Binary Systems [Complete, Slice-of-Life Sci-Fi Romance]

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Marie: So you'll be busy through Thanksgiving?

Gordon: And the next day, probably—sorry, holidays are a big deal around here. And it's Harry's first time, so it's like he's being presented to the family, so I'm going to be running interference.

Marie: What's a couple days?

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Sol 4XX FY 26, XX:XX Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, 9.32.002.B

The wind had died down, leaving only the crunch of Marie's boots in the brittle frost. Pascal's tower was a silhouette now, crooked and distant. The red horizon stretched wide in front of her—just as red behind her, where blood had recently soaked the sand.

A figure appeared ahead, stepping from behind a leaning shard of black glass.

He moved like he expected applause—light on his feet, the way dancers or pickpockets walked. Light armor, dusky red and dark gray. A dagger bounced at his hip. Fingerless gloves, confident smile, hair too perfect for travel.

"Just the gal I was hoping to meet!" he called, voice all charm. "GREAT stream. Nothing but love, MarsGirl."

Marie stopped walking. Her back ached under Pascal's books. Her ribs hurt from the arrow. Her skin was still singed from the Blackguard's curse.

She looked him over—didn't like how far they were from roads, towers, or backup. Didn't like how he smiled. Didn't like how he already knew who she was.

"I'm sorry," she said, polite but flat. "This isn't a great time. But thanks for the compliment."

"Oh, that's alright," he said easily, falling into step beside her without asking. "I was headed this way anyway. 'Sharing paths makes travel lighter,' right? I'm sure I heard that somewhere."

"Maybe you did," she said, watching his hands.

Her HUD pinged.

> whirly_gurl: you okay Marie you seem edgy

She didn't speak—just typed, quick and quiet, as they walked.

> MarsGirl: I'm /pretty/ sure i'm about to get jumped. I hate pvp.

"What brings you to these parts?" inquired MrCheetza, his character name floating cheerfully above his head.

Marie didn't stop walking. "I thought you watched the stream."

"WELL—not all the time," he admitted, hands raised in theatrical surrender. "Got my own adventures to get through, you know how it is. Life of a wandering hero."

"Uh-huh," she said. Unimpressed.

They walked a few more paces. The wind whispered over broken stone. His boots made no sound, she realized.

"Say," he said, a bit too casual, "that's a pretty cool horn you've got there. What's it do?"

She stopped. Her wand was already in her hand, the one with her Source. The well of magic there pulsed—bright and unused.

"Really?" she said, not bothering to hide her disgust.

"No harm asking," he replied brightly. "But now you had to go and make things all hostile—"

A blow landed behind her.

Cold steel ripped through her back—from shoulder to hip. She went down hard, knees crashing against black stone. Her hit points plummeted, her HUD flashing red.

And it hurt.

The pain wasn't just data—it was deep, visceral. She tasted copper.

MrCheetza crouched beside her. Calm. Unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world.

With one practiced motion, he lifted the Horn off her belt. Casual, precise, and deeply insulting.

"You should really learn to trust people less," he said cheerfully, pocketing it.

Marie's hand found her spear. Her grip tightened. She could feel blood slicking the leather.

This was going to be hard.

"You know," MrCheetza said, drawing his dagger with a flourish, "you never told the stream what your level 300 perk was."

Marie coughed, blood in her throat. "No. I didn't," she hissed.

She still hadn't moved—not entirely. But her fingers were already shaping the gestures, wand twitching with remembered patterns.

Fighting wasn't her favorite part of the game. But magic was.

She'd burned those three spells into her body like second nature—heal, time shield, slow—until casting them was as automatic as breathing. If she hadn't, she wouldn't have been able to cast while shoving herself sideways, jamming her spear against the stone for leverage.

The blade meant for her spine missed by inches, carving sparks across the ice-black rock.

The attacker behind her stepped fully into view now—a tall figure clad in dark laminar armor, broad as a doorway, helm etched with silver veins.

Definitely not a random. A duelist. A finisher.

And now Marie was on the ground, wounded, flanked.

But her wand was primed. Her Source still full. And her spells? Already humming on the edge of her nerves.

The healing ripped through her like a flame in reverse—skin knitting, nerves rethreading, heat flooding frozen veins.

Agony reversed into relief, and her body moved before thought. She rolled to her feet with all the grace of instinct and muscle memory, spear up, wand already flickering with stored charge.

