Cyborg Diaries

Jaislyn took a sip of her coffee—if it can even be called that. Technically, there was some coffee bean DNA left in the pods she ground and boiled. The manufacturer had too many loopholes in their regulations, so they got away with crap like that. Still, a good cuppa Halderman's Best had about the same flavor as a crap cuppa real, and that's just how Jaislyn liked it.

A sudden pain sprouted in her right side, and she hissed.

"One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand…"

The bouts were lasting longer these days. It was probably due to how much time she was spending in the shop, leaning over wiring work or reaching up to lock parts in place. She wasn't old by any means—almost 19 standard—but she had joined the force as soon as she could to escape her depressing home. Dad himself had been in the force, but an off-duty injury got him disqualified. Since it was off-duty, there was no hazard pay. He scraped their lives together doing mechanic work for the bumblers who couldn't afford market rates. He had died when she was 7, maybe 7 and a half standard. The next year, she enlisted. Almost 9 years in the force: that was all water under the bridge. Now, she had her own shop, serving roughly the same clientele.

Central was always harassing her for any little thing they could find. If it wasn't a fine, it was a new "voluntary" donation. If not a donation, it was a new certification she had to purchase. Central didn't even pretend it meant anything. They'd demand some money, hand over a pretty piece of paper, and stroll off without any kind of evaluation.

Her brother split most of the costs with her, so they floated just above the surface. It would have been a good life if not for the pain spasms. That's why she had started this new obsession. A cybernetic arm was one thing. Sprigs were about as common as Central fines, but Jaislyn wanted a whole chassis. The main debate had been whether it should have a neural-system interface. Moving parts were easy. Even some of the fancier tech like dilation was a breeze, but the idea of fiddling with her brainstem made her skin crawl. It would make all the difference in the world though. Even a musculature interface was like whisper-down-the-lane: most of it would come through, but that bit of lag made her doubt.

The door that connected the house to the garage scraped open.

"Hey, Jais," her brother Malachi said. He was looking at the news. When his gaze came up to her, he panicked. "Sister! Are you okay?"

He rushed over to her. She realized she was curled up in her late dad's chair, twitching.

"Yeah." She grunted, pulling her limbs straight. "It's just one of those days."

He put an arm around her waist to help her up.

"Thanks, Mally." She winced. Her left leg wasn't agreeing with her, so she hopped on her right to lean against a tool rack.

Malachi gazed around her shop. She knew he was noticing the coffee cups and the whiffs. "How long has it been since you've eaten anything?"

"Oh, hmm, well, it was something like…"

She looked away and started poking at a socket wrench. She looked back, and Malachi had an intense expression.

"Did you see the progress I made on my mech?"

His gaze didn't waver. "Sit down, Jais, not in dad's chair. You'll sink to oblivion." He guided her to the ergonomic bench he had purchased for her.

"I don't need this blasted thing," she said, settling onto the bench. "I'm not a grandmother. I'm just tired and sore."

"And starving yourself and whiffing your brains out and replacing your bloodstream with Halderman's Best."

She laughed. "I'm halfway to a bot myself."

"It's not funny, Jais. Look what happened to dad." He knew it was the wrong thing to say, but that didn't stop the truth of it. "Don't look at me like that. I'm going to get you something to eat: real human food even if you are half robot."

She looked at the sprig that was her left arm. When she looked up, he was already gone. She stuck out her tongue for good measure.

"I'm still your older sister!" she shouted after him.

He came back with a sandwich on a small, chipped plate.

Jaislyn raised her nose to the air. "Is that ham I smell?" She sniffed again. "Is that real ham?"

He handed her the plate. "I was saving it for a special occasion. Slowly shriveling yourself into a knot of pain seemed pretty special."

"You always know what to say to a girl." She elbowed him and took a large bite of her sandwich. "Speaking of," she said through her mouthful. "What ever happened to Gina? Joan? Jenny?"

"Janie was her name—and the same that happened to your boy toy."

