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

––––––

Gordon: She's your hero—heroine?

Harry: She's the monkey on my back.

––––––

Friday, November 29th, 2090, about X:XX pm MST, Ghostlands

"Why are we doing this?" Harry asked, his voice strained against the rushing wind as their mount sliced through the clouds.

Claire didn't look back at him. "Because Gordon wants to go out in a blaze of glory. That's his idea of a good Friday—blow off some steam after everything with his dad."

"And you're helping?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," she said simply. "I want to blow off steam too."

From her precarious position near the Quetzalcoatl's head, Karen shouted back to them, "I have NO steam to vent! I love you all! I'm just not a fan of the local baron—slavers, you know?"

"This isn't exactly an emancipation," Harry pointed out.

"No," Claire agreed. "It's a dog-in-the-manger situation. What we're really doing is making sure that whoever takes the keep doesn't just profit off your and Gordon's work for free. They have to earn it."

"I don't really hate that," Karen added.

After a pause, Karen continued. "Besides, Harry—you're going to be remembered. The tank who held the keep."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, though he sounded pleased. "Just feels weird. I picked a class that can't hold land. And here I am—preparing to hold land anyway."

"We should get you knighted," Claire suggested. "Knights can hold territory."

"I can't be a knight," Harry said firmly. "That'd mean swearing fealty to a king. Not happening."

It would be a big time commitment.

A low growl entered Claire's voice. "What about to your empress?"

"Also not going to happen," Karen cut in cheerfully. "If Claire became empress, I'd be like her praetorian guard. We'd probably have to sleep together."

She winked at a dumbstruck Claire. "I'd ruin you for all other women—and Harry."

They broke through the cloud layer, Harry still audibly chuckling.

This had been Gordon's idea: approach from above, from the air, with a bad-tempered dragon-snake that would make sure no one else could follow the same route. Let it coil around one of the high towers and hiss at people. That was the plan. Pegasi were stupid—they'd just flee, riders or not. The occasional flying wizard might still be a problem, but flying wizards were always a problem.

Players on the ground scattered as the enormous Mayan elemental broke through the cloud layer. The spiral keep looked different from above—eminently fortified, for one thing. The stained glass glittered beautifully in the morning light. From this angle, the outer walls were clearly in terrible shape. No way those would hold. This would come down to the spiral itself and the manor at the top—the cathedral-like peak.

Where other fortresses might have had a bell tower, this one had four narrow caps curling up like cones, too small to hold the Quetzal properly. It would have to fend for itself.

"This is yours now," Claire told it. She allowed the magic in her bangles—and her earrings—to flow, shaking her head to free the stored charge and focusing just enough mana to make herself understood. "This keep is yours. You can eat any pegasus that tries to land on it."

The massive dragon-snake appeared to like this idea. It rose into the air with a satisfied hiss, coiling around the highest spire and glaring down like a mythic-scale gargoyle. The party was left behind on the roof as it circled into place.

Gordon leaned against one of the towers, grinning. "I come bearing gifts," he said.

"Oh, you shouldn't have," Harry replied dryly.

"You're going to like them," Gordon promised. He held out three gifts: to Claire, a wooden box roughly the size of her head; to Harry, a plain brooch; and to Karen, a gleaming green shortsword.

"You found the matron's treasure?" Harry asked, impressed. "I thought that fell off the map."

"Oh, it did," Gordon said. "But I had to climb back up from the bottom anyway. Figured I'd grab a few things on the way." He nodded at Karen's sword. "That one's hers. Enchanted. Never got hit with it, so I don't know what it does. Have fun."

Then he tapped Claire's box. "This one's… just a box. But I used the altar—the one with the Share spell."

"Share?" Karen asked.

"Yeah. So I found all the arrows in the keep. Put them in boxes. Put Share on all the boxes. Then I put Share on this one. Go ahead. Open it."

Claire opened it. The box looked empty.

"Turn it over," Gordon instructed.

Arrows started spilling out. "A whole room's worth of arrows," he said, satisfied.

". . .Thanks?" Claire asked, uncertain.

"I figured with a wind spell or something, you could probably make it work. Broaden your repertoire."

She studied him for a moment. "I don't think so. This should go to Harry."

