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

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Claire: Be serious. I thought of Joe. You thought of Joe.

Gordon: Father also thought of Joe, I know. Still.

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Sunday, November 24th, 2090, about 5:12 pm MST, Montana City

Sixty million miles away, Gordon was regretting letting Joe pick the restaurant.

Buzz.

Gordon blinked at his screen.

A photo.

Marie's hand, resting palm-down against a table. One finger bandaged. The pinky nail gone entirely—torn back to the quick, blood dried in the creases.

No caption. No explanation.

Just that.

Pale sea-glass polish, smooth and unchipped.

He stared at it too long. Zoomed in. Looked again.

"What the fuck," he muttered.

He typed:

I like your nail polish.

Sent.

Then:

WTF

Marie: I am a hero LOL

He blinked.

Gordon: I need context please.

Marie: There was a leak.

Got two kids out.

Airlock door caught me on auto-seal but didn't close cause of safeties. My finger broke when the safety was overridden.

They gave me the good drugs!!!

Gordon: Are you okay?

(pause)

Like, structurally? Mentally? Digitally?

The call connected.

Full holo.

Marie's image flickered into being above his wrist, full-body projection. She was in a bathroom—public or medbay, he couldn't tell. Pale tile. Chrome fixtures.

She was half-bent, phone awkwardly cradled in her bandaged hand, eyes squinting toward something behind her. There's a flushing sound.

Gordon blinked. "I can call back later."

"Hmm? Oh. Shit—"

The holo swung wildly, catching a flash of ceiling, then a close-up of the floor.

Clatter.

Connection still live.

He could hear her laughing.

"Okay. I am me," she announced solemnly. "With my good hand."

She reappeared, lifting the phone with her uninjured hand, her face coming slowly into focus. Eyes glazed.

"You're pretty," she added.

"You are very high," he said.

She settled back against the wall, blinking slowly.

"They're making me get my finger set," she mumbled. "Doctor had to see the kids first."

Gordon opened his mouth to say something—he wasn't even sure what.

But she was already pushing herself upright, swaying a little.

"I'll tell them you said hi," she said.

A pause.

"Bye, Gordon."

The call cut.

"Huh," Gordon said. "How about that."

Across the table, Joe Guillermo finished a delicate bite and dabbed at his mustache with a folded linen napkin. Impeccable, as always.

"I trust everyone is all right?" he asked, as if neither of them had just witnessed a partially sedated woman drop her phone mid-bidet.

"Yeah. Sorry, I was worried. She seems okay."

"Lively, even," Joe agreed.

He reached for the breadbasket, selected a roll with tongs, and placed it gently beside Gordon's plate.

"I would have taken the call in your place," the board director stated calmly. "Try the rolls. Perhaps they'll settle your stomach."

"I have six children," stated the unflappably man. "Now—we were discussing your sister's plans for an audit department."

Gordon dragged his soul back into his body with an effort. "Yeah—apparently it would take four people to do my job."

"Hardly," tsked the director. "Four people at twice your salary. Each"

Gordon: "Is that. . . a compliment?"

Joe: "A tragedy." (sips water)

"You could say you've had an impact," Joe allowed.

He reached for his water glass, eyes still on Gordon.

"But you are your father's son."

Gordon stiffened.

"Don't look at me that way," Joe said mildly. "It's hardly an insult to expect you to perform up to the potential you so painstakingly demonstrated."

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Butter?"

"I—yes, actually," Gordon said.

The adrenaline was fading. He realized, all at once, that he was starving.

"Marvelous." Joe passed him the butter dish with a small, approving nod. "Now. Your system. Don't tell me how to bypass it. Just tell me why it's hard to bypass."

Gordon took a breath. "It's a symptom of one-way communication. The sender has no reason to expect a change in required output, so there's no pathway for training it to send output that compromises itself."

"My IT guy," Joe said, "belly laughed at your solution."

Gordon shrugged. "I was eighteen."

"Still."

"What do you mean still? It still works after ten years of experts trying to break it."

Gordon exhaled. "It's a webcam watching a CRT monitor."

A pause.

"I was working with a low budget."

"Personally," Gordon said, "I prefer that to paying a premium for AI security."

Joe smiled faintly. "Of course. AI security is designed to impress auditors, not stop adversaries."

Gordon leaned back. "I haven't ever had a /good/ budget."

He met Joe's eyes.

"Let's get back to that. What should I be being paid?"

"I'd probably say you were underpaid at a quarter of a million," Joe said mildly.

Gordon stared. "I make a tenth of that."

"Yes," Joe agreed, unbothered. "But your stock options are so lucrative, I dare say many professionals would trade places willingly."

Gordon took a slow breath. "Plus I stay under Father's thumb."

Joe reached for his water, swirling it once before replying.

"Hiram is many things," he said, "but never subtle when he can shout instead."

"I could ask for a raise," Gordon said.

"I could piss on a light socket," Joe replied.

Gordon's mouth fell open.

"Be reasonable, Gordon."

Joe didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.

"You have options. I would happily buy you out at any time. But let's limit your assessment of the scope of your options to the plausible. He will not give you a raise."

"I've been saving for six months," Gordon said. "I'm maybe a quarter of the way to Mars passage. For what it's worth, now."

Joe didn't look surprised.

"Leverage something," he said—not unkindly. "I could personally set you down on Mars. With money in your pocket, too."

A pause.

"But."

He folded his napkin.

"There's no benefit in it for me," he said simply. "So I shan't."

