The Gorgon Truigar came to awareness on the third bounce.

     Awakened, his augmented brain cycled rapidly through its warm-up phase as he hit the surface of the moon repeatedly. The scratching sound on the outer skin of the bubble, coupled with the haphazard ascent arc after each bump, revealed to him a coarse and uneven surface below. Not a fitting way to make landfall on the world of the Ancients, the Gorgon noted. However, the softskins had their protocols and safety measures. Like hatchlings before being fitted to their first pieces of tek, the pouches were designed to keep the humans secure and protected in their pliable bodies during freefall.

     But Truigar did not come to this forgotten corner of the once-Empire by request of the softskins, although it suited their primate vanity to believe otherwise. His commands had been received, encrypted and through secure channels, from the High Council itself. An important discovery, they informed him. One that presented a great opportunity for their diminished race.

     After the tenth bounce, the pressurized sphere slowed to a stop and deflated. The Gorgon spilled out of his harness in a fluid roll and sprung upright into a brisk walk without losing momentum, instantly alert. His internal calibrations reported gravity at eight tenths standard g, while ambient air temperature registered twenty-two point eight degrees higher than was ship norm. He scanned his surroundings and found the human dig site nearby. As he headed for the perimeter, Truigar raised his eyes to the binary stars burning low in the heliotrope-hued sky. Then he settled on the oblong edifice rising in the distance.

     He paused and allowed the organic half of his brain to reflect for a moment.

     At last I come to the resting place of our long-ago enemies, Truigar thought as he took in the sight. What secrets shall I find hidden in thy bosom?

     The softskin warriors he had been ordered to liaise with waited near the outskirts of the dead camp half a kilometer away. They needed him to interface with the advanced tek littering the site, tapping into its secrets with his specialized Gorgon link. He would sift through the clues and tell the recon team what they needed to know. But, remotely, Truigar had already begun to access the stray files the researchers had not encrypted. He promptly scanned through a few errant field reports and initial treatises concerning the ruin’s origins.

     In passing interest, he paused on the personal channel logs of one Isaac Conners, a laborer at the dig. He flagged the softskin’s daily accounts for further perusal in no particular chronological sequence. It would serve his purpose well to see the events leading up to the dig team’s disappearance through the alien eyes of a human. The report his clansmen hastily sent to the Council had lacked the personal details needed to appreciate the unique beauty of this discovery.

Truigar continued to scan while resuming his approach to the camp, laterally preparing for the unpleasant business of dealing with the softskins and their foul-mannered ways. But as he neared the waiting humans, a wonder assaulted his senses.

     We are near, brother, the message came unbidden into his thoughts. Hasten. The whispered-ones await rebirth.

     Truigar allowed himself brief elation. His kin were indeed alive—and close! After the initial report and subsequent loss of the long-range link, most hope had fled within the clan. But with his brethren now confirmed alive and their words promising reward, Truigar knew at last the Citadel of the Forgotten had been found.

*

Channel Log: Conners, Isaac

Colonial Stamp: 20 Jun 309 A.C.—23:13

……………………………………………

Day twenty-three.

We’re doomed! I say this now as sure as the twins will rise on this blasted junk of a moon. Everyone’s gone tipso here . . . I’m scared I won’t live to see too many more dawns. The blue mist is thicker than spit tonight, creeping out from that cursed tomb on the edge of camp. It’s like a living thing, it is. Even now I can feel its graft slipping through my mask and down my throat. Fresh air’s like some distant fantasy, and even my thoughts are a fog . . . each decision taking longer to make.

As I speak, I’m holed up in the mess tent trying to keep a low profile out of sight from the others. I’m hoping we get rescued before one of the lunatics, or the good Doc himself, gets to me first. He’s gone slagged in the head, that Dr. Pitts. Taken to enforcing the law around here, he has. He shot Orfsky point-blank with a range waver. Didn’t even bother to explain why, just grunted and sauntered off. Those of us still sane scattered like steel mites when the Doc swung that stick of his in our direction.

God help me, Moses. If you are getting this, please say a prayer for my soul.

__________

     Staff Sergeant Mordecai Begin stood up and dusted his trousers with his right hand. This blasted moon wasn’t going to make his job any easier, no sir. He and his team made bounce less than thirty minutes ago, but already he had a sick nag digging pits into his gut.

Several of the camp’s occupants lay dead all around him, grotesque wounds and livid bruises painting a ghastly portrait of homicidal rage. Something had gone terribly wrong here, of that there was no mistake. The two bodies he’d been examining belonged to the digging crew, judging from the heavy excavation tools the men wore around their waists. He noted their peculiar poses; how, even in the throes of death, they had not released their grips from around each other’s throats. Their eyes were wide open, their lips twisted into abject hatred. As if the fatal quarrel continued being waged in the afterlife long after their physical bodies had expired.

     Begin shook his head and glanced upward at the suns. The star Pythias had set halfway beneath the horizon. Its twin, Damon, was not far behind in the east. The sky had turned a deep amethyst since his last check, the beauty of the sunsets marred only by the wide swath of space junk hanging low in orbit above. Fleet engineers had determined the debris to be the remnants of an ancient accelerator ring, puzzling in its sophistication. Not even the Gorgons possessed tek that advanced in their heyday.