"Why me?" Harry asked.

"You've got the shield with the water pressure," Gordon said. "She's being creative."

"I'd still have to hold it," Claire said uncertainly. "Harry has to brace the shield."

"We're going to be like a heavy turret," Harry said.

"A very heavy turret," Karen agreed, eyeing his full steel getup.

"What about me?" Harry asked, as Claire inspected the brooch.

She frowned. "That is a very ugly pendant."

"It gives you invisibility for thirty seconds," Gordon said.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Claire sighed. "Gordon, you gave everyone the wrong gift. Except Karen's."

"That's only two of you," Gordon protested. "That's not too many mistakes. Two out of three—"

"—is a failing grade," Claire cut in.

"But it wasn't a mistake," Gordon insisted. "The problem with Harry—"

"Here we go," Harry muttered.

"—is that most people won't charge a dedicated tank with a high-pressure shield, knowing it's a dedicated tank with a high-pressure shield."

"Okay. . ." Harry said cautiously. "I'm listening."

"So I'm thinking: right at the top of the spiral, where it says 'Wisdom is a crown earned in grief', Claire can hide behind your shield. Become part of your loadout. You pop the invisibility brooch. First wave of players comes up, sees nobody—thinks the spire's empty—boom. Sprayed straight off the edge."

Claire looked thoughtful and did not immediately argue. He took that as his go-ahead to proceed.

"Do not pass go," Gordon said. "Do not collect two hundred dollars. Go straight to jail."

"Have you ever played Monopoly?" Claire asked.

"Not the point," Gordon said briskly. "After that, Claire can lay down lava. Nice and slow, right down the spiral ramp. Anyone climbing up through fire gets tagged by you two—arrows and water. Harry's the tank. Claire's fire support. Karen's. . . whatever Karen wants to be."

"Color me a water gun," Harry said. "That sounds badass."

"Does it?" Karen asked.

Gordon gestured down the ramp. "After that, Claire lays down lava on the ramp. Slow. Icy players try to push through. They think it's a terrain challenge."

"And if they've got fire resistance?" Claire asked.

"Then we hose them down," Gordon said. "Harry opens the water portal. Full pressure."

"That'll just push them back," Harry mused. "I mean, yeah, maybe knock a few off the ramp. . ."

Gordon grinned. "That's what they'll think. They'll brace for water. But you know what they won't be braced for?" He patted the arrow box. "A hundred pounds of arrows, dumped straight into the flow. Water-blasted buckshot. No warning. No block. They'll try to shield or roll and just get. . . ventilated."

"That's deeply stupid," Claire said. "I like it."

"We're going to be a very heavy turret," Harry repeated, sounding more convinced.

"A turret that shoots arrows through water," Karen said. "Gordon. My present doesn't look as good anymore. I demand better presents."

Everyone ignored this.

"And what are you going to do?" Claire asked.

"Well—Karen's handling any tanks that come up. I'm covering the DPS that try to take out our tank-breaker." He patted a pouch at his side. "Also, I've got this. Packed two enchantments into it. It's full of bullets. I'm never going to run out."

"You must be so excited," Harry said.

–––❖–––

Claire stood on the back of the Quetzal, arms wide, eyes burning gold. Her spell circles flared and pulsed—perfect rings of light and geometry aligning in her wake. Lava poured like blood from open wounds in the sky, searing everything behind the siege lines. Tents went up like dry kindling. Wagons cracked apart. Screams filled the air.

The last loop of her circuit closed, connecting the perimeter into a perfect ring of fire. Ghouls howled inside the walls. The siege armies panicked outside them. And the keep—at the center of the inferno—stood quiet.

Five figures stood atop its battlements.

Claire rose into the air, trailing smoke, and landed beside Gordon with the low thud of serpent wings. She adjusted her new poncho with fastidious calm. "We're not trapped in here with them," she said, relishing the quote. "They're trapped in here with us."

–––❖–––

Claire raised her arms again, this time facing inward. "Last layer," she said. "They're climbing."

The serpent beneath her hissed in agreement, circling tight over the spire's central core. She rotated her hands, spellwork cycling like clock gears, and opened a new gate—directly above the spiral entry.

A-to-B. A: The heart of a volcano. B: The start of the staircase.

