Healer

21

     Arthur was waiting for him just outside the room when he came down the hall. "Congratulations," he said.

     Reynolds sighed. "I'm a selfish, back-stabbing bastard, I know. I told Pzinski that I have every intention of going in there and declining the whole favored Candidate thing."

     "That's not up to you." Arthur's sunglasses were back on, but Reynolds still felt as though the mysterious Hunter was looking right through him. "Do you honestly believe that you can fix this by saying you're sorry? That you can undo all of the harm you've caused with a pointless gesture of self-sacrifice? The time to think about Pzinski has long passed. The Board of Overseers is not interested in your feeble attempts to win back favor."

     Reynolds clenched his fists. "I'm not trying to win back favor. For your information, he gave me his blessing, which I'm fully aware that I do not deserve."

     "You bloody well don't! But I should have known he'd do that. It's why..." Arthur pressed his lips tightly together. "My point is, don't bother. The Board already knows you feel bad, and I rather doubt they care. I suspect this entire situation was yet another test they've orchestrated for you, a chance to make up for your failure with Timber. This time, you passed."

     That made Reynolds blink in surprise. "What?"

     "I have been working with the Board of Overseers for a very long time," Arthur began. "In that time, I've come to understand a bit about how they think. It's been two centuries since I lost a bet on a favored Candidate. It's quite a bit less since I've been stumped on what the Board would ask of a Candidate. In fact, the last time that happened was around the time you were lost. Are you familiar with Winch International, the shipping company? I understand they were rather important in your time."

     "Yes, I remember them. They were a pretty big deal, shipping all over the world."

     "Do you recall the company's logo?"

     "Yeah, the lighthouse and the sailboat."

     Arthur nodded. "Anything at all about that logo strike you as familiar?"

     Reynolds frowned, confused. Then he sucked in his breath. "Wait, the lighthouse...?"

     Arthur nodded. "Winch was the first Candidate in over a century that I couldn't guess what the Overseers would ask from. I had no idea they were interested in Winch International and this land. They required a location for their main base, as well as the facilities, contacts, and vehicles that the company controlled. In retrospect, it's obvious, as obvious as what the Board is about to ask of you now."

      Reynolds perked up. "What?"

     "That's for them to tell you." To Reynolds's surprise, Arthur came forward and pulled him into a hug just as Pzinski had done earlier. "You're a bastard, Matthew Reynolds," he said softly, his voice and action entirely at odds with his words. "You've proven now that you're willing to stoop to the lows required to be a Hunter, even if it means stabbing a friend in the back. But do you have the strength to survive what you're going to be asked now? I can only hope you do."

     Reynolds was frozen, stunned to feel Arthur's hand pull his head closer, lips pressing against his hair. It was a fatherly gesture he'd never in his life received from his own father. He clung to Arthur for a moment, wanting nothing more than to stay there and fall apart in his arms. But Arthur gently pushed him away, turning him toward the door and stepping back. "Go on now," the Hunter called. "Face your choice."

     Feeling shaken to the core, Reynolds went inside.

     The communication sphere in the center of the big conference table glowed softly when he entered. He closed the door behind him, wincing when it clicked. For some reason, he was afraid to break the perfect stillness of the room. Even the slight noise his chair made when he pulled it out made him flinch. He sat quietly with his hands folded on the table. "Candidate Reynolds reporting," he called into the empty room.