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

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Hiram: The phrase 'Early bird gets the worm' is misleading: perhaps it would be better said that he who prepares best, first, is generally successful..

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Sunday, November 24th, 2090, about 7:00 pm MST, Montana City

"Dad," Claire said, "I saw the strangest thing today. Almost all of our sponsors pulled out. Suddenly. Except one."

Hiram didn't respond immediately.

"I called around," she continued. "They're all fine. But they're under the impression that Binary Systems no longer looks kindly on sponsors of my stream."

She stared at him. "Dad, those are my friends. That's income. That's my money."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I love doing it," she said. "It's not much to you. Honestly, it's not that much to me either. But this is doubling Harry's income stream. This is paying off Karen's school debt, and funding her fixing up her dad's house."

"Claire," he said quietly.

He stood, walked around the desk, and took her hand. Sat next to her, not across.

"You need to grow up," he said. "Sometimes decisions have to be made not because they're what you want, but because they're what's left."

He looked at her. "In chess, it would be called a forced move."

She nodded. "And you made it," she said. "So you can keep playing."

"Exactly," Hiram said. "Whether or not you view your stream as a threat to Banner Systems—its financial models, its investors—if we view it that way, and we do nothing to shut it down?"

He paused. "Then we're not playing."

Claire stared at him. "We might not lose any business."

"Perhaps," Hiram said. "Perhaps we'd lose no investors. Perhaps we'd only lose something infinitesimal. But you know why rich people stay rich?"

She said it with him: "Because they don't spend money."

"Exactly," he said. "And big companies manage small risks. That's how they stay big."

–––❖–––

Claire stepped out of the executive suite and into the corridor, heels sharp against the polished floor. She didn't say anything until she reached the alcove where Harry waited—shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets, quietly pretending he hadn't heard everything.

"I tried," she said bitterly. "He wasn't interested in hearing me."

Harry didn't speak right away. He just looked at her.

"I'm getting new sponsors," she added, fierce now. Defiant. "I don't care how long it takes."

"I know you will," Harry said placidly.

He pulled her into an embrace—unhurried, certain. She didn't resist.

For a moment, Claire stood still, letting herself be held. Not softened, exactly—but steadied.

–––❖–––

*BEEP*

". . .and so, it is our decision that this heroic young woman who risked her life in the defense of Zach and Wesley, ages 8 and 12, will have the unwavering support of Uncle Zebra's Botanical line despite the current trend of sponsors abandoning their good-faith agreements. Remember Uncle Zebra, Marie, because we've got your back."

Claire stopped reading and sat back and rubbed her temples.

"I think I like Uncle Zebra," said Karen.

Claire shook her head at the kitchen TV. "Saved. Children."

Karen nodded. "I see what he saw in her."

"No, we can't let it off that easily. She. Saved. Children. And is in the hospital."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm going to send her get well soon flowers. From Earth to Mars. In pots, because I'm not wasteful."

"You have NO idea what a college student thinks about that sentence."

"What, that could have been so many pizzas and beers?"

"Cute. You're cute," complained Karen. She flicked the stem of her cherry at Claire, bouncing it off her nose, and continued picking through the bag of fresh cherries she'd had drop shipped.

"You really ought to wash those."

"Toxins are good for the soul," she retorted.

"Claire chuckled. A rare, unguarded moment.

Another strident beep sounded from the living room couch area. She had enough on her plate—she ignored it.

Karen ate another cherry, spitting out the stone without any attempt at class whatsoever.

"I could never do that."

"Eat a cherry?"

". . . We're going to go with that, yes. I'm suddenly deathly allergic."

Claire washed her hands briskly.

"Well, I know one thing you could never do." bragged Karen, popping a cherry stem into her mouth.

"No. You are NOT going to tie me a knot in a cherry stem and rub it in my face."

Karen spat out her knotted cherry stem. "I promise I won't rub it in your face."

Claire sighed. "So we're just not going to talk about the dropped sponsors?"

Karen shrugged. "I wanted an implant," she said. "I really did. I wanted optics so badly. But if they're pulling out. . . I'll find another route. It's fine."

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"How long were you waiting?"

"It's fine."

A beat.

"Anyway, it doesn't really matter. I got into it for the love of the game. I stayed for the love of the people. As long as the money keeps coming in—" She looked away. "I guess it will, if Gordon stays Earth-side."

She wilted a little, then tried to recover with another shrug. "Seems like a terrible thing to say. I just don't—I just really want. . ."

"I know," Claire said. She pivoted. "He's a good-looking guy. Probably got it all from his mom. I didn't get any of that."

"You wouldn't want his brows," Karen told her. "He doesn't talk about it—well, maybe not to you—but he told me once he gets ingrown hairs. Like, eyebrow pimples."

"Ew," said Claire, intrigued.

The beep sounded again. Karen walked over to her favorite couch and plopped down dramatically, bonelessly.

"Yes," said Karen. "Eyebrow pimples. If you pull the hair, it pops."

"Have you seen it?" Her voice was scandalized but fascinated.

"No. He didn't know that wasn't normal and just told me about it once."

Claire wrinkled her nose. ". . .I kind of want to see it now."

Karen snorted. "You're disgusting."

"MY eyebrows are pristine. In any case—I'm going to get us some more sponsors. We'll get you your optics. I don't know how you guys live without them."

