The surface of the planet rolled beneath the descending shuttlecraft Orpheus in shades of dull grey and ochre, cracked and pale like an old wooden bench left too long in the sun. It looked almost peaceful, except for the constant warnings by the shuttle’s computers about radiation pockets. At the helm, Lieutenant Garion Beckett was hunched slightly over the controls, his fingers working the console with relative ease, despite the near constant turbulence of the descent. 

“Good afternoon passengers,” he said with a smile, “and welcome aboard shuttlecraft flight 780 from USS Leif Erikson to the surface of a burned out shithole. As you may have noticed, there will be some turbulence on the flight, due to the pockets of radiation bent on killing us all. The weather on the surface is a balmy 120 degrees celsius in the light, and a breezy negative 133 degrees in the shade, so bring your jackets and sunscreen.”

 Lieutenant Commander Cruikshank was seated behind Garion’s pilot seat at an auxiliary console, adjusting the sensor array to scan for signs of the Winslow’s position.”It looks like her approach angle was shallow.” he said, “She must have coasted in, maybe even tried to land. Judging by the debris field – she missed.”

“Not by much,” replied Garion, pointing to a jagged mountain range in the distance. “I bet she stopped in that valley over there.” 

Commander Bema Saberwyn was standing behind Garion, one hand on the bulkhead and the other on the back of the pilot’s chair. His eyes fixed on the mountain range that Garion had pointed out. “Look there,” he said, “On that western ridge line. See that? There is definitely some heat scarring there. She must have skipped before she stopped.” 

As they got closer to the surface, the turbulence got worse. They were skimming low over the terrain now, almost engulfed in the wide swath of ground that had been disturbed by the Winslow’s hull. Garion pulled up suddenly as they came upon the ridge, and then they saw it. 

The large, flat primary hull of the old Oberth Class ship lay canted upon its collapsed pylons, with whatever was left of the boat-shaped secondary hull half buried in the ground below it. Scorch marks and large breaches covered its exterior, and the starboard warp nacelle was missing entirely. Bema exhaled slowly. “Well, the fact that any of it remains at all means the warp core didn’t breach.”

Vail spoke up from behind him. “That’s a little good news. The data files should still be intact.” 

“I’ve got a stable clearing up ahead,” Garion called over his shoulder, “About ten meters from the primary hull. It should be safe to set down.” 

“Do it.” Bema replied. 

The Orpheus settled down onto the ground with a hiss from the repulsor engines and a metallic groan from the landing struts. Dust and dirt swirled around the craft as it came to rest, momentarily obscuring the landscape from view. The away team moved about the cramped space with purpose, pulling on EVA suits and double-checking each other to make sure they were completely sealed in. Dathasa, once she was verified, opened a compartment and pulled out a leather belt which had two Romulan Disruptors strapped to it, and fastened around her waist. With a sharp hiss, the shuttle’s landing ramp lowered itself onto the ground, and the away team disembarked. 

The boots of the EVA suits crunched over rocks and pebbles on the sun-baked ground as the away team moved carefully towards the hulking wreck of the Winslow. Craig was holding his tricorder, scanning the area slowly as they drew nearer.

“Radiation levels are within safety limits, but barely.” he said as his tricorder made another pass. “Let’s not stay longer than we have to, or I won’t be able to guarantee we won’t glow in the dark.”

“You’ve mentioned radiation a lot.” Vail said, “Are you hinting at something?”

“He’s trying to tell you you’re not invincible, Commander.” Garion said with a smile.

“I am, actually.” Vail said with a sardonic smile, “I just don’t like to brag.”

“Alright, everyone, focus up.” Bema said in a serious voice, “we’ve got a dead starship to rummage through.” 

“The secondary hull is almost completely gone.” Garion said, with a note of awe in his voice. “The landing after the skip must have collapsed the pylons onto it.”

“There’s a breach over there.” said Commander Saberwyn, pointing to a large tear in the saucer where it met the ground, “We might be able to get in that way.” 

“Yea, provided the deck plates aren’t ready to collapse.” Vail said wryly. “This thing has been baking in the sun for forty years.” They reached the crumpled outer hull of the Winslow, where the tear yawned open like a jagged wound. 

Craig stepped up to the opening and scanned it with his tricorder. “Looks like the deck plating inside is still moderately stable.” he said, turning back to the group. “I believe we have our doorway.” 

“Define moderately”, Garion said following Craig through the tear into the ship itself. “I do love a good doorway into a haunted ruin.”

