Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
"The men following us were two of Pharmacon's security officers," Sin said, making it clear he'd recognized the guys' faces.
"I know them from a job I did a couple of years ago for their boss.
Caleb's the head of their security, and Parker is in charge of off-campus issues.
Neither is a thug and they're not desperate for money.
Why would men like them be so interested in a brain for hire? "
Her response wasn't what he'd expected. While her eyes screamed her fear, her voice was steady and her chin lifted. "Your eyes are two different colors."
He sucked at his teeth, wondering if she even deserved an answer when he'd been trying to explain the threat. "Yeah. Why do the Ingénue need protection?"
"From people who want to hijack the data in our minds. The right eye is cybernetic, correct?"
"Yes. Why the fuck do you even care?"
She nodded, her gaze shifting to something only she could see. "You're enhanced. It's a close match, but not a perfect one, which means it wasn't custom-colored - yet I assume most people don't notice." She blinked twice then looked at him again. "Does the Legion know?"
"They paid for it. I was wounded in the line of duty. Are you even listening to me?"
"Yes!" she snapped. "I'm solving the problem!"
"What do my eyes have to do with the problem?" He threw his hands in the air and turned back to the door, exasperated.
"How much Stabiltrol do you take?"
He didn't bother to turn around. "Fifteen hundred milligrams every four days."
"Your eye isn't all you lost," she whispered, her voice nearly reverent.
"No. I fucking lost the outside half of my right arm, two fingers on the same hand, and my spine was severed. Happy? Yeah, I'm a modified freak, just like you."
"Does the church pay for the Stabiltrol?"
"Does OutLink pay for yours?"
"Yes," she said. "Since I was under the age of consent, and below the age of request, it's mandated that they must supply it for all of the enhancements."
"Wait." He turned, his anger slipping away. "How old are you, Princess?"
"About twenty-five. Approximately."
"You don't know?"
She shook her head, the cloth slipping lower on her nose.
Sinclair took a long, deep breath, nodding as the air slid into his lungs to convince himself to ask the next question. "The age of request is twelve. How old were you when you were enhanced?"
She blinked slowly. "Three."
"Why does Pharmacon want the Ingénue?" he asked again, feeling in his gut somehow this was all connected.
"Because we're smart enough to find their secret. Stabiltrol isn't the only anti-rejection drug, just the most profitable."
"Fuck." His hand slid across his hair, pushing back the tendril teasing his forehead. "Ah, shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck." He turned to the window, gesturing at the towers of apartments rushing past. "Thirty-two percent of the population is enhanced. Did you know?"
"Yes, Legate."
He breathed out a single laugh. "Right. Genius. So, do you know what most people give up so they can keep their implants?"
"Approximately sixty-one percent of the household income is spent on Stabiltrol. Pharmacon insists it is the only reliable drug to combat the body's rejection of the synthetic neurons."
He nodded, still watching the city move outside the glass. "You ever seen a kid starve to death?"
"No, Brother Sinclair. That would be considered disturbing and might affect my work performance. It is not allowed."
"Don't." He sighed and let his head rest against the glass. "Although it isn't really any better when it's an adult."
Silence hung between them, the clacking of the wheels on the rails the only sound.
Sin tapped his head against the glass, wishing he could make the images of such poverty vanish forever.
Not just from his mind, but from the world, and especially from New Cincinnati.
Too often, he'd seen families ruined because of the cost of their medications.
He'd watched men try to cut out the implants, seen women sell their bodies for enough to feed their children.
That was why he despised enhancements so much.
Not because of the benefits, but because of the real cost it came with.
Medical miracles were supposed to be a good thing, not something that dragged the whole family into poverty, forcing people to choose between life and loved ones in a way that was just cruel.
Sadly, medicine relied too much on cybernetics and nanites to repair the body, trusting that Stabiltrol would halt any complications.
No one ever stopped to consider what happened after the person was saved.
"Why do you care?" the Ingénue asked.
"Because no one should have to make the decision to either cut off their arm or feed their child," he shot back.
"But why do you care? Do you have children?"
He shook his head. "I'm a priest."
"So why do you care?"
"Because I'm the hand of God. I dedicated my life to protecting others, and I can't do this. I can't make them have enough money, ok?"
Cold grey eyes watched him, unforgiving. "Why? They aren't your problem, Legate. Plenty of people ignore their suffering every day. Why do you care?"
He lifted his hands, palms up, then let them slowly fall to his sides. "Because God asks for so little in return, and this is what He wants from me. I can protect them, so I do. I can help—in small ways—but it's something, and that's better than nothing."
"Why?" she asked again.
"Because someone has to, and if a damned priest won't care, then who the fuck will?
You? A walking brain for hire?" She winced at his words, and he saw it.
"I'm sorry, Ingénue. It's just not right.
We shouldn't work so damned hard just to slowly suffer.
Wanting to be healthy shouldn't ruin our lives. "
"No," she agreed. "It shouldn't. My apologies for asking, I shouldn't have intruded."
