Healer

8

     Four hours later, Matt limped into the cafeteria for lunch. After nearly beating him to a pulp under the ruse of training him in hand-to-hand combat, Imbago had gone somewhere with the other Hunters. He wasn't sure where Pzinski and Truman had gone to, either, only that they'd both been casting dark looks in his direction toward the end of the training session. As a result, he was alone with his tray, looking for a place to sit.

     Back in one corner, he saw a lone Hunter beckon him over. Matt groaned inwardly but approached anyway. It was obvious that the Hunter had seen him. Turning his back on Connie-J now would be rudeness he wasn't prepared to perpetrate this early in his training. "Relax, Reynolds, I won't bite you. I just wanted to feel you out a little," the Hunter said. He extended a hand. "Name's Conrad."

     Matt offered his gloved hand, confused. "I thought your name was Connie-J?"

     "That's what most Hunters call me because my brother was Connie-T," Conrad admitted, "but my brother's not really with us anymore, so hardly any need to differentiate between us now, is there?"

     Matt couldn't argue with that logic, considering he was speaking with the reason Connie-T wasn't among them. He sat down, feeling awkward and uneasy as he noted the eyes on him and heard whispering from the other tables.

     "Hey, I get it if you don't want to sit with the guy wearing the Scarlet Letter," Conrad offered, frowning as he stabbed at his food. "I was hoping you weren't here long enough to turn into a dick like everyone else, but whatever. You got someone else you can sit with?"

     "Not really, no," Matt admitted. "No one has seemed especially eager to make friends with me here."

     "I don't doubt that. No one wants to try to get to know the recruit who happens to be the odds-on favorite for washing out. Don't worry, though. Based on what I'm seeing now, you'll be just like the rest of these assholes in here before much longer." Conrad took a bite and washed it down with a swallow of milk. "Be advised, though. As soon as you started Hunter training, people started betting on how long it would be before you washed out, with some side action over whether or not the Overseers would neutralize you or re-classify you back to Artifact healer status."

     "I'd much prefer neutralization, thank you," Matt growled. "I'd put my money on that."

     "Really, now?" The ginger Hunter's eyebrows had risen to the rim of his white stetson hat. "I didn't know you were suicidal."

     "I guess you would know," Matt retorted. "Why would you jump into the engine of a jet?"

     "Because I hadn't tried it yet. I've been suicidal for years, for what I consider to be very valid reasons. I just never pegged you to be the kind to want to end it." Conrad watched him. "You seriously hated being an Artifact healer that much?"

     "You cannot even imagine what it is like," Matt complained. "People just come up to you and... Hey!" The moves he'd just learned came in handy. Matt was able to turn around, grab the unwelcome hand that had just been placed on the back of his neck, and twist it sharply. The owner was already crying out in pain and down on one knee before Matt registered the grey coat and realized he'd just made a serious mistake.

     "What the fuck?" the Hunter yelled. "I just needed a little healing! What's your damage, Reynolds?"

     Suddenly the blade of a sword was at the Hunter's throat. Conrad had jumped up on the table and was crouched, one foot on the table, the other on the bench as he menaced the other Hunter. "You need to back off," he growled. "This kid isn't here for you to use as you see fit. You want healing? Ask him or go to medical."