"Well done," MrCheetza said, applauding with theatrical flair. "Bravo."

He tilted his head, a grin curling under his hood. "I do wonder, though. . ."

He lifted the Horn.

It gleamed faintly in the red light, Pascal's tower a speck behind them now, forgotten.

> 6stringbeans: I guess now's as good a time as any to see what it does
> toothlessquickie: Bet he gets genderbent!
> The11thPiggie: toothless /what/
> WizenedPotato: reporting toothless.

Marie didn't move. Not yet. Not while the Horn was that close to his lips.

Not while he had no idea what it could really do.

Her Source pulsed again.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

She was ready to burn every last drop.

Not getting the reaction he'd clearly hoped for, the scoundrel blew the Horn.

The sound rang out—a rich, clear tone that resonated across the terrain, echoing off shards of ice and black glass. It was almost beautiful.

Then it faded.

And nothing happened.

No glow. No boon. No system notification. Just silence, and Marie's hard, steady stare.

Before Cheetza could process the failure—

/Slow time/, Marie cast, directing the spell behind her.

The spell snapped toward the Blackguard, who still stood a few paces off—helmet cocked, waiting for a cue. He didn't see the spell coming. Her body blocked his view, her wand low and subtle.

The spell struck. Time warped. The Blackguard slowed to a crawl, limbs moving like underwater statues.

MrCheetza lunged with his dagger—too quick, too close.

But Marie had already twisted, ducking his strike, the blade slicing air just above her shoulder.

As she moved, she uncapped her last ignition potion, flicking it in a high arc toward the frozen Blackguard. Liquid fire gleamed in the low red light.

Her wand was already in motion, fingers racing through the sigils for time shield, preparing for the retaliation she knew was coming.

The rogue crouched low, balanced on the balls of his feet, dagger poised for another strike. He seemed completely unbothered by how badly things were going for his team.

Then an arrow slammed into her leg, just above the knee.

"SHIT," Marie gasped, stumbling sideways.

A second arrow missed—but a third found her hip.

Three PvPers.

She hated that part of the game. The pile-ons. The cheap alliances. The performative drama.

The rogue sprang into action, lunging again—only to be intercepted mid-air by her spear shaft. It cracked against his chest, but he twisted with it, turning the failed lunge into a tackle, crashing into her.

Too late.

Her time spell completed.

A perfect sphere of frozen time expanded from her wand—encasing his head in stillness.

His body hit her, but then stopped, awkwardly suspended with his neck extended, his head locked two and a half feet above the ground, motionless. His body twitched. His eyes moved wildly, darting inside the bubble.

He tried a clumsy throw—dagger loosed from fingers—but his range of motion was garbage. The blade clinked against a rock.

Marie stood slowly, pain spiking from the arrow wounds. She popped a healing potion, limped over to him.

"That," she said, "was a nasty thing to do."

Behind her, the slow time spell wore off, and the Blackguard erupted into flame.

The roar was instant—a furnace door opening beside her. Heat rolled across her skin. She didn't bother looking.

The rogue's mouth moved frantically inside the bubble of frozen air, trying to speak, plead, explain—whatever. It didn't matter. Nothing traveled through the bubble.

She stabbed him.

Once. Twice. Again. The new spear sank easily into his body, its haft gleaming with faint silver runes. The system had given it to her—she knew that now. It was custom-coded for her class, her level, her magic affinity.

Masterwork adamant spear of temporal resistance.

It slipped through time-stopped air as if it weren't there at all.

The final blow went through his head—clean, quick, and absolute. The tip passed through the frozen air, through frantic thought, through frozen air, and back into the real world.

> Randoon_the_Wizard: Oh ho ho! new spear WHO DIS

The time bubble held for a moment longer. . . then popped.

He collapsed, lifeless.

His ally—the third archer—was already gone.

> EternalZebra: I would've run too tbh lol

She didn't smile.

She limped forward, picking her way carefully through scorched stone and smoldering armor. The flame from the Blackguard's corpse still steamed in the frost air.

Pascal's tower shimmered faintly in the distance behind her.

Marie exhaled, the breath catching in her chest. She tasted copper again. Her knee throbbed. Her hip stung. Her hands were shaking—not from fear, but from fatigue. Her real body was still wracked with occasional sneezes and coughing—mercifully not transferred to the game. She was miserable.

But a darker part of her knew she'd really needed to hit something.

