The Healer by Michael Blumlein Read Free Book Online

funny way of walking, climbing the stairs to the healing center with a sort of prancing gait, lifting up his knees much higher than necessary, as if he couldn't trust his feet.
    Payne knew enough by now to keep his questions to a minimum. Covert was more polite than most, possibly because he was also sicker. But he didn't mince words, bluntly stating that he had to get back to work as soon as possible. He needed the money. When Payne reminded him that wages lost to sickness were recoverable, and, furthermore, that he might want and even need a day or two to recuperate from the healing, he remained adamant (and to Payne's mind, unreasonable) in his determination to return at once. If he could walk, then he could work. His buddies who were in the same boat as he was did. He had one and only one question for Payne: Did he know what he was doing?
    There was a time for modesty and a time for candor. At the risk of sounding boastful, Payne assured him that he did. Then he led him to the healing bed.
    The smell of the man's sickness, up close, was quite strong, along with the unmistakable sense that something was seriously wrong. Part of the problem was in his lungs, but the bulk of it turned out to be in his kidneys. Payne had no trouble identifying it, and he proceeded through the subsequent stages of the healing methodically. Every healing had its differences—large or small—from every other, but this one, rooted as it was in an entirely different and more advanced disease than he had yet encountered, was more complex. But not, it turned out, more difficult to cure, not for Payne, who ended up enjoying the experience immensely. As he extruded the Concretion, a waxy chunk of darkly stippled matter, he felt proud of what he'd done. It changed shape briefly as he carried it to the disposal shaft, and he imagined that it would probably change shape again as it fell. None of them ever reappeared; they only lived, if lived was the proper word for it, a few seconds. And the shaft was nearly bottomless and its walls were polished smooth to prevent the Concretions from catching on something and lodging there.
    When he returned, he helped Covert into a sitting position. The miner seemed a little dazed. Gradually, he recovered his senses.
    â€œAll done?”
    Payne nodded.
    Covert surprised him by thanking him. “That didn't take long.”
    â€œNo. Everything went smoothly.”
    â€œYou sure you did what you were supposed to?”
    It was an odd thing to ask. He was a healer. No one had ever questioned him before.
    â€œYes. I got rid of it. You should be fine.”
    Covert nodded, then stretched. “I feel pretty good.” Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “You sure you did it right?”
    â€œYes. Everything's fine. You needn't worry.”
    Payne had a notion to lead him to the disposal shaft to prove it to him. Some of the Concretions took their time to fall; there was still a chance that he could get a glimpse of it. On the other hand, he hadn't met a miner yet who wanted to.

    There was another healer at the Pannus mine, a tesque named Vecque. She had been originally assigned to care for female miners when, for a brief time, there were such things. Never more than a handful, the women had always been utterly outnumbered by their male counterparts. Shortly after Vecque arrived, there'd been an incident that led to a walkout by the female workers, followed by a week of tense negotiations. On paper they won concessions, but in practice nothing changed. When another incident occurred two months later, they lodged a protest, then departed en masse, leaving the mine in the capable, but forever after bereaved, hands of the men.
    Work was never slow for Vecque. She was always busy. She'd been brought to care for women, but it was the men who seemed to most prefer a female's touch. This, despite the fact that Vecque's touch was nothing to write home about. Like her nature it was far from gentle,intentionally