For Amber checking the basic records of their destination they would find the colony on Sigma 9 was your run of the mill mining colony that had sprung up when the simple precious ore and metals mining rig had expanded from family growth. It was home to about 950 souls at last report about a month ago from a Federation mining freighter doing a pick up.
Petty Officer Banner checked the course the ship was on to make sure that it would be smooth sailing and he thought that he better prepare a flight plan into the system itself. That was, of course, his job.
Petty Officer Robert Banner
Banner’s check on the Sigma 9 system was pretty run of the mill. Four planets, a pair of small asteroid and cometary fields, and not much else. Nothing really stood out as being flight wise dangerous.
Fifteen minutes later he entered the bridge, nodded at Bolurson taking position by the door, then sat at a rear station. He pressed a few of the buttons, then flipped a rocker switch and grabbed the printout that came out beneath the station. He snapped it in the clipboard he had brought before standing again as he reviewed it, walking back toward the turbolift.
“If you need anything, I’ll be in the briefing room,” he said to Bolurson. “Hopefully this won’t take too long,” he added before entering the lift and grabbing the handle. “Briefing room,” he ordered, then sat in silent contemplation for the ride.
He hoped this would, indeed, be a short meeting, and the mission would be simple. Simple missions meant less likelihood anyone would be in danger; when people were in danger, it was usually his people that got hurt. He mentally recited the list of people he’d been responsible for that had died: Fenton, Brown, Solak, Baneer. Some things are worth dying for, he reminded himself. Rule 5. You cannot protect everyone. Rule 6. They still hurt, though.
He straightened as the lift stopped, then stepped into the hall and then into the mostly-empty briefing room, where a young yeoman was setting up coffee service. He nodded, then took up station in the corner, leaning there to review the day’s rotation on the printout.
Though technically, he wasn’t a senior officer of the Sentinel, Senior Chief Petty Officer Black Wolf had more years of experience of actual star ship service than many of the officers of the crew. By default, he was always welcomed to attend these meetings. He was, after all, the chief flight officer and controlled the ships travels through space, as well as the head of the shuttle piloting crews.
Stepping into the briefing room, he nodded to the security chief and offered a “Good morning, Lt.” before pouring himself a coffee and taking his normal seat at the table.
SCPO Black Wolf (helm)
Ford looked up from his clipboard and straightened, nodding. “Morning, Chief.” He joined the helmsman at the table, sitting a couple of seats down from him. “Awfully early for a meeting,” he noted, dropping the roster to the table. “Any ideas what’s going on?”
In his line of work, surprises were never good things.
Amber gave the Captain the quick and dirty before the briefing. “Sigma 9 is your run of the mill mining colony expanded from a small family project. There are less than a thousand folks there now according to the last freighter report a month ago.” She glanced up at the Captain as she finished. “Do you need me in the briefing or see if I can try and reach them as we get closer?”
She preferred the briefing. But she was the ears of the ship and sometimes listening out here was more important than listening in a briefing room.
OOC: Testing testing 1,2,3 just bumping and waiting for folks to get briefed…
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