She laughed. "Sure. When you gonna let one of us ladies call on you?"
"Maybe tomorrow." He grinned. They all knew he wasn't serious, but it had become a routine. They flirted, he put them off, and it fed both of their egos. "Ring me up, and I'll get out of your hair."
He slid across a strip of plastic, and she inserted it in the machine, billing him for the meal. She passed it back with a small pad, and he pressed his index finger to it before making his way home.
He returned to his tiny room and sighed. In the Middle Ages of Earth history, friars had prided themselves on their lack of material possessions. He tried to do the same, but it wasn't a religious commandment that made him have so little; it was poverty. The weekly stipend he received from the church barely covered more than his own Stabiltrol. The worst part washewas doing pretty well compared to most people in the complex.
Sin threw himself into a deep chair and flicked on the holoscreen. Flipping through channels, he hoped to find something to occupy his mind, but he wasn't having much luck. He mashed the remote again, then again, taking his frustration out on it. It didn't take too long before someone rapped at his door.
Shave and a haircut was the pattern, so it had to be Trent. Not many people knew of the ancient rhythm. "Come in," he yelled.
"Too fucking trusting," Trent said as the door slid closed behind him.
Sin just lifted the gun at his side. "Not really, Brother. Got a bit?"
"Got a stiff drink?" Trent asked in return.
"In the fridge."
Trent was a short, strong man. His head was shaved completely bald, and a pistol hung from each hip, but it was the scar across his neck that caught the eye first. Trent had taken the wound five years ago, saving a kid from a mob. When he turned to come back, Sin saw the steel chain dangling against his shirt, a match to his own.
"Got the ambassador sent back to Andromeda last week," Sin said, breaking the ice.
Trent passed him a Coke and tossed himself in the only other chair in the room. "And I bet you weren't upset to see that prick leave. Arrogant bastard. You started the new job already, right?
"Yeah," he admitted. "Kinda why I wanted to talk to you."
"Must be bad if you didn't even make it a week before needing a confession," Trent said, trying to hide his amusement.
Sin just shook his head, deciding to test the waters. "Not even a day off, and I'm on another corporate assignment. Whatever happened to protecting those in need? Why aren't we trying to do something about the millions of people just trying to keep their heads above water?"
"I dunno, Brother. What I do know is who you're babysitting."
"Ok?"
Trent nodded. "Yep. She's the little prima donna of the bunch. Bet that little bitch ends up busting your balls."
Sin laughed. "Yeah, well, it's not like I'm using them. So how'd you find out about this?"
"I watch the news." Trent gestured for the remote and flicked the holo to a different station. "In the last three weeks, ten Ingénue have been attacked. They're like little data couriers, and because of their price, the shit in their heads is pretty impressive. Corporate secrets, patent information, tax records, things no company wants to have fall into the wrong hands."
Sin nodded. "Figured that out already."
"Yeah, well, you know what those girls are trained to do when they're cornered?" Trent scratched at the shadow of stubble on his jaw, waiting for Sinclair to admit his ignorance. "They wipe their minds. Just an entire reboot of their body like it's a fucking machine. Seems they completely rewire their entire nervous systems or something."
That had his attention. "So, you're telling me a bug crawls over her shoe, and this delicate little flower is going to faint on me?" He tried to make it a joke, but it fell flat.
"No." Trent's voice was serious, which was very unlike him. "I'm telling you ten Ingénue were cornered, so they wiped their minds. Nine of them never woke up. If it wasn't against the precepts, I'd be willing to bet your angel is number ten."
Their eyes met, and Sin nodded. "Thing is, I think she needs our help."
"Wait, what?" Trent asked, his mouth falling open. "I'm surprised she even talked to you. Everyone who's been around them says the most they do is answer yes and no."
Sin took a long pull on his Coke, remembering how she'd tried to do exactly that. "Yeah. Well, I'm pretty sure my angel isn't like the others, and she hates to be called a bitch."
"How can you tell under all that cloth?" Trent teased. "You trying to get her naked already?"
"No." Sin pointed to his eyes. "Windows to the soul, Brother. That's why they look at the ground, so you can't read their expressions. Thing is, Rissa's not as well trained as they wish."