Karen flopped down onto the couch. "You don't know you're missing what you've never had."

Claire looked at her for a long moment and sat primly on the couch next to her. "Like Harry."

The man himself, in the next room installing. . .something, sneezed.

Karen shrugged a shoulder. "Would you have missed it by now if you hadn't had it? Him, there?"

"I couldn't have pictured myself as a wife. I'd been so swamped at work these last few years. . . ."

"And if he'd come along three years earlier—" Karen prompted.

*BEEP*

"—I couldn't have pictured myself as a wife for him either. I'd have been a selfish lover, stringing him along and breaking his trust. I'd have had to step back." Claire's voice was matter-of-fact.

Karen nodded. "Growing up is weird. Seeing a grown-up in the mirror is weird. Being able to trust the person in the mirror to sometimes make good choices is a nice perk, though."

"I think I've seen a grown-up looking back at me since I was eight."

They shared a small smile.

The air conditioner hummed.

"Harry told me what you were thinking, about the guest room."

"We mean it."

Claire claimed the largest throw pillow, holding it to her chest with her chin on it. She wasn't looking at Karen.

"I know."

She pulled Claire close enough to hug the top of her head, mussing her perfectly combed bangs.

"You have no idea how much it means—"

*BEEP*

–––❖–––

Gordon was born in an age of advanced AI, but had never had an unfiltered UDP stream intercom because internet service providers were chickenshits about being liable for user-generated commentary.

He was going to fix that.

Was it just a distraction from weightier matters of the heart? Potentially.

But also he'd just kind of always resented the limitation.

–––❖–––

"—to just be able to trust you," Claire said.

Harry puttered around the room stacking things. He was whistling.

"Harry's safe around you," Claire said. It wasn't a question. "You wouldn't break my heart."

"That's true."

They lay there on the couch as Harry walked through the room carrying an old-style boxy PC case. "Need a hand?" offered Karen lazily, not shifting an inch. Claire's ankles were crossed on top of hers on the futon, and she'd somehow managed to get all of the throw pillows into a pile behind her without the usually-possessive Claire noticing.

"No, you look like you're busy," he said kindly. "It'll just take me one more trip anyway."

He trundled away busily.

*BEEP*

–––❖–––

"They can't hear me," Gordon said in annoyance. "Balls."

–––❖–––

"Sometimes it's fun to think of what ifs," Karen mused. "Late at night, staring at the ceiling."

"Maudlin of you," Claire said. "Besides, I don't like reliving proto-Claire. She had bad priorities. I don't enjoy reliving mistakes."

"She had her moments. I remember giving you a send-off when you went back to boarding school.We stayed up watching Star Wars until it was almost dawn, and you had to pack at the last second—"

*BEEP*

"—yeah. I suppose I wasn't always that bad."

"Yeah."

Claire rolled over lazily to look over the pillow wall at her friend. "Was that a 'she wasn't always bad, yeah' or 'yeah, she made some bad choices'?"

"I just said you had your moments. But . . .yeah to both"

Claire nodded, eyes looking into the middle distance.

"I did things in the wrong order, looking back. I was consumed by my career. I could have made more room for. . .romance, in my life, it isn't that . . . for instance, I would have had a problem with Harry if I'd known him then. But I wouldn't have made room for anyone in my life. I didn't know I'd feel the time crunch about kids and stuff later on, or be so lonely. I have some regrets."

"One thing at a time," Karen acknowledged neutrally. "You had a lot to unlearn. What did they teach in boarding schools those days?"

"To value having males in your life again, if only for the variety."

"I heard that," Harry said cheerfully. "You are also the spice of my life." He busily repacked cardboard boxes into other boxes.

"I can't believe you didn't manage to sneak in some company now and again," Karen mused.

"I was a bit repressed."

–––❖–––

"OH MY GOSH I CAN HEAR YOU!" shouted Gordon. The mic showed his volume level. It wasn't on his end.

–––❖–––

"A BIT? They made you wear a uniform skirt for four years and march around like a marionette, and then you went straight into business college and human resources. I couldn't get you to unbend far enough to drink at my 21st birthday."

"I never marched anywhere. Besides, I was underage."

"Stalked, then."

"Slunk, like an archdemoness." Claire's voice sounded perfectly serious, which was how you could tell she was joking.

"Is that why the whole volcano priestess thing?"

"Do I HAVE to answer that?"

–––❖–––

Gordon's ears were burning. This was the lowest he'd ever sunk. Other boys drilled holes and peeked into the girl's locker room. He'd stared at the hole from across the room, blushed, and quit the football team.

He still regretted ghosting Karen on that birthday. Isabelle had seemed to be worth it at the time, but. . .well.

The damning audio continued to pour from the improvised intercom.

"Karen. I demand at least ONE pillow."

"I've slept on this couch for ten years, I'm pretty sure I've got squatters' rights. Though, you'd have thought I'd have graduated to a bed by now."

"I keep offering to get you a suite."

"I was thinking maybe somewhere tasteful and understated, like in your pantry closet."

"I'll install you in my boudoir, on a plaque. You can hold my earrings."

*BEEP*

"What is that?"

"OH MY GOSH I FOUND GORDON'S PORTABLE!"

"Is that what was beeping?"

"HELL YEAH. Let's look through it."

Oh. Oh no.