I had this same thought.

Communications are handled at the operations station.  The thing is, this planet lacks subspace broadcast technologies.  I'm thinking we may have to move closer to collect those weaker signals.

All great questions!

I have Calican II at roughly late 1970s to early 1980s in terms of technology.  So they have a satellite network, but those are used for communications or planetary concerns.  They may have a telescope platform of similar (think Hubble), but by and large, I can't see them getting a lot of real time intel about space from their satellites.  Of course, they likely have a decent number of planet-based sources of observation; I doubt that we can just drop into orbit with impunity.

I cannot imagine that the asteroid has impacted the satellites yet.  Frankly, it likely won't unless it happens to hit one on the way through.

I'm sure that there are astronomers still watching the skies.  Even in 2021, Earth would likely not notice a ship the size of the Peregrine unless it were in orbit. 

The range of the tractor depends on the size and density of the item to be manipulated.

Effective tractor beam range varies with payload mass and desired delta-v. Assuming a nominal 15 m/sec-squared delta-v, the multiphase tractor emitters can be used with a payload approaching 650,000,000 metric tons at less than 2,000 meters. Conversely, the same delta-v can be imparted to an object massing about one metric ton at ranges approaching 30,000 kilometers.

I'm guesstimating the asteroid's mass at perhaps 70^15 kg - or 4,747,561,509,943,000,000,000,000 metric tons (I'm using Ida, which has a mass of about 100^15 kg, as a template to spitball the mass here).  Even if it were "only" 50^15 kg, you're still talking about numbers MANY, MANY times above what the tractor beam can easily manipulate.  Plus, the field itself projects out to about 920 meters in diameter... our rock is better than 32,000 meters wide.

I'm not saying that we can't maybe nudge it with the tractor, but those numbers seem to suggest that we may need another idea.

 

What a great round of posts!  Glad I waited for the collab.  

That would be some trick.

There ya go.  The Cleric and the Prophet.

"The day is almost upon us, my friends!  Repent!  Repent now, as eternity is nigh!"

With the final line spoken, the cameras were switched off.  The Cleric nodded humbly and stepped away from the studio, even as his message was rebroadcast all over the planet.  No longer clad in dirty clothing, no longer looking the part of a street preacher, the Cleric's garb was nevertheless muted, if tasteful. 

The message had caught on, spreading like a grassfire, ever since that fateful day when the spacecraft sent to stop the asteroid had failed in its task.  The ship couldn't make enough thrust to change the trajectory.  Even the explosion which consumed the craft and ended the lives of her crew hadn't been enough to stop the rock of doom.

Society had teetered on the brink of total collapse; truth be told, it still did in some places.  But a street preacher had revived talk of the old gods, had spoken of repentence and cleansing... and the message had resonated with a doomed world. 

The preacher had cared nothing of money or fame, he just wanted the word to spread.  And so it had; even now, his message was broadcast and rebroadcast, translated, shared around the globe.  Everywhere he walked, the preacher - now known as the Cleric - had throngs attend him, follow him, hang on every word.  All he ever asked of them was for them to use these final days to clear their consciences, to make things right with their families, their neighbors - and their gods.

Indeed, makeshift shrines to the old gods now peppered the countryside.  Places of public entertainment had become places of worship.  People cried, hugged one another, supported one another.  Did the best they could to prepare for the inevitible end.

The Cleric's serene face showed heavy fatigue as he slowly walked away from the studio.  He waved off offers of refreshment.  For now, he wanted to catch a few short hours of rest before returning to spread the word again.  Even that small nod to his own frailty felt like a failing; all life would end in days, and here he was wasting some of it in sleep.  Yet he understood that chosen or not, his body could only go so far.

At the end of the hall, he entered an office converted to a bedroom.  The lights inside were dimmed; he did not bother to adjust them before closing the door, as the intent was to immediately throw himself upon the bed and seek oblivion for a few hours.

Before he could do so, a low, feminine voice called out.  "Please forgive me, Cleric, but I must speak with you."

The Cleric sighed.  With his notoriety had come an unexpected side effect; women threw themselves at him with amazing frequency.  Apparently, the idea of carnal contact with one they viewed as a favorite of the gods - right before they were to all meet the gods - had an aphrodesiac quality to it.

