"No."
"Didn't say you should," Trent agreed hurriedly. "Just figured you'd like to hear the whispers. Brother Adam is being cited as the preferred replacement."
"Brother Adam?" Sin gasped. "Adam?He's lost half his angels! He refuses to risk his own body?—"
"Because he's scared of being injured and modified," Trent said.
"Why not you?" Sin gestured at Trent's very unenhanced body. "Your record is impeccable, you aren't modified..."
Trent shook his head. "Not taking your job."
"You will if it's good for the Legion," Sin told him. "I never asked for the position. My vow was to do God's work, not to gain fame or glory."
"Mine too," Trent shot back. "Damn it, Sin. Why would I put my name forward for that shit? It'syourposition!"
Sin leaned back, a wry chuckle sliding past his lips. "Because Benedict told you to."
The man stilled. "Fuck."
"Nope," Sin teased. "Sixth precept. Not allowed."
Trent didn't even acknowledge the bad joke. "You want me to do this? Youreallywant me to put my name forward to replace you as the head of the Legates?"
Sin slowly nodded. "They're going to replace me anyway, right? Yes, I'm going to fight it, but I'd rather know God's hands are taken care of."
"Yeah," Trent whispered. Slowly he looked up, shook his head, then turned away. "Sin, I think shit's going to get real bad. Pretty sure we need to stop meeting like this."
"Yeah."
"And if you really want me to do this?" He gestured at the bag of pendants. "I'm going to have to play the part."
"I know," Sin assured him. "That's why I want you to have a pendant. You need to be good enough that even I won't be sure you're on my side."
Trent leaned over and grabbed the velvet box, opened the lid, then kissed the ring. "I will not swear to you, Sinclair, but I vow to God that I will do what I think is right. I swore to uphold His word and to protect His flock, not our own prejudices and ideals. No matter what, I will not deviate from the love our God offers to all."
"God will show you the path," Sin told him. "Trust in Him, and He will always show you the right path."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It took two days for her port to be repaired. On the third day, she rested. Rissa smiled at the thought, but it was what she was doing. Her body was being monitored to determine if the malfunction was in her nervous system or if the older device had simply seen too much use. She knew the answer, but wasn't going to tell her employers. The timing worked out too well like this. By the end of the day, she'd be declared fit for duty, and the odds were good she'd have a new assignment by morning.
In truth, she was ready to be out of this box. Hopefully Sin would be in the mood to dawdle. Days of being locked in her cell were becoming unbearable. Besides, he did owe her for cutting their last trip short.
She chided herself at the thought. That was petty, and not the way someone would think of their friend. She'd done him a favor. Favors meant she expected nothing in return. She could hope, but it would be wrong to feel resentment if he wanted more time to grieve. And he had been grieving. She'd never seen a person cry before; it was a powerful display of emotion. One she'd always seen portrayed as a woman's thing. To see a strong man like Sin crying over the loss of another person shocked her. He hadn't even been ashamed of it.
She didn't want to think about that, though. Looking for a distraction, Rissa slipped through the network and onto the web. The Praetor's funeral should be broadcast live, and maybe she'd even get to see her guardian. She found multiple sites with thefootage and chose one with the closest view. It didn't take her long to find him. Standing beside the casket in a position of honor, Sin wore the traditional calf-length "suit" of the Legion. The dark blue was striking against his bronzed skin; white cording along the edges made it impossible to mistake him for anything but a priest.
She stared at him for as long as the camera held the shot. His face was serene and peaceful. He was perfectly groomed, his hair pulled back, and his face clean-shaven. He did not look like a man wallowing in grief. He looked angelic. Powerful, even.
She sighed in relief. He'd be ok. When she'd seen him so upset, she hadn't known what to do. Nothing in her mind would change the outcome in any way. For the first time in her life, Rissa had found a problem she couldn't simply find an answer for by thinking.
Suddenly every head jerked to their left, looking up and over the camera. A second later, a blue bar appeared across the bottom of the screen announcing a blast had been heard in the city. It didn't take long before the cameras changed.
Smoke billowed over the lower west side. Where a large apartment complex had once stood was little more than rubble. She searched her mind, trying to find a better shot, and heard a warning beep outside her care bay. She had to remain calm. She needed her vital and mental signatures to be those of someone sleeping. She would play the tiny bleep off as a nightmare, but she could not forget again.
Surveillance cameras were being tapped by the media, giving Rissa better images of the blast. People were dragging themselves out of the wreckage. Dust covered everything. Faces were screaming, but not everyone was moving, yet the cameras offered no way to help. They could only record what was happening. She watched the chaos while the other part of her mind searched for relevant information about the structure. Itdidn't take long to find it, and when she did, she looked at the images in a new way.
A man with cybernetic legs carried out a child. A woman with a face that was a little too perfect assisted an older man with mechanical eyes. Every person on the screen seemed to be either very young, or very enhanced. The apartment complex had been cheap, allowing the residents to dedicate a large portion of their income to the drugs that kept them alive. Twenty-five stories of cybernetically modified citizens had just been destroyed in the middle of the Praetor's funeral.
