His Cybernetic Secretary

3. Chrysanthemum

Chrys almost ripped the cupboard door off its small hinges as Raven and Cornelius jumped into her arms, whimpering.

“Shhh shh, I’m here, it’s okay.” She whispered. Realizing she hadn’t checked the rest of the apartment she grabbed their cheeks, “stay there just a little longer for me, sissy needs to make sure it’s safe.” Cornelius and Raven nod, wiping at their tears as they climb back into the small space.

Chrys grabs Cornelius’ small aluminum baseball bat and creeps around corners and side steps through the bathroom door, bat at the ready. The shower curtain is open, and the room is too small to hide anything else. From the bathroom doorway she’s able to observe the living room, and is grateful in this moment that it’s a small space.

Slowly stepping down the hallway with her back against the wall she gets to the kitchen and takes a deep breath in before rounding the corner, quickly and almost aggressively, half expecting someone to jump out of the refrigerator.

The room is empty.

She breathes a huge sigh of relief. Checking the lock on the front door, Chrys calls out to the kids, “all clear!” And they slowly creep down the hallway in sock feet, still holding hands. She can’t help but smile with pride at their bravery and love for each other. “It’s okay, we’re okay now,” she says, reaching for their hands.

•••

After making the kids macaroni and cheese and giving the kitchen a deep clean, Chrys put on Raven and Cornelius’ favourite cartoon and settled herself into the chair behind her father’s desk.

She told herself she was only going to look for anything that might explain what had happened.

A name, a note, a receipt. Anything.

Something that could tell her who had been in the apartment—and, more importantly, why.

The cartoon played quietly in the background, bright colours flashing across the television as Chrys worked her way through drawer after drawer. Bills, old tax documents, receipts, and half-filled notebooks. Pens that had long since run dry. Her father had apparently been incapable of throwing anything away.

Hours slipped by.

At some point, the cartoon had become little more than background noise.

Chrys rubbed at her eyes and shifted painfully in the chair, every muscle in her body protesting after sitting in the same position for so long. She glanced over her shoulder.

Both kids were passed out on the couch.

Raven was curled beneath a blanket, one arm hanging over the edge. Cornelius had somehow fallen asleep sitting upright, his head tipped against the cushions. The cartoon was still playing, its cheerful music completely at odds with the silence of the apartment.

Chrys sighed. “Great,” she muttered. “Guess we're having a sleepover.” She turned back toward the desk.

There wasn't much left to search. She opened one final drawer. Nothing.

She frowned and reached farther into the back, her fingers brushing against something wedged beneath a stack of papers.

It wasn't another document. It was thicker. Chrys pulled free an embossed envelope.

There was no name written across the front. No return address. Just a heavy, cream-coloured envelope that looked completely out of place among her father's battered paperwork.

Her pulse quickened as she did her best to carefully open it. Inside was a formal invitation. Chrys unfolded the thick card and read the heading.

ALUMICORP

Beneath the company's logo were the words:

EXPLORING CYBERNETICS EVENT

An exclusive presentation for stakeholders and investors.

Learn about the future of cybernetic enhancement—and experience it first-hand.

Chrys's eyes narrowed.

She read it again.

Then again.

At the bottom was her father's name, and beneath that, something that made her stomach drop.

Invitation to participate in the AlumiCorp Cybernetic Enhancement Trials.

For a moment, she simply stared at the page. Her father had never mentioned AlumiCorp. Not once. Chrys's fingers tightened around the invitation as she continued reading.

His medical profile had apparently made him an ideal candidate for the trials. His blood chemistry was unusually compatible with the enhancement compounds AlumiCorp had developed.

Compatible.

The word sat there on the page, innocent and clinical. Until she reached the final line. Immediate biological relatives may possess the same compatibility markers. Chrys swore she stopped breathing.

Her eyes slowly moved back to the invitation.

Her father's blood was compatible.

Which meant—