Altheor's Teeth
Starring: Altheor (Brody), Galren (Mika), Natral (Kit), Tamet (Silvereye), Pejen (Amanda), Anapir (Vadim), Hemara (Aadzrian), Falam (Tiana), Jafak (Ruin)
DMV Honor Bound (2089)
The bridge of the Honor Bound is a dimly lit chamber, with illumination coming from pale red and yellow inset lights in the ceiling. Console surfaces are made from a reflective metal with areas cut out to make room for display screens, control modules, and trigger mechanisms. Elevated about three feet above the rest of the bridge consoles, the central command dais serves as the hub for the wheel of activity here. The ship's commander has a well-cushioned chair, throne-like with its gold and silver frame imbedded with blue gemstones.
It has been five years since the last War of the Nobles, but political and personal ramifications remain.
Despite the old animosities between House Ima'kafen and the allies of House Ragh'treh, the Demarian Senate has seen fit to make its militia flagship a representative of planetary unity.
Now the fleet, guided by Imperious Commander Altheor Ragh'treh, has launched from Demaria en route to intercept an incoming Nall fleet.
The binary stars Demar Major and Minor are in positions on either side of the proud planet Demaria.
It is known as the Day of Opposing Suns, a once-in-a-century occurrence...
Altheor reclines in the command chair, reviewing a display that shows the vessels of the fleet arrayed around the Honor Bound. The Nall vessels appear to be on the outskirts of the star system, approaching at near-light speed. The Imperious Commander's whiskers flex, the flesh of his snout wrinkling a bit as he picks at his fangs with a well-honed claw. He growls: "Pejen, my wine."
Pejen takes the goblet of wine from the small table where it rests and comes obediently from his place of deference and treads with well worn step to Altheor's side to hand of the cup "to an auspicious day for Demaria"
Tamet sits hunched over the weapon's console, studying readouts that assess the readiness of the ship's weapon. He seems consumed by the task, his blood cousin's call for wine hardly a cause for concern in the face of his duty.
"Commander, sir," Hemara speaks up quietly from a seat away from any consoles, folding one paw atop the other, "I urge you to consider discretion and proper protocol in your dealings with this fleet. I would not dare suggest you plan something... unduly dangerous, but nonetheless..."
Natral stands at his station to the side and just behind the command chair, not yet seated after a brief, quiet consultation with a subordinate. Gaze running steadily over a report he had been handed upon a datapadd, one ear nevertheless swivels toward the elder's words, yellow eyes flicking once toward Altheor for the commander's reaction before returning to the report.
Going over yet another peice of data to categorize in his head, Anapir's steel gray eyes pour over the readout at his engineering console. For what seems like etenity, he has gone over the constant readouts of the Honor Bound's status for some time now, making sure the flagship is running at peak performance. While he might not looking in any other direction besides the bluish glow the light emits outward from his screen, his tail flicks absently at the sound of speech, perhaps listening in.
Up until the moment the hatch cycles open, Falam had been absent from the bridge. She passes through on light steps, tail flicking lightly in a semi-erratic pattern, and heads straight Altheor, "Commander, sir." She looks to him as she speaks, eyes passing over his wine and lingering a fraction of a second as she brings them up to meet his, "The medbay is in order. We're fully prepared to treat any and all injuries."
Jafak stands, painfully proud, off to one side - where he can observe without interfering. Or risk of being jostled; the waving of his tail suggests more the work of keeping his balance on his prosthetic leg than any hint of his mood. He watches Pejen, it would seem, more than any other.
"Do you ever have anything *useful* to say, Hemara?" Altheor asks the political officer, clacking his fangs together in an amused smile. He chuckles, then meets the gaze of Hemara's daughter, the chief medical officer. He nods to her. "Good." He cradles the goblet of waterstone wine in his paws, lifting it to drink, but stopping as the bridge speakers crackle overhead. Tufted ears swivel to listen to the incoming transmission. His eyes narrow shrewdly.
