Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The door finally opened and Sin pushed himself away from the wall.
He'd stood there for nearly thirty minutes waiting for her, but when she staggered out, she didn't even bother to thank him.
Her veil was crooked, the skin around her eyes pale, and her hands shook slightly.
She looked ready to collapse, like only her will was keeping her on her feet.
"Ingénue?" he asked.
Her eyes flicked to his before falling to the floor. They were the color of a stormy sky right now, he thought, reaching out to grab her shoulder, hoping to offer support. Even though the fabric, he could feel her bones.
"The contract is complete," she said softly.
To hide the weakness in her voice, he realized. She wasn't able to walk at more than a crawl, and she certainly didn't feel like she could manage to lift a thing. She was just a cloth-covered skeleton! One who was tortured for the data in her mind.
But they all did it, the other technician had said.
The man had acted like it was normal. Granted, Sin had heard of neurojocks becoming addicted to the feeling of their own thoughts and wasting away.
Maybe that was why OutLink kept the Ingénue under robes?
Because they were all so addicted to their own minds they forgot to care for themselves and ended up as walking skeletons who might terrify their clients?
It would explain some of her previous comments.
He didn't say a word as he guided her to the elevator and away from the building. With each step, she seemed to tremble more, only his hand under her arm holding her up. As soon as the building was out of sight, he paused, his grip holding her up while she swayed.
"You ok, Princess?"
"Yes, Legate," she mumbled.
"By ok, I mean able to stand on your own."
She took a long breath. "Not at this time, Legate."
"Yeah." He glanced around them. His client was weak, so now would be a perfect time to strike if someone really was after her. "How do you usually deal with this?"
"My previous handler ignored the repercussions of high-volume data transfers. I've always made it back to the Enclave. Often, my skin was marred enough for the technicians to record the damage."
"Fuck," he growled. "Yeah, well, I'm not your previous handler. So, Ingénue, how would you recommend I accommodate a small woman with physical instability in the open city?"
She straightened slightly, taking a long breath. "I would recommend you walk slowly, preferably toward the Garden District, Legate."
"Sounds like a plan." He shifted his hand to something a bit more comfortable but still supportive.
Slowly, just like she'd recommended, he escorted her to the Garden District, only two blocks over. Massive trees and large pots of flowers were everywhere. He found a bench situated between two of them and gestured to it.
"Figured you wouldn't mind if I stop for a smoke," he said, remembering how she'd said she liked the smell.
Her answer sounded remote but her eyes lit up. "Legate, please feel free to conduct yourself like normal."
He chuckled a bit at that. "Princess, I don't usually smoke around clients, but you're just so damned charming all the time, I figured you wouldn't say shit. Sit down, you make me nervous standing like this."
"Yes, Legate." Her eyes glanced up to him quickly, crinkles at the corners.
He could play her game too. He'd been assigned to politicians and political rebels, to prisoners and police.
He could blend with any aspect of society, and that included playing the part of an egotistical priest annoyed with his less-than-personable client.
Because if she'd switched to bot-mode again, it likely meant they were under surveillance.
The bigger question was how she always seemed to know.
He pulled a pack of smokes from a pocket on his thigh and lit one.
Sucking in a long drag, he enjoyed the bite of nicotine on his tongue.
It and caffeine were the only vices he was allowed.
No alcohol, no hallucinogens, and no mind-altering drugs.
He could indulge in caffeine and nicotine, nothing else.
Well, he did have an addiction to reading, but that was encouraged in the church.
The Ingénue watched him exhale, a tendril of smoke sliding between his lips before dispersing.
"You know," he said, pointing to the pot beside her, "those flowers were brought from Earth.
" He shrugged. "Well, not those exact ones, but that species.
Called daisies. The tree over there? It was planted when New Cincinnati was founded.
There's one just like it in New Sydney and New Toronto.
Each one came from the old version of the cities the towns are named for. "
"I did not know that, Legate."
He took another drag to hide his smile. Her voice sounded bored, but her eyes sparkled.
"Yep. Hundred and thirty-four years old.
Ours is an oak. New Toronto has some kind of cedar, and New Sydney has a pine.
The entire garden center is dedicated to the colonists who made the first trip from Earth to Tyche. "
She nodded, taking all in. Sitting seemed to be exactly what she'd needed. Her color was returning, what little of her he could see, and she was sitting up easier. He decided to keep going. Besides, the longer he talked, the slower he smoked.
"Yeah, the first trip was when the Legion was founded.
The colonists decided their religions weren't really different—they simply used different words to describe the same thing—and there weren't enough of them to fill a single church, so they just kinda banded together.
" He chuckled. "There's a bit more to it than that, but I'm sure you aren't a believer. "
"Religion is not an acceptable course of study, Legate."
"Why not?"
"It is impossible to look at it objectively, Brother Sin. One can neither prove nor disprove the existence of a god. Hence, it would be a waste of resources for the Ingénue to contemplate."