     And whoever built the ring was no longer around to share their secrets. Although, judging by the extent of the archaeological operation being run here, apparently someone back at Central had believed otherwise. Someone with deep pockets, Begin surmised. Must have taken some major leg pulling, too, to convince the brass back home to send out the Fleet’s rear detachment for an investigation. Only a private interest with some heavy hands in Congress could manage such a feat.

     “Command’s really serious if they’re sending us one of them, Sarge.” Sokolov’s gruff voice interrupted him from behind.

     Begin turned to find the stocky redheaded woman watching the sky as a puffer pouch came tumbling onto the rocky plain outside the camp’s northern perimeter. Inside that pouch was his team’s last member, added by Lieutenant Carruthers upon insistence of the Gorgon diplomatic council back on Tierra Nueva. Naturally, his recon grunts were none pleased by the prospect of having a grubby-eyed Gorgon in their midst. Begin could empathize.

     “You’re not afraid of a single Gorg are you, Corporal?”

     She bristled at that and brought her gaze around to meet his.

“They don’t bother me like they do the rest of the team, Sarge. But I’m already getting the heaves from this place without one of their kind tagging along.” Her teeth showed rust-colored splotches as she spoke, the hallmark of a serious toro weed chewer.

“I still think it’s bad jumbo to have one along, though. Wasn’t that long ago we was enemies with their kind.”

     “Duly noted,” Begin said, then changed the subject. “What’ve you found, Katya?”

     Sokolov glanced at the pair of corpses beside him, then back again. “More of the same, Sarge. The camp’s transceiver is slagged, and the excavation team is either all dead or else partially missing. Eruyha’s scans are not picking up any thermal signatures from the structure or the surrounding area. With your permission, we’ll move into the site proper and give it a thorough shaking.”

     “Casualties?”

     “N’Kor’s logged in sixty tags so far, but the roster claims there are eighty-nine researchers and dirt hogs assigned to this outfit.”

     Begin folded his arms and nodded. “Yes, and a contingent of four Gorgons apparently.”

     The large woman’s eyes widened. “Sarge?”

     “That’s classified information, Corporal,” he warned. “For your ears only. Just keep an eye out for them, but discreetly. Report directly to me if you find anything.”

     Sokolov stared at him for a moment, then accepted his instructions with a languid nod. She started to say something, but Begin silenced her with a raised hand as the Gorgon approached.

     “Welcome aboard,” he addressed the tall, bulky alien. “I’m Staff Sergeant Begin, and this is the team’s grenadier, Corporal Sokolov. What is your designation?”

     The Gorg regarded Sokolov with those glowing cobalt eyes of his kind, not saying a word but examining her with a keen interest. Bronzed, ropey hair wriggled freely around the creature’s intricately carved headpiece, and Begin repressed a shudder. Finally, the newcomer shifted in his metallic atmo suit and fixed that unblinking gaze on him.

     “I am known in my clan as Truigar, sixth-hatched,” the alien proclaimed in a high-pitched nasal hiss. The re-breather built into his suit made sizzling noises as he spoke, reminding Begin of the Gorg’s eternal reliance on their precious tek.

     “Well, Mr. Truigar, you’re assigned to this unit to provide technical support. Primarily to get the camp’s subspace emitter operating again; and, secondly, to interact with the alien artifacts we’ll likely encounter at the site of the excavation. Your people are familiar with this place?”

     “No, Sergeant Begin,” the Gorgon responded over the hiss of his re-breather. “Not with this world, particularly. But my people remember the race that once controlled this sector. Be assured their tek shall respond to my manipulation.”

     Begin nodded, pleased by the Gorg’s confidence. “Good. And in return, as promised, we will share all files and research data recovered from the site with your . . . government.”

     Truigar swiveled his helm in Sokolov’s direction again, but continued to address Begin.

     “And what of the other matter, sir?” The Gorgon sounded hesitant.

     “You can speak freely before the Corporal, Truigar. She’s aware of the gravity of the situation and has agreed to assist in locating your kinsmen.”

     Truigar approximated a human nod. “Then the terms are agreed to, Sergeant. And I attest to the earnestness of your words. Please, where shall I start?”

     “Corporal Sokolov, have Arroyo assist him in any way possible. If you would, Mr. Truigar,” Begin extended his hand in the Corporal’s direction. Sokolov raised an eyebrow.

     “Katya here will show you to the camp’s communications’ shed where you may download the files and make those repairs. Meanwhile, my unit and I will advance towards the structure and wait for you to rejoin us before entering.”

     “Thank you, Sergeant Begin,” the Gorgon said. “I will alert you when I have succeeded.” Truigar turned and stood before Sokolov, waiting.

She threw Begin a searching look, then shrugged and growled to the Gorgon: “Follow me.”

__________

     “What you doing, Gorg?”

     From his squat position alongside the uplay transceiver, Truigar broke focus and glanced at the soldier called Arroyo. Trained in discerning the myriad arrangement of facial muscles in the softskins’ employ, he registered trepidation and nervousness underlying the human’s otherwise brusque demeanor.

     “I am accessing the equipment’s mainframe as your leader requested.”

     “Good. Well, make sure you don’t try nothing funny, you hear?”