He regarded the trespasser in his quarters.  She was young, almost painfully so; little more than a girl, barely a woman.  In another life, the idea of the sort of attention would have been greatly pleasing, but it felt like sin to waste his final hours thusly; given that he was spending his time imploring other to repent their sins, he could not abide the hipocrisy, no matter how alluring the idea might be.

Gently, he spoke to rebuff her.  "Sister, I am flattered, but with eternity upon us, I must rest and return immediately to sharing the message.  Please allow me to sleep now."

The young woman's face screwed up in confusion before her expression indicated understanding - and embarassment.  "No, brother!" she protested.  "I did not come to seek your company thusly.  No, I had a vision from the gods themselves.  I believe that you should hear it.  Please."

The Cleric sighed heavily.  In these final days, many were desperate to delude themselves - or others - that the gods had spoken to them.  He began to redouble his attempt to have her leave, but something in her expression caught his eye.  She didn't have the look of an attention seeker or a lunatic.  She seemed very sincere.  As such, he decided to hear her out.

"Very well, sister," he spoke.  "Tell me of your vision."

She nodded, brushed a wisp of hair away from her face.  "Yesterday, I was looking to the sky, imagining the asteroid, reflecting on my sins.  When all at once, it was as if I were carried away into space; the soil fell away below me."

She paused.  "It was there, in the blackness above, that I saw it.  Brother, I heard a voice cry out; it was deep, ancient, unknowable.  I felt it in my bones.  I could not understand the words, yet the meaning was clear - the sun itself was calling for aid."

The young woman continued.  "A wounded dragon appeared.  His wings were fearsome, but he bore terrible scars, some of them bloody and fresh.  He examined the stone, and he roared; he was joined by the mighty children of birds.  Together, they encircled the fearsome stone, rent it to pieces, cast them away.  The sun shone brigthly in thanks, the dragon and the birds vanished into the blackness.  But I knew it then, brother.  I knew it beyond any shadow of a doubt.  Even as the world returned to me, I knew it to be true."

The Cleric regarded her carefully.  "What did you know, sister?"

He expression was soft, joyful.  "The threat was gone, brother!  We will not perish, after all!  The gods have heard your faith, have seen our people's restored belief, and have chosen to reward that with mercy.  Life will continue, brother."

It sounded like something out of a fairytale, a children's story brought to life.  It flew in the face of everyting he had been preaching.  But a voice inside whispered that this was the truth, and he realized with a start that this was undeniable fact.  This was no story, this was no dream.  This girl had been chosen to receive the rarest of gifts.

She was a Prophet.

I mean, to be fair, Trek is basically mostly fluff, anyway.

Happy Monday, all!
 
Posting seems to have slowed way down.  I will post today to let you all meet the Prophet; if nothing else gets posted, I will post the staff meeting into no later than tomorrow.  Still could happen today.

I'm going to give it till Monday to allow anyone who wishes to post the chance to do so.

How about this - I shall hold my horses for a bit and give folks a chance to post.  If they don't, I'll bump it all up.

If I get too desperate, I'll make a post for an NPC.  Or let you guys see the Prophet at work.

My assumption here is that some will want to do reaction posts.  "Why is Drake calling an emergency staff meeting when I'm in the middle of sweet, sweet holodeck romance?"  Or whatever.

But if you folks would rather, I can absolutely make a post to start the meeting, let you sum it all up in one post.  I.e. Bob gets meeting notification, is annoying, Bob enters meeting and hears briefing, here is Bob's reaction.

Okay, I made a Drake post to bump the game forward and let everyone effectively know what's happening.

Alverstar, my post assumes that Ch'ronnoss is dismissed following the meeting, that Drake is alone with his thougths for a few.

Stardate 2365.05.15
USS Peregrine; Deck 1, Captain's Ready Room - 1606

Captain Drake sat alone in stunned silence as he reviewed the data on the PADD provided by Lieutenant Ch'ronnoss.  He had no reason to doubt the CSO's claim, but the words had made him feel hollow, numb.  The sheer scale of the coming destruction was almost too much to even comprehend, and he combed trough the data, trying to make sense of it all.