"He was not my boy toy!" Her mouth hung open. "But, yeah, we weren't very serious. He was on a fast track to becoming a Central agent. For all his smarts, he couldn't see how hard that would clash with what I do. One time, he even said to me, I'll help you navigate the regulations. Ew!" She pointed a finger toward her mouth and gagged.

Malachi sat next to her and took a bite of the sandwich. "What did you even see in that guy?"

"Well, he was tall."

Malachi rolled his eyes. He pretended to cough out the words: "Boy toy."

"Shut up! He was sweet, really sweet. He actually listened when he wasn't rattling on about Central this and Central that."

"Well," Malachi said, "what happened?"

"That was half the problem. He got me to talking, and I let on a little too much about my lack of concern for the so-called..." She put down her sandwich to form quotation fingers. "Regulations. You should have seen his face. It made my skin crawl: worse than thinking about jamming an interface in my brainstem."

He picked up a used whiff and turned it in his hands. "You still thinking about getting an NSI?"

She snatched the small medical device out of his grasp. "I know what you're thinking. Pain-killers and NSI's don't mix."

"I'm just worried about you, Jaislyn. Ever since you were discharged—"

"You mean abandoned."

Malachi took a deep breath. "Ever since you were abandoned by the force, you've been on this downward spiral into whiffs and this mech obsession. It's hard to blame you. You're the best mechanic on this side of the Sphere, but NSI's are still pretty new. Combining that with self-medication is a surefire way to get your brain fried."

She wagged the palm-sized inhaler in front of him. "This isn't self-medication. It's a prescription."

He frowned.

"I mean, it was a prescription two years ago."

His frown deepened.

"Alright, it's somebody else's prescription now, but that doesn't mean it's not doing its job."

"Whatever you say, Jais. I'll let you get back to work."

"Wait!"

He paused in the middle of standing up, hovering his backside over the stool.

"You really think I'm the best mechanic? You're not just saying that because I'm the only one you know?"

He sat back down. "The best this side of the Sphere but yes, and I'm not just saying that. Remember Old Leery?"

"Ooh! How he still has customers I'll never know."

"And James. And Gina. And Big Rick. And Thomas. And Martina."

"Okay, okay, I get it. You meant it."

"Oh, and my favorite: Missus Martin. Remember that caliper fiasco? If that guy had had it in his brainstem, say bye bye to hands and hello to straws."

Jaislyn shivered. "I see both your points. There's no way I could do work as bad as the Missus. I won't fry my brain—at least not with electric."

Malachi groaned.

"Just kidding!" Jaislyn said. "Just kidding. I'll lay off the whiffs, save 'em for my really bad days. I'll eat more sandwiches. You have to admit, though. Halderman's Best is probably as good as the water if not better."

Malachi stood up and kissed his sister on her forehead. "I'll grant you Halderman's, and I'm not trying to shame you about the pain-killers. I just care. I don't want to watch you drift away. It's a hard life, Jaislyn. I know. I don't feel pain in my side all the time, but I feel yours."

She wiggled her fingers toward his face. "You got some supersensory brainscan powers?"

His eyes were watery. "I feel the pain in your heart. I loved dad as much as you, but it hit you harder than it hit me. You were always his little shop gremlin." Tears started falling down his face. "I was always jealous of you. He loved you so much."

"Oh, Mally." Jaislyn heaved herself up with a wince to hug him. "He loved you so much! I just got to spend time in the shop with him."

"I know," he said as he squeezed her and sniffled. "I get it now. I'm just saying it hit you hard, and I feel it. I think you whiff to cover up your physical pain, and I think the physical pain covers up your hurt heart."

She stepped back from him and saluted. "Thank you, Doctor Shu, for your astute evaluation. I shall be sure to register it with the proper authorities and submit my report to Central."

"And you use jokes to cover up everything else."

She placed her hand on his arm. "I hear you, brother. I'm not covering up. I'm just easing my way into it. That's all."