Lava spilled downward like an executioner's blade, carving through the stone corridor, steam bursting from every crack as heat raced ahead of the flow. Somewhere below, ghouls shrieked—realizing too late they had made the fatal mistake of moving up. Moments later, they began to pour back out, on fire, frenzied, pushed by the molten flood behind them.

They hit the inner courtyards, then the gates, and then the siege lines.

–––❖–––

Tapped out, Claire became the ammo handler for the heavy turret project, set up to clear the top of the stairs. The plan was brutally effective. All the low-level players would die. All the mid-level players would be wounded and slowed by the lava going down the stairs. Any player who made it to the top would be a high-level peer to the group, and a threat.

Fodder for Karen's tender attentions.

Not to mention that waiting for them was an invisible railgun, a fire hose of water and arrows ready to launch them off the side of the peak. Everybody hates falling damage.

–––❖–––

Gordon took another crate of arrows from Claire without looking. "How's your focus?"

"Holding," she said evenly.

"Want me to talk you through breathing?"

"Want me to invite you to a board meeting?"

He grinned. "We're good, then."

A fresh wave of ghouls burst from the lower tower, driven forward by the lava at their backs. Claire didn't even look. She just whispered, "Keep pressure," and passed him another handful of shafts—her eyes still glowing faintly from the strain of holding the spell lattice open across the entire battlefield.

He hesitated, glancing sideways at her. The rings under her eyes were glowing—literally. The spell interface had begun to shimmer around her skin, flickering with warning glyphs.

"You're past the safe zone," he said.

"I'm riding the line. I'm fine."

"Claire—"

"It was your invention. I need line of sight, so: Hold. The. Turret."

Gordon turned back to the stairs.

Claire exhaled slowly through her nose. A strand of glowing hair slipped loose and burned away in the wind. She held. They've got a cryomancer, she thought. I'm not going to drop the spell now or they'll just cross the lava and leave.

–––❖–––

"I'd snipe, but I'm a gunslinger," Gordon said. "So. . . I'm gonna bounce. Be right back."

"What, restroom?" Harry asked.

"Nah. Not this time." He sprinted to the edge of the keep, boots skidding on the stone, and leapt without hesitation.

The wind hit him hard. The world spun.

In the freefall, he reached into his jacket, popped the cork on a tiny blue flask, and downed it in one go. Feather Fall. The air caught him gently—too gently. Then he activated the perk.

The world slowed.

Gordon rose above the ring of fire, the chaos, the siege line. Ghouls surged through smoke. Soldiers screamed and tried to form ranks. No one looked up. They never looked up.

He drew both pistols, eyes narrowing behind the brim of his hat. "Target rich environment," he said softly.

Time crawled. He emptied one gun, then another.

And then he teleported.

–––❖–––

Noble down

Noble down

Noble down

Noble down

Noble down

Knight down

Noble down

Noble down

Knight down

The game log that Claire usually kept minimized scrolled a grim list of player names in red. He is going to be SO unpopular, she predicted.

RoyaltyRage: stop killing the NOBLES oh my GOD

Overwatcher27: is that. . . like. . . eight knights??

MoltenKaren: he is executing a social class

Mod_Rook: Reminder: killing a noble above your faction tier has reputation penalties.

ClaireFan88: and he does not care.

KingMidas: GRIEFER

LordKingsnake: There are only seven kingdoms. He broke one.

Server Announcement:

"Ghostlands recognizes the death of 13 noble NPCs and 3 regional alliance leaders. Regional authority in Western Kingdoms now: Unclaimed."

[Achievement: Crown of Ashes: Having held the keep against all comers by the strength of your magic, you, Frostiana, are now sovereign. Traditional title: Witch Queen]

As prince-consort to the witch queen, I suppose you'll get to be a proper knight after all, she mused.

LordKingSnake: No oath mechanics–she's not a noble. It's its own class, and she's a wizard. But she has the authority to grant him knighthood, so he'll get to claim sir whatever now.

He just nodded quietly. Her smile of acceptance was a warm thing, nearly mushy. If she'd been able to see herself, she'd have made Gordon scrub that from the records too.

Before Harry's name, the server ticked a new prefix into place:

Sir AdonisRex.