The team switched on their shoulder lights, and stepped inside the wreck, out of the glaring sunlight. 

Inside, the ship was a dark mausoleum of twisted metal and melted plastic. Conduit hung from the overhead bulkheads like jungle vines, and the floor was littered with shards of glass that crunched and snapped underfoot as the team walked further into the wrecked ship. 

“It’s like walking through a corpse.” Garion said quietly, as though he would disturb someone if he spoke any louder.

Bema was behind him, scanning with his tricorder. “The floor layout is mostly intact.” he said, “But there’s a full collapse between here and the turbolift shaft. We’re going to need to find a way around to get to the bridge.” The team continued deeper into the ship, with Dathasa bringing up the rear, her hands hovering near the disruptors at her hips and her eyes sweeping over every shadow, through half collapsed corridors that held memories of the lives that were once lived on this ship. One one bulkhead, they passed a Starfleet Recruitment poster, still clinging on stubbornly. Garion stopped for a moment as something under his boot crumpled. Crouching down, he examined the crayon covered paper – a child’s drawing. 

“She came down hard.” Bema said as the team passed walls that were buckled inwards, crumpled like aluminum foil, “But the upper decks looked to be mostly intact. If anyone made it up to the bridge…”

“They may have transmitted something more than what the buoy had.” Craig finished. “Something Starfleet didn’t want anyone to hear.” At the end of the crumpled corridor was a staircase, which was little more than a crumpled crawlspace. Garion picked his way carefully through first, then helped the rest of the away team through. The strain of their movement echoed with a groan throughout the hull. 

When the last of the team made it through into the bridge corridor, it was like stepping back into a time machine. Emergency bulkheads had sealed off most of the deck, but the door to the bridge was jammed halfway open, with dark scorch marks surrounding the edges. 

“Manual override?” Dathasa asked, looking at Garion. He nodded, then bent down and pulled open the doors’ access panel. A few sparks flared as he rerouted the power, but after a moment there was a hiss and a crack, and the doors ground open slowly, the sound reverberating loudly in the empty ship. 

The Winslow’s bridge was a complete mess. The main viewscreen was shattered and half collapsed. The bridge chairs had all been wrenched from their mountings. A starfleet uniform covered in burns and tears hung over the edge of the helm console. Craig did a sweep of the bridge with his tricorder. 

“It looks like the central console is the only one in good enough shape to be of any use.” he said. 

“Well then,” Garion replied, carrying over a small briefcase sized power source. “I’m happy I dragged this thing along.” He set the case down, and crawled under the console, tossed aside the access panel, and began connecting wires. 

“Is he…humming?” Dathasa asked as he worked. 

“Oh yea.” Craig replied, waving a hand towards Garion’s exposed lower half. “He lives for this shit.”

A few moments later, the console flickered into life, and Garion slid himself out from under it, clapping the dust from his hands. He shot a look at Craig and opened his mouth to say something, but Craig cut him off with a firm “NO.”, and moved in behind the console. “There is residual data in the ship’s emergency log buffer.” He said, working the console, “The last recorded entry is before the crash.”

Garion bent down beside his friend. “I’ll boost the power. That should stabilize it enough to get the message to play.” The console flickered again, but then it became steady. A distorted Starfleet emblem appeared on the console’s viewscreen, then appeared the face of a worn, desperate-looking man wearing a teal uniform.  

If anyone finds this…

The image jumped and distorted. 

…experiments destabilized the upper magnetosphere…planetary atmosphere is now in cascade failure…didn’t see the outpost…Cardassians…retaliation was swift…this was a covert mine…thought we were attacking…

Another jump.

We tried to signal – to explain. They wouldn’t listen. God help us. We’re going down.  Haynes is trying to reach the surface intact. Estimated trajectory – southern continent.

The man leaned close to the screen, his voice barely a whisper. 

No one will believe this was an accident.

The screen flickered again, and then went dark. The only sounds left on the bridge were the sounds of the away team breathing. Bema spoke first, finally breaking the silence. “They didn’t stand a chance.” he said quietly. 

“I can’t believe Starfleet buried this for forty years.” Garion said, “And then sent us in to clean up.”

Dathasa’s eyes moved to the shattered viewscreen. “What else did they leave behind?” Silence settled like dust over the bridge. For a few moments, nobody moved or spoke. Then a small ping from Craig’s tricorder rang out, and there was a sharp intake of breath as he checked it. 

“I’ve… got something else.” He said slowly. “It’s a transponder signal.”

“From the Winslow?” Bema asked, moving in beside him. 