"Demarian fleet, thissss issss Ssssoth Kam of Hatch Kavir. We sssseek peasssse with your people. War issss not --"
The message ends abruptly as Altheor thumps a fist on the signal disconnect button on the right armrest of his chair. His attention returns to the political officer. "Listen to how they lie, Hemara. Listen to the candied words! Trust us! We mean you no harm! We aren't here to crush you into the sand of your mother desert!" His snout shakes left and right. "They cannot be trusted. They must not be trusted. Send word to the fleet, Hemara. The order is given: Attack. Smash the Nall to atoms."
Pejen turns for the moment towards Hemara with a slight look of sympath as altheor remarks in his customarily snide tone thrn back to the Captain as he prepares to drink shoulders sagging slightly as the Nall interrupt but not much of an outward reaction for Altheor's blustery response
"Weapons systems at the ready, Imperious Commander!" Tamet declares in his deep tones, a toothy smiley crossing over his muzzle. "The Honor Bound stands ready to execute your orders. Indeed, peace rarely comes at the point of the enemy's spear!" He taps his console, readying the ship's systems to fire.
"Commander," Hemara hisses, half-rising from his seat, "I -must- protest. This is exactly what I mean! You must, for once, consider the implications and the ramifications of your actions! If they are telling the truth and they come in peace, what shame and disaster might you bring on our heads? On the heads of our people?"
A sharp twitch of whiskers as if to shake off his current musings upon the report, Natral shuts off the datapadd and discreetly tucks it away during Altheor's tirade. A measured look is given the commander, unblinking gaze running over those nearest - servant and medical officer - in turn while the security chief finally takes his seat, a tap upon the screen nearest his right paw activating the console. Thus far, he does not deign to evince an opinion in either word or posture, though it is obvious his attention is focused upon the possible battles within the ship rather than outside it.
Pausing in his duties just long enough listen to the obvious Nall statement and Altheor's response, Anapir gives off a slightly sad chuckle under his breathe. Swiwveling about in his chair, he comms in down to main engineering. "Fire and damage control teams to their stations. Your gonna have your work cut out for you in a bit. Be ready." he states firmly.
Falam's tail twitches in so slight a sharper manner as the Nall communique is started, then cut off. Her ears push back a bit, a glance sent to the Commander once more. It doesn't linger long, the chief medical officer taking a few steps back to position herself just a bit behind the Commander's chair. She has no duties to complete on the bridge, nor any patients to attend to currently, so she remains silent.
"I would not chide him overmuch," remarks Jafak blandly. "One who is well-versed in the hidden dagger knows the signs of another attempting the same tactic." He reaches over to a comm station, and sends only, "Secure the galley."
"They are *lying*, Hemara," the commander snarls. Goblet gripped in his paws, Altheor stands before his chair so that he can turn and loom above the political officer. "It is nothing but subterfuge intended to give them proximity to our world. They think we are gullible! Do not prove them right. Why send a war fleet for a diplomatic mission? If we give them the benefit of the doubt, consider what shame and disaster we might suffer! The Nall intend to destroy this fleet. We are all that stands between them and the conquest of our planet. I will not be seen as a spineless coward who allowed them to destroy us. I will not allow you to do so, either. You are old. You've grown soft. Your fangs and claws are dulled by bureaucracy. Transmit the attack orders, Hemara, or I will find someone else who can."
Pejen draws a deep breath inward 'Do not let him upsit you sir, Altheor. Focus on the battle at hand. Battle's are won by steady nerves. Calm yourself. Have a drink." He looks momentarily to the door leading to the bridge ears pricked upward expectantly
Hemara hisses back at Altheor, lips peeling away to bare his teeth, "I am neither old nor soft, Altheor. But as you command, and may the repercussions of this decision be forever on your shoulders and yours alone." Tail lashing, he turns to stalk over to communications, contacting the other ships of the armada with a few button-presses and relaying, "By order of the Imperious Commander... attack at will."