"Fair enough." He glanced around the shop. "Anything else I can get you? You going to be okay? Can I take some of these cups at least?"

She nodded. He started looping mugs on his fingers and collected seven total. He grabbed a few discarded whiffs, stopped at the door to smile, and left. Jaislyn settled back into the ergonomic chair. She wouldn't admit it to Malachi, but it was really comfortable. It didn't smell like her dad's chair though: a mixture of copper, sulfur, cigars, and tea.

How many nights had she fallen asleep there and been carried to bed? As soon as she could walk, she waddled after her dad into his shop. Mom told the story a thousand times.

One afternoon, mom had called for Jaislyn who didn't respond. Then, seeing her standing next to the workbench with sparks flying sent her into a tizzy. Mom swept her up and gave dad a fine lecture about workshop safety and goggles or something like that. Jaislyn just remembered the glory of seeing those sparks fly. It was like a shower of shooting stars, all dancing in the night sky for her. She practically spent the rest of her childhood in there.

Since then, the shop hadn't changed much. She kept it almost exactly as he had left it—partially out of nostalgia, partially due to the fact that he was an organized man, mostly because there wasn't space to move anything around. On one side were spare parts and resources: mostly tanks of motor oil. To the back stood all the tools on their beautiful racks. On the other side were the other spare parts: really just a pile of rusty bits that she kept saying she'd put to good use some day. Who knows how long it had been since she got anything worthwhile out of that mess, but she knew that the day she got rid of it all would be the day she needed something from that pile. The center was occupied with rolling workbenches. All the wheels were locked though. They were spaced perfectly so that she could sit between any pair, twist on her chair, and have everything within reach. Malachi moved one once, looking for something—who even knows what. She lost it. It was a bad day: a lot of pain, a lot of whiffs. Jaislyn still felt bad about it even though Mally didn't remember all the horrible things she said to him. She apologized so many times, but that didn't take anything back. Her own words replayed in her brain every few days.

That was the main downside to whiffing. It dulled the pain, yes, but it also shrank her mind. It only left enough room for regrets.

"What would you do, dad?" she said to herself.

She remembered his fits of genius where he'd pull out a tiny notebook from his pocket and scribble some brilliant idea. She stood up, letting a brief pang pass through her, and started tugging open drawers. She was almost sure she'd find nothing, but there wasn't a better place to start. She kept tugging the drawers open and shoving them closed. Eventually, it turned into slamming them. The last one she slammed made extra noise as it sent a few tools clattering to the floor. She stared at the door, expecting Malachi to come check on her.

"One one thousand, two one thousand…"

Jaislyn counted to ten, but the garage door stayed shut. Turning back to the drawer, she saw that its contents—various nuts and bolts—had gotten thrown into different pockets. She tried to pick apart the mixture, moving one piece at a time. It might have been helping, but she couldn't see any progress. She yelled at the drawer, pulled out its dividing tray, and dumped it on the ground. She stared at the mess for a time.

"There it is: the perfect image for my life."

She started putting pieces in their appropriate slots in the dividing tray but decided she should empty the rest of the drawer first. After dumping a handful of bolts on the ground, she paused.

"Lo and behold."

Jaislyn pulled a small notebook out from under the remaining pieces. The binding had been rehashed so many times with bits of tape and glue. A single notebook that size shouldn't have survived as long, but dad had tiny handwriting and could make a page last for days. She squinted at his scrawling, only able to make out his words due to her long apprenticeship.

"Oil thickness high," she read. "Too cold for 40. Oils. Engines."

She flipped through the small pages. The word "cybernetic" caught her eye, but the page only talked about basic maintenance.

"You worked on sprigs. Didn't you write about it?"

He wasn't a bad artist. She saw little diagrams for which wires went where. There were some standard attachments for missing limbs, so most of his sketches focused on the mech side of things. She was shocked to see anatomical diagrams too though. The man always knew more than he let on. Nerves, muscles, blood vessels, and all: he took those into account. A good sprig has to be halfway human, he would say. The other half could be whatever you want. That's what made him a master-mech. He dreamed up ridiculous things and then actually made them happen. Jaislyn just fixed things in disrepair.