     Arroyo’s grip on his rifle lessened slightly, but Truigar knew he would have to remain cautious around this one. The warrior, barely hatched by Gorgon estimates, watched his every move like a fledgling awaiting scraps. A waft of suspicion, almost palpable in the small confines, seemed to radiate from the human’s sweating flesh. Truigar’s organic half shuddered with revulsion at the sight, glad for the protection his atmo shell afforded him from environmental contaminants.

     “The camp’s stored files are accessible, but the long-range signaler has been dismantled,” Truigar reported.

     “Can you repair it?”

     “Of course, Private. The transceiver is merely human in manufacture after all—” He noted the annoyed expression that flashed across the softskin’s features.

     “My apologies,” he added with haste. “I meant no insult.”

     Arroyo grunted. “Yeah, well. Just get it fixed, right?”

     Truigar confirmed, then focused his gaze beyond the shed’s entrance. The Citadel perched over the dig camp in the distance, like a predatory avian from the home world. Dusk had settled and Begin’s team could be seen tossing luminescent glowbes into the air along the path leading down to the structure. The ovoid fixtures cast a healthy glow of light around the camp, revealing cerulean mist roiling across the rocky surface like a sentient shadow. He magnified his view to examine the substance closely, almost certain he could make out shapes moving within the inky curtain.

As he studied the results, Truigar’s thoughts were interrupted once more by anxious inquiries from his kinsmen.

     The deep-space link will be reestablished, he reassured them through the connection. Contact with the High Council is imminent.

     The softskin Arroyo watched him, but remained oblivious to Truigar’s underlying actions. Perhaps perturbed by the Gorgon’s unblinking stare, the soldier eventually shrugged and turned to watch his descending team members. The stiffness of his back made it clear the human wanted to be away from the Gorgon’s presence. A sentiment Truigar readily reciprocated.

Resuming his work on the damaged transceiver, he returned to the personal account he had flagged earlier, backtracking to the beginning of the log this time. The softskin Conners’ previous mention of the blue mist invited deeper investigation.

*

Channel Log: Conners, Isaac

Colonial Stamp: 1 Jun 309 A.C.—19:08

……………………………………………..

Day two.

Made landfall two nights ago—hotter than Beelzebub’s crack on this scrabble! Finally got some down time to jot speak into my clog, bro. The diggers got special break today from Dr. Pitts, so we’re sitting on the rocks with our shirts off, just enjoying the suns and cracking sport at the researchers. They ignore us burly burl types, course. But we’re not such a bad lot, and I think they know that. One of them takes it in stride well enough—a gal goes by the name of Arlyn. She hung loose with us and borrowed a smoke from me. Got to chitting the chat with her, finding out from where she hails. Says she’s from Degas, which would account for her high Inner Circle accent. Real funny way of saying things, y’know? But I’m sure my Rim drag is no melody to her ears none, either.

Mose, you won’t believe this: We got ourselves a quad of Gorgs here! Guess on account of all this old tek graf lying about. Pitts says the dig’s backers got them on special loan to help make sense of it all. Some of it’s real ancient and slagged beyond recognition. But those walking metal scavengers will get us into the main structure once we dig it out from beneath all this junk. Going to be a lot of backbreaking hours. Some of it’s special pay, tho, so I’m not complaining.

Gotta fiz, brother. I signed up for the late shift. Cooler at night, and it gets me knocked up an extra point and a half on the pay scale.

__________

     Begin studied the alien monolith warily as his team waited for Truigar to finish communicating with the structure’s automated gatekeeper. The blocky tower rose a respectable thirty meters above the volcanic plain, leaning over the small recon team like a brooding giant deciding their fate.

PFC Jonathan Arroyo shifted impatiently beside him. Begin diverted his attention to the young marine.

     “Are you in a rush to be somewhere, Private?”

     Arroyo glanced sidelong at him, a fine sheen of sweat glistened his brow beneath the halo of glowbes droning lazily above.

“Not exactly, Sarge. It’s this place . . . I feel like I’m being watched.”

Begin grunted, feeling the same way. Out of habit, he checked back along the main path they’d descended. But only the grim presence of the recently deceased, tagged and set aside, kept them company that evening. Despite the unrelenting heat, he felt a chill race down his spine.

     “Sergeant!” Sokolov’s harsh voice brought his focus back around to the entranceway. Truigar stepped aside from the small depression he’d been staring into for the past thirty minutes. The structure’s stony barrier slid into the ground without a sound.

     Lance Corporal Darek N’Kor whistled in admiration. “Now that’s some seriously reliable tek there!” The big man twisted his neck in Begin’s direction. “Hey Sarge, how old you think this place is anyway?”

     “Don’t ask me. The files Arroyo and Truigar retrieved are being beamed back to Command as we speak. If this Dr. Pitts fellow knew that info, it’ll be there somewhere.”

     “Sarge?” Sokolov asked with a scowl on her broad face. “Permission to enter the structure.” Having already swept the circumference of the monolith’s base for additional casualties, the Corporal was anxious to be doing something productive.

     Begin peered into the gaping dark maw of the opened entrance. The bluish mist they had noticed creeping through the camp with the approach of dusk poured out of the structure in thickening streams. Their instruments had detected no harmful elements within the ethereal substance, being mostly comprised of vapor mixed with innocuous volcanic gasses.

