The acrid taste of melting polymers and electronics clawed at the back of Wallace’s throat, a burning sensation that he was just rousing enough to become aware of. Consciousness was fleeting as one by one his senses were revived, yet he seldom had the immediate strength or presence of mind to take heed of them.

A whisper on the wind, with a voice almost familiar to him but distorted beyond reasonable recognition through the tinnitus in his ears. Muffled sounds blunted the crisp edges of each consonant and drowned the rhythm of each vowel, thereby blending speech into a thick soup of low and mid-frequency tones.

He opened his eyes briefly, the flicker of flames seared his retinas, as though they had never before been bathed in the light. As complete consciousness returned to his human vessel, pain tantamount to what he imagined a searing hot lance being driven into his skull prompted him to groan in discomfort, engaging his muscles to lift his head from the broken console and shards of glass rained from his face, as the surface tension between their surfaces and his blood failed to hold back the pull of gravity,

“Fairfax to Essex!, Dammit, Wallace, Come in!”

The whisper again, still muted, but he recognised the voice of his C.O. He smeared the blood from his face, feeling the tiny shards that had not fallen scrape his palm like hundreds of sharp needles. Reaching for his communicator, he felt only the frayed edges of his torn uniform. The whisper repeated, and he strained his focus through the splitting ache in his skull to resolve that the sound was actually coming from behind him.

He turned his head, squinting his eyes in an effort to gain resolution. Movement, and a glint that reflected the flicking flames, captured his attention. He blinked hard, trying to see straight, using his sleeve to wipe his eyes again. The shuttle was a complete wreck, but amongst the debris strewn across the cockpit, two small reptilian creatures squabbled like magpies over the shiny metal of his communicator. He blinked again, assuming his injury had left him confused and hallucinating.

The creatures were only a foot tall, bipedal with a long, thin whip-like tail that made them appear like snakes that had sprouted legs. Their jaws snapped at each other with rows of tinny needle-like teeth, snarling and hissing every time one of them tried to make a play for the shiny metal device on the floor.

Wallace stared in amazement; they appeared similar to the prehistoric reptiles of Earth, but the idea of it was nonsense to him. His throat spasmed, the searing fumes evoking a choking reflex that he was powerless to withhold.

The sound of his cough startled the little creatures, who now lost interest in the gleam of their little trinket and locked their eyes on the Commander with envy. The scent of fresh blood, the warmth of his body and the dull thump of his heart triggered their primal instincts. Live prey.

The creatures snarled and hissed, as if they were a predator twice their size; their confidence in taking down larger prey was born out of experience and knowing their own speed and agility. They coiled their legs, curved their tails, preparing to leap into a strike as their jaws drooled with impatient salvation.

With the ferocity of a lightning bolt, the razor-sharp edge of a Mek’leth blade swept from behind the creatures, erupting in a shower of sparks as it sliced through a conduit hanging from the ceiling, “Commander!” K’vagh cried, his hair unkempt and uniform equally frayed and bloodied.

For a moment, the creatures were startled by the Klingon’s abrupt entrance, seemingly unaware of their mortal wounds, they attempted to take on the bigger prey. Their legs failing to receive the correct signals, they stumbled and fell, their heads falling cleanly from their bodies; still snapping and snarling through insatiable instinct.

Wallace was dumbfounded, confused, and unsure whether to trust his eyes. Dinosaurs belonged in museums and textbooks, not on some forgotten world on the frontiers of exploration.

“Commander, are you alright?” K’vagh approached with purpose, kicking the snapping reptilian remains to one side as he chambered through the wreck. He reached his Commander and immediately started inspecting his wounds with a Tricorder, “A mild concussion. You will survive!”

“Com-badge.” Wallace pointed to the device on the floor after it made another distorted whisper, “Hey, what were those things?” he followed up by asking.

K’vagh glanced over and dragged the device with his foot to within his reach and handed it to the Commander. “I am not certain,” he sighed, “There were two more in the aft section when I regained consciousness, scavenging at the remains of crewman Jaurès!”

Wallace glanced at K’vagh and conveyed an expression of sorrow, “Any other casualties?”

“Thankfully, just the one. Ensign Brett is securing the perimeter of the crash site.”

“Check on Juno!” Wallace uttered as he activated his communicator. “Essex Fairfax.”

Immediately, Captain Dubois’s voice buzzed through the broach, “Number one! We haven’t got a lot of time to talk. What’s your status?”