She made it to the last page and saw a heart penned at the bottom corner.

"My little Jem," she read. She had forgotten all about his nickname for her. "She's growing so fast. I'm so proud of her. Not because she's obsessed with mechs, but it sure is nice."

He ended that final page with the heart. She flipped it over and gasped. Her dad was better at anatomy and mechs, but he had drawn an impressive sketch of her curled up in the high-backed chair. That squeezed the tears right out of her. One dropped on the booklet. It didn't hit any text, but she panicked and started rubbing it with her thumb. This smudged it with grease.

"No no no no no no no!"

She stared in horror at having sullied one of the last pieces she had from her father. In her dread, she noticed a small slit in the inside of the back cover of the notebook. Very delicately, she lifted up the flap to reveal a pocket: not exactly hidden but not exactly obvious either. A folded bit of paper was tucked inside. While all the other pages had the faded yellow of age, this bit was crisp and fresh—besides the writings and drawings that covered it. She unfolded the page to reveal both sides completely filled with diagrams. It took her eyes a moment to settle on any one image, but she recognized her own sprig: the mechanical arm her father had begun designing with her before he died. Thankfully, he fashioned the meat end first. She would have botched that horribly at the time. Her eyes roved the page, trying to absorb it all without seeing anything. Then, she landed on "NSI" scrawled in the corner.

"Neural-system interface. Too early?"

Most of the words were impossible to decipher.

"Connection," Jaislyn said. "Scribble scribble. Dangerous. Scribble scribble. Possible. Scribble scribble. Seriously, dad?"

She looked for a date on the page. Most of the time, he would put month, day, and year in the top right corner. In his most passionate flurries, he might forget. She turned the page back and forth a few times before seeing it in the bottom right.

"One slash four? What year, dad?"

"Jaislyn, what the heck happened?"

She realized she was sitting on the floor, surrounded by nuts and bolts, her face wet with tears.

"Did you fall?" He rushed over to help her up.

"I just got angry, and then I found one of dad's old notebooks with a secret compartment." She let herself be helped up.

"Secret compartment? What was in it?"

She had the sudden urge to hide the paper. Would it make Malachi more jealous that dad wrote about her in his notebook and had this secret project about her sprig?

He read her face and put his hands up. "If it's something personal, it's none of my business."

The guilt washed over her. "It's not personal. It's just a confusing diagram of my arm. That's all."

She handed him the paper, and he squinted at it. "His handwriting is even worse here. It's an impressive drawing though."

"What do you mean impressive? It's a cluttered mess."

Malachi stared at her with a confused expression. Then, his face beamed with understanding. He tapped his left temple: cybernetic eye.

"It's three layers," he said. "Here's the anatomical layer." He gestured at some lines that she couldn't distinguish from anything. "Here's the mechanical layer, and, if I'm not mistaken, here's the NSI layer. I hope you're not getting any ideas. I'm no mech myself, but it doesn't look complete at all. I can't read the words, but I see a whole lot of question marks."

She pulled the paper out of his hands and said, "Buzzkill."

"What do I know? I'm just a paper-pusher, not some glorious mechanic having delusions of grandeur."

"Stop. I didn't say that."

"It is what it is, Jais. You and dad liked power tools. I liked office supplies." He looked aside to grimace. "I can see how boring that sounds."

"You weren't boring. You just—"

"I just what? I was forgettable. Don't. Please, don't say anything else. I know you mean well. Everybody means well. Nobody does well. I don't either, but, hey, at least I don't pretend. Do you need help cleaning up?"

The quiet pause that lingered between them was painful.

"No," Jaislyn finally said.

"Anything else I can do for you?" His voice was cold, steely.

She shrugged.

