Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
His second day with the Ingénue wasn't going any better than the first. Sin was losing his patience with the spoiled robot again.
Three times, he'd tried to start a conversation, and all three times she'd ignored him.
He knew he should give her the benefit of the doubt, but he couldn't stop himself.
This girl was simply oblivious to everything, including his attempts to be nice.
However, she always responded—in some way—when he lost his temper.
"We aren't all rich little bitches, you know that, right?" he snapped. "Some of us have other things to do before and after this."
"Really?" She paused, almost as if answering had been accidental. Then her pale eyes jumped up to his face. "Your contract cost two million."
He chuckled. "And I get a very small amount of that. Most of it goes to equipment and the needs of the Legion."
"Ah," she said, sounding almost pleased as she started walking again. "So the full price the client pays doesn't always go to the one doing the work. I understand."
He turned to snap at her and saw the hint of creases around her eyes, which made him think she was smirking at him under the veil. He sighed. "Ok. So an expensive contract doesn't always mean a wealthy employee. I gotcha."
She didn't say anything else, but the smug attitude radiating from her didn't help prove her point either.
So maybe she didn't make five million per trip?
There was no way she didn't make enough to live very well, not with the care he'd seen.
He cost two million a month, she cost five million a day.
It wasn't the same. Hell, the company even provided her with living quarters, and from the size of the building, he could only imagine the luxury suite she called home.
She didn't speak to him again until she had completed the download, and then only because she needed to.
He waited in the hall at the request of the company's representative until he heard the door open.
The pampered princess stumbled out. Her skin was pallid, her lips pressed together, and that damned blue robe covered everything but her eyes, yet he could see her hands shaking.
He grabbed her arm, and she leaned into it.
"Please get me out of this building," she whispered.
"Yeah," he agreed, if for no other reason than because she'd actually bothered to ask.
His fingers dug into her flesh, but he'd understood what she needed.
She didn't want to embarrass herself in front of her clients, and she seemed weaker than last time.
He could hear her sucking in deep breaths, too slow to be considered panting, but she was forcing her body to give the impression she needed.
The girl stood as tall as she could, using his support to make it possible, and tried to keep her head up.
Sin felt a bit of his resentment slip. He still couldn't understand how a simple data transfer—something so many kids did for fun—could make her so weak, but he understood her need to keep her composure.
Once outside, he damned near carried her until they were out of sight of the building, then stopped at a concrete flower bed. With a deep sigh, she leaned against it.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"I think you need to get out more or something," he said with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. It didn't work.
"I need a better data port," she snapped back. "This didn't happen before."
"So why is it happening now, brainchild?"
She turned away, refusing to look at him. "I think my ports have been damaged. It has to be the ports, because my neurons test fine."
Sin chuckled at that. "You can just test your own brain?"
"Yes. It's almost all cybernetic now."
He just sighed, then grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. "You made this decision, so you need to figure out how to deal with it."
She shuffled along obediently, but made no attempt to match his pace, showing her defiance with her leisure.
He couldn't believe she was upset because her own enhancements weren't performing as well as she wished.
Why didn't she just get an upgrade? More than that, why hadn't she been satisfied with what God had given her?
Then he remembered her comments from before.
Maybe that had been her point. She had to spend so much on her cybernetics that she had little left over for anything else?
Still, why didn't she simply find a new position?
With a mind like hers, it couldn't be hard to find a well-paying job that would be happy to have a second-class Ingénue.
Unfortunately, he didn't have time to think about it for very long.
The trip back to OutLink's receiving area was faster than it had been the day before.
He escorted her into the room, she swiped her arm under the reader, and her technician arrived quickly.
The spoiled princess didn't even bother to say a thing as she was led to the back.
There was only one problem: he'd never asked her the Praetor's question.
The next day was more of the same. He picked her up and led her out, making their way to the subway this time.
The outdated system was dank and musty, but it would be the fastest way to get them to the client.
The girl didn't say a word, except for what was necessary.
Sin had a feeling she was holding a grudge from the day before.
Sitting her in a plastic seat as the doors slipped closed, he leaned close. "You mad at me?"
"That would be improper," she said stiffly.
"Yeah. So you're pissed. Wanna tell me why?"
