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mushroom and gazed up at the gills beneath its cap. With his knife, he sliced a wedge from the trunk. An oily liquid dripped like blood. He watched it for a moment then stowed the wedge in a specimen container.
    “We were supposed to drop into the colonists’ camp,” he told his team. “Impani, take a reading. See if you can locate a clearing.”
    Impani held out her sonic resonator—and a group of reeds curled away as if cringing from the sound.
    Natica laughed and pointed at them. “Did you see that?”
    Anselmi took an abrupt step back with an odd expression on his too-pale face.
    “Actually, we are in a clearing,” Impani murmured. “The vegetation is less dense here.”
    “What’s that over there?” Wilde trotted toward a mossy knoll.
    “Wilde, I think we should stay together,” Trace called. “At least until we figure this out.”
    “It’s a pre-fab,” Wilde called back. He peeled away a section of moss to reveal a metal wall. “Some sort of storage shed.”
    Impani pointed. “There’s another one.”
    “ This is the camp?” Natica asked. “It looks like it’s been abandoned for ages.”
    Trace’s gut twisted. Where was everyone?
    “Do you hear something?” Anselmi asked.
    “Like what?” Trace asked.
    Anselmi frowned, head cocked as if listening.
    “All I hear is silence,” Impani said. “No birds. No insects.”
    “Not the welcome we expected,” Natica said to Trace. “What do we do, now?”
    He hesitated. Time to be the leader . At least, he could count on Impani and Natica to support him. “Search these buildings and see if any colonists are holed up inside. Keep your masks on. The original settlers reported illness.”
    “Are you sure you can’t hear that?” Anselmi asked.
    “Hear what ?” Trace asked.
    “Voices.”
    “The colonists?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Trace lifted his head as if it would help him to listen. He stared at the hazy white sky. Spores drifted on filament parachutes. “I don’t hear anything. Let’s move.”
    They walked toward Wilde and the storage shed. Now that Impani had pointed them out, Trace saw several overgrown mounds. He pictured the camp—a single road with Quonset huts to either side. The buildings were so thickly covered with moss and mold it was as if the jungle itself had attacked them. As if the jungle had taken offense.
    He approached a dense lump, seized a tangled mass of vines, and pulled them away by handfuls. The vines squirmed from his touch as if trying to reassert their hold on the object beneath. After a moment, he uncovered a headlight. “It’s an ATV.”
    Wilde cleared the windshield and peered inside. “I wonder if it still runs.”
    “It should. It has a battery life of about five billion years.”
    “Why was it left in the middle of the paddock?” Anselmi asked. “Such a vehicle would be invaluable on a planet like this. Wouldn’t the colonists keep it parked in a maintenance garage?”
    “You’re right. This is too creepy.” Impani glanced from person to person. “Something bad must’ve happened here.”
    Wilde loomed over her shoulder and waggled his fingers. “Maybe they were attacked by monsters .”
    “Enough,” Trace snapped. “Let’s spread out and search. Impani, adjust your resonator to pick up energy signatures.”
    She shot him a resentful look. He jerked in surprise. His gaze followed her as she walked away. What was that about?
    Without a word, the rest of his team dispersed.
    Trace sighed and moved down the road. The moss-covered ground silenced his footsteps and added to the eeriness of the ruined campsite. Had they arrived too late? He’d resigned himself to seeing his father again. He wasn’t prepared to find him dead.
    He stopped beside a mound of thorny blue stalks. In fast motion, buds sprang along the stalks and opened into red flowers. A puff of powdery spore shot from each bloom.
    He leaped back. What was his father doing on such a dangerous planet? He was older, already in