Chapter 5
Chapter Five
So the pampered genius thought she knew something about his church? She probably couldn't even recite the precepts! No, she could. It was likely stored in her synthetic brain somewhere. He turned to the window, refusing to continue this conversation. Mostly because he'd lose.
Buildings passed by outside, the grey sky promising to wash away the grime.
Behind him, he could see the girl's reflection close her eyes, shutting him out completely.
He hated to admit it, but she was probably right.
Even he wondered why the Legion had accepted this assignment.
He knew there had to be something more to it, and she'd just confirmed it. The problem was, he didn't dare ask.
Benedict's health was failing. The man didn't have time to entertain the tantrums of either a walking computer or a spoiled priest, and if Sin was honest, Benedict had spoiled him.
He'd always gotten the best missions. Not always the safest, but the best. That had all changed when Joshua had become the Censor, acting as the Praetor's right hand.
The bastard had dropped his wings without a second thought and moved right up to the altar, second only to the Praetor himself.
Not many Legates were willing to do that, although most other priests dreamed of such a promotion.
However, working as the hand of God was a calling most Legates felt in their bones.
While some of the priests in the Legion thought their duties made for an easy life and a stable position, each subset of the church had its downsides.
Becoming a Legate might come with a lot of benefits, but those downsides were harsh.
Lately, it seemed like Sin had spent more time assigned to tasks a novice could accomplish than his real duties.
It was almost as if Joshua was trying to keep him on the sidelines.
The more time Sin spent in the field, wiping the asses of pampered corporate brats, the less he could stop the changes happening in the church.
Changes Benedict seemed too ill to even notice half the time.
That didn't mean they weren't happening.
The Legion had been founded during the journey from Earth to Tyche.
Back then, it had taken years to cross such a vast distance of space.
Even near light speed engines—while making colonization possible—didn't make it fast. Thirty-five years, those first people had lived on their ship.
Many had died. More had been born. And in the midst of all of that, locked in a tin can of a ship like sardines, ideas had been shared until a commonality had been reached.
The Legion had been born from that coming together.
When infection spread through the colony ship, they'd turned to God for help.
Unfortunately, no one had followed the same ideas—not until one man rose from the rabble to bind them all together.
His name had been Carlos, and the woman he'd helped had been the very first Legate-protected angel.
Carlos's interference had allowed her to find the cure they all needed, saving thousands of lives and merging the beliefs in the process.
By the time the first humans had landed on Tyche, the Legion was the only religion left.
The hardships of space had forged something unique, allowing the colonists to finally see there was only one true God.
Previously, they'd all worshipped Him in different ways, thinking they had different religions, but as language standardized, the truth emerged: it didn't matter what they called Him.
So, the first people of Tyche had come together to reform their churches into one Legion of belief, using the stories of their exodus from Earth as the foundation.
That church was entrusted with the safety of all people on their new world.
New names were chosen for each position, based on a culture that had helped form civilization on Earth.
And with those names came new responsibilities for the priests who wore them.
Sin knew the history well. He'd studied it repeatedly. For over a hundred years, the Legion had been everything the people needed—comfort, security, and guidance. While corporations sprang up and swatches of land were tamed into new cities, only their religion connected them all.
So why was it all falling apart now? For the first time in the history of the Legion, there was a distinct split, and it all came back to cybernetic enhancements.
The first precept said to respect life as God made it.
Everyone interpreted those words their own way, but as the cities grew more crowded, jobs became harder to find, and enhancements became nearly mandatory for employment. Naturally, resentment grew.
Not even Sin was immune to the distaste for the mechanization of humanity.
The idea of intentionally cutting off his own arm to replace it with something that could lift more?
It was insane! Yet it was what many did, allowing them to work in the warehouses faster, easier, and for more pay.
Cosmetic alterations hid aging and allowed seasoned workers to appear fresh enough to promote the company image.
People who had been previously unemployable were once again able to feed their children.
Some said it was proof enhancements saved lives.
It also destroyed them, though. The need for medication to prevent rejection often burned all the extra money the enhanced made.