She was shutting down again, and he could see it. He'd almost gotten the girl to open up and act a little more human, but he'd snapped at her, and she was withdrawing. He pushed himself away from the window, moving across the rocking floor easily, and dropped into the chair beside her.
"I'm sorry," he said, reaching up to straighten the hood hanging against her brow. "I just hate to see anyone suffer, ok? I'm not really good for much else, but I am very good at helping others."
"That's why you're a priest?" She turned to him, reaching up to her left ear to adjust the veil over her lower face.
"Anyone can be a priest, no matter what you were before." He shrugged. "I mean, you have to agree to follow the doctrine, but yes, I became a priest at eighteen, two days before I would have gotten the barcode."
He pulled off his right glove, exposing the inside of his wrist. Black faux-skin attached to his natural olive in a line down the middle, but no trace of a barcode marked him. Everyone was marked. Everyone was coded. It was how the system worked.
"How?" she asked, turning her own wrist up, exposing the blue-black lines etched in her flesh.
"You don't get one until you're eighteen. I was accepted into the church two days before my birthday because of a legal agreement." His brow wrinkled in confusion. "When did you get it?"
"I don't know."
"Was it before you were eighteen?"
She looked at him, wrenching her eyes away from her own wrist. "I don't remember anything past three years ago."
"Why?" His voice was gentle.
Her answer wasn't even in a whisper; it was a breath, little more than air passing her lips. "Because that's the last time the reset worked."
Sinclair felt like his entire world rolled beneath him. Only part of it was because of the train's motion. The soft clacking of the tracks hammered in his ears like a second hand ticking, counting down to something as her words hung between them.
They made all the little hints she'd offered fall into place.
"There aren't any luxurious apartments, are there." He wasn't really asking so much as watching her reaction.
"No." The Ingénue glanced away, either ashamed or terrified.
It was hard to tell when he could see so little of her and every movement was intentional.
"It's a cylinder, four feet wide. We're attached to feeding and elimination tubes, and hooked to the network to have our bodies and minds monitored for defects. "
He nodded, feeling the train begin to slow. "Don't get off at the next stop. We'll double back. If asked, it's because we want to make sure we aren't followed."
"Then what's the real reason?"
He smiled. "I want to know why you avoided OutLink's systems for so long, but just decided to trust me."
"Because if a damned priest won't care, then who the fuck will?" She quoted his words back to him, but her tongue stumbled over the profanity.
Sin laughed and nodded. "Yeah, Princess. Let's make a deal, just between you and me, ok? You drop this prim and proper thing for a bit, let me know what I need to do my job, and I'll do my damnedest to take care of you."
She nodded, daring to smile at him. The crinkles around her eyes were now something he enjoyed seeing.
"When I'm connected to the network, I can access the web.
That's how I knew about your assignment.
We're trained to be observant, but they refuse to give us any knowledge about the outside world.
If we show too much initiative, they reprogram us. "
"Like a computer?" he gasped.
"Exactly. We're an investment, Sin."
He smiled. She'd finally given up on formality. "Does this mean you'll tell me your name?"
"It's just the serial number."
For a split second, he froze, staring at her in shock. This girl didn't have a name? There was no way she could be pampered if she didn't even have the basic human right of a name! How had he missed this?
All he could do now was try to make up for it. Placing his hand on the back of her head, he ran it gently down the cloth, not even flinching from the feel of the ports along her back. Those soulful eyes of hers didn't even look sad about it, but he still wanted to make it better.
"Ingénue R1554-9370S-02K16? Well, first time I saw that, I thought it said Ingénue Rissa Petos. You know, in the way people often replace letters with numbers? Like that. So how about I use that for your name?"
"Rissa?"
He shrugged. "I mean, it's a little easier than saying Ingénue all the time. And it doesn't sound as snide as 'Princess.'"
Her hand lifted to her mouth, perfectly manicured fingernails peeking from the overly long sleeves. She nodded. "I've never had a name."
"Well, now you do. You're Rissa, and for the next bit, you're my angel."
"Your angel?"
Sin chuckled. "That's what we call the people we're assigned to, Rissa. We're the guardians; they're the angels. You're my only assignment for the next month, at least." He rubbed her back gently. "And my friends just call me Sin."
She laughed at that, her delicate voice like chimes in his ears. "Does this mean I'm your friend?"
"I'd like to think so." He turned his head at the sound of the train slowing. "This stop is ours. We'll get off, catch the next eastbound train, then return you to your prison."
"Sin?"
"Yeah, hun?"
Rissa stood, knowing the train was almost at the station.
"I know how to make a better Stabiltrol.
That's why Pharmacon is after us. Someone's using simple questions to cover the illegal transport of data in our heads, and it looks a lot like Stabiltrol.
They're trying to get the chemical patented, but they have no intention of producing it.
There's no profit in curing cybernetic rejection. "
He whistled softly and moved to her side, his eyes straight ahead as the train moved into the station. "Yep. I knew this assignment was going to be fun. Walking brains."