Sha`el's beginning
Conquest. Battle. Food. Little more mattered to the creatures slowly approaching Earth in the radioactive 'shadow' of the sun, engines threaded to emit a similar radiation making for a crude but effective cloak from any planetary-borne observation stations. The lumbering behemoth carried relatively little in the form of high-tech gadgetry, but numerous rail cannons bristled from its hull, and eight massive missile-tubes adorned it's topside like terrible pits that would swallow skyscrapers with room to spare. A single fission drive dragged the structure through subspace towards the blue-green planet, resembling all too much an interstellar predator on the prowl. The inhabitants of this Sol had grown weak and soft over the centuries, and they made perfect prey.
Deep within the bowls of the Sergal Battlecruiser Shinda'ar, a lone monitor flickered for a moment, before flaring to life in a hiss of static and snowy interference. It lit a utilitarian living quarters, the air thick and muggy with steam and vapor, exposed pipes and gauged steel bulkheads slowly dissolving under decades of rust. Two bodies moved as one on a simple sleeping pallet in the corner, and in the new light, there was little left to the imagination. From overhead, a deep male voice suddenly announced, "Message Incoming. Communications channel alpha-seven-niner. Video feed enabled. Do you wish to connect?"
Commander Sha'el hissed in annoyance, his hips pressing flush against the rear of the other sergal, and his hand stilling it's caress upon the other male's length. Cocking his head over towards the monitor, Sha'el narrowed his eyes dangerously at the device, as if it had dared to call just to spite him in the 'heat of the moment'. He gave the throbbing rod in his hand a brief squeeze at the thought, another small bead of the other male's pre slipping down to add to the small puddle beneath the duo. Le'baa churred in delight at this, his tail lifting a bit off of his commander's shoulder as he tensed.
"Ignore it, Commander." Le'baa rasped, clenching down on Sha'el's shaft as if to accentuate the point. The first mate did his duties wonderfully, in bed and out. "it's likely just another status report." Grunting, Sha'el glanced down at Le'baa's nude back, thrusting once again, and none-too-gently.
"My ship, my report." He growled, digging the claws on his free hand into Le'baa's hip for his comment. Turning his slit pupiled eyes back to the scrambled screen, he bobbed his head in affirmation. "Yes, yes. Message accepted. Transmit video feed." The screen showed a myriad array of colors for a moment, before returning once again to the snowy static of a broken connection. However, the small camera atop the monitor swiveled in the duo's direction, the lens rotating within itself to adjust to their range.
"Commander, we have a situation on the bridge. Another fight has broken out between Basah and Sheeko, and this one has-..." The disembodied voice cut itself off with a strangled gasp, as the camera rotated towards an unoccupied corner. "Sir, I mean no disrespect, but this is a matter of urgent concern. Your presence is required on the bridge as soon as your...duties allow."
"Transmission complete. Video feed disabled. Do you wish to keep a record of this conversation for future use?" Droned the ship's male monotone voice, directing the inquiry to the commander, and seeming to anticipate his response with a sudden blip and hiccup of malfunctioning AI. "Transmission deleted. No further transmissions."
"Get up, Le'baa." Snorted Commander Sha'el, withdrawing from the other male's rear with a single, fluid movement, and releasing the pre-slickened length in his hand. Within moments, he was dressed in his MKII Enhanced Battle Armor, his dual-bladed spear strapped into across his back. Le'baa, on the other hand, was busy attempting to finish himself off, one paw three-digits deep in his rear, and the other a blur of movement along his shaft. Shaking his head in disbelief, Sha'el slapped the hatch's egress/exit panel, forcing the door to withdraw downwards in a hiss of steam. "Hurry up."
Upon approach to the bridge, Sha'el flared his nostrils, catching the coppery scent of blood heavy on the air. A muted clamor came from behind the bulkhead where the bridge was located, the excited chatter of many voices cutting through the computed blips of spacial sonar and the clattering of pipes against one another as pressures changed within them. Narrowing his eyes slightly, the Sergal Commander stepped onto the bridge of his ship, and into the heart of madness.
Blood and gore streaked across almost every surface, bits of fur and cartilage adorning command consoles and grav-chairs like grisly decorations. The barely recognizable body of his pilot, Basah, lay crumpled and mangled beneath the reactor control consol, missing a leg, both ears, and most of his tail. The Navigations officer, Sheeko , gurgled and coughed nearby, his hand covering a near-mortal wound across his neck, but otherwise no worse for the wear. A single low-ranking officer slunk up to Sha'el, head dipped low in submission.
"Commander, they were fighting again over who was more important, the navigation's officer, or the pilot. It ended up be-" He was suddenly cut off as Sha'el cuffed him hard across his angular snout, drawing blood.
"Don't tell me what I can see for myself." He casually strode over to where Sheeko lay in a pool of his own blood, blood seeping from between his fingers, and from his slack-jawed muzzle. Kneeling down, Sha'el peered at the navigation's officer with a single eye, cocking his head to get a better view. "How is he? Will he survive?"