No choice left but to take the plunge, he knew. Still, his soldier’s intuition screamed at him to turn and beat the scrag off this moon. It wasn’t always right, this instinct of his. But then it was rarely this insistent, either.

     “Permission granted,” he said at last. “Let’s move.”

     Lt. Carruthers wanted results, and he wanted them bad. Begin hoped the answers to the archaeological team’s bizarre massacre were on the other side of that entrance. He didn’t think he’d want to be on this ill-begotten moon long enough to see the suns rise again.

     He started forward, then stopped as a series of discordant tones rang in his left ear, alerting him to an incoming message from Command on his private channel.

     Great, he thought with some anxiety. What did they find?

     Watching his team start for the monolith’s open portal, he paused to answer the transmission.

__________

Channel Log: Conners, Isaac

Colonial Stamp: 9 Jun 309 A.C.—06:47

………………………………………….

Day ten.

The Gorgs are spooked, which got me spooked. We’ve dug out more of the structure, a lot harder that I thought it would be. The xenologists are soiling themselves over the wealth of archaeological data holed up in here. Lots of strange symbols on the walls, and rooms with never-ending ceilings that twist up to nowhere. Xenos think the structure’s some sort of large gathering place, and Arlyn tells me they’re investigating similarities between these writings and those Gorgon logic murals on their home planet.

The Gorgs themselves refuse to comment on the subject, but they’re acting like we’re on some sort of sanctified holy ground. We know their ancestors had dealings with the people who built this place, but they haven’t been able to provide much clues as to the who or why of it. I sometimes catch one of them scanning the high walls as if searching for insight. But when I jabber one for info, all I get is the same unblinking stare. It’s like trying to jab with a durasteel bulkhead, I tell ya.

Still, something’s not whole here. We dug out a false wall in back of the main chamber and discovered a hidden room that didn’t show up on the initial scans. Dr. Pitts says the walls inside must be lined with a dampening material like resonate silica, or perhaps even durillalite. Means more work for yours truly, but also more pay if we strike it rich.

Ever since going down into this new section, tho, things have started to go wrong. For starters, it stinks like mummified hindquarters in there; surely something old and very dead must be buried inside. To make matters worse, there’s this subthermal substance seeping out of the chamber in thickening mists. I know its subthermal because Pitts made me take the damn temp readings myself. A researcher ran the suck reader through the stuff as well, but results came back negative for airborne pollutants. Whatever it is, Pitts has ordered us to ignore it and keep on digging. Easy for him to say, the wacker.

Wouldn’t you know it? - A few of the diggers came down with fevers and had to be pulled off the job. The rest of us do as we’re told, still. Don’t want to risk a docking just over a few sniffles. Of course, I keep my filter mask on at all times now. Ma ain’t raise her sons for fools, eh bro?

That blue fog is all over the place, making the evening shift resemble a graveyard at times. Chills to the bone, too. Toke breaks have lost their flavor, and even quick jam sessions with Arlyn in the Comm. shed are growing less appealing. Can’t wait ‘till this rotation’s over!

*

     Truigar felt a thrill pulse through his cybernetic frame as he disengaged from the artifact’s Guardian construct and watched the gate slide away. No Gorgon alive had ever seen an Ancient or one of their advanced tek cities before. But they all knew the stories, encoded in long, complex logarithmic strings onto murals back on Cantis Primal. The Ancients—their true name never spoken by Gorgons—had been a formidable race, at one time friends with his people, but more often bitter rivals for control of the outer spiral arm of the galaxy. After the great Cataclysm that nearly destroyed the Gorgons, opening the path for the softskins’ eventual conquest over them, his people had lost contact with the Ancients forever.

And now Truigar and his brothers have found evidence of their once great civilization. Surely this discovery will serve the High Council well and raise his clan to high esteem.

     Your signal is clearer, brother, a chorus of thoughts sang to him. We are very close. You must bring them to us. Yes, the whispered ones desire more, more, more.

     With the barrier dropped, Truigar delighted to find the connection stronger than before. Yet their words troubled him. Why did the Ancients—these ‘whispered ones’—need the softskins?

     All will be revealed, brother, the voices promised him. But you must hurry . . . their hunger is deep and endless.

     Before he could request clarification, Truigar realized the human leader, Begin, stood before him with a peculiar look clouding his malleable features.

     “Any sign of those other Gorgs yet?”

     Truigar paused, sure the softskin had discovered his clandestine communication. But then logic took control of his thoughts.

     “No, Sergeant. I have detected no signals from my lost brothers. I am hopeful we will find clues inside.”

     Begin nodded. “Yes, I hope so too. For both our sakes.”

     He found the leader’s response cryptic and felt the stirrings of suspicion emanating from the soldier.

     Careful, his clansmen warned. This one could be dangerous.

     Begin made a peculiar gesture with one arm, and Truigar realized the human wanted him to enter the structure first. The other softskins had already done so and the Gorgon could hear the ancient edifice come to life around them. A warm, pulsing glow poured out from the entrance.

     With a last glance at the carnage of the camp, Truigar turned and stepped forward.

__________

     Begin entered the antechamber with a new worry on his mind. Lt. Carruthers had been insistent about this; his new orders resolute. Although the dig’s files had thus far proven inconclusive, certain undeniable conclusions had come to light. Begin kept his misgivings in check as he watched the Gorgon move stiff-legged ahead of him, keeping his thoughts to himself for the time being. But the alien would need watching, of that Carruthers had been most insistent.

