Healer

23

     At breakfast, the voice he thought he'd never hear again suddenly sounded in his ear. "Hunter Reynolds, you have been selected for a mission." Shocked, he looked around, searching for her familiar face. She seemed to be right there, close enough to touch, so close he could almost feel the air from her irritated sigh. "Stupid boy, I am part of the Board of Overseers now. You've been selected for a mission."

     So this was how it would be, he realized. His first solo mission, and likely every mission from now until the end of time, would come to him through the ghost of the woman he loved. Little wonder the Board was able to control their Hunters so closely. After what he'd done, how could he justify saying no to anything they asked of him, that she asked of him? Appetite gone, he lowered his spoon and sat up. "Alright," he sent back. "I'm ready."

     The mission required killing an entire van filled with people who had unknowingly ridden with a highly contagious Artifact. He was finished and back before dark.

     Two days later, he was tapped to feed Benji. The shadow troll didn't react to his presence, grabbing the screaming Class Four without paying him any mind. Reynolds decided he was grateful.

     Diaz had taken to sleeping with him in his quarters every night when they were both on base. By the end of the month, he was accustomed to it. He never said a word to her, and she never wrote to him again. They came together, slept, and parted ways in the morning. But their new habit was noticed. When another Hunter commented on it, Reynolds's knife beat hers plunging through the man's chest only by virtue of his longer legs. Diaz was the one to heal it into the other Hunter.

****

     During his third month as a Hunter, Conrad joined him in the training room as he practiced swordsmanship. Instinctively, Reynolds went into Conrad's program, the two moving in perfect unison beside each other without a word. When they finished, Conrad turned to him. "You're making a name for yourself. Cost me a lot of money. I bet on you to fail."

     Reynolds only shrugged, not meeting his eyes. He'd selected a metal practice sword that closely matched the weight and balance of his weapon. It gleamed a bit in his hand, reflecting the light in the room.

     "Clearly, I was wrong," Conrad continued, his voice betraying a slight slur. "You've come a long way from the kid I helped train, all big blue eyes and lost expression, too in love with his mentor to ever stand up for himself. Too lost in the world of the Foundation, surrounded by violence. Too soft for the rough edges around here. You didn't belong. I thought you'd never survive, never earn that coat. But I guess I was wrong."

     "Guess so." Reynolds could see his reflection in the metal, blurry and distorted. It was unrecognizable. He'd already realized that the other Hunter was drunk. Conrad's eyes were red and puffy from crying. What had made him stagger his way into the training room?

     "Here's the thing," the older Hunter said. "Making it as a Hunter, earning your coat? That's only part one. What comes after is almost as tough, maybe tougher." He paused, eyeing Reynolds. "She's in your head now, isn't she? Giving you your missions?"

     Reynolds nodded.

     "Tommy's in mine," Conrad admitted. "My brother, the one I put down. Before that, I had my own voice in my ear, barking out orders the same way I used to order you around. Believe me, I get why you never cared much for it. The Board likes to dick with us that way, apparently."

     "Send those we love to order us around, knowing we can't say no to them?"

     "It's not them," Conrad insisted, a stubborn set to his jaw. "It's their voices, not them."