“There. Up ahead. You see it?”

 

With one hand off the wheel, pointing, my Marine chauffeur almost loses control of our quad-tred as we fly over a cluster of boulders. The vehicle jumps what feels like several feet into the air. My lunch rises a little higher than that.

 

“Don’t worry, doc,” the soldier says, no doubt catching the flash of terror on my face. “I couldn’t roll this thing if I tried. Well… maybe if I tried.”

 

He’s been driving like a daredevil since we left base camp, but I haven’t asked him to slow down because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

 

“Yeah, I see it,” I say instead of complaining. “Stop a hundred feet back from the edge of the formation. We’ll walk from there.”

 

To my relief, my escort waits patiently as I take my time climbing out of the quad-tred, giving my stomach a chance to settle. I glance his way when I’ve got myself and my equipment together and realize it’s not consideration that’s held him back. Behind the faceplate of his helmet, I glimpse the features of a deeply unsettled young man. He’s the one who discovered this site on a scouting mission earlier in the day, and he’s clearly not happy to be back.

 

“You okay?” I ask, feeling strange even as I say the words. Only moments ago, I was the one feeling panicky while this hot-blooded soldier hot-rodded across the surface of this alien world. Seeing how quickly his bravado has disappeared surprises me. What he reported about this place sounded sketchy at best, like a fishing story from an imaginative angler, but now that I see his clear apprehension… it gives me pause.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answers a bit too quickly. I probably offended him by asking. Tough shit.

 

As we walk slowly toward the collection of several hundred protruding metal slabs, I keep my eyes on the screen of my scanner, glancing up only occasionally to track our progress. Although I’m trained as a biologist, my equipment is capable of detecting various energy sources as well as life signs. So far, it doesn’t show a dang thing.

 

The crumbly gravel crunching under our boots covers most of the surface of this moon, giving it the feel of a sprawling litter box. In the first week of our survey, I haven’t identified any life larger than a ladybug, and even those are few and far between. But that wasn’t always the case. Every rock we turn over hides a fossil, including some big ones, and the decrepit remains of humanoid villages dot the otherwise barren landscape. What happened to all that life, and to those people, we have no idea.

 

With my focus on the scanner, I don’t notice right away when my escort falls behind.

 

“I hear it again,” he calls up to me.

 

I don’t hear anything at first, making me wonder if this spooked soldier might really be succumbing to his nerves. Then again, he’s young, and I’m not. No doubt he can hear things I can’t.

 

I take a few more cautious steps forward, straining my ears, trying to detect any hint of what he’s talking about.

 

And then I do. At least, I think I do. I’m not sure I’m even hearing it as much as feeling it — a low vibration that grows incrementally as I take another step forward. And another.

 

By the time I’m standing before the nearest metallic protrusion, the hum has become practically oppressive. I glance back to see how the soldier is reacting and find him still rooted where I left him. He hasn’t taken one more step since he alerted me to the sound, and I don’t think he’s going to.

 

I adjust the settings on my scanner and shake my head when it shows the same thing it’s shown the whole time: nothing. The hundreds of slabs of shimmering metal gleam beneath the alien sun so brightly that I’m forced to squint behind my helmet’s clear faceplate.

 

Which makes me wonder — could they be solar panels? That sort of technology would be far beyond what we’ve discovered so far from the lost civilization that used to call this moon their home. But then we’ve only really just begun to explore, so who knows?

 

As I kneel before that nearest slab, I have to fight to ignore the buzzing that now seems to rattle my teeth in their sockets. I tell myself that if it were anything dangerous, my scanner would detect it.

 

I lean in close, scrutinizing the surface of the metal, and think maybe I can just make out the faint remnants of writing.

 

I’m so caught up in the moment, and so inundated with the incessant droning, I barely notice when the soldier calls out behind me. It sounds like he says something about histones, which would be odd. As a biologist, I know all about histones, proteins essential to the form and function of DNA. I would not expect most Marines to be familiar with them. And I have no idea how they could relate to this mystery.

 

Just then, the buzzing rises another octave, making me cringe. I squeeze my eyes closed against a sudden spear of pain in my head, and when I open them again a crack has split open the ground before me. All around, the gravel dances with energy.

 

My fascination is overwhelmed by a surge of fear, and I begin to rise, meaning to make a hasty retreat.

 

But it’s too late.

 

The hand that erupts up from below the surface, locking onto my wrist with an iron grip, is definitely not human.

 

And definitely not alive.

 

As the ground caves in beneath me and I’m pulled down into the darkness, I realize what the soldier must actually have said: not histones but headstones.