[Galaxy Of Fear] - 12(14)

Zak’s heart sank. Two more days on this planet with no food. They were going to get awfully hungry.

“Anyway, we’ll get started on the ship in the morning,” the smuggler said. “It’s getting darker, and something tells me there will be even more creatures stirring around here at night. We should all find a place to sleep.”

“Shouldn’t we sleep on the ship?” Hoole said.

“You can, if you want to sleep in a mud pit,” Platt snorted. “The Last Chance is sunk up to her lateral stabilizers, and ooze poured into all the compartments. It’s going to be a mess when we finally take off.”

“There is an empty hut,” Galt offered. “Some of you can sleep there.”

They agreed. At Hoole’s insistence, Platt posted a sentry. The smuggler grumbled but did as he was told and sat in the middle of the village with a blaster across his lap. Everyone else bedded down on the floor of the hut. They all rolled up inside therma-blankets Platt had given them, and soon all were fast asleep.

All except Zak.

Zak felt itchy. Not itchy on the outside. It was more like something was tickling him inside. Something was bothering him.

He heard Tash’s soft, regular breathing beside him.

She even sleeps better than I do, he thought. It’s just not fair. Why does she have to be so good at everything? Zak searched for a word to describe what he was feeling. Then he found it: Jealous.

He’d never been jealous of Tash before. In fact, he’d felt sorry for her. She was always reading books and studying while he was outside having fun, or taking apart machines to learn how they worked. Zak preferred action to thought.

But somehow, lately, Tash had managed to put the two things together. She thought more than he did, and she seemed able to do more, too.

Is it the Force? Zak wondered.

He wanted to think so. But he wasn’t sure.

Maybe she was just better than he was. Better at facing dangers like the bounty hunter on Nar Shaddaa. Better at studying planets like Dagobah. Better at everything.

A muffled voice drifted through the heavy swamp air. Zak thought he heard a second voice respond, but it was hard to tell. Even at night, the swamp creatures of Dagobah kept up a constant chatter of chirps, whistles, and croaks.

Then he heard a short grunt, and something heavy shuffling along the ground. Curious, he unrolled himself from his therma-blanket and stood up.

Outside the hut, the night was pitch-black. Neither moons nor stars lit the swamp. In the center of the village, Zak could see the sentry’s small glowrod. As he approached, he saw that the glowrod was lying on the ground, faintly illuminating the sentry’s face.

Zak chuckled. Some guard! He must have fallen asleep on the job.

I’ll just go wake him before he gets into trouble with Platt, Zak thought.

He reached the glowrod and froze.

The glowrod lit up the sentry’s head, but not the rest of his body.

The rest of his body was gone.





CHAPTER 8


“Swamp slug,” some of the Children said.

“Dragonsnake,” said others. “They can crawl across dry land.”

“Giant spiders,” argued still others.

But most agreed with Galt’s conclusion. Staring at the horrible sight in the middle of their little village, Galt whispered, “It’s the imp.”

“Imp? Imp?” Platt said, pacing back and forth, her blaster held tightly in her hand. She had been more angry than frightened since Zak had awakened everyone with his gruesome discovery. The smuggler had been under her command, and she felt responsible. “I’ve seen a dragonsnake. And I’ve been attacked by a swamp slug. But what’s an imp?”

“It might be Imperials-” Zak started to say.

“A creature that is supposed to live in the swamp,” Hoole interrupted. “The Children say it has strange powers. But I think,” he said, lowering his voice, “that it is merely an imaginary creature. Remember, these survivors have had no parents to guide them since they were small. They really are still children, and I suspect that this imp is merely a leftover creation of childlike minds.”

Platt was still fuming. “Well, it’s not as if we need made-up creatures to go along with the real ones. Anyway, something killed one of my men.”

Hoole remained calm. “It is a tragedy. But what shall we do? Take revenge on the entire swamp? Platt, I suggest you put your blaster away before you hurt someone.”

Grimacing, Platt reluctantly holstered her weapon.

“Now,” Hoole continued. “The sooner we can free the ship, the sooner we will be out of here. Until then, we shall have to keep our eyes open.”

“Uncle Hoole,” Zak said insistently, “we can’t just sit