Hunted by James Alan Gardner Page A

leaving a more presentable corpse.
    “Benny,” Tobit said. “Partner mine. Prospective pride of the Explorer Corps. Are you with us?”
    “What? Oh. Sorry. Do you want to move on?”
    “No,” Tobit answered, “I want to go home for a bubble bath. We’ve wasted enough time on goddamned standard procedures.” He glowered at the boy for a moment, then said, “For novelty’s sake, how ‘bout I give you a direct order? Head back to the hold, cut off the queen’s venom sacs, and pack ’em for transport back to Jacaranda.”
    “What?” The boy’s voice sounded like a yelp. I felt kind of yelpy myself. Mutilate a queen? Even if she was dead, that was nigh-on sacrilege. “Why?” Benjamin asked.
    “Because somewhere on Willow” Tobit replied, “there are nasty wee nanites who want to steal her venom. Christ knows why they want it, but I can’t imagine it’s for the blissful good of the universe. Besides, it pisses me off when people sneak nano onto a navy ship; just on general principle, I don’t want the bastards to get what they’re after. Best way to do that is haul the venom back to Jacaranda— empty the place so the nanites are shit out of luck.” He held his hand up quickly, to stop me from saying anything. “And before you ask, we’ll have Jacaranda triple-check to make sure we aren’t carrying nanites ourselves. Our micro-defenses aren’t half-bad…on the rare occasions we’re willing to cool our heels six hours in quarantine getting a full nano scan.”
    Benjamin’s eyes were wide. “You really want me to hack the sacs off?”
    “Not hack, you lunkhead. Perform a delicate surgical excision. With all due care and safety. Use a scalpel instead of a chainsaw. You know—finesse. Now get your scrawny butt moving.”
    The boy sounded sick but he started off. I called after him, “Be careful, okay? Venom is dangerous stuff.”
    “He’ll do fine,” Tobit said. “Benny trained for Medical Corps before he transferred to exploring. He has great hands with a scalpel.”
    “Thank you,” Benjamin called back over his shoulder. He could still hear Tobit’s words over the ship’s speaker system.
    “But you’re a piss-awful Explorer!” Tobit shouted as the boy disappeared.
    I think Benjamin gave Tobit the finger, but it’s hard to tell with a tightsuit’s bulgy gloves.

    As soon as the boy was out of sight, Tobit popped off his helmet. That surprised me; Explorers are supposed to stay suited up whenever they’re on a mission, even if it’s just over to another navy ship. For another surprise, he reached up to the bulge on his throat—his communications implant—and gave it a double-tap. “There,” he said. “I’m not transmitting anymore.” He took a deep breath. “Christ, it reeks in here, doesn’t it?”
    “Sorry.”
    “Not your fault, pal. You wanted to leave everything as is because you thought there’d be a real investigation. Which there won’t.”
    He gave me a long look as if trying to decide something. Me, I was just trying not to stare. Tobit’s face had a ravaged flush to it, pockmarked, red and veiny. An old soak’s face, though I couldn’t smell booze on him. Maybe he’d been an alcoholic but had lately gone on the wagon; or maybe he had some genetic condition that made him look like a lush. Sure, that had to be it—Explorers always had things wrong with them, whether they looked funny or smelled funny or sounded funny. Phylar Tobit’s problem was just a whiskey-ish face. The navy surely wouldn’t let drunks be Explorers.
    “We don’t have much time,” Tobit told me, “so just shut up and listen, okay? It turns out, York, you’re in a shitload of trouble.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said. Apologizing was always a good first step, even if I didn’t understand what I’d done.
    “Nothing to feel sorry about,” Tobit replied. “This crap-fest isn’t your fault. But the Admiralty is plotting a cover-up, I positively guarantee it. They’ve lost an entire