"And truly," Joe said, folding his hands, "how did you think the rich stayed rich? It isn't charity."

"Fair enough," Gordon replied. Hope, suppressed, then trickling free, was brutally quashed once again.

He leaned forward now, voice steady.

"So. Honestly? Raw numbers?"

Joe gestured with an open hand: Go on.

"I process over ten thousand inputs per manufacturing unit per day. I've got ten years of rolling history to prove compliance and process integrity."

Joe raised an eyebrow, but said nothing yet.

"I'm not special," Gordon said. "Not in the way that means I always get it right. But I'm the guy who internalized that it has to be right. That's the difference."

"My sister didn't. She didn't try. And I don't blame her—her brain's tuned for people, not systems. She was a better choice for CEO in the end. But me? I'm the guy Hiram trusted to check the system. To see whether anyone—anyone—was getting things right."

He leaned forward, more intensity in his voice now than he usually allowed.

"What I built, all it does is make sure the things that fail report that they failed. And that someone smart sees it. That's it. That's the whole deal. The system breaks, but it knows it broke, and it tells someone who can fix it. Not next week. Not after a meeting. Seconds later."

He paused. Smirked. "Small brag."

"I said I didn't have a budget. I didn't say Father didn't give me the authority to message any foreman, anywhere, any time. That's not standard. Foremen aren't board members."

Joe chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed with the help of a sip of tea.

"Rare privilege," he acknowledged.

"I'm just saying this wasn't shoestringed together. I built a good system, on purpose, with competent men giving me advice every step of the way. If you back Claire on her auditing department idea, I can make a handoff. I was hoping that was worth something to you."

The portable buzzed.

"Aren't you going to get that?" asked Joe.

"I thought we were having a business meeting."

Joe gave a long-suffering sigh. "Gordon," he said, "I have six children. I know what it is to keep a woman happy."

Gordon just stared at him.

"You'll hear about this tomorrow if you don't answer right now," Joe predicted.

"She's usually really understanding," Gordon tried.

"She's in the hospital. Or sickbay—whatever Martians call it. Don't leave her waiting on my account."

Her voice—frustrated at first—melted the moment she heard him.

"Oh, it's Gordon," she said, like his name had extra vowels.

He could almost see the smile. If her eyes were in print, they would've come with a long em dash.

"I am soooo happy to hear from you."

He hesitated. "Joe said you might be. . . on medication."

"I know," she whispered conspiratorially. "It's like they think I'm sick or something."

She held up her hand.

For a second, Gordon thought they'd cut the finger off entirely and replaced it with some kind of cast metal prosthetic.

"That looks," he said carefully, "like they amputated and made you a new one."

"Don't be silly," Marie said. "We just don't use paper on Mars."

He blinked. "Paper?"

"You know," she said, "for casts."

"You mean plaster?"

"Oh." She laughed. "That makes way more sense."

"So why," he asked gently, "are you wearing metal?"

"Have you heard of microwelding?" she asked.

He admitted he hadn't. Manufacturing wasn't his department.

"It's when you make a weld just small enough to hold something like aluminum foil in place," she said. "It holds against tension, not really pressure. You can layer them up fast and unwrap them later. It's like. . . single-use duct tape, but sexy."

"Sort of revenge-of-the-Sith chic," he tried.

"I know! I am a woman of tomorrow. . ." she said. "Ma! Dad! Gordon, I'm going to let you go. I'll talk to you soon!"

The screen cut out.

The holo projection vanished.

He was alone again.

"As I said," Joe remarked, "that was a good idea."

"You aren't married yet—but something I have learned," he said. "You can't hope to understand your wife until you've seen her out of her mind."

"She's not—"

"I know," Joe cut in. "I'm not being unkind. That's just when people show you their edges."

A pause.

"That's how I knew I needed to get my first divorce."

Gordon blinked. "What?"

"During my first son's childbirth," Joe said calmly. "She asked the nurse if I was needed, and when they said 'not really,' she told me to go get a sandwich and a newspaper. And I realized—she didn't need me in the room."

He sipped his water.

"So I left. And the next year, so did she."

"Speaking of leaving," said Gordon.

"Yes, I expected we'd get around to that."

"I don't think I'll be allowed to go to Mars. Not anymore."

He paused. "But I'm not staying here, either. Not like this."

Joe's eyebrow lifted, but he said nothing.

"I spent ten years making sure the system worked. It works. But I'm not going to put myself through Hira—Father's manipulations for the rest of my life."

Joe swirled his water once. "And your sister?"

"She wants the audit group, so she can take the handoff from me when I leave. Hiram's stalling her. But if she gets them—she won't just babysit it. She'll own it."

Joe took a long, measured breath. "And what do I gain?"

Gordon didn't flinch. "A system that keeps working. That's a rare thing, Joe."

Another pause.

"You've met Hiram," Gordon added dryly. "You know how this goes. Either you help Claire start it up—or watch everything fall apart the minute I leave."

Joe considered him. "So you're leaving."

"Eventually. Yes."

Joe nodded once. "Good."

"Hypothetically, what's to stop me from selling you my shares and you putting me on Mars?"

"The board would block the vote. I'm not family, and an externality like myself having so many shares would mark the end of the company's 'family company' culture. I don't have a way to force such a sale through, and I doubt you do either—or that would have been what I started with."

Gordon felt numb.

"So perhaps we will not be doing big business—instead, I learn something about the company, its CEO, and its head of audits, and have a lovely dinner with a friend."

Gordon nodded, heart sinking. This had been his last idea. His last potential lead to getting to Mars.