Healer

7

     Matt felt much better about his decision to become a Hunter by the time he and Imbago returned to the training grounds the following day. But the conversation they were having as he jogged with his fellow recruits did a lot to dampen his spirits.

     "I will freely admit that I could not make it as a healer," Pzinski said. "I'm still so sore from catching up to that one big heal that it's all I can do to get around this track."

     "Yeah, but that's muscle soreness," Truman pointed out. "Attacking a target dummy is much more physical than just healing."

     "'Just' healing?" Matt asked. "No matter how you use your stamina, it's still lost."

     "True, but stamina returns," Truman pointed out. "Muscles take a little longer to recover."

     "I'm also tired as hell," Pzinski added. "The drain that using that much ability takes out of you is unreal."

     "Exactly," Truman argued. "That is why healers should not be wasted as Hunters."

     "You're seriously still sticking to that?" Pzinski groaned. "Reynolds proved yesterday that he could wipe the floor with both of us so far as stamina goes. We're wiped out after one day, but he was only on his lower limit. He does that or more every day."

     "It's just further proof that he shouldn't be a Hunter," Truman announced as they returned to their trainers. "Ok, we get it. Healing's tough. I never realized just how tough it was until yesterday. Kudos to Reynolds for even attempting Hunter training after that kind of strain, but let's face the facts. If he hadn't wasted energy on training, we wouldn't have lost a Class One yesterday."

     Hearing his own thoughts echoed hurt. "So you still think I'm wasting myself by training to be a Hunter?" Matt asked, heart sinking.

     "Damned right I do. As powerful as you are, they should never let you out of the medical ward."

     "You know that's exactly what they did since the day I was dragged into this joint?" Matt snapped. "They put a bracelet on my ankle and restricted me to the area around the medical ward. I never saw the light of day for years. That's no way to live. I finally decided I couldn't take it anymore and was ready to get killed or do it myself."

     "I'm sorry about that," Truman began, "but they make meds for depression. Or if it was really bad, they could have done like they did with Diaz and put you down in Containment until you got your head back on straight."

     "I was already locked in a containment coffin for over half a century," Matt pointed out, irritated now. "When they finally let me out, guess what? I was even more ready to get shot in the head for a chance at one breath of outside air."

     "That sucks, but there's something you're not considering. We're here with classifications for humans that determine which ones we knock ourselves out to save and which ones we throw to the monsters for dinner. We go to extremes that qualify as war crimes in order to keep humanity as a whole safe from dangerous Artifacts. As a whole." Truman stressed the word. "All respect to you, Reynolds? You can serve the Foundation and humanity as a whole by extension a lot more as a healing Artifact than you can as a Hunter."

     "So you think I should give up and go back to being a healing Artifact," Matt said quietly.

     "Yeah, sorry, but I do."

     By now, they'd reached their trainers, who had clearly heard their argument. Imbago scoffed. "Good thing it's not your decision, stupid electric man, or you would make a fine cell phone charging station."