He marched out of the garage. She hoped he would slam the door, but he shut it as gingerly as possible. She didn't even hear the latch click. She rushed over and yanked it open. She was going to slam it herself, but she took a deep breath instead. That wouldn't prove anything. It might break it again, and fitting a new door would just stress her out more. She leaned her back against it to let it click into place. Something jabbed into the bottom of her shoe. The nuts and bolts had scattered all the way from the other end of the shop. For a moment, she admired the image: silver specks of sunlight splashing out from a workbench. Then, it was time to clean up. She regretted not asking for help. Crouching and sitting were not the most comfortable, but it was too late.

By the time she was hunting for the last remaining bits, Malachi came back with another sandwich and a cup of water. He set them on a table and got down on hands and knees to help her clean up.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he said.

"I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

She leaned against one of the workbenches. "I haven't been taking care of myself. I know. I'm an adult. You're an adult. We're all adults, but we depend on each other. I flaked on another client today. I meant to tell you that."

He didn't respond but just stared back.

"You knew. Of course you did. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I'm your brother, not your nanny, not your employer."

"What about the money?"

"Being a clerk pays alright even if it is a soul-sucking vortex of boredom. Just… Don't worry about money. The best thing you can do for me right now is take care of yourself. Now, eat your fake ham before it turns into a mutant monster."

"Mom hated that! Remember when dad would attack us with sandwiches? Here comes the mutant. Chomp chomp chomp."

Malachi made a mouth out of his hands. "If you don't eat your vegetables, they will eat you in your sleep!"

They laughed together. "Hey," Jaislyn said. "It worked. Every time I eat a broccoli, I think I'm destroying the thousand-eyed beast. It feels like I'm saving the galaxy one evil plant at a time."

Fatigue suddenly hit her, and her face went slack. Her shoulders slumped forward; trying to keep good posture was exhausting. She knew in principle that she was happy to be with her brother, but the joy that glowed between them only a few seconds ago evaporated. She was left with a dull sense of dread that wasn't attached to anything identifiable.

"You just crashed, didn't you?" Malachi said.

She looked up at him. He knew. "Yeah." That was all she said.

"Come on. It's late—maybe not for you but for us mere mortals. You could use a good sleep."

As Malachi made his way over, he picked up another bolt and put it in the drawer. He helped Jaislyn up, and she let him guide her to her cot. He walked around their tiny home, turning off lights and making sure doors were locked.

She used to sleep in the upper bunk because she loved how secluded it felt—like a cave with hidden secrets—but sudden pain spasms had tossed her down a few too many times. The lower bunk felt exposed, but that was better than falling a few feet to land on her face.

Malachi took off her boots. He hid his expression pretty well, but she could tell by the tension in his jaw that her feet were stinky.

"There's nothing else you need to do today," he said. "Next customer isn't until noon tomorrow. Just sleep."

She reclined. Her exhausted limbs were so happy to be there, but her brain rebelled. "I need a shower. It'll be good for me to scrape off some of the day."

"Alright," Malachi said as he gave her a hand to pull her back up. "But don't use all the hot water. I need a shower in the morning."

"I won't," she said, and she hobbled over to the narrow stall separated by a plastic curtain. Another wave of weariness hit her, and she changed her mind again. She hobbled back to her cot. Malachi was already wiggling into a comfortable position in the upper bunk.

"That was a fast shower."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I changed my mind. I'll go after you tomorrow."

He shrugged and turned over, placing a thin pillow over his head.

Jaislyn flipped on her bedside lamp so that she could see as she changed into comfy clothes: an oversized t-shirt and old cloth pants. She retrieved dad's schematic from her work pants pocket and tucked herself under the blanket. The tiny lightbulb didn't help make the images any clearer. Mally had said there were three layers. They looked like scribbles to her.

A creaking noise echoed in the night, and she looked up to see her brother squinting at her with one eye.

"Sorry! It's late. I know." She tucked away the paper and clicked off her light. "Goodnight, Mally."

He grunted.

"I love you."

He grunted again.

That would have to do.

Jaislyn flipped her pillow over and scrunched it underneath her neck. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep.