"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 doyoucare? 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 dothis.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.Whydo 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, butyes, 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."