He nodded and lifted his smoke to his lips, thinking that over. "Maybe the point of religion isn't to know, but to feel?"
Her eyes narrowed. "I do not understand the question."
Seemed he'd hit on something. "Well, we don't believe in God because of a rational benefit.
I mean, it doesn't really do me any good to offer to die for you, and it's rather counter-productive to my survival - yet it makes me feel good to keep someone safe.
The feeling of protecting another is a reward in itself.
" He shrugged. "I mean, human emotions often defy rational thought, and religion encourages the more positive ones, and to band together to obtain them. "
She looked up at him, daring to do so in public. "You sound like an Ingénue, Brother Sin."
"Thank you, Ingénue R1554-9370S-02K16." He took the last drag from his smoke and let it out in a rush. "Probably time to get you back. Thank you for waiting while I got my fix."
"My pleasure." She inhaled deeply, her lids sliding down as she enjoyed the scent.
When he offered her a hand up from the bench, a man on the far side of the tree quickly tossed his paper in the trash. It could be nothing, but Sin didn't want to risk it. Sometimes throwing away a newspaper was simply throwing away a newspaper. Other times, it was to follow a target.
Guiding the girl to his far side, he decided to make a straight line to the closest train platform.
Glancing back one last time to supposedly check the tree, he let his eyes search the crowd.
A few faces watched them, which wasn't unexpected, since he was in his formal uniform and the girl wore a very distinct set of blue robes.
Unfortunately, the man with the paper was trailing slowly behind them.
Another was headed the same way, but that could be coincidence.
"I need you to do everything I say and not to ask questions until later. Do you understand?" He started walking a bit faster, the girl stretching her legs to keep up.
"Yes, Legate."
"Left at the next intersection, walk as fast as you can." His fingers tightened on her arm, pulling her against his side.
"Ok."
He cut the corner, hoping to shave off a little time, and the girl tried her best to keep up.
She was already breathing heavier, but she didn't complain and made no effort to resist his guidance.
She staggered once, jogging a step to keep from falling on her face.
His grip held her steady, but neither of their feet slowed.
With his free hand, Sinclair checked his weapons, his eyes simultaneously scanning the path, looking for anyone too interested in them.
Only the dark head of curly hair behind them caused him any concern.
"Fuck, I wish I knew how long until the train got here," he grumbled to himself.
"Twenty-nine seconds," the girl answered. "Assuming it is on time. It typically runs from three to twenty seconds late."
He growled in the back of his throat. "Fuck. Any way to know if it's slow today?"
"Four seconds on our inbound trip, Legate."
He chuckled. "Yeah, four seconds I can do. Twenty? Not as much."
The train station was just ahead, people trickling into it, making enough cover that he wanted to be there more than here.
He looked at the girl again, his eyes flicking over his shoulder, and saw the man gaining on them.
The second was still there as well. He couldn't see either guy's face or clothes, only the tousled top of the one's hair.
The Ingénue tilted her head slightly. "Legate, the train appears to be arriving."
"Thank God," he whispered, pushing her through the arched entrance, bending behind her without releasing her arm.
He steered her to the right, moving into the press of bodies.
The crush of people slowed their motion to little more than a shuffle, allowing her to take long, deep breaths while still moving.
Each step was tiny and delicate, but she held her head up instead of focused on the ground.
He'd expected her to panic or resist. Instead, she'd done everything he'd asked and more.
Who knew a walking brain could track the transportation schedule?
With a hiss of air and a screech of metal, the train stopped.
Doors were thrown open, and bodies began pushing out as others pushed in.
Sin watched for a break in the crowd, then yanked the girl forward, marching to the last car—the one reserved for special access only.
His hand slammed on the lock, granting access.
The door didn't even finish opening before he pushed her inside.
He kept his body close against her, turning to hit the lock as soon as they were over the threshold.
The Ingénue staggered at his rough treatment but didn't complain.
The sound of the door slipping closed had to be a relief to both of their ears, but the girl didn't say a thing.
She simply made her way to a chair. Sin moved to look through the window, his eyes searching for the head that had bobbed after them for too many blocks.
Just when he was about to give up, the dark-haired man stepped forward, their eyes meeting through the bulletproof glass. Sin just smiled.
"I believe you have a fan club," he told his angel when the second man moved to stand beside the first.
"The threat was real?" she asked.
He didn't answer until the train was moving, the dark-haired man and his partner no longer in sight.
Slowly, he turned, checking his weapons to be sure all of them were secure and deactivated.
She sat with her hands clenched tightly.
Her hood had slipped to the side, and her veil was slightly twisted around her neck, yet her face was still completely covered.
He saw it all, but cared about none of it.
What mattered were her eyes. Those pools of silver were large and damp, her pupils dilated and fixed on him.
She was scared.