"Step," he said, and she realized they were boarding the train.
So he'd chosen to take the train back? That was nice. It would make the trip bearable. In their private car, he led her to a chair and eased her into it.
"Wanna tell me why you're trembling?" he asked, sitting next to her.
"I just completed a data transfer."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"It does." She could feel him watching her, so she bit the inside of her lip, hoping to hide her weakness—and her own annoyance at it.
"So what you're saying is you're so fucking frail you can't even handle a simple data connection without damned near falling apart?" He groaned in disgust. "No wonder you all cost so fucking much."
He didn't need to rub it in! Did the man think she wanted to be like this? Didn't he understand that until she paid off her debt—which the cost of her daily care made impossible—this was the only option she had? Did he, a priest of the Legion, think she would have done this to her own body?
Then again, he probably had no idea what a monster she was beneath the robes.
"Ask the Praetor what his question is," she said, her anger making her break protocol. "I don't need to plug in to solve it."
"He asks God for advice, not a cyberneticfreak," Sinclair warned her. "Don't overestimate your worth, Princess."
"Then tell him I asked." She looked right at his face, not even caring if he reported her. "If you'd stop being rude all the time, I might even solve it."
"We don't need you."
"Then you explain why he assigned his best Legate to a wealthy corporation so you can follow me around for the next few months. There are only two plausible solutions, and from the available information, only one is likely. The Praetor needs an answer."
"Yeah. And you can give it. Right. You really think you're hot shit, don't ya?"
"Yes. I also think the Legion has a serious problem."
Chapter Five
So the pampered genius thought she knew something about his church? She probably couldn't even recite the precepts! No, she could. It was likely stored in her synthetic brain somewhere. He turned to the window, refusing to continue this conversation. Mostly because he'd lose.
Buildings passed by outside, the grey sky promising to wash away the grime. Behind him, he could see the girl's reflection close her eyes, shutting him out completely. He hated to admit it, but she was probably right. Even he wondered why the Legion had accepted this assignment. He knew there had to be something more to it, and she'd just confirmed it. The problem was, he didn't dare ask.
Benedict's health was failing. The man didn't have time to entertain the tantrums of either a walking computer or a spoiled priest, and if Sin was honest, Benedicthadspoiled him. He'd always gotten the best missions. Not always the safest, but thebest. That had all changed when Joshua had become the Censor, acting as the Praetor's right hand. The bastard had dropped his wings without a second thought and moved right up to the altar, second only to the Praetor himself.
Not many Legates were willing to do that, although most other priests dreamed of such a promotion. However, working as the hand of God was a calling most Legates felt in their bones. While some of the priests in the Legion thought their duties made for an easy life and a stable position, each subset of thechurch had its downsides. Becoming a Legate might come with alotof benefits, but those downsides wereharsh.
Lately, it seemed like Sin had spent more time assigned to tasks a novice could accomplish than his real duties. It was almost as if Joshua was trying to keep him on the sidelines. The more time Sin spent in the field, wiping the asses of pampered corporate brats, the less he could stop the changes happening in the church. Changes Benedict seemed too ill to even notice half the time.
That didn't mean they weren't happening. The Legion had been founded during the journey from Earth to Tyche. Back then, it had taken years to cross such a vast distance of space. Even near light speed engines—while making colonization possible—didn't make it fast. Thirty-five years, those first people had lived on their ship. Many had died. More had been born. And in the midst of all of that, locked in a tin can of a ship like sardines, ideas had been shared until a commonality had been reached.
The Legion had been born from that coming together. When infection spread through the colony ship, they'd turned to God for help. Unfortunately, no one had followed the same ideas—not until one man rose from the rabble to bind them all together. His name had been Carlos, and the woman he'd helped had been the very first Legate-protected angel. Carlos's interference had allowed her to find the cure they all needed, saving thousands of lives and merging the beliefs in the process.
By the time the first humans had landed on Tyche, the Legion was the only religion left. The hardships of space had forged something unique, allowing the colonists to finally see there was only one true God. Previously, they'd all worshipped Him in different ways, thinking they had different religions, but as language standardized, the truth emerged: it didn't matter what they called Him.
So, the first people of Tyche had come together to reform their churches into one Legion of belief, using the stories of their exodus from Earth as the foundation. That church was entrusted with the safety of all people on their new world. New names were chosen for each position, based on a culture that had helped form civilization on Earth. And with those names came new responsibilities for the priests who wore them.
Sin knew the history well. He'd studied it repeatedly. For over a hundred years, the Legion had been everything the people needed—comfort, security, and guidance. While corporations sprang up and swatches of land were tamed into new cities, only their religion connected them all.
So why was it all falling apart now? For the first time in the history of the Legion, there was a distinct split, and it all came back to cybernetic enhancements. The first precept said to respect life as God made it. Everyone interpreted those words their own way, but as the cities grew more crowded, jobs became harder to find, and enhancements became nearly mandatory for employment. Naturally, resentment grew.
Not even Sin was immune to the distaste for the mechanization of humanity. The idea of intentionally cutting off his own arm to replace it with something that could lift more? It was insane! Yet it was what many did, allowing them to work in the warehouses faster, easier, and for more pay. Cosmetic alterations hid aging and allowed seasoned workers to appear fresh enough to promote the company image. People who had been previously unemployable were once again able to feed their children. Some said it was proof enhancements saved lives.
It also destroyed them, though. The need for medication to prevent rejection often burned all the extra money the enhanced made. In the end, the only ones profiting from this system were the top corporations. Not only those who made and sold the anti-rejection meds, but also the ones who could now hire feweremployees, paying each one less than they would have for a full team of un-enhanced people. And since enhancement was always considered to be elective, there were no regulations in place to limit the price gouging.