Marie let the spear rest against her shoulder. "You'd better run."

–––❖–––

> MarsGirl: Hey. Serious question. My partner's really hurting right now, and I'm not all that great either. I'm stuck here. What can I do?

> MarsGirl: Anything?"

For a second, the void stared back.
Then:

> MinervaHairballs: Would this be Big_Iron? Why the ambiguity?

> HoeeLore420: sext him, duh

> x_TremeSnooze: If he liked it last time? Tiddies. He'd like those.

> cursed.tiff: send nudes

> YouMeandDobby: chocolates are nice. You could wire the money and get them locally sourced and delivered. No rockets involved.

> rawr_x_me: give him the Marie special

Several emoticons followed that one, meant to provide the details of what made up a Marie special. The emojis got creative.

She coughed, laughed into her sleeve, and immediately regretted it. The screen blurred. Would that even work?

> MarsGirl: I don't think I'm that flexible.

> no1cur3s: don't overthink it. just call him.

> no1cur3s: he needs your voice more than your tits.

She went still.
The screen's blue light lit the curve of her jaw, rendered flushed cheeks inhuman.
She breathed out through chapped lips.

> MarsGirl: That's a plan."

> x_TremeSnooze: we do like Gordon. let's not leave out the tiddies.

–––❖–––

The Q-link connection pinged once, then stabilized, flickering into Gordon's wrist display with a soft glow before he cast it up to the linked monitors above his bed. Marie's face appeared, life-sized, flushed and bundled in two layers of thermal fabric, her dark hair pulled messily back, the hab wall behind her flatly matte and depthless. She could have been floating merely feet above him if not for the transmission artifacts.

"Hi," she said, voice scratchy but warm. "I've been meaning to call. I just. . . couldn't find the energy to look like a person."

He remembered how warm that blanket had been. His fitted sheet felt cold by comparison—he wondered if he should get a duvet, just to pretend she was next to him again.

Gordon smiled instinctively. "You're a very convincing burrito."

She sniffled, adjusting the blanket higher on her shoulder. "It's good branding. I'm thinking of pivoting into comfortwear modeling."

He leaned back in his chair. "You sound better than last time."

"I'm marginally less dying," she confirmed. "Still very committed to soup and throat lozenges."

There was a short silence, not awkward—just two people feeling their feelings, without pressure to do anything else.

"I've been thinking about. . ." she hesitated. "Us."

Gordon's stomach did that thing it always did when her voice got serious—like something was wringing his abdomen out like a sponge.

"Yeah?" he said.

She nodded slowly, clearly weighing words.

"I want to keep feeling close to you," she said, eyes darting slightly. "And I know we're. . . not there. Anymore. Not physically. And I don't—I don't really know how this works. Video call sex is a weird cultural artifact. I tried searching etiquette and it was mostly articles about not using filters."

Gordon blinked.

Marie flushed deeper. "I'm not asking for anything. I just—I'm scared that if I don't try, I'll forget what it feels like. To be wanted. And I don't want that. I want to still be wanted. Even from here."

He exhaled slowly. "You already are."

She gave a faint, lopsided smile. "It's just hard to know, you know? Through a screen."

He nodded. "You're not alone in that."

Marie pulled the blanket down just slightly from her neck, revealing a sliver of collarbone, a hint of shadow—deliberate, not explicitly seductive, just. . . exploratory.

Gordon let her work through whatever she was thinking.

"It's like I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted after a second's hesitation. "But if I were next to you, I'd probably kiss you. And then I'd ruin it by coughing on you."

Gordon laughed, soft and low. "That still sounds kind of perfect. Being next to you."

She looked into the camera, eyes searching.

"Do you miss me?" she asked.

His voice caught. "I really do. All the time."

She smiled. "I've been missing you, too." The blanket shifted more.

"Marie, your face is probably supposed to look . . . happy. Or seductive or something. You look like you're going to cry. Let's talk about what's going on, and maybe you can get yourself something warm to drink."

Her eyes pinched shut, tears springing up at the corners. He hadn't known she was wearing makeup until it began to run.

"Marie. You've got my entire focus. I'm lying here just thinking about you, watching you, wanting you to be okay."

She sniffled. "The things I do for my man's attention," she joked, bravely. She sneezed.

Gordon chuckled, but it was unconvincing. "You've been sexy before. I promise. This time—It's going to be okay, Marie. Let's focus on you."