Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Arrogant, egotistical, pompous, self-righteous jerk, she thought, staring at the floor. What idiot asked for someone's favorite color? What imbecile tried to make her chat with him in front of her employers? Didn't he realize the entire building was monitored?
And now here he was asking her for her opinion? The man was clearly sadistic. Thankfully, she could think faster than him. Fast enough to find a safe answer that implied so much more—like that he was an idiot!
When he started walking, she moved behind him gracefully, struggling to keep up with the pace he set.
Balance on the balls of your feet, keep your arms still, never make eye contact.
Those were the rules, and she must obey the rules or she would be deemed insubordinate.
She should not complain, she should not offer suggestions unless asked.
No one wanted to be criticized by someone smarter than them, and anything she said would be considered criticism. That was what her programming said.
If only it was that easy. Acting like a robot might be second nature for some of the girls, but not her.
She couldn't help but notice the looks when she walked past. The glares when someone apologized and she said nothing.
Society had rules, and she watched them in action around her every day, but they weren't supposed to apply to her.
Ingénues were supposed to be seen and not heard, after all. She didn't matter, only the material in her mind. The problems were usually so pathetically simple, she couldn't understand why anyone would pay the fee for her services, and yet the questions kept coming.
Like this one. She'd already solved it—before they'd even left the corporate property.
The problem had been shockingly simple, and yet the upload she'd received had been larger than expected.
It was almost like they'd hidden their real issue in layer upon layer of unnecessary code.
Evidently, their little problem was highly confidential.
Especially if they were adding security layers for encryption into an already secure source of transfer.
Which was why she had to travel across the city.
These companies didn't want to risk having any of this on the public web.
When an Ingénue was hired, the person or company came to the "office" with either their problem or their data and uploaded it directly.
From there, she received it—after a rather thorough check for viruses—and then she delivered it back to them in person.
Hence the walk. Each contract allowed her a few hours outside.
Usually less, but a few took longer, adding in time for her to finalize the answer.
She'd been told OutLink Corp. charged by the hour, but she wasn't involved in that part of the operations.
Nor did she want to be. Anyone who was willing to pay a fortune for some information deserved the best she could give.
Never mind that she generally allowed her semi-conscious processing to deal with it.
But the Legate was getting too far ahead of her.
Stretching her legs, she tried to keep up, but it wasn't easy.
Thankfully, his dark, form-fitting attire made him stand out from the people around them.
She allowed her eyes to run across his physique, memorizing it—just in case she ever needed to verify his identity.
Or so she'd claim if anyone checked her memory storage later.
At least he was attractive. And with the pace he'd set, she could blame the increased heart rate and hormonal reaction on the walking and not her observation of how the rubbery armor fit every muscle in his body.
She smiled behind her veil. Looking at this priest was better than the web.
He was also too stupid to know it was possible to absorb information obtained from one's peripheral vision.
She only needed to convince her brain to enhance the retinal impulses and adjust her focus of awareness.
Twice, the man glanced back and huffed. From the nuances of his posture, she could tell he was annoyed. Most likely with her. Sadly, he still didn't wait for her to catch up. The priest simply charged on like he'd bash his way through the very air before him.
His manners were crude, but also novel. His scowl was something she didn't often experience.
Her entire life was scripted to be as calm, relaxing, and non-intrusive as possible.
OutLink didn't want their money-makers to be upset in the least. What they didn't consider was that this false utopia they'd designed was suffocating.
But he was walking much too fast. Did no one tell him they weren't allowed physical exertion?
Why was he in such a hurry? It would take less than an hour to reach RightGen.
They had plenty of time, the trains were almost on schedule, and this was her only chance to get away from the Enclave.
It was the only time she was allowed to enjoy her own thoughts, and she wanted to savor the moment.
***
"I need you beside me," Sin snapped.
Without lifting her head, the Ingénue walked faster, but still not fast enough. He reached out and grabbed her elbow, pulling her forward. She stumbled, most likely that expensive robe catching on her beaded slippers, but his hand kept her from falling.
At least she didn't complain.
RightGen wasn't far. They wouldn't even need to use a tram for this mission.
Nope, he was planning to take her past the lower west side.
Maybe letting her see what normal people lived like would give her a little humility.
Dragging her down the busy sidewalk, the slums loomed to their left, only three levels below.
In the shadows of the city around them, cheap apartments glowed with outdated neon.
A few flickering holographic signs advertised the only escape most people could afford: alcohol and narcotics.
The bitch looked. There was no sympathy in her eyes, but at least she looked. Halfway across the skywalk, he paused. "You know what life is like down there?"
She timidly lifted her eyes to his face. "Yes, Legate. It is well documented." They were grey, like pools of murky water, hiding the thoughts that lurked beneath.
"Yeah? Well, that's who I'm supposed to be serving. My job is to protect those who cannot help themselves. Those people don't live in luxury apartments. They don't have a few million creds worth of super processors implanted in their heads, and they sure as hell don't have slippers."
"Our uniforms were chosen by the company, Legate," she mumbled, turning her eyes back to the concrete.
Sin sighed. It was pointless. He'd hoped God's purpose for these corporate security jobs might be to bring attention to those truly in need, but it didn't seem to be working.
The rich didn't care about the poor. They assumed that if someone hadn't managed to succeed, it was due to a lack of trying.