Calican II was a pretty enough world, as such things went.  A little warmer than Earth, a little larger, a little dryer.  The humanoids there were primitive by Federation standards, certainly, but they are unquestionably intelligent.  With that intelligence came creativity, emotion, abmition, and so much more - the aspects that made up personhood.  No one could say when, but given time, the species would surely join the Federaton among the stars, bringing their own contributions, their own perspectives to the tapestry of the galaxy. 

Except there would be no time for them.  In three days, the story would end for every member of the Calican species.  It would end for every animal, every plant on the surface as well, for that matter.  Seven billion lives would come to an abrupt, violent conclusion.  There would be no contributions, no collaboration, no legacy.  Thanks to an incredible stroke of bad luck on a truly cosmic scale, the species was doomed to inescapable extinction.

Even in his numb state, Silas felt an internal rift.  He well knew and embraced the Prime Directive.  Everyone in Starfleet knew it by heart; primitize civilizations must be left alone to develop naturally, with no interference by Starfleet.  This was to be upheld, even if it required the death of any Starfleet personnel - even if it required the death of everyone aboard a starship.  Drake was willing to lay down his own life, even willing to sacrifice the Peregrine; such was duty, and everyone aboard knew that.  But to allow seven billion lives to end?

How could a cvilization develop if they were wiped out... particularly through no fault of their own?  Yet, was that not the natural development?  Sometimes, species went extinct.  In rare cases, it happened to planets, to star systems.  Who was Silas James Drake to play God, to intervene?

Who was he to let that many innocents die?

A wave of nausea began to combat the empty numbness inside.

Drake took a deep breath before speaking.  "Computer," he ordered, "send a priority message to all department head officers.  We will hold an emergency staff meeting in the Officer's Lounge at 1630 hours.  Attendence is mandatory." 

=/=Acknowledged,=/= the feminine voice of the computer repied.  =/=All department heads have been so notified.=/=

Silas shook his head slowly and tried to ignore the mental image of Michelle's face.  This wasn't her burden to bear.

Yep.  Ain't that just a kick in the pants?  Stopping this would be an undertaking all it's own, but the Prime Directive...

Starship Captains have to be prepared to not only sacrifice their own lives, but the lives of all of their crew and their ships, to uphold the Prime Directive. 

But wow.  You can't exactly contaminate a civilization if it dies entirely. 

I'm hoping for some good in game discussion here.

Yeah, when you get one chance per week to sit in the big chair, I doubt you casually let it slide.  

No worries. I didn't specify whether Megan was there or not, depending on what you wanted her doing at the time.  

Shift change is 1500, no?

You WOUND me, good sir.

No worries, Pekka.  Life happens!

I have put a bump game post up.  I'd say so far, so good.  It looks like the mission is going entirely acordign to plan.

Stardate 2365.05.15
USS Peregrine; Deck 1, Bridge - 1430

"Sir," Lieutenant Ferrero piped up, "The probe's capabilities aren't much different than Voyager II 's. It's been flying a long time, Captain.  The report is on your PADD."

Drake nodded and consulted the device.  "Very good, Lieutenant,  he resonded.  "Interesting... this probe has been in flight for much of the time that the Calicans have possessed spaceflight.  It would appear that it lacks much in the way of sensor technology... which would be expected.  I still think that the best course of action would be to reposition the beacon, unless there are any specific objections."

OOC: assuming there are none...

Silas sat back and waited for the Peregrine to reach proper positioning.



------------------------------

Stardate 2365.05.15
USS Peregrine; Deck 1, Bridge - 1500

The beacon had been brought aboard via tractor bay without incident.  Presently, the intercom chimed.

=/=Lt. Sa'eridon to the Bridge.=/=

"Drake here.  Go ahead, Lieutenant," the Captain replied.

=/=We've determined the malfunction on the beacon, sir.  A piece of space debris has punctured it and taken out the magnetic interface field along with some other wiring.  I anticipate another hour for those repairs.  I would also like to recommend replacing the outer casing while we have it on board.  We could simply patch the current hole, but the whole thing appears to have taken quite a beating out here and I think a new outer casing is prudent for continuing function.  I believe we can replicate the necessary parts and have it ready to go with another two hours of work.=/=

Silas nodded in agreement.  "That seems like a prudent course, Lieutenant.  It would reflect badly on us if we had to turn around and come back to fix the beacon again; go ahead with a full repair, including the casing."   