     The team came to a clearing lined with rows of neat columns on either side.

     “This dump smells like N’Kor’s feet,” Corporal Li Jin-hua declared.

     “Nah, Jinny,” N’Kor returned in his deep, joking baritone. “It smells more like my boot jammed up your tiny yellow ass!”

     “That’s enough, ladies,” Sokolov admonished. “Spread out and check for cas—sonuvabitch!”

     The team came to a stop at the edge of a depression set into the floor on the far side of the chamber. Compact analyzing equipment used by the researchers lined the pit, all deliberately vandalized and scattered haphazardly.

     Of the researchers themselves . . .

     “Madre de dios!” LCpl. Nina Eruyha hissed, making the sign of the cross over her flak vest.

     Lining the blackened pit—many scorched beyond recognition amidst piles of burnt fabrics, machine parts, and flammable debris—lay the remains of two dozen roughly human shapes. Partially intact, several corpses sat propped up in various macabre poses as if providing theatrics for a sadistic audience.

     Begin felt the bile rise to his throat.

     “Sarge,” N’Kor’s held up his tag reader, but Begin cut him off with a terse nod.

     “Yes, I know. It’s them.”

     The Gorg faced him, but remained silent.

     “Who would do such a thing?” Eruyha wondered aloud. She toyed absently at the long braid of dark hair coiled around her neck, eyeing the pit with unease. “Whatever it was, it was not human to do this . . .”

     “No,” Sokolov disagreed with a slow shake of her head, also fixated on the grisly sight. “These are no different from the ones we found back at camp. See?” She pointed to where a pair of decayed bodies—one, a digger missing his head; the other, a young female researcher with the hilt of a field knife protruding from her chest—lay locked in mortal struggle near a gutted wide-angle spatial scanner. The other corpses scattered around the depression appeared to be victims of the same brutal act of internecine as back at camp.

     In the center of the pit lay the most gruesome sight of all: a nude, male figure stretched across two workbenches. A long spit fashioned from microduct tubing had been skewered through his lower abdomen to emerge from the other end out of a gaping wide mouth. Gouged chunks of flesh were missing from the man’s scorched back and thighs, leaving no doubt in their minds as to the depths of depravity the archeological crew had devolved.

     Beside him, Arroyo doubled over and spilled the contents of his stomach. Begin translated the disbelief and horror of what he saw before him into instant rage, ordering the PFC to fall back to the entrance and guard their rear.

     To the others he said: “Okay grunts, looks like we know what happened to the rest of the camp. The horror show’s over. Don’t just stand there holding your sacks in your hand, get in there and find out what the hell happened to these poor bastards!”

__________

Channel Log: Conners, Isaac

Colonial Stamp: 21 Jun 309 A.C.—20:58

……………………………………………

Day twenty-one.

Brain’s mush. Sometimes I hear voices speaking in a language I can’t place. I look, but nobody there. Strange. Sleep’s the worse, when I can get it. Nightmares leave me choking, gasping for air. Food don’t taste right no more.

Everyone in camp is losing their mind. Fights breaking out everywhere, got into a couple of scrapes myself. Sanchez tried to break my arm, but I caved him in good with a right hook that made him think twice. Others are after me, too. Even gotta watch out for Pitts now. He’s convinced I’m colluding with the Gorgs cuz he’s seen me jabbering with them a few times. Thinks I’m sellin them secrets, like this the war all over again. So, I try to keep my distance. Only come out when I need food. Other times just waiting for help to arrive. Sometimes I hear Arlyn shouting my name, but I ignore her. She’s got it out for me, too.

I tried to send a mayday earlier today, but the equipment’s busted. The transceiver was deliberately slagged. Who would do such a thing? God only knows if my words will ever be heard by another human being again.

Arlyn came in right around that time and accused me of going behind Dr. Pitt’s back. I tried to deny it, but she didn’t care. Seems she had other things on her mind at that moment. I pushed her away, the thought of jamming with her unbearable. She didn’t take it so well. Bit my hand like some damned animal, snarling curses my way. Out of reflex, I slapped the bitch hard! Didn’t mean too, just came up out of me before I could clamp down on it. Wasn’t expecting her to actually cry and run off the way she did.

Now I’m just making sure I stay alive. Help will come ‘ventually, I know it. Gotta keep my wits about me . . . but it’s so hard to think straight.

*

     At the behest of the softskin leader, Truigar interacted again with the Citadel’s mainframe to open access to the rest of the structure. Although unspoken, the Gorgon knew he was under suspicion. The human watched him closely and Truigar became mindful of his own actions as he manipulated the antiquated interface.

     The one from the Comm. shed, Arroyo, was already showing the symptoms of what Conners described in his log. Truigar was elated. How long would it take for the rest to succumb as well, all the while oblivious to the threat right before their eyes?

     They are like the others softskins, the voices proclaimed. Stupid and weak. It is a wonder their kind ever managed to wrest control of the Arm from our people.

     Yes. Truigar agreed with his brothers, knowing this for a frustration commonly shared by all Gorgons. Yet the ashes of the past now swirled in motion to affect the future. He watched the sick softskin standing guard at the entrance shiver, and scanned his thermal signature along with the others. They each showed signs of decreasing body temperature.