In the end, the only ones profiting from this system were the top corporations.
Not only those who made and sold the anti-rejection meds, but also the ones who could now hire fewer employees, paying each one less than they would have for a full team of un-enhanced people.
And since enhancement was always considered to be elective, there were no regulations in place to limit the price gouging.
Letting out a sigh, he dropped his forehead against the glass, watching his world pass by outside.
The news had been covering the widening class divide a lot lately.
That must be how this Ingénue knew there was a problem.
No longer were priests all encouraging the same path.
Many of them interpreted the first precept differently.
In the Good Book, it only said, "Respect life as God made it," and that left a lot of room for interpretation.
God made man, and man had designed enhancements.
God had also created man to be born un-enhanced, so these "upgrades" weren't what He'd made, yet He'd made the brains that designed them.
The subject had become a hot-button topic lately, debated in the pews, the offices, and the streets.
No one could agree, and with the Legion divided, there wasn't even a consistent message to bind them back together.
What most didn't know was that factions had begun forming inside the church too. A split was growing.
But how could this Ingénue know about it?
The history, sure. The rest was nothing more than a gut feeling Sin got every time he walked into the church.
And yet, she seemed so very sure of herself.
She knew the Praetor had a question. She'd come to the conclusion it was the only logical reason Sin would've been assigned to her.
Then again, she also didn't know all the facts.
That was what made him finally ask, "What's the less likely solution, Ingénue?"
In the reflection on the glass, he saw her flinch, almost like he'd woken her up. "That the Praetor didn't choose this assignment for you."
He nodded, feeling a small amount of tension relax in his gut. "Well, he did. I got the orders from the old man himself."
Her head lifted just a bit, a gesture that would have been almost condescending in anyone else. But for her, it somehow came across as nothing more than timid determination. "Then he has a question. The pattern of Praetor Benedict's actions makes it clear those are the only choices."
He turned to face her. "Explain."
Her eyes closed in a long blink, but her chin never dropped.
"In the variance of human desires, it would be plausible for him to assign you as a means to gain control of the Ingénue Project with a slow and deliberate infiltration of OutLink Corp.
If the Legion had access to dozens of minds enhanced like my own, removing the democratically elected government and replacing it with a theocracy would be simple.
As would shifting our current oligarchy to an even more fascist and profitable economy. "
"But you don't think that's it," he clarified, making it clear he was keeping up.
The girl shook her head. It was subtle, but still there.
Then her eyes dropped to her hands in her lap and her shoulders relaxed beneath that blue robe.
From the way her veil moved, she was doing something with her mouth, but he couldn't tell if that was licking her lips or trying to find the right words.
Then, "In every documented correspondence, Praetor Benedict has shown himself to be a caring and generous man.
" Her eyes jumped up to meet his. "Even his private communications are phrased with compassion.
For him to have hidden any hint of the narcissism necessary to engage in the last option would be an impressive change of character and opens up additional considerations. "
"Such as?"
She didn't even hesitate. "Blackmail, chemical alterations of his mental state, or the presence of an even larger problem that has been somehow kept secret." Then she blinked. "Is that what you need to know, Legate?"
What Sin needed was a goddamned smoke. She was all but accusing the church of corruption!
It might be subtly phrased and delivered as an offer to help, but that was, in effect, exactly what she was doing—and it pissed him off.
He shouldn't let the pampered princess upset him like this, but she'd hit a nerve. A really fucking big one.
Because she might even be right.
Still, he'd vowed to protect her. When he'd received the assignment, he'd sworn to God to watch over her until the Lord released him from service.
He hadn't exactly been doing a good job so far.
Instead, he'd hauled her around like a sack of potatoes and snapped at her the one time the girl dared to even speak to him.
In return, she'd offered her help. Her fucking help for a problem she shouldn't even know he was worried about!
He turned back to apologize, but she refused to meet his eyes. Maybe he should just get this over with and go home. Get his mind back on track and try to make it up to her next time. So what if she annoyed the piss out of him? She was his angel. He owed it to God to get this right.
All of it.