"Yes, Commander. It's cut across his trachea, but he's managed to stop himself from drown-" He quieted himself as Sha'el gingerly reached forward, pulling Sheeko's hand away from the horrific wound, and shoving the other sergal's head back with his free hand. The navigation's officer slapped weakly at his commander 's hands as blood once again ran from cut vessels into his throat, the breaths coming in small gasps and short chokes. After a few moments, his motions first slowed, then stopped altogether, the commander not releasing his former officer until the blood ceased to pump from his severed throat. Standing, he wiped his bloodied hands on his breastplate, turning back to the junior officer.
"They've both been warned." Was all he said, offering a flick of his tail, the sergal equivalent to a shrug. Flattening his ears, Sha'el glanced up at the corrugated steel ceiling of the bridge. "Shinda'ar, Status report."
"Two crewmember vital signs lost, Ninety-eight point three percent probability crew has evacuated vessel, or are deceased. Ship functioning above recommended levels, fission core stable, two-thousand ninety one of three thousand fusion projectiles within normal limits, five-hundred thirteen unstable. Life support systems at four percent above normal levels. Ship status- Green." Returned the automated monotone of the Battlecruiser. Sha'el bobbed his head at the disembodied voice.
"Good. Rack unstable missiles, three-to-one ratio stable to unstable." Sha'el wasn't stupid. He knew the unstable missiles were dangerous, but only a fool would launch possible duds, without a sure hit somewhere in the missile flurry.
From beneath him, the ship bucked and heaved suddenly, violently pitching the commander into the bulkhead behind him. One of his ceramic shoulder-guards snapped off from the impact, shattering as designed to absorb the force. Struggling to his feet against the shuddering of his craft, he hissed. Claxons began to blare as the ship dropped to red status, the dull plasma-lighting replaced with the pulsing beat of warning beacons.
"Warning. Warning. Entering Class Three gravity well. Recommend course adjustment on spatial plane of three point one one delta by two seconds stellar north, Z axis." Stated the Shinda'ar, as if this were all within common practice.
Sha'el's only reaction was a slight widening of his eyes, his tail lashing behind him in barely-contained fury. Not only had his two highest priority officers gone and offed themselves, they had done so when Sol was within landing distance. The ship was, by all effect, beginning to tear itself apart on an angle too steep for re-entry. A few degrees higher, and they'd simply bounce off the atmosphere, which, in the commander's eyes, was much more acceptable than burning to death as a pretty lightshow for the soft things that lived below.
"Saju, take control of the helm. Weapon's stations, Everyone!" Growling under his breath, Sha'el shook his head at himself. It didn't seem like he was going to be able to finish with Le'baa, after all. "Shinda'ar, Divert power from decks 18-30 to fission core, inertial dampers, and fore shields!"
"Warning. Warning." The ship repeated, metal groaning and squealing under the immense stresses caused by a forceful re-entry. Somewhere below him, several pipes burst, spraying the cloyingly sweet scent of irradiated coolant into the air. "Decks three, five, eleven, twelve and sixteen breeched, sealing. Hull integrity at fifty seven percent and dropping. Outside hull temperature two thousand four hundred seven degrees Celsius and rising. Re-entry angle above nominal levels. Recommend..."
Sha'el clenched his jaw, reaching forward to smash the control that would launch a distress beacon back towards the fleet, if it were able to escape the planet's gravity. Without pausing to contemplate on this, the commander snapped his head up, his eyes darting from one busied crewmember to the next. All were working franticly at their stations, even the stations that seemed to be offline. Even in the heat of imminent disaster, Sha'el was pleased. Warriors to the end, all. Once again, the ship blared it's monotone warning.
"Emergency. Emergency. Ship hull reaching critical levels. Fires on decks three, five, eleven, twelve and sixteen spreading to adjacent decks. Reactor core offline. Recommend adjusting on spacial spacial spacial spacial plane niner three ERROR. ERROR. Ship course beyond calculated trajectories. Prepare for landing. Current air speed two thousand four hund----ERROR, Sensor suite damaged beyond repair. Emergency. Emergency. Ship hull-..." The colossal six kilometer ship was dying, beaching itself in the planet's atmosphere like an ill whale on a stretch of beach. As the ship rolled past the forty five degree mark, the AI gave one last desperate attempt to right the vessel. "Hull breech, reactor levlevlevel. Core temperature r-r-rising. Estima-ma-ma-mated time of detona-a-ation fourty three point nine sec-sec-sec-sec-seeeeee-" and gave out with an electronic snap.
Sha'el murmured the only command that was left for him to give, to what remained of his crew. Only three remained standing amidst the shuddering and screaming of the dying battlecruiser, and they looked to their commander for guidance. At least I'll have a ship bearing my name, he thought.
"Abandon ship."