     Fascinating.

     It has begun, brother.

     The human Arroyo appeared to startle, leaning forward into the night gloom beyond the entrance at something unexpected. Truigar had no doubt what the softskin spied, for he himself had already detected the movement long before Begin ordered the Private to his post.

     Truigar turned back to his task, hastening to unlock the adjoining rooms of the Citadel and finally reunite with his clansmen.

__________

     Begin let his eyes wander over the chamber and away from the far corner where Truigar spoke to the structure’s mainframe. The foreboding mist carpeted the floor in a gossamer layer now, partially hiding the gory remains of the research crew. N’Kor and Li conducted the ghastly task of separating and identifying the bodies based on their imbedded ID chips. Sokolov and Eruyha separated the headless corpses from these, placing them gently in another pile designated “miscellaneous” for the time being.

     Such a terrible way to go, he thought. Slagged in the head and at the hands of those you once called friend and colleague.

     The columns on either side of the central clearing were massive, embossed with thousands of tiny symbols and patterns not too unlike the ancient glyphs back on Old Earth. The columns extended upward for more than twenty meters, reaching past the tapered, spiraling walls of the central chamber to support a high ceiling. He could discern numerous glowing tek panels blinking in and out in an unrecognizable pattern, giving the impression that the edifice was alive and pulsating.

     Begin frowned. Something dark and formless moved up there as well. With a start he recognized it as more of the same bluish-white fog which shrouded the rest of the place. But how did it get way up there?

     “Sergeant Begin!” PFC Arroyo yelled. “There’s something coming this way.”

     Begin swore, then bellowed at the rest of his team to fall in and take cover by the entrance. He jogged over to the Private and followed the young man’s pointing.

     “Get a hold of yourself, son,” he growled. Arroyo nodded and gripped his rifle in rest position.

     Begin squinted out into the stygian darkness beyond the monolith’s eerily lit interior. The mist had accumulated in thick sheets, engulfing all signs of the camp. The mysterious substance roiled outward like a breathing, wriggling mass consuming all it touched.

     And then he realized it wasn’t the fog itself approaching, but the stumbling, rigid shapes of the camp’s sixty-odd casualties.

     “Lord Jehovah!” he blurted even as he tried to grapple with the impossibility of what he saw. The mob of reanimated bodies shuffled in silence down the main path towards the entrance, decomposed flesh barely hanging from their bones.

     “Sarge . . .” Arroyo whined, gripping his weapon.

     “Fall back,” he ordered the man. “Sokolov, N’Kor, Eruyha. Get up here and prepare to engage the enemy.”

     The pair of Lance Corporals darted forward from the columns nearest the entrance and took up half-kneeling positions within three paces of each other. Cpl. Sokolov stood five paces behind the kneeling riflemen and unlimbered the grenade belt from around her waist, draping it over one shoulder. She gripped her oversized launcher with bulky gloves, waiting for Begin to give the order.

     “Truigar!” he yelled towards the rear of the chamber. “Raise the main gate!”

     The Gorg paused, rotating his massive head half a turn and fixing him with those glowing orbs, as if trying to compute a nonsensical order. Finally the Gorgon nodded once and returned to staring at the depression set into the back wall. Begin turned to the entranceway and found the first wave of walking dead had advanced within half a klick of the structure.

     “Sarge,” Sokolov said uneasily. “Request to engage the enemy.”

     A rumbling noise filled the chamber and the walls vibrated perceptibly, but the gate to the front entrance did not rise. Turning, Begin found the wall at the rear of the room retracting upwards instead.

     “Truigar! Cease what you’re doing and raise the front barrier,” he raged, but the Gorgon did not react this time.

     “Li, Arroyo—secure that thing. Don’t let him near the interface again.”

     “Sarge?” Li cocked his head in confusion.

     “Blast the damned Gorg if you have to!”

     Li nodded once and spun around, tapping Arroyo on the shoulder before jogging across the chamber towards the rear.

     Begin returned to the entrance where his three marines gripped their weapons and maintained position.

     “On my mark, men,” he growled, that sick feeling in his gut intensifying.

     Sokolov nodded and spread her feet wide, bracing herself. The undead hobbled into range and Begin could make out their decayed features in the flickering light of the hovering glowbes outside. He detached his own rifle and sighted on his first target.

     “Ready grunts—MARK!”

__________

Channel Log: Conners, Isaac

Colonial Stamp: 24 Jun 309 A.C.—02:39

……………………………………………

Day twenty-five.

Mose, bro . . . help. don know what happening. hear voices inside . . . laugh outside. xenos all dead. diggers al most deaded. Pitts terrible man. eat Sanders not dead yet. deaded now. inside big chamber again. gorgs go hide. diggers all alone. It chilly inside, make big fire with cloths and bones. so hungry, but soon ated good! bodies smell . . . yum

*

     “Didn’t you hear the Sarge, you filthy Gorg? Raise the main gate! We got hostiles closing in.”

     Truigar ignored the softskin named Li and hastened to open access to the special recessed chamber revealed by the Citadel’s interface. He did not know why his kinsmen had sequestered themselves within this corner of the edifice. But once reunited, the softskins would stand no chance against their combined strength. Five Gorgon warriors against six weakened and compromised humans proved an unequal balance in any equation.