Tamet's fingers fly over the weapons console, more devoted to his task than to the argument going on behind him. "I stand at the ready." He informs his commander, then glances towards Anapir. "Are you prepared to wake the Honor Bound to its full fury?" He asks, one good ear pricking upwards while the smile on his features brightens. His tone is not challenging, closer to that of a comrade addressing his troops before an engagement to rally them to feats of bravery
Finally, Natral's neutral facade cracks to allow a slight narrowing of a slit-pupilled gaze - distaste broadcast in the tightness of the muscles around eyes and snout at the heated exchange between Altheor and Hemara, even if the fur along his tail remains sleekly at rest and his ears raised alertly. One of which points toward the bridge entrance as well when he notices Pejen's expectant air, his attention swinging briefly between the servant and the hatch.
This time is seemingly no different for Anapir, and even if it was, its debatable on wether or not he'd actually say something about it. He keeps to his monitors, even if the command to attack doesn't seem to gain any positive looks from him. If anything takes the tension away from his shoulders, its Tamet's question. Theres a slight grin and snort of amusement replied. "All systems operational. Hundred and ten percent output. I'd say running in top form. She's as ready as she's going to be."
Altheor is standing on the command dais, goblet in hand. Hemara has just issued the order to attack the Nall. Tamet is working at the weapons console. Anapir is managing engineering from the bridge. Pejen and Falam are standing near the command chair. Jafak is observing the bridge activity too.
Another tense tail flick and a narrowing of her eyes, no matter how subtle, show some form of anger at the argument between her father and Altheor, though this emotion is tightly contained. Falam remains in place however, almost as though frozen as a statue, rather than the living, breathing Demarian she was. A glance to Pejen, then a flick of her ear towards the hatch break her immobility, gaze remaining firmly set on Hemara and the Commander.
Jafak's ears go briefly flat against his skull at the mention of gullibility, giving him the look - for a moment - of having no ears at all. Pale eyes flick between Altheor and the source of that transmission from the enemy fleet. Calculating.
Natral is seated at his own station just to the left and behind the command chair, intent upon potential conflicts within the ship rather than the encroaching battle outside.
Altheor bobs his snout at Hemara, chortling, and then settles back into his chair. He regards the goblet with a furrowed brow as Pejen urges him to take a drink. "I do not require advice or solace from an *underclasser*, Pejen. Remember your place." He looks over at the tactical display, watching as elements of the Demarian fleet move to attack the Nall as ordered. "We are Brakir's claw. We are Brakir's will." He raises his goblet in salute to the bridge crew. "To glory and honor." Finally, he takes a gulp of waterstone wine.
Quick, urgent strides usher the Honor Bound's First Officer onto the bridge, the hatchway's teeth clanking shut just shy of his tail. Green eyes skim the officers on-deck; briefly, as if making mental note of their presence, before riveting onto his reckless commander. Galren narrows his gaze. "To glory and honor," the Sandwalker rumbles in distant echo. "My lord captain, faithful crew. What is our status?"
Pejen hardly looks chastened as he responds "In all my years I have never forgotten my place Altheor I have never forgotten my place at your side to do your will and bidding. His posture visibly relaxes at Galren's swift entrance "May you find the glory and honor you deserve"
"Glory and honor!" Tamet roars in response to his cousin, heavy tail flicking once as he settles down to the business of killing. His attention is focused on his display and the work of his weapons crews as they execute the Imperious Commander's orders, but his words are for Anapir, the grin still on his features. "I know you may think me a throwback, engineer, but as much as I respect your machines and honor your service to them ultimately it is still a *warrior* who is most fit to employ them in battle."
"To glory and honor," Hemara echoes very stiffly, his ears flat atop his head and his tail still lashing in angry sweeps. He seems less than pleased about all of this, simply settling himself at the communications console and remaining there in a tense silence.
Natral chuffs softly in acknowledgment as the approacher is revealed as the first officer, his attention alighting briefly upon the underclasser with clear disdain before his gaze sweeps wide across the bridge once more, one claw tapping in a measured rhythm against his right console's edge; casual and collected.
Everyone has been given one experience point! Confetti points brought to you by: Brody!
"Glory and honor." Anapir tersefully replies with a nod of his snout. "Heh. Without warriors like yourself, I'd be out of a job. So I suppose in a roundabout kind of way, I should be thankful." the chief engineer notes dryly. He makes one last check of systems status before locking his chair into a secured position. "But by all means, employ away."
"To glory and honor." Falam repeats, just like everyone else, though her tone is somewhat flat. Paws come to rest behind her back, the pads clenching and unclenching slightly with just a hint of her claws showing.
"To glory...and to honor," Jafak echoes quietly, giving Galren a respectful nod as he passes.
"You've never forgotten your place, eh?" the Imperious Commander growls, snarling at Pejen. "Then why are we on the bridge of *my* fleet's flagship and you're addressing me by my first name, as if we were childhood friends and equals? You will address me as Imperious Commander! Failing that, you call me Lord Ragh'treh! And, last but not least, you DO NOT contradict your betters. Lie to me again, Pejen, and I will have your tongue for a belt ornament. Backtalk me again, and I will feed you to the sand eels." He downs another gulp of wine, then watches as the Demarian and Nall ships engage. The Demarian vessels fire first, hammering one of the Nall light destroyers. His whiskers flatten against his snout. "Ah. It begins."
By the glint in his eyes one might surmise it is a good thing Demarians are not telepathic but pejen bows his head deferentially biting back said belt ornament and remaining in place behind the command chair
Galren is more sedate. "Pejen," he appends brusquely, shooing the underclasser from the dais with a cool flick of his claw. "Step down. No more words." An order, yes, but there is nothing unkind in his tone; rather, the Ragh'treh speaks from the ingrained, unquestionable superiority of noble to underclasser, of officer to crew. He sits in his place at Altheor's right hand, bringing his displays to life. "Engineers. I require constant feed of our field scans and system integrity forwarded to my terminal."
Tamet chuckles to Anapir. "You should be thankful for more than your employment!" He calls back, directing his fire crews to support the Demarian attack as needed, or until Altheor orders otherwise. He glances over his shoulder as he hears a familiar voice. "Galren! About time you made it to the fight!" He grins to himself, quickly refocusing on his work.
Hemara observes the fire blossoming outside the viewscreen, noting in a voice dry and stiff, "Let us hope they did indeed intend trickery, or we have committed an error so grievous it would not go amiss to call it sin." Neutrality is slowly returning to his mannerisms, a shuttered calm that veils the current direction of his thoughts.
"It is not yet time for hindsight, eh, Elder?" Natral speaks for the first time, an almost absent-minded rumble as his gaze slides over his commanding officers to finally alight upon the silent play of fire upon the viewscreens.
Paying little or no attention to the outburst at the 'butler', Anapir does as ordered by Galren, tapping a few keys to link together the readouts from his main console to the first officer's own. "Uploading data now, sir." the Ima'kafen replies dutifly. "Sheilds raised and holding." he adds. He redirects his gaze to Tamet momentarily. "Thankful? I suppose so."
Falam remains in silence, an almost stoney one, in fact. Belated acknowledgement is offered to Galren with a nod and a light flick of her tail before she shifts her stance, looking towards Hemara. Her father is regarded thoughtfully for a moment, after she steps his way to stand nearer to him.
Jafak shakes his head at Pejen's chastisement, evidently unsurprised - and displeased. He turns his pale-eyed attention to the battle on the viewscreen. Looking, perhaps, for signs the enemy was surprised.
Altheor coughs into his fist, growling. His eyes narrow in a darkening gaze. Uneasily, he rises to his feet, regarding the jeweled goblet in his paw. He looks toward the underclasser, but says nothing to Pejen. Instead, he says to Galren, "Take the dais. I shall return after attending to...another matter." He steps down from the command platform and walks toward the hatch, staggering a step so that he sloshes some of the wine on the command deck plating. Altheor braces an arm against the bulkhead before he can pass into the corridor beyond the hatch.
On the tactical display, it appears that the Nall fleet was caught by surprise. Shields on the light destroyer targeted by the Demarian fleet were not powered before the attack. However, all Nall vessels are now raising shields and powering their weapons to meet the assault.
One corner of Galren's muzzle curls in a feline smile for the gunner. "Show them your teeth, brave Tamet," he commends, "show them as you did your enemies in the sands, when you won those proud scars. I shall expect to see more, come victory." He pitches his voice, a booming, bridge-shaking baritone, tearing his eyes away from Anapir's reports and seeking to stir the blood of the doubt-drowned crew. "/Come victory!/ I want to see our swiftest ships into that breach -- /cherrypick/ the stragglers and fade away!" His fist comes down in a resounding thud on the face of his console. "Honor Bound-- /bare your claws, show your teeth!/"
A flick of ear, a flare of whiskers, a thump of his tail, a respectful bob of his snout. Without so much as batting an eye, Galren has graciously communicated his unease and disapproval of the current course of action in a surreptitious aside to his captain, but at the same time expresses some questioning concern at his abrupt departure.
Pejen catches the commander's dark gaze but gives no response other than to follow altheor with his gaze as he staggers to the hatch. He turns to Galren as he gives his orders, waiting
Hemara shows a scornful flash of teeth as Altheor leaves, muzzle pulling up a touch at a corner. However, when he glances up to Falam, the momentary display is easily curtailed. "Daughter," the elder remarks, softly. "I am very proud of you, you know."
Galren's words are initially lost on Tamet, who turns around in his chair as Altheor announces his intention to leave. The big Demarian growls lightly, watching his Blood Cousin quit his command. That seems to unsettle him as he turns back to his works. "Yes, of course, Galren." He replies, boisterous tone subduing before he can rally some of it back. "We shall hammer them as you command." He trains the ship's guns on the awakening Nall ships, again using the flagship in a support role for the faster ships until the full brunt of its power is needed to press the assault.
Natral stands as soon as Altheor makes his intentions known, paws clasped behind his back as he watches the commander step off the bridge - unblinking, even at the stagger. Instead, as soon as Altheor has exited, his gaze turns to the now current commanding officer, and his snout dips in formal acknowledgment of both Galren and his words. He does not re-take his seat this time; outwardly as serene as ever, still, it seems even he is not unaffected by the ratcheting tensions of an ongoing battle, preferring a ready stance.
Listening to the first officer's words, Anapir can't help but grin a bit. His work takes priority however, the gray furred engineer switching to another console to make a few adjustments on power distribution. No time to talk right now.
Falam ignores the words meant to be rousing and encouraging; her job was not one of fighting, and it took a calm demeanour over a boisterous one, "I know, Father." Silence broken for this moment of tender intercation between father and daughter. One paw returns from it's exile behind her back to briefly offer Hemara's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Her silence resumes, without any more than a flick of her ear offered the entire time towards Altheor's departure.
"Pejen," Jafak growls. "Clean up the wine that has spilled." His attention on that screen, he murmurs, "Your tactics do not change. They will have to improve."
The tactical display shows that the tide of the battle turns against the Demarian Militia rather quickly. The numbers, the superior weaponry and defenses, all are working in favor of the Clawed Fist Fleet.
A new concern arises on Anapir's display: The Honor Bound's dozen escape pods are launching in quick succession.
There's another crackle of the overhead speakers before Altheor's voice, speech slurred, comes through: "Natral...I am poisoned. Kill Pejen...now."
Galren, party to the engineer's readings, widens his eyes at what he sees. One brand of bewilderment seems to give way to another, then the First Mate's attention is snapping to the bridge comms. Ears erect, pupils dilated, there is a visible split-second of indecision while he wars with priority -- but only a split-second. "Do /not!/" the ruddy-furred officer countermands, swivelling his snout Natral's way, then Pejen's. "Burning /sands/-- Falam! Attend your lord captain! Natral! Take the underclasser to the brig! It is the /Nall's/ blood we want-- flight command, pull back, pull back!"
