Commander Riker raced into the shuttle bay, sliding around the last corner so fast that his feet nearly shot out from beneath him. A small craft came into view, its sides caked in dirt and debris. The thrusters glowed red hot and a low-pitched hum reverberated against the bay walls as its engines powered down. Riker waited for a hiss to indicate that the side hatch had been released, then yanked it upward impatiently. Three grim, weary faces looked back at him from the darkened interior. Three. When there should have been five.
"Wait-where's-what the hell happened?" he fumed. Light, hurried footsteps bounded to his side. Counselor Troi peered into the shuttle. Her face tightened with worry as she noted two empty seats.
"It's not our fault!" a blonde-haired woman squeaked. Her voice trembled, threatening to break. Blood had seeped into a bandage wrapped around her arm, and a coat of dust covered her attractively rounded face. "Ensign Riker-she told us to get out of there if we got the chance! She told us to get help!"
Riker's countenance softened; clearly the crew was still shaken. "Well are they okay? Are they injured? Are they still-still-" Alive, he wanted to ask. But the word hit a lump in his throat and could go no further.
"I don't know, I'm just-" The blonde burst into tears. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm just sorry."
One of the others, a stocky young man with platinum hair that had been cropped close to his scalp, cupped a calming hand over her shoulder. "We weren't alone down there, sir," he explained.
Riker shook his head. "That planet hasn't been inhabited for centuries, Haykov."
"By anything living, you mean," the third passenger mumbled. He was a classic-looking Bolian, with green-blue skin and a pronounced ridge running down the center of his face.
Haykov threw him a scowl. "I can't explain it, sir. But...something strange is definitely going on."