     The Corporal grabbed at his left gauntlet and applied pressure, trying to leverage the Gorgon off the pedestal and force him to disengage from the mainframe. Truigar did not budge.

     “Hey, Arroyo, give me a hand with this thing.”

     From beyond his field of vision Truigar heard the unpleasant sound of the other softskin voiding his digestive tract again. He ignored all this and continued manipulating the mainframe.

     The wall ascended a quarter of the way up, still too narrow for a Gorgon’s atmo suit to fit through.

     “Private, get a hold of yourself and help me move him!”

     The one called Arroyo did not answer, but instead made a strangled gargling sound. Truigar felt the Corporal let go of his arm and cry out in panic at the same time. An animalistic snarl issued from near his left side. He turned then to witness Arroyo lunging at Li, the Private’s face contorting in rage as he raked his hands across the Corporal’s eyes.

     Li struggled with him and succeeded in knocking the crazed softskin off with the butt of his rifle. Arroyo scrambled to his feet and rushed at his superior again, but Li sidestepped at the last moment and allowed the Private to stumble right past him. This only seemed to enrage the other human. He bellowed and spun around, saliva dripping from his mouth as a ravenous hunger entered his eyes. He crouched low and curled his hands into tight fits, readying to pounce.

     Without hesitation, the Corporal lifted his rifle and fired a single round. The sound of the shot echoed off the walls and up the vaulted spiral ceiling above them.

     Arroyo staggered a few steps, the wound over his right eye small and perfectly round. Then he tumbled forward onto his face, revealing a messy, gaping hole where the top half of his skull had been.

     More shots rang out from the front entrance. Truigar watched as the four softskin soldiers fired their weapons into a wave of approaching human dead. Half a beat later the heavy boom of a grenade detonation followed from outside the chamber, the concussion of the blast muffled by the Citadel’s thick outer walls. Several more explosions went off in six-second intervals, underscored by continuous rifle fire from the other weapons. But despite the firepower they brought to bear, Truigar knew the softskins would never survive.

     In the meantime, he had to get the rear wall up. He returned to the mainframe, locking his sight onto the verdant optics of the interface and communicating with the archaic construct.

     As Truigar navigated past a truculent set of security protocols blocking his progress, he heard the Corporal yell something. Then the carbine whine of his weapon discharging. The sharp piercing sensation of multiple rounds slicing through his atmo suit shocked the Gorgon off the interface, toppling him over onto his side. The charged slugs tore through his inner casing, impacting the cybernetic tekware and fleshy organs beneath.

     Truigar gasped at his re-breather. He looked out of blurry optic sockets to find a distorted view of the Corporal standing over him, yelling obscenities.

     This could not be, his thoughts raced while his systems began to shut down. It is my destiny to usher forth my people’s salvation.

     As he bemoaned his own hubris, that familiar chorus of thoughts entered his brain one last time.

     Fear not, brother. We are coming for you. You shall not perish in vain.

__________

     In the end, their frenzied weapons fire could not keep the hordes back. They had more than enough rounds to spare, but the bastards went down slowly, almost begrudgingly. Begin’s shots had no more effect than mosquito bites on these unholy demons. The enemy simply shrugged off the bothersome projectiles and pushed their attack forward.

     Fortunately, Sokolov had more success on her end, her grenades scoring maximum carnage as they landed amid the throngs of undead. The resulting percussive blasts cleared large swaths across the wall of bodies. But more stumbled out of the fog to replace the fallen. Although there should have been only sixty researchers out there, the curtain of blue mist seemed to be concealing an unlimited supply of reanimated corpses.

     Begin ordered his thoughts. With every round spent ineffectual, their success margin narrowed. He had no idea what these hellish things were, but suspected the blue substance to be at the heart of the mystery. Lt. Carruthers failed to mention that particular contingency in has last communiqué, and Begin cursed his own luck.

     “Get back!” Eruyha yelled before the enemy swarmed over both Lance Corporals in a sudden surge. N’Kor’s screams were hoarse and desperate as the big man was dragged into the mass of stumbling bodies.

     Sokolov dropped her launcher and switched to the viper rifle slung across her back. Begin joined her in spraying a concentrated arc of heavy fire over the spot where Eruyha and N’Kor had last been, but it was too late. The screams of his men did not last long.

     The unyielding mass continued to press forward, snarling and determined.

     “Sarge, we’ve got to retreat,” Sokolov yelled. Begin wasted no time and beat a haphazard scuttle across the ante-chamber and back into the main clearing area. Sokolov followed, firing indiscriminately and slinging obscenities behind her.

     As the two soldiers weaved through the wide columns, firing alternating rounds from cover as trained, Begin tried to open a channel to Command and request immediate aerial cover. The implant in his ear beeped negative. The uplink was down.

     Damn that Gorg and his traitorous shell!

     Li hollered something, and suddenly Begin had more immediate worries to contend with. Stopping halfway towards the rear of the chamber, he spotted the blackened remains of the other researchers crawling out of the depression. They seemed more interested in the Corporal at the moment, Li being the closest to the pit.

     “Shit!” the other man yelled. Li brought his weapon up and started firing wildly at the lethargic advance of the dozen or so researchers.