Pejen is about to move to tend to the wine as Jafak commands but freezes for a moment at the contradictory orders waiting to see which the security officer will obey
Tamet grits his fangs as the battle suddenly turns against them, but he remains resolute, muscles tensing as he continues to direct the fire form the Honor Bound in an attempt to seize the initiative back from the Nall and hold off their assault. All of that stops as Altheor's voice comes over the speakers. The big Demarian's whiskers droop, pulling down all the lines of his face as his eyes go wide. His ears twitch, and then fully cant back as a deep, angry growl rumbles up from within his chest. He turns whip quick, tail lashing against his chair as his gaze falls on Jafak. "Ima'kafen treachery!" He roars. "You doom us all with your cowardice! You are not even /half/ a Demarian!" The claws on his healthy left paw are out, digging into the surface of his console.
"Damn you, Altheor," Hemara hisses, his attention still on the tactical display even with the commander's announcement. "Thirsty for blood above sense to the very end! Pejen must be questioned, as the first mate commands." He rises from his seat, though he as of yet makes no move to go elsewhere. "We cannot win this battle."
While his outward attention may have seem fixed on the screens, the security chief's response is immediate and decisive as soon as the words are spoken. "Acknowledged. Medic," he growls, slitted gaze snapping toward the unfortunate underclasser. Two powerful strides bridges the gap between them, and rather than unholster the sidearm hanging prominently at his hip, his claws flash out...only to curl abruptly at the first officer's countermanding orders, tangling in the cloth at Pejen's throat instead of in the vulnerable flesh itself. There is a breath's moment of stony consideration upon the security chief's face as he gazes down at the servant, before he glances toward Galren with a curt nod, free hand sketching an acknowledgment between subordinate and superior before he is shouldering Pejen's weight toward the exit, this time the sound of a pistol clearing its housing detectable by all sharp-eared Demarians on the bridge. At Tamet's outcry though, his ears flatten, and rather than escort the servant out himself, he taps the comm mike at his collar and orders, "Security, I need an escort for a prisoner off the bridge. Others to stand guard at the commander's door and the bridge."
Anapir can only blink at the twin crisis that arises before him, his ears dropping to go flat agasint his head. "What in blazes...First Officer! I'm getting a reading that something has jetisoned a dozen of our escape pods!" he calls over in case Galren hadn't been watching the console at that moment, then cutting himself off as his commander's voice comes over the comms. This results in his gaze darkening at the sight of Pejen. "How coincidental." he vemonously muses to Pejen as the underclasser is taken away. At Tamet's accusation, his steely gaze moves to Jafak. "You didn't..." he trails off increduously.
A little something flickers through Falam's eyes at the message buzzed through the speakers, faint and near imperceptable, but /hard/. However, with an -almost- too cool manner of efficient professionalism, she turns to the First Officer, "Of course, Sir. Right away." Without another word she turns on her heel, long strides carrying her quickly off the bridge. Jafak bares his fangs at Tamet. "Did I order the attack?" he snarls. "Do you find honor in attacking your own while the enemy destroys us?" He raises his good paw before his face, baring fangs and claws together. "The attack has begun and it must be finished. The Nall *must be annihilated*. Regardless of the cost. Or all Demaria suffers Altheor's fate. /Never leave a wounded enemy alive/. We have struck the first blow and now we must strike the last. Kill me *after* the battle if honor demands it. And it will not, but we do not have time for this now. We must engage." On the tactical display, most of the Demarian warships are destroyed or crippled. The Nall vessels are closing in a circle around the increasingly undefended Honor Bound. So far, they have not yet opened fire. It appears they intend to board and capture the flagship, along with its commander and crew.
