His Cybernetic Secretary

The makeshift loose leaf sign on the restaurant door had been written in Anita’s handwriting in big black sharpie: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Chrys stared at it for a long moment, then she looked through the glass. Twelve tables, forty-eight chairs and one empty, overturned menu stand. The little brass bell above the kitchen pass still hung crookedly from where someone had bumped it earlier that morning. She could almost hear it ringing, almost hear the cook yelling for orders, almost hear the low murmur of miners coming off shift, boots muddy, faces tired, but with full wallets, looking for a coffee “as black as Satan’s soul” and something hot before heading home. There wouldn't be any more of that, not for a while. Maybe never. How could Anita not have called her? Chrys wondered. She must have been blindsided too, and hurried out- her handwriting was usually much neater. The uranium mine had closed three weeks ago.The company had called it a "temporary operational suspension,” but everyone in town knew better. Chrys pulled her coat tighter around herself and stepped away from the restaurant. Twenty-six years old. Unemployed. A small savings not worth mentioning and two younger siblings waiting for her at home. She rubbed her forehead. "Wonderful." She muttered, dragging her hands down her cheeks, allowing them to fall at her sides. The wind carried dead, dry leaves along the street in thin, scraping ribbons. She started walking back towards the apartment. The dry cold was trying to make its way into her bones. The once thriving uranium boomtown looked smaller and dirtier every day. It wasn't actually small, not technically. There were several thousand people scattered across the surrounding settlements, enough stores and bars and businesses to give the place the appearance of being alive. But the mine had been its heart. Without it, everything seemed to be holding its breath. Chrys passed the pharmacy. Closed. The hardware store. Closed early. The old diner’s windows covered with tinfoil and newspaper. Then she saw the bright, weather-bleached flyer taped crookedly to a concrete light post. She almost walked past it. Almost. VOLUNTEERS WANTED Beneath that, in larger lettering: CYBERNETIC ENHANCEMENT TRIALS Chrys stopped. She stared at it. There was a phone number, a clinic address, a list of possible compensation. And beneath all of it: Participants may receive permanent neural, ocular, skeletal, muscular, or sensory augmentation. She blinked. "Yeah. Sure." A little laugh escaped her. It wasn't really funny. Chrys shook her head and continued walking. "That's completely insane." But after three steps, she looked back. The paper fluttered in the wind, and for a brief moment she imagined what it would be like to have something stronger than her own tired hands, to never worry about getting sick.. to feel like she was worth something again. She immediately hated herself for thinking it but the thought remained. As she climbed the last flight of stairs to their floor and stepped into the hallway, her steps slowed, and then she stopped. Her breath hitched- the apartment door was open. Chrys could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, accompanied by a high-pitched noise one experiences when synapses fire in fight or flight circumstances. Every instinct in her body screamed at her. "Raven?" Nothing. "Cornelius?" Silence. She slowly pushed the door open. The living room had been destroyed. A chair lay on its side, The small television screen in shattered pieces on the floor. All of the cabinet doors hung open, and her father’s desk and dresser drawers had been completely upturned onto the floor. Someone had come looking for something, and she had no idea if they had found it. Did her father owe someone something? Did he get involved in something he shouldn’t have? Chrys stood frozen, scenarios and questions running through her head. Her heart hammered her back into the scene she was currently standing in the middle of and her stomach dropped. The kids. "Raven!" A noise came from the bedroom. She crossed the apartment in three steps and yanked the door open. Nothing. Then she noticed the little cubby beneath the built-in shelving- the door was barely cracked and two terrified eyes stared back at her.