=/=I'm sending the bit of rock to science.  My initial readings indicate that it is simply a piece of meteor, but a second inspection of it might not be a bad idea.=/=

Another good idea, Silas mused.  "Agreed.  A chunk of space rock is hardly malignant, but if we have it on hand, we may as well analyze it," he reponded.

=/=Have we determined if the beacon needs to be relocated to a more secure position in the system?=/=

"I would think that would be the wisest decision here," Drake replied.  "We of course are bound to uphold the Prime Directive; relocating the beacon is fairly trivial in terms of effort, but rather vital when one considers the Prime Directive.  Knowingly putting Federation technology in the path of a pre-warp culture would be a gross violation.  No, we will determine a safe spot and relocate the beacon." 

=/=When you get the new coordinates please send them over and we will get the unit reprogrammed.  That task should be relatively easy.=/= 

"Understood, Lieutenant Sa'eridon.  I will have Lieutenant Ferrero provide those once we have made the determination.  Drake out."

As caught up in the beacon proccess as he had been, Drake hadn't initially noticed the Beta shift personnel filtering to standby positions around the bridge.  Now that the bulk of the bridge responsibilities had been handled, the Captain took his feet.  "Liuetenant Ferrero, double check the probe's sensor ranges and identify a safe spot for our beacon that hides it from Calican scans.  Double check to ensure that there are no further probes to concern ourselves with, and perhaps consult with Science as a sanity check on your plan."

OOC: assuming a positive response...

Turning his attention to the helm, Silas continued.  "Tochi, if you are planning to stick around for a bit, you have the Conn.  If not, I believe that Ensign Owen is the scheduled officer of the watch?"

OOC: assuming a reasonable reply...

Drake nodded.  "Very well."  He then cut his gaze to the Orion lieutenant at Tactical.  "Lieutenant Taissud," he spoke, indicating the junior Ops personnel, "it appears that your station is well in hand for the time being.  Would you mind joining me in my ready room, please?"

OOC: assuming agreement...

------------------------------

Stardate 2365.05.15
USS Peregrine; Deck 1, Captain's Ready Room - 1510

As the hatch hissed shut, Captain Drake took a seat behind his desk, but conspicuously did not offer for the tactical chief to join him.  When he spoke, the tone was cold, with an edge to it.

"Lieutenant Taissud," he intoned, "would you care to explain to me what I witnessed on my bridge?"

OOC: assuming a reasonable reponse.

Drake nodded slightly.  "That is correct.  I witnessed a frankly surprising breach of protocol from one of your people."  The emphasis on "your people" was slight, but carried heavy meaning.

He continued.  "I shouldn't have to explain this, but I will do so, anyway.  Any contact with the bridge should be treated with the assumption that lives depend upon it - because, as you well know, they sometimes do.  I did not recognize that woman's voice, so I'm assuming that she is one of your new transfers.  That said, whether she has ten days or tens years aboard, she should have the good sense to treat a call from the bridge with the gravity it deserves.  The fact that she did not reflects poorly on you."

Silas chuckled ruefully.  "In my day, I'd have been terrified to find myself over the barrel for THINKING of talking like that where the Captain could hear me.  It would be one thing were we on deck five and she did not realize that I was around.  On a bridge call..." his voice trailed off.  "I trust that you will properly handle this one time protocol exception," Drake spoke meaningfully.

OOC: assuming an affirmative

Drake nodded.  "Very well.  Disnmissed." 

To be fair, we had sleet, then ice before the snow.  With no plows, salt trucks, or chains... ice makes roads impassible.

These people cannot drive in the rain.  Ice?  Nope, nope, nope, and also... nope.

Collab backpost with C2P is up.  I should have a Drake post up today!

