From behind them, a technician spoke up. "File is complete and shows no signs of corruption. The response is encrypted."
"Then unhook her." The woman gestured at Rissa's body.
Trent reached around to the base of her neck and carefully twisted the cable. His method was smooth and gentle. When she sighed, he slid the probe out, careful not to drag it against her connections, removing it cleanly—and oddly without discomfort.
"We're done," he said, lifting her to her feet.
"Did she delete the copy?" the woman demanded.
"Yes, ma'am," the technician said.
"Then we're done. Can you find your way out, Legate?"
"Yeah. You don't have to ask me twice," Trent grumbled. "I suddenly remember why I hate self-righteous corporate types. May God forgive you all."
He scooped Rissa into his arms and stormed out, holding her carefully to his chest as he hurried down the stairs. Turning in place, he pressed open the door with his back, then resumed his pace, never slowing until he reached the car.
"Ok, Princess," he said softly. "You have to stand up long enough for me to get you into this car."
"I'm fine," she assured him.
He set her carefully on her feet but never let go. With one hand, he pulled open the door, the other guiding her inside. "You gonna be ok?"
Rissa smiled. "I just need a minute. I'm fine."
He closed her in but she could still hear his voice, muffled by the vehicle until the door opened on the other side. "-sucking douche bag fuckers. God in Heaven, what are they thinking?"
"That I'm off the net," Rissa said, answering the rhetorical question.
Trent's rant stopped immediately. "Everything can be traced, though, right? One way or another, it all has an identifier." He started the car, and pulled away, shooting one last glare back at the building they'd just left.
"Ingénues have no MAC address, no IP address—nothing." Rissa shrugged. "No wireless connectivity, either."
Trent's lips curled into a smile. "Sinclair know that?"
Rissa nodded, her head feeling too light. "Yes. That's why he wants to see me. I have a file in my frontal lobe."
"Um, I'm not really up to date on the latest technology, but isn't that impossible?"
"Not for me," she assured him. "I'm gonna need a data connection to a machine that's offline. Also, a really soft place to sit would be nice."
"Ah shit," he muttered. "You're gonna fucking do that again?"
"Yes," Rissa whispered, daring to glance over. "Please don't tell him?"
"He doesn't know how much that rips you up?" He sucked air through his teeth. "No deal, Princess. How the fuck did you hide that from a Legate?"
"He's not usually allowed in the room," she said, her eyes feeling heavy. "He appears to have suspicions of my discomfort, but I would prefer he never learns the true level."
"No deal," Trent said again. "I've never heard of it being painful before. I mean, that's what that was, right?"
"They altered my polymodal nociceptor neurons," Rissa said. "That is one of the many things they removed when I was a child to make me more efficient. My brain has compensated. I feel the data. I canmanipulatethe data."
"And it hurts?"
"Like pulling your intestines out, or so I'd assume, although that only applies when it transfers too quickly." She leaned her head back against the seat. "I'm just going to close my eyes for a moment, ok?"
"Yeah, kid. I'll wake you when we get there."
