hangar, they had little damage on the beast. They were like wasps on a black bear--annoying, yes, fatal, no. The black skin absorbed the multiple beams, shrugging them off. But they did the job they came to do. Abruptly, the hybrid stopped its descent, and slowly turned to face the pests which badgered it. It's beak, now facing the desperate wing of rangers, began to glow red and as the pulse grew larger, and deeper, it focused on Sinclair's fighter. In an arc of reddish-glow, the shadow fired, but to Sinclair, it fired frame by frame. Time slowed. Sinclair looked into it's mouth, and saw the beam quickly leap, destroying a fighter on his left. In an orange flame, it burst forth with color, and then, when the oxygen atmosphere was used up, the fireball imploded. But one death was not nearly enough to quench the thirst of the devil. The red beam continued its arc towards Sinclair's fighter, methodically picking off two-more helpless Rangers which stood in its path. And then, just as the tip of the red glow was about to touch him, Sinclair saw Trulann from side of his line of vision, streak in, seemingly from nowhere. Sinclair's eye's widened, perhaps in amazement, or perhaps in anger, but they widened. Through his portal, he could just make out Trulann's face, cloaked in darkness. Later, when Sinclair would think about this moment (and he thought about it many times) he would try to convince himself that it was an expression of calm, but as Trulann sped towards him, he could have sworn he saw something that looked like a smile. Suddenly, with a jolt from Trulann's craft, time reverted to normal. Trulann had nudged Sinclair out of the devil's path and paid the price. In another blast of vivid color, Trulann, and all that he was, became one with the stars. And for what Sinclair thought? as the blackness took another life. He had only delayed the inevitable.
Sinclair watched the sky bloom with the colors and lights of death, and stared. His engines were offline from the collision, and his weapons were spent. So he watched. In the background, beyond Tarlenn's second moon, he thought he saw six, bright-blue jumpoints form, and then fade out to nothing. He blinked several times. He knew he was delirious. Perhaps his oxygen was running low. Did it even matter? But then, suddenly, in a blaze of green and yellow, he knew what he had seen was no delusion of grandeur. Six Sharlin Cruisers swept in beneath him. Towering and efficient, they targeted the blackness, and in one focused burst, they caught the hybrid off guard. The monster wailed as it took a pounding of powerful beams, and as it's black spikes began to curl and crumple, and as the firing continued, steadily and unmercifully, the wailing lessened, and the hybrid turned ash gray, and smoked, and then lay motionless.
Sinclair was speechless. Around him, pieces of fighters floated, and spun by. The shimmering cruisers stood tall and proud, surrounding their dead prey in a circle. And then the com came on with a slight crackle. Sinclair recognized the voice immediately. It surprised him. Neroon was the last voice he had expected to hear.
"Sinclair. I hope we are not too late. We've been monitoring your situation from hyperspace, and we came as soon as we could. A lovely prototype by the way, Entil'zha." There was something in Neroon's voice. It was not the voice of a savior, or a person who thought himself a savior--more like the voice of a man who had done an act out of necessity. In the distance, behind Taralenn's furthest moon, an explosion rocked the heavens. In a shower of fire, and light, The Drugann, long thought dead, was incinerated in one cataclysmic blast. The shock wave knocked Sinclair into the wall of his fighter.
Out of the inferno a small Minbari Flyer streaked quickly away. Hoping he was unnoticed during all of the commotion, the young Minbari decided it would be safest to hide on the dark side of the third moon until the new ships had left. But he was noticed.
Sinclair heard his com fire back up. It was Neroon again.
"Excuse me for a moment Entil'zha."
One of the Sharlin Cruisers broke off formation, and headed toward the third ice-moon. It fired only one shot. There was a quick dot of orange over the black backdrop, and then the Sharlin Cruiser turned, and sped back to the others.
"Now Sinclair, we have important matters elsewhere. I will make sure to contact Taralenn II and have them pick up the survivors. Perhaps we will meet again, under better circumstances."
Perhaps, Sinclair thought, wishing he could reply, through his fried com. Sinclair spotted only a few remaining fighters, as the six cruisers disappeared into their fluorescent blue funnels. Pieces of metal and flesh flew through the darkness. This was only the beginning. There would be more death, more destruction, and each time, Sinclair would ask himself if it was all worth it. If it was worth the lives of the young. If it was worth the lives of his friends. Sinclair thought of Trulann and waited.

