Healer

15

     Reynolds kept his head low while he and Pzinski re-entered the lighthouse. As soon as they'd passed the final door, the waiting crowd of guards, Hunters, and other personnel began to cheer, clapping and whistling, shouting praise to Pzinski. Pzinski's face flushed. He smiled, ducking his head and giving them a quick, embarrassed wave. Reynolds trailed along behind, eyes fixed on Pzinski's heels, wishing he was invisible. At least he'd gotten a chance to heal the other recruit. The way he was getting his back slapped now, Pzinski would have been in a lot of pain otherwise.

     A welcome, familiar voice cut through the din. "Let me through! Move, now, out of my way!"

     Imbago crashed into him with a force slightly less jarring than being hit by a car. Reynolds clutched her tightly, burying his face into her head wrap. "I messed up," he confessed. "I messed up real bad, Imbago. I think they're going to wash me out."

     She shushed him. "Nothing has been decided yet," she assured, clutching him tightly. "Come now. Wash, eat, rest. Tomorrow, they will call for you." She was drawing him away now, taking him from where the excited crowd circled Pzinski. The relative quiet on the way back to her room was a welcome relief. Reynolds let her lead him, suddenly feeling exhausted. He was stumbling by the time they'd arrived.

     Imbago had anticipated his return. She'd brought food for him, still steaming. He had no appetite. She insisted he eat anyway, so he forced most of the food down. It rested uneasily in his stomach. Then her hands pulled him again, gently yet firmly drawing him into the shower, where she joined him. There was nothing sexual. She washed him in much the same manner as she'd forced him to eat, even as his eyes drooped and he swayed on his feet. By the time he was clean, dry, dressed in clean clothes, and pushed down onto her bed, he could barely keep his eyes open. "Rest now," she whispered, giving him a gentle kiss. "You've been through so much, but no one will ever take you from me again."

     "Promise me," he mumbled. "Don't let them turn me back into a healing Artifact. Don't let them lock me away again. I can't live like that. If they do, promise me you'll end it."

     She silenced him with another kiss. "You are too exhausted to think. Just rest. We will talk tomorrow."

     Just before falling asleep, he heard Imbago typing away at her computer. What was she doing? Unfortunately, he was asleep before he thought to ask.

****

     Reynolds felt like a man walking toward the gallows for his hanging as he headed toward the meeting room, where he'd meet with the Board of Overseers. Imbago, holding tight to his hand with one hand and his arm with the other, smiled up at him. "Don't worry," she soothed. "You will be a fine Hunter. Until now, you were favored. You will be again."

     "I wish I had your confidence," Reynolds mumbled, staring at the floor.

     "Just tell them what happened, and I will back you up," she continued. "We will get past this problem. I can help you. You'll see. Everything will be alright."

     Reynolds wasn't so sure.

     The big room was one he'd never been to before. It contained a long table with identical chairs lining both sides. Sitting in the center of the table was a glass globe made of colorful pieces of crystal interspaced with bits of metal. It glowed softly, almost seeming to hum as he sat in front of it. Lying on the table in front of his seat was a long, clear plastic strap with a familiar piece of engraved brassy metal. It was the device the Overseers had used to communicate with him when he'd first been brought to the Foundation. "So, um, I have to put this thing on?" Reynolds called shakily.