On the bridge loudspeaker, Altheor says, "I've taken...engineering. Launched...pods. Mutinous...traitors. Think you can...kill me...no consequences."
Internal systems readouts on Anapir's console show a spike in energy readings coming from the Honor Bound's reactor. The readouts on Tamet's display show missile and energy weapons building toward overload.
"/Stand down! Silence, all of you!/" booms the ranking officer, rising sharply to his feet. "/To your stations! We will not bicker like schoolkits nor flee like frightened--/"
He cuts off, abruptly, and for a moment... a brief, fleeting moment... abject horror descends upon his features. Altheor's words sink in, hit home. And there is silence on the part of his conspiratorial second-in-command while the reality of his pending doom catches up with the rest of his brain. Seconds tick by, tick into a full minute. Around him, telltales blink from peaceful green to warning yellow to dangerous red as the Nall overrun their position, the symphony of space battle deathly quiet in the vaccuum around the Demarian fleet.
First Officer Galren Ragh'treh folds his ears back and draws a long ceremonial blade with teeth as jagged as the sharp cliffs of the Stubtooth, whirling on the heel of his footpaw in a military about-face. He stalks purposefully for the ship's aft compartments, mutiny made manifest, determined to be victorious in one way or another during the last minutes of his life.
From the corridor, his deep voice bounces powerfully from the steel walls, a challenging summon. "/Altheor!/"
Tamet growls at Jafak, but he remains in his seat. He leans forward in it, as if ready to pounce in a clear threatening gesture towards the other Demarian before he relents. "An appeal to honor does not suit you, Ima'kafen." He growls, low and menacing. "You will not get to take up Altheor's command after you killed him! There is a reason you are relegated to Underclasser work, Jafak." Nevertheless he returns to his console, noting that the situation has turned drastically against them. He begins to work up a firing solution on the closing Nall ships when he hears Altheor's voice. The big warrior growls again, ears laying flat. "You doomed us all, Ima'kafen..." He says, more quiet now as he sees their weapons about to be turned against them, try as he might to disable them. "You drove a good warrior to madness...and now we shall all go out with no more honor than a Bumbler's fart."
"You gargantuan fool!" Hemara rages at the loudspeaker, turning towards the door to the bridge and beginning to start that way along with Galren. "Your hubris, your -ego-, is it worth the doom of our entire people?" He pauses suddenly, turning back surveying the tactical display, then letting Anapir's comments sink through his mind. "Wait. Galren. We at least... are doomed already, aren't we? We're lost," the political officer murmurs, anger deflating even as shoulders straighten.
He turns to face the rest of the bridge, appealing to the crew at large, "At least one tiny solace can be born from this idiotic farce. They will not take us alive. Here we must make our stand. None of us stopped him from provoking this conflict, and so we are the authors of our own destruction. Our last thought must not be for revenge but for our people! How can we protect them from Nall retaliation?"
Natral is abruptly left amidst the shambles of both a battle and ship affairs in only a few short minutes, equanimity nearly as shattered as he looks from screens to the arguing bridge crew to the first officer stalking off in full battle rage. "Perhaps the better question is whether we can protect them from ourselves?" he growls, taking refuge in his duties as he rakes one one last look across the bridge and then turns swiftly to follow after Galren. "Lure the enemy in with your bleatings, then! In any fight, it is only the last blow that counts."
"No...no!" Anapir roars, throwing his hands down to the console in an effort to try and stop the chain reaction. When his monitors go blank in response, clawed fists slam down onto the keyboard, cracking it. "Blazing sands! He's locked me out!" he bites out through clenched teeth. "Damn your foolish pride Altheor, damnit all to the desert." he resigns, leaning back in his chair and sighing. "Thought it would end up here, away from home. Just...not like this. Not like this." He takes a moment, then appearing to gather himself up, he nods. "Well, if we're gonna go out like this, might as well make it a pretty one."