"No."
He couldn't help it, he laughed. "Ok. Let's try that again. What did I do to piss you off this bad?"
He saw her eyes dart away and she let out a tense breath. "I don't like needing your help."
"And I don't like needing to give it, so I guess that makes us even."
"Damned Praetor," she grumbled.
"No," he said, sitting up straight to face her. "Uh-uh. That's crossing the line, Princess. You don't talk shit about my God, my church, or my Praetor, got it?"
"Then you don't talk about my mind," she snapped back, lifting her chin.
"Honey, my God and your mind aren't even on the same plane."
"To you."
"Yeah. You trying to say your mind is as good as God?" He held up his hand, one finger pointed at her. "Watch how you answer that, you pampered little bitch."
Her eyes narrowed and she took a long, deep breath. "If you don't want to hear the answer, don't ask an Ingénue the question."
"Point made."
"About time."
He hated how she had to have the last word. He hated it more that she thought her silicone brain was anywhere near as good as his God. If he thought about it, he also hated to admit his God wasn't hers. He hated it the most that this time she might be right.
"So, you want to tell me what you do believe in?" he asked, trying to find a place to compromise.
"No."
"I'm trying, Princess."
She chuckled ironically. "Yes, Legate. You're trying to show me how inferior I am to a true human. I get it."
"So you don't consider yourself a true human?" he asked, shocked.
"You don't consider me one," she corrected. "Not really sure anyone does."
"Ingénue, that's not true."
Her striking eyes jumped to his face. "Name one person who thinks I'm as good as a regular person," she dared him.
"I think you could be," he said. "Try to be a bit more friendly and a bit less pompous, and I'd say you were. God forgives us for mistakes we've made, including enhancements."
"And you'd know." She flicked two fingers on her hand, dismissing his remarks. "You might try listening to your own advice, Legate."
"Yeah. Let's just get your client the data."
He gave up. No matter how hard he tried, she refused to make any attempt to be friendly.
And if she was going to be like this, he couldn't trust her to take the Praetor's question seriously.
Maybe Benedict wanted an answer, but if God intended for him to have it, He wouldn't keep throwing up roadblocks every time Sin even thought about asking.
And that was exactly what this woman was. One big roadblock after another, all covered in layers of OutLink-blue cloth. The only bright spot in this assignment was that she did what he asked of her to protect herself. She didn't do much more, but his only job was to keep her safe.
But that was the first day he heard her scream.
Asked to not bring his weapons into the room once again, he waited with his back resting against the wall.
She'd been sheltered in the transfer room for well over half an hour, but that wasn't uncommon—and then he heard her voice.
It was a sound like the one men made before they died, short, but ripped from her lungs.
Fuck the guns. Fuck their magnetically sensitive equipment. He wrenched open the door, and saw her directly before him, lying crumpled on the ground. A man knelt over her.
"What the fuck?" he snapped.
The man pulled the cable from her spine and stepped away, looking at Sinclair as if he was a moron. "She fainted, I think. It was a large file."
Sin's feet never slowed until he knelt at her side.
Her exposed body lay sprawled across a cushion, the blue robe open at the back but still covering her face.
Metal circles covered her, one near her overly visible ribs and at least three along her spine.
Those were her ports. He caught sight of another at the base of her neck, just beneath the blue cloth.
Carefully, he pulled at the sides of her robe, buttoning it closed. "Ingénue?" he asked.
With a moan, she came awake, pulling at the hood to make sure her face was covered. "I need a moment," she said softly. "It was a large file."
Sin looked up at the executive, who smiled at having been proven right.
"They all do it. The human mind doesn't normally handle this much information at a time, and OutLink hasn't figured out how to keep them from collapsing." He laughed. "At least they still download when they're out cold, though, right?"
"Wonder what you'd say if this was your sister," Sin said softly, helping the girl to her feet. "Ingénue, take my arm."
"Thanks," she whispered, and he noticed it wasn't the formal 'thank you' she'd always used by rote. Somehow that made it mean something.
She clung to him, using his strength to hold her up. Carefully – slowly – he escorted her from the building. The broken asphalt of the street outside seemed so much nicer than the glass and chrome of those corporate assholes who were amused by her weakness.