“Alive, but the Essex is a wreck. Crewman Jaurès died in the crash.” He glanced over at Juno, who was thankfully alive and coming around. “No other casualties.”

“We’re assembling a rescue team—”

“With respect, no, sir!” Wallace interrupted, “We don’t know yet what brought us down, but best not to risk more lives unless necessary.” he paused to cough for a moment, “We’ll proceed to the objective, and make contact—”

“Commander, the atmosphere is interfering with transmissions. We’re currently bouncing a signal off a relay in the upper atmosphere, but it’s decaying; we’ve got about forty seconds before we lose communication!” Alex interrupted.

“What do you suggest then, sir?” said Wallace.

“We’re sending you a set of coordinates. Our sensors show that in nineteen hours, there’s going to be a transporter window where we can beam you out. The window will only be open for around five minutes. If you’re not there by then, we won’t get another window for seventy-two hours!”

“Understood, we’ll be there!”

“Commander, your survival is the priority. …….shelter……
storm…….windspeeds……..rainfall…..electr….” The transmission became consumed by static. Wallace took out a Tricorder from his pack and began downloading the coordinates from his communicator before the buffer erased them. ‘Good, at least we got them,’ he thought to himself as the numbers populated on the display.

Juno dusted herself off; she was more or less in a similar shape to her colleagues, but perhaps recovering from her head trauma a little more easily. She turned to look back at the wreckage of her shuttle and immediately caught sight of the two decapitated reptiles, “Are they?…” she said, pointing.

“Dead… yes,” K’vagh responded as he passed the dermal regenerator over her forehead.

“I was going to say, are they dinosaurs? But good to know they’re not getting back up!” she said, astonished.

“Compsognathus, Late Jurassic period,” Wallace spoke out.

Juno glanced over her shoulder, impressed by the Commander’s ancillary knowledge. “I had no idea you knew so much about extinct lizards!”

“I don’t… It’s what the tricorder says… At least… It’s the closest thing in the database. I’m detecting venom sacks filled with a potent neurotoxin. I don’t remember reading anything in the history books about Dinosaurs having venom!” Wallace explained.

“Wasn’t there an old Earth movie… where the dinosaurs escaped from the lab?” Juno quizzed, “Pretty sure there was a venomous one in that!”

“Movie?” K’vagh asked inquisitively, as if he didn’t understand the word.

“Oh, they were what humans used to enjoy before holo-novels—moving pictures on a display screen,” Juno explained, as if she were an expert on the subject. Truth be told, she kind of was, having a keen fascination for the 20th and 21st centuries.

Wallace pondered for a moment, two nearly identical species evolving separately, thousands of light-years apart; the probabilities were astronomical. But there was no time to be awed by the nuances of the origin of species. “Gather what supplies you can salvage. We’ve only got nineteen hours to complete the mission and extract!” he ordered.

“We’re still going after the structure?” Juno asked, “Shouldn’t we just head to those coordinates the Captain sent us? It’ll be dark soon, and who knows what comes out at night on this planet!” She said in protest.

“That’s an order, Lieutenant!” Wallace snapped, “I don’t like the idea of being exposed when night falls, either, least of all when that storm rolls in!” he said, pointing to the turbulent sky. Dark clouds enveloped the mountains to the west, with downpours so dense; they bridged the gap between ground and sky. Lightning backlit the clouds very few seconds, foreshadowing the ferocity of the approaching maelstrom. “We’re just over a dozen klicks from the structure. If we leave now, we might have a chance before the worst of it hits!”

“Sir? The Romulans?” K’vagh pointed out, their briefing was to try and avoid detection.

“We’re not quite at war with them yet, K’vagh. They may be suspicious of us, but I doubt they’d want the publicity of leaving a Starfleet crew outside to die!” said Wallace, “Let’s move out!”

As K’vagh and Juno began sifting through the wreckage, Wallace made his way outside to check on Ensign Brett. A bolian’s bright blue skin and bald cranium weren’t difficult to spot amongst the foliage, roughly 30 meters from the crash site. As he approached, his nostrils became overpowered by the stench of methane and digestate, and as he pushed through the ferns into the clearing where the bolian was standing, it became obvious they had both come across an extraordinarily large pile of dung, approximately 8 feet wide at the base and 5ft high. A thin haze of moisture clung to its surface like a fog flowing down the side of a mountain during a cold front.

Wallace stood in awe and couldn’t help but express his disbelief at the size of the droppings in front of him, and his curiosity about the size of the creature that excreted them. “That is, one big pile of shit!”