Pejen turns toward hemaria as Natral ushers him away "and true honor exists still within the noble class perhaps not even in my own breast but in yours.I could gladly serve at your side if brakir's grace sees us through this day, but it is not likely. may you be remembered for your wisdom, Elder and might the hatreds which doom us all be forgiven
Falam hadn't gotten far, when Altheor's voice had once more rumbled out from the speakers, her ears folding back tightly against her skull. She turned then, heading back towards the bridge, her pace unchanged; quick and light. Stopping near Hemara, she, like her father had, addresses the crew at large, "If you wish to lay down like a dog, and die like a coward-" One paw dips into one of those deep pockets on her coat, pulling out a handfull of syringes which she tosses to the floor. Her voice is cold, "-Then there is your salvation." She turns to Hemara now, the reigns loosened on her tight control as she reaches towards him to snag an embrace; tight and unwilling to let go, if he'll let her, "I'm sorry Father." A whisper, then nothing more.
Jafak shakes his head. "Galren!" he shouts. "We do not have time for this!" He looks at the screen, at the impending defeat. "Do what must be done," he says, and points toward the Nall flagship. "Ram it. We cannot save ourselves. We can still save Demaria. We *must* save Demaria. All else is secondary. If you cannot live with honor - die with it."
Natral and Jafak's chastisement and Hemara's moving words shake Galren out of his grief-fueled madness; wash away the old, bitter anger. Not three steps outside of the command center's hatchway, he turns - and when he does, he looks vaguely ashamed, demuring openly in the face of the comm officer. The mutineer lowers his blade, dipping his snout in an unprecedented show of shame. "I am no better than Altheor Ragh'treh," he confesses, before shifting his green eyes to his crew. A long series of strides place him back onto the bridge. "Faithful Natral, assemble our elite unit and bring the fight to the boarding party. /Tamet!/ Stand down. /STAND DOWN!/"
Another series of strides places him back upon the dais, the flash of the Honor Bound upon his chest glittering under the crimson wash of the emergency lighting. He echoes Jafak's sentiments proudly, Ragh'treh and Ima'kafen standing as one. "Flight command, adjust course. Take us into the heart of that Nall fleet. /Take us in,/" he repeats, confirming the order. "If we are to die, then we will take the vile sandrats with us. /Honor Bound!/" His voice is a roar, a rallying cry over the shipboard comms. "We have no destination but the grave. Write your epitaph with pride!"
Galren folds his arms, a calculating stare on the viewscreen. "They will curse your name, Altheor Ragh'treh," he promises under his breath. "They will curse it, and kick sand in your yellowed teeth."
The Nall sensors apparently detect the overloading systems aboard the Honor Bound. An order is given and the vessels start arcing around to escape the coming blast.
Through the bridge speaker, while sealed inside the engineering compartment, Altheor proclaims: "For glory and..." It trails off into a gurgling rattle, followed by a thump as he collapses on the deck, succumbing to the poison.
While the bridge crew is thrown into chaos by the assassination and the utter decimation of the Demarian fleet, the heedless reactors and weapons continue to approach critical thresholds with a keening wail. The Nall vessels are not quite out of range of the enormous blast when it comes. All goes brilliant white and then utter black for those aboard the Honor Bound. The few Nall ships that survive are badly crippled. They continue a limping pace away from the madness they found in the Demar System.
Two days later, the Demarian Senate convenes in the city of Alhira to discuss a resolution honoring the sacrifice of Altheor Ragh'treh and the crew of the Honor Bound.
"They gave their all, down to the final measure, to assure the safety and survival of the Demarian people in the face of the grave Nall threat," Senator Alagar Sib'har says. "The Nall dared show their claws to Demaria. Altheor showed them our teeth! Let us never forget this day. Let us never forget this noble sacrifice. From this day forth, all children shall bear a first name that reflects a quality of their character or appearance. From this day forth, all children, upon reaching the age of the Desert Rite, shall take the name of their House or a name of their own choosing. For glory and honor, in Brakir's name. In brave Altheor's memory."
The measure passes unanimously.