Battle not
With monsters,
Lest ye become
A monster

And if you gaze into the abyss,
The abyss gazes
Also into you.



Friedrich
Wilhelm
Nietzsche




Epilogue to come.

hope you enjoyed it!

quick question for the epilogue...

I'm planning on having Sinclair make a final log on Minbar (Tuzanor), but I was wondering what he would call the log?

is it:

personal log and then date?

or stardate like Trek?

I really can't remember. Thanks!

Phil

I would think it might go either into his personal diary, or become the final entry in the ship's log. The latter might contain infomration on how the ship was lost. Depending on situation, other information might be included. After all, such records would serve future generations having a better overview of history. I somehow have the suspicion that Valen would not keep a personal diary, but perhaps Sinclair could afford that risk.

The story, by the way, is most enjoyable. Many thanks. /forums/images/icons/smile.gif

I never really felt closure with this story, and this epilogue kinda helped me leave it behind. Being 17 it's the longest story I've ever written, and I didn't know how much fun I would have writing it--and I had a lot of fun.


Epilogue
Sinclair sat calmly at his large, streamlined desk, and felt along the edges with his aging fingers. The sun, just beginning its rise, peeked through the crystal windows of his office, and played games with the ice-blue, metallic floor. The room was empty, just an old man, with graying eyes, and graying hair. He looked tired, and he felt tired, but he understood, and had gathered enough strength for one last journey. So much had changed since Trulann death. So much had begun anew. Wincing in remembrance, Sinclair slowly reached into his cloak and fiddled around for a moment. Producing a worn, leather bound journal, and an antique quill and ink set, he placed them on the desk, and began to write, one final time.
Trulann, it'over. The Whitestars, The Druganns' offspring have gone into full-scale production. I remember you once telling me that the problem with the Drugann was that it was too human, and I think you were right. We're a race that tries to do everything big, and maybe it's your grace, the grace of your people we're missing. Sometimes it's not the size, but the numbers; not the power, but the punch;and these little angels pack quite a punch. I know you'd have made a great Captain.
But I have to leave Trulann. Minbar was beautiful while it lasted, but it's not the same withou...nothing's the same anymore. I truly wish you were here with me, perhaps you could've taken the journey with me...perhaps, where I;'m going I can save you, or meet you all over again. Wherever I'm going though, I know it's written that way for me, and I know you would've pushed me to stay behind. You would have said "Entil'zha, you should stay safe, lead our people." And maybe I would have listened. But where I'm going I might have a better chance of helping our people than I ever could have hoped to do on Tuzanor. I miss you Trulann, and I hope, wherever you are, you know that.
And with those final words, Sinclair picked the black tip from the browning paper, and left the quill lying on the table, dripping black onto the spotless table. He left his office silently, without looking back, and headed down the familiar cavernous hallways. The rooms were empty, filled only with shadow and a gathering dust. Outside the looming doors of the sanctuary, Sinclair bent down, and laid the frayed bound book on the dew-touched street. Dousing it with a glistening substance, he watched intently as the leather began to smolder. A gentle wind pushed the book open, and the pages, each now alight with flame, tore free from their bindings and swirled upwards. Sinclair looked skyward, and watched the flecks of light rise ever higher until they vanished. At his feet, and pile of ash and memories. He would take it all with him.

There are so few Sinclair fan fiction stories so this was a real treat.Thanks I enjoyed it.

Fun is why you should be writing!

I enjoyed this! /forums/images/graemlins/smile.gif