Stardate 2365.05.12

USS Peregrine; Deck 1, Captain’s Ready Room - 0630

For a woman who had faced down Klingon insurgents, beasts of the Orion jungles, and the best of Starfleet’s Tactical division, Zhay-la was more nervous over a meeting than anything. In her defense, a political showdown like what she expected this to be was far and away from the battlefields she was used to; a knife to the throat wouldn’t save her from Commander Drake’s judgment anymore than trimming a Vulcan’s eyebrows made them human.

A nervous habit, Zhay-la pulled at her cuffs, smoothed down the bulge in her sleeve from her knife holster. Her veil felt akin to a choker, for how smothered and uncomfortable her nerves were making her. Nevermind this damn heat-trapping uniform -

All thoughts and last-minute preparations were cut short when the doors slid open, and in walked Commander Drake.

“Sir.” Zhay-la immediately stood at attention. She was rather proud at the stillness of her arm while she saluted him.

Drake glanced up from the PADD on his desk and crisply returned the salute.  “At ease, Lieutenant Taissud.” He gestured to the chair opposite his own.  “Please, have a seat.”

The Orion looked between the captain and the seat, perching on the edge of it after a second.

“Welcome aboard the Peregrine,” he continued amiably.  A glance down at the PADD caused the slightest hint of what might have been a grin to touch one corner of his mouth.  “A trip through your jacket suggests that you will be a wonderful fit for our misfit cruise.”

The instinct to raise an eyebrow at that was battered back by Zhay-la schooling her expression into neutrality.

The Captain drew a breath and leaned back in his chair.  “Your service record is… interesting, Lieutenant.  I see commendations, I see reprimands.” He paused and made long, meaningful eye contact.  “I see a warrior spirit.  That is something that I not only can respect, but identify with.”

Drake folded his hands neatly in front of his chest.  “The Peregrine is not like many other vessels you may have experienced.  She is a warship, and makes no apology for that.  We exist to enforce the Federation’s power, to bring fear to her enemies.  I can make great use of a true warrior.”

SIlas let his gaze wander the room until it came to rest on a model ship hanging on the wall.  The model was not of a spacecraft, but of an ancient seafaring vessel.   The detail to the tiny wooden vessel was exquisite; it was clearly a prized possession of some sort.

The captain’s pause in his monologue gave Zhay-la a moment to catch up with his words. In truth, she had expected a more confrontational interaction, never mind this rather warm welcome. Her spine still tingled with nerves, but at the least she hadn’t needed to use the speech she had prepared yet.

“My concern, naturally, is discipline,” he continued.  “It would appear that this is an area you have struggled with at times in your career.  And quite frankly, it is an area that you cannot afford to struggle with here.  This ship is small, agile, strong - as such, we have no capacity here to carry those who cannot contribute fully as part of the team.”  His eyes narrowed.  “I trust that will not be a concern here.”

Grey eyes narrowed at Drake, lips pursed, but Zhay-la bit down any retorts that came to mind.

The Captain relaxed slightly, and his expression softened.  “Again, Lieutenant, I can identify with anger.  I, too, have a temper.  I too, struggle with the suffering of fools.  I too, have been known to be eager - perhaps too eager - to correct foolishness.  But you are the Tactical Chief now.  You set the example for the fighting crew of this ship.  As you go, so do they.  Anger can be good; passion is better.  But you must harness these, use them to our benefit.  As CTO, there is no room for petty personal vendettas.  There is less room for lack of discipline.  I must know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I can count on you at all times.”

He paused, fixing Zhay-la with an iron gaze.  “Can I count on you, Lieutenant?” 

“Of course, sir,” was the steely response he received.

Drake nodded.  “Very well. Know this - I don’t give a damn what you did or didn’t do in the past, or by what others may say about you.  I judge people by their actions - and nothing else.  You’ve earned this posting, so what you accomplish with that is entirely up to you.”

We’ll see about that, Zhay-la thought to herself; she’d heard as much from other superior officers, but at the least Drake seemed genuine.

The Captain’s expression softened to something approaching a smile, extending an open hand for a shake..  “Again, welcome aboard.  I am glad to have you, Lieutenant Taissud.” 

We got a half inch in Alabama last week.  Shut everything down for two days...

Ol' Spot is spot on. There have been no new technologies introduced for us to use.