Colonel Pendergast had legacies to uphold. Prometheus defied gods to help mankind, and so too would Prometheus defy those who claimed themselves divine. Once Prometheus tricked Zeus into accepting bones for a sacrifice, leaving the meat to satisfy mortals. When Zeus tried to force humans to eat their food raw, Prometheus stole fire from the sun so they could cook. Standing up to the capriciousness of angry gods was the legacy of Prometheus, a legacy for which the starship Prometheus was named.
They came to Tegalus, confident in their power to defy anyone who stood against them, power that was in some part gifted from their friends living among the stars and some part stolen from would-be gods. One person alone had asked them to bring peace. They had looked in a man's eyes, had listened when he asked for help, and that made it easy to forgot that the rest of the planet had not asked for salvation.
Prometheus gave fire help to mankind. In turn, Zeus chained him to a mountain, where an eagle ripped out his organs. For all his cleverness, even Prometheus was punished in the end. Pendergast had staked the ship's pride on defiance, and she paid the same price. Prometheus gave all she had, but this ship's fire wasn't enough. Her days of helping mankind were over.
They'd come to save a world. Now he looked at his scrambling crew, and listened to their frantic reports, and tried to find the means to save what he could. He had a choice between people and pride, lives and legacies, if he came here to show defiance, or to help what people he could. Fire and light scoured Prometheus as the satellite activated, like an eagle coming back to tear at the ship's organs once again. No matter the circumstances, no matter if it meant failing the mission, he knew what choice he would make. Even legacies came to an end.
God didn't trade in lives, but he wasn't a god, and didn't pretend to be one. He could make whatever trade he wished. The harsh backlight of the beam-out flared against the orange glow of laser fire. The hum of transporters faded out before the roar of explosions begun. Whatever happened to him, his people made it through. They had defied the hunger for sacrifice.
Pilots possessed not only the ability, but the right, to eject from crashing planes. Lionel perscribed to an older tradition, and that was the privilege of a ship Captain, or in this case Colonel, to place the safety of his crew first in his priorities, and the love of his ship first in his heart.