They couldn't understand how life had a way of happening to people—even hardworking ones—and success was as much about luck as it was effort.
Ever since Benedict had taken ill, Sin's assignments had started focusing on high-paying clients instead of culturally significant ones.
Oh sure, the Legion had always performed some corporate protection—even the church had to pay its bills.
Priests were also the only people allowed to kill without repercussion.
Tyche had been founded as a religious colony, and that gave the Legion complete immunity from the government, as long as the appropriate vows had been taken.
In other words, his actions were always deemed to be justified to civilians.
It was worth every dime those corporate fucks paid.
And he hoped OutLink was paying dearly. If this girl turned out to be anything like his last client, he might turn in his wings himself.
Standing outside the door while the Ambassador to the Andromeda sector got his rocks off was most certainly not what the Legionnaires were for.
He might be one hell of a bodyguard, but it was because he was the hand of God.
He'd given up everything—well, nearly everything—to help those who could not help themselves.
But this assignment had come straight from the Praetor, not the usual priest in charge of those contracts.
Benedict was probably trying to make a point, but damned if Sin could see it.
The leader of the Legion typically took an interest in the broader purpose of the church, finding ways for God's hands to help the entire community rather than any specific individual or corporation.
This was so far from the norm that it made Sin's head spin.
It was either the old man's way of proving Sin's enhancements weren't the curse he thought, or an attempt to get Sin back in the game.
Probably the latter. Ever since the bombing, he'd only been assigned to clients who were unlikely to see more than a shove from a disgruntled employee.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd pulled a weapon at anything other than a paper silhouette.
He'd done that millions of times, though, to train the cybernetic fingers.
Now, with them hidden under a glove, he could almost forget he hadn't been born with them.
Almost.
His issues wouldn't stop him from saving his angel, though. He'd vowed to guard his client—his assigned angel—with his life, and he was more than willing to do it, enhancements or not. If anything, the thought of living as half a man made taking a bullet even less terrifying.
They reached the doors of RightGen with barely a word spoken.
This damned mental monkey was more like a rag doll than a girl, but he'd gotten her where she belonged, and now she could dump that brain of hers.
At least she hadn't complained. Maybe she wanted to be around him as much as he wanted to be with her? Mutual loathing he could work with.
Relaxing her shoulders, the Ingénue glided toward the receptionist's desk. She didn't have to say a word, though. The cosmetically enhanced woman lifted a flawless finger and spoke under her breath. To his right, an office door opened.
"Ah, Ingénue," purred the man who came out. "Right this way. Have we had the pleasure of your services before?"
"Yes. I am familiar with your system," the girl said, each word perfectly enunciated.
"Good." He glanced at Sinclair. "And a Legate. Well met, Father."
"It's Brother," Sin corrected. "I do not take open confession. My vow is to serve God in other ways."
"I'm sure. If you'd care to follow me, we have a viewing room. I'm afraid our data transfer area and your weapons would not be compatible. Magnetic fields, you understand."
Sin chuckled. "I do. Thank you."
The man gestured for them to follow, and headed down the nearest hall.
The girl looked up at him once, her eyes wide, but didn't say a word.
Sin merely fell in beside her, observing and judging the people around them naturally as they passed.
It wasn't far. When the executive pushed open a door, Sin was pleased to see a large window looking into the room beside it, the magnetic shielding obvious through the glass.
"This will do. Thank you." He forced a smile at the girl and stepped inside.
His job was to protect her. To do that he had to see her, not necessarily touch her. At least here, he wouldn't need to listen to them babble about technology he didn't give a shit about.
The door to the server room opened and the Ingénue stepped through. Her chin was up, but there was something different. Being able to only see a thin strip of her face, he couldn't be sure, but if it was anyone else, he would've guessed she didn't want to be here.
In a swirl of cloth, the girl moved to the far side of the room and knelt, just like she had at OutLink. Long fingers laced together in her lap, and she bowed her head as if ready to pray. He chuckled. She'd broken the first precept; she should be thankful God would still listen.
What happened next was not what he'd expected.
A pair of technicians moved toward the girl.
One dragged a heavy cable closer while the other fumbled at the back of the girl's gown.
Opening a button, the woman parted the blue cloth between the Ingénue's shoulders, exposing a glint of silver.
The first shoved the metal probe at the girl like it was a weapon, impaling her.
From this angle, he could see most of her face.
The Ingénue mouthed words, the soft puff of her breath against the veil proof of it, then her eyes rolled up in her head.
Every muscle in her body tensed. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the strain of her knuckles proved only her will held her still.
Sin pressed against the glass. Was this normal?
From the calm reactions of the technicians, he guessed it must be.
He'd seen neurojocks transfer files. They said it was a euphoric thing, the data wired right into their neurons, but nothing about this looked pleasant.
The Ingénue was breathing hard, her chest heaving with the effort as she slowly slumped forward.
Out of habit, Sin flicked on the power cores of his guns, waiting for some sign of her resistance.
Some reason to step in and stop this, but the staff of RightGen acted like it was simply standard operations.
Just when he thought she was about to collapse, the girl wrenched a hand loose and pressed it against the floor. Fingers splayed, she held her body up and took a long, deep breath. Her lids lifted, long lashes weighed down with moisture, and she turned her head.
Her grey eyes looked right at him. They were filled with shame.