“No…” Craig said, going silent as he adjusted the settings on the handheld unit. “This signal is newer. Still Starfleet, but not from the ship’s computers. It could be a portable beacon, or an EVA suit, but it’s faint.”

“Maybe somebody took a walk after the crash, got lost.” Vail said.

“Or something wanted to be found.” Dathasa said, narrowing her eyes.

Bema wheeled around on her, his brow furrowed in frustration. “Do you always have to go to the darkest possible place?”

Dathasa crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, meeting his gaze. “I’ve seen the type of shit the Tal Shiar used to pull, Commander. I don’t assume anything is innocent.”

A charged silence passed between them. Neither moved or looked away. Then, Bema spoke again, his voice measured. “That mentality will keep you alive Lieutenant, but don’t let it blind you. Not everything is a trap.”

Dathasa didn’t look away, but her body language softened slightly. “And not everything that looks like a rescue is one, Commander.” 

Craig cleared his throat, hoping to break the tension with a redirect. “It looks like the signal is south of here. About three kilometers. Who’s up for a nature hike?”

“That’s probably the location of the mine that the Winslow’s log mentioned.” Bema said, deciding to step away from the confrontation. “Let’s go.” 

The team picked their way carefully back outside, and headed back to the shuttle. The Orpheus lifted off the ground, and Garion steered the craft towards the ping of Craig’s tricorder, skimming the shuttle low over the planet’s burnt surface. 

“No change in the signal.” Craig said, checking his tricorder. 

“Looks like it’s coming from underground, but near the surface.” Vail said, looking over his shoulder, “probably the main entrance shaft.”

“Could be collapsed.” Garion said over his shoulder, “but it wouldn’t be the first time I had to cut my way through Cardassian engineering.” he added with a crooked smile. 

Bema looked over at Dathasa, who was looking fixedly out the window at the passing terrain. “I meant what I said earlier,” he said quietly. 

She did not look at him, but she responded. “So did I.” 

The shuttle’s proximity alarm sounded before Bema could respond again. Garion pitched the Orpheus down, landing on a rocky outcrop not far from the structure. “Alright kids, we’re here.” he said, getting out of his seat, “The radiation levels are within safety limits. Now, does everyone have their Adventure Buddy?”

The hatch opened with a metallic sigh, and the mine’s once imposing structure stood before them, a jagged ruin of metal and concrete. One of the upper walls had evidently collapsed over the years, leaving a jagged triangle of itself partially covering the entrance.

“I’ll take point,” Dathasa said, adjusting the disruptors on her belt and stepping to the head of the group. 

“Of course.” Bema muttered under his breath. 

Garion tapped Vail on the shoulder, and pointed at their backs, “I think they’re starting to  get along.” 

Inside the mine’s entrance was as dark as the interior of the ship had been. The team flicked on their shoulder lights again, cutting beams through the thick dust that hung in the air, and moved deeper into the decrepit tunnel. The only sounds were the crunch of debris underfoot, and the ping of Craig’s tricorder. 

“The signal is just up ahead.” Craig said, his voice echoing off the deserted walls. He led them into a wide chamber, filled with conveyor belts, ore bins and dust covered, forgotten consoles. 

“Over there.” Garion said, pointing to a collapsed pile of plating. Partially visible under a support beam, half hidden by debris, was the broken remains of an EVA suit. The helmet and torso were scorched, and the left arm was missing entirely, but there on the right forearm, even after forty years, a transponder blinked on, its light dim.

Vail approached it cautiously. “It looks to be the type that would have been on the Winslow.” she said, kneeling down to take a look at it. 

Dathasa, who was standing a little apart from everyone, suddenly pivoted sharply, drawing a pistol from its holster. “Movement.” she said, her voice low and full of urgency. The whole team froze in place, straining to hear a sound from the silence. 

Clink

A metallic rattle sounded from the darkness beyond the beams of the flashlights. Craig’s grip tightened on his tricorder as he pointed it in the direction of the sound. “I can see faint traces of a heat signature,” he said, his voice quavering, “but I read no lifesigns.”

“Well,” Garion said loudly, drawing his phaser, “I officially do not like this mine. Let’s get the hell out of here, shall we?”

Bema nodded. “Agreed. Craig, can you remove that transponder?” 

“Sure can, Commander.” Craig said, working quickly to free it from the suit, and placing it in a sample case. “Done.”

“Good.” Bema said, “Let’s get this back to the Erikson to be analyzed, then we can decide what to do about this place.”