[Galaxy Of Fear] - 12(9)

Tash, who had been studying the planet intently, suddenly whispered, “There’s something weird there.”

“What was that, Tash?” Hoole asked.

Tash blinked as though coming out of a trance. “I… I don’t know. I just got a feeling.”

“Perhaps we should reconsider landing here,” Hoole said to Platt.

The smuggler laughed. “What, because your niece has a case of nerves? Happens to kids during space travel sometimes. Forget it.”

“We have learned to trust Tash’s feelings,” Hoole explained. “They have saved our lives several times.”

“Is it a bad feeling, Tash?” Zak asked, wishing he had her intuition. She always seemed to know what was going to happen before it did.

Tash shrugged. “No, not a bad feeling. A good feeling. Well, no, not exactly good either …”

“Well, no matter what you’re feeling, we’re landing now, so strap yourselves in,” Platt said.

The ride down into Dagobah’s atmosphere rattled their bones. The ship’s frame groaned and squealed. Platt and Tru’eb had to scramble to keep from crash-landing. As it was, their ship hit the ground a little too fast and plunged into the swampy surface of Dagobah.

“Everyone all right?” Platt called out.

“I feel like all my teeth got knocked loose,” Zak said.

Platt grinned. “First rule of piloting: If your passengers can answer the question, then the landing was good. Let’s see the sights.”

She popped out of her crashwebbing and hurried to the hatch. Tru’eb and the rest of the smugglers followed. Zak, Tash, and Hoole brought up the rear of the small party.

The moment Platt opened the hatch, a thick odor flooded into the ship from outside.

“Ugh!” Zak almost gagged. “It smells like rotting leaves.”

“Rotting something, anyway,” Platt said, wrinkling her nose. “Come on, let’s go.”

Zak, Tash, Uncle Hoole, and the smugglers stepped out onto the world called Dagobah.

The atmosphere was dark and wet. The ground was covered with pools of water, sometimes ankle-deep, sometimes much deeper. Even the higher ground was muddy and squished under their boots. Gigantic gnarled trees rose up all around them, reaching into a dark roof of branches and leaves so thick they blocked out the sun.

“They’re called gnarltrees,” Tash said, pointing to the trees. “That’s what the records say.”

Zak grimaced, irritated that, as usual, Tash knew more than he did. “Whatever they’re called, they sure make it dark down here.”

“We’ve got glowrods,” Platt said. She pulled a short tube from a pack on her shoulder and activated it. The other smugglers lit more glowrods, casting a circle of pale yellow light around them.

Mist drifted through the trees. Unseen creatures skittered across branches or splashed in puddles. They could hear distant shrieks and calls, whistles, and long, spooky moans. Zak heard something flap its wings over his head, but by the time he looked up, it was gone.

“I see something through those trees,” Hoole said, pointing. “A small structure of some sort.”

“Good,” Platt responded. “I landed as close to the explorers’ camp as I could.”

The group trudged through knee-deep water until they reached what had once been the explorers’ camp. Zak was impressed with Platt’s piloting skills-she’d landed within fifty meters of her target.

The camp was a collection of one-story buildings barely tall enough to stand in. Most of them had been overturned, and years of rain and floods had sunk them into the dismal swamp.

“Just as I thought,” Platt said. “They set up flimsy shelters, and I bet they didn’t even use energy shields to protect the camp. They were more interested in studying the planet than staying safe.”

“They were scientists,” Hoole said. “They were very brave.”

“And stupid,” Platt said. “Bravery doesn’t count if you’re dead.”

“Look at this,” Tash called out. She had crossed to the other side of the camp. “I think I found some kind of path.”

The smugglers carried glowrods over to Tash for a better view. In the pale light, they could see a line of moss-covered stones leading away from the old camp.

They were steppingstones.

Platt studied the stones for a moment. “The explorers must have built this path when they landed here.”

Hoole wasn’t convinced. “That seems unlikely. The camp structures have all collapsed or been swallowed by the swamp. If this path were forty years old, it wouldn’t have survived.”

“Then that means someone has been here more recently,” Zak pointed out.