     A scraping sound caught Begin’s attention as the nude, skewered man crawled out of the pit dragging his useless legs behind him. Begin ran towards the abomination, firing off nine rounds from a full clip into the creature at point-blank range. The half-eaten man’s head exploded in a mist of carbonized blood and flesh. From behind, he heard Sokolov curse as her own clip went empty. Begin spun around and provided cover fire long enough for her to reload.

     “Sarge,” Sokolov said when she caught up to him. “I’ll hold them off for as long as I can.” She pointed ahead at Li, but the other Corporal was not the subject of her concern at that moment. Begin saw that she pointed instead at the rear wall past the downed Gorgon. A dark, meter-high opening revealed another chamber beyond.

     “If we can hole up in the back there, we stand a better chance of keeping these freaks away until reinforcements arrive.”

     He turned to inform Sokolov of the uplink severance, but the big woman had moved back out of audible range to engage the front wave.

     Begin turned to the rear wall again and ran to Li. Locking in a fresh clip, he bellowed with rage and unleashed a storm of charged projectiles at the half dozen rotting creatures that had not succumbed yet to the Corporal’s own fire.

     Their charred bones could not withstand the onslaught he delivered, going down faster than their hellish counterparts from the camp. Begin watched Li fall over the prone form of PFC Arroyo, locked in a battle for his life against the last remaining corpse from the pit. It opened and shut its skeletal jaw bones repeatedly, reaching for the soldier’s throat.

     Begin circled around the pit to Li’s side, searching for an opening to take out this lone assailant.     Finally, not wanting to risk shooting his own man, he kicked the creature in the head instead. The force of the blow separated the skull from its shoulders and sent it skipping into the darkness under the opening of the half-risen wall.

     He knelt at Li’s side, but saw he was too late. The man’s throat had been torn to shreds where his attacker had found purchase. The young marine’s eyes searched his and pleaded silently for help before the life diminished behind them and he was no more.

     Begin cursed, yet his battle instincts insisted he mourn the dead later and assist the living. He spun around and yelled at Sokolov to form up alongside him. The fierce redhead was losing her position and being pushed back along the outer rim of the pit as the remaining force of undead lumbered forward. Their numbers had finally diminished to roughly twenty. If they could keep the wall behind and their enemies before them, they might stand a chance after all.

     Sokolov snarled and spun on her heels, taking a running leap across the entire pit and landing short of the opposite ledge. Begin covered her retreat with controlled bursts from his rifle, backing up past his downed men and the fallen Gorgon. The walking corpses continued forward, with rotted flesh sloughing off their bones at every step.

But they appeared to be slowing down. Begin allowed himself a brief surge of hope as Sokolov ran over to join him, turning to add her own fire to his. The dwindling wave did press forward, but—yes!—moving much slower now, he could see.

     Begin felt something cold and unyielding press against his back. With surprise he realized that he had come up against the wall. He pushed off with his elbows to get to a better defensive position when several gauntleted hands gripped his ankles and tugged. The ground jumped up to meet him and he hit the floor hard, the air forced out of his lungs. Twisting instantly, he scrambled for purchase to pull himself away from the opening.

     “Sarge!” Sokolov yelled, but could not get to him in time. More hands grabbed at his feet and legs, dragging him under. Before Begin could utter a single word, the darkness behind the wall leapt forward and engulfed him.

     The last thing he saw before they fell on him was the incandescent blur of many glowing, cobalt eyes.

__________

     The Gorgons emerged from beneath the wall and watched the remaining female soldier die bravely under the hands of the Reawakened, this being the name the Ancient ones chose for their newly resurrected existence. Those seeking fresh corporeal forms swirled throughout the chamber, hovering in thick blue wisps above the bodies of the slain softskin warriors. The humans who’d come to this world first in search of knowledge and riches had died less heroically, weakened by cowardice and enslaved to their own base instincts. The Ancient ones had toyed with these fleshy playthings and taken them over, reveling in the forgotten acts of seeing, breathing, and tasting once more.

     The Gorgons had watched all this curiously, before retreating to the safety of the rear chamber while the humans tore each other apart in their madness and gluttony.

     And now, once again, the softskins were no more.

     The mists congealed before the four, forming featureless masks and diaphanous bipedal shapes as the kinsmen listened to their words. The Ancients whispered for more.

     But how?

     Their fallen brother would know of a way.

     Yes, the Ancients whispered again. We shall have him.

     The four bowed, deeply honored. Although their peoples had once been enemies, the Ancients were respected if not feared. The softskins, however, were not worthy of such respect, having resorted to trickery and disease to gain mastery over the Gorgon empire. Such an enemy could not be admired.

     One of the four knelt by his brother’s still form. Truigar had been his designation, and he’d served their clan well. His helm was removed carefully, exposing the half-organic brain encased in sacred tek to the curious mist swirling above.

     The Ancients flowed over the fallen Gorgon, no longer hindered by the cybernetic barrier which protected all of his kind.

     His kinsmen watched in silence. Their brother would be the first of their people to Reawaken. His tekware would be more than capable of controlling the Ancient host inside him, they were certain. With his leadership they would unleash a force the softskins could not defend against. With their two races joined at last, victory would belong to the strong.

     The kinsmen gathered around their fallen brother and awaited his rebirth.