Sin grunted, making it clear how little he cared. "She will with me. If you want to protect your damned investment, then trust me. If I fail, the Legion will notify you of my demise. Otherwise, I will notify you of any loss to your property. If you hear nothing, then I'm just bringing her home." He shrugged. "We cost so much because we don't fucking fail, Mr. Briggs."
Finally, the man smiled. It was an oddly cruel look. "I know. Not even when you lose your right arm to do it."
"Most of it." They seemed to have done their research. "Was a bit of a problem trying to crawl out of there, but I still protected the client."
"And used three other Legionnaires to do it," Mr. Briggs remarked. "Your Praetor made sure I knew your contract fee doesn't cover only a single Legate. Now, today's assignment is simple. RightGen is expecting their solution this evening. Once she has received the data, you'll make sure she arrives safely. If you return after hours, there is a door on the west side of the building, and your retinal scan will get you in."
"Cybernetic," Sin corrected.
"Yes. Please feel free to contact me directly if you have any problems or concerns." The CEO glanced at a screen quickly, then gestured to a chair. "Your Ingénue will be with you shortly."
Fucking arrogant corporate snot, Sin thought, smiling politely as he moved to find a seat, watching the man leave. Mr. Brigg's cologne stank like overripe flowers. His smile was as plastic as they came. Sin was sure the man had been aesthetically enhanced, yet he wanted respect for simply being wealthy? Sin hated these assignments, always had, and the Praetor knew it. The only thing he didn't understand was whyhe'dgotten it. This didn't seem like God's work.
Babysitting some pampered brainchild was not something that would help their cause. He didn't have the social graces to impress the corporate types, and the damned mental monkeyhe'd be escorting was about as friendly as a doorknob. The worst part was this wasn't a one-time assignment, but a recurring one. Every time that prissy little stick had a job, he'd be heading over to hold her hand and make sure she didn't stub her delicate fucking toe.
He couldn't understand how this would help anyone live a better life.Thatwas why he'd sold his soul to the Legion. He was tired of watching hard-working people get nowhere, himself included. He was supposed to protect the weak, not some fucking pampered, cybernetically modified walking mind.
Before he could slip down that spiral of thought, a door at the back of the room opened, and a blue-robed woman glided out with a technician beside her. The man's hand gently touched her elbow, escorting her forward, and Sin glanced at her hooded face again.
"Ingénue," he said politely.
"Legate," she responded, her voice barely more than a whisper.
The technician passed him a package. "RightGen, fourth floor, five o'clock tonight. That contains all pertinent information, along with your company credit card, and any necessary identifications you might need while working with her. Now, you may either wait here while she solves the problem, or arrive early. This one usually completes the task ahead of schedule." There was a hint of pride in his voice.
"Do you have a preference?" he asked the Ingénue.
She twitched, her head barely tilting toward him, but her eyes stayed locked on the ground. "I prefer to complete the task early, Legate."
"Can you think and walk?" he asked.
Her answer was completely stoic. "I can't really do anything else."
The technician looked at her quickly, but Sin laughed. "C'mon, girl. Let's get this over with so you don't spoil your pretty little gown."
He gestured to the door and saw her lift her chin slightly, but she didn't move. With a sigh, he took the first steps, hoping she'd just follow along obediently. She did. Maybe this job wouldn't be quite as bad as he'd expected. So long as the bitch did what he told her, he could make this work.
Chapter Three
Arrogant, egotistical, pompous, self-righteous jerk, she thought, staring at the floor. What idiot asked for someone's favorite color? What imbecile tried to make her chat with him in front of her employers? Didn't he realize the entire building was monitored?
And now here he was asking her for heropinion?The man was clearly sadistic. Thankfully, she could think faster than him. Fast enough to find a safe answer that implied so much more—like that he was anidiot!
When he started walking, she moved behind him gracefully, struggling to keep up with the pace he set.Balance on the balls of your feet, keep your arms still, never make eye contact.Those were the rules, and shemustobey the rules or she would be deemed insubordinate. She should not complain, she should not offer suggestions unless asked. No one wanted to be criticized by someone smarter than them, and anything she said would be considered criticism. That was what her programming said.
If only it was that easy. Acting like a robot might be second nature for some of the girls, but not her. She couldn't help but notice the looks when she walked past. The glares when someone apologized and she said nothing. Society had rules, and she watched them in action around her every day, but they weren't supposed to apply to her.
Ingénues were supposed to be seen and not heard, after all.Shedidn't matter, only the material in her mind. The problemswere usually so pathetically simple, she couldn't understand why anyone would pay the fee for her services, and yet the questions kept coming.
Like this one. She'd already solved it—before they'd even left the corporate property. The problem had been shockingly simple, and yet the upload she'd received had been larger than expected. It was almost like they'd hidden their real issue in layer upon layer of unnecessary code. Evidently, their little problem was highly confidential. Especially if they were adding security layers for encryption into an already secure source of transfer.
Which was why she had to travel across the city. These companies didn't want to risk having any of this on the public web. When an Ingénue was hired, the person or company came to the "office" with either their problem or their data and uploaded it directly. From there, she received it—after a rather thorough check for viruses—and then she delivered it back to them in person.
Hence the walk. Each contract allowed her a few hours outside. Usually less, but a few took longer, adding in time for her to finalize the answer. She'd been told OutLink Corp. charged by the hour, but she wasn't involved in that part of the operations. Nor did she want to be. Anyone who was willing to pay a fortune for some information deserved the best she could give. Never mind that she generally allowed her semi-conscious processing to deal with it.
But the Legate was getting too far ahead of her. Stretching her legs, she tried to keep up, but it wasn't easy. Thankfully, his dark, form-fitting attire made him stand out from the people around them. She allowed her eyes to run across his physique, memorizing it—just in case she ever needed to verify his identity. Or so she'd claim if anyone checked her memory storage later.
At least he was attractive. And with the pace he'd set, she could blame the increased heart rate and hormonal reaction on the walking and not her observation of how the rubbery armor fit every muscle in his body. She smiled behind her veil. Looking at this priest was better than the web. He was also too stupid to know it was possible to absorb information obtained from one's peripheral vision. She only needed to convince her brain to enhance the retinal impulses and adjust her focus of awareness.
