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

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Hiram: When all other avenues fail you, only then may you burn bridges. Your network is paramount.

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November 29th, 2090, about 10:00 pm MST, Montana City

Hiram's office was still lit, even in the dead of night.

Of course it was.

Gordon stepped off the elevator, coat buttoned, tie immaculate, and found the hallway almost reverent in its silence.

One bodyguard at the door. Not the big one—he wouldn't be back for a while. This one looked fresh, sharp, like he hadn't yet learned that no threat in this building was ever empty.

Gordon didn't stop walking.

"I'm going in."

The guard's hand hovered toward his holster, body shifting into a trained stance.

Gordon moved.

A blur of motion—arm in, twist, pivot—

The gun cleared the holster, the slide racked. He caught the magazine with his other hand and set the weapon back down on the console, disarmed.

The guard stepped away without a word, hands at chest level in an appeasing stance. "Look, I don't want any trouble," he said.

Gordon swept past him without ever taking his eyes off the man.

Hiram was seated, coat off, drink in hand, monitors alive with movement behind him. Always a dozen feeds. Always with a finger on the pulse. Like father like son.

"Playing with your food, Gordon?" Hiram didn't even look up. "Tsk. That's not very—you."

"I came to see if you'd lie to my face."

"I'd be glad to oblige. Did you have a topic in mind?"

"Cut the crap," Gordon said. "You did it. Karen—the attack."

Hiram glanced at him then. No surprise. No guilt. Just. . . assessment.

"You're angry," Hiram said. "It's only natural."

Gordon said nothing.

"You think I went after someone you care for," Hiram continued. "That I was trying to hurt her. Or you."

Gordon's silence didn't shift.

Hiram exhaled again, slower this time. "You are mistaken. That's not how it was supposed to go. I'd already made my decision. I was going to support the two of you—let her build her product, let you keep your team, and then step away for five years. No more pressure. No more succession talk. Just the two of you, with time to explore something new."

His gaze met Gordon's then, firm. "She would have taken the deal."

Still, Gordon didn't move.

"She would have taken the deal," Hiram said again. "No pressure. No succession talk. I would have given her the backing she needed. Let her build something real."

"You didn't let her," Gordon said. "You ruined her career."

Hiram waved a hand, irritated. "A momentary disruption. Reversible. The point was to show she wasn't untouchable. That if she worked with me, she'd have insulation. Power."

Gordon stared at him. "You had a clean offer. And you led with fear."

"Fear is real," Hiram said calmly. "Fear is clarifying. It shows people what's at stake. She's smart enough to understand that."

Gordon's jaw muscles flexed silently.

"Your bodyguard—why? I've been thinking about it," Gordon said, after a minute. "It makes no logical sense—there's no reason you would have wanted him to chase her."

"Correct. I didn't want him to—sometimes, when one rewards zeal over judgment, these things can happen. A regrettable mistake, and I assure you I will not renew our contract with that man."

"Why, Karen?" Gordon asked finally, "Why not come at me?"

"Because you're not reasonable," Hiram explained, "There's nothing I can offer you that you want that you can have, but with someone reasonable at your side to help you navigate and enjoy your life despite your current limitations—you would be so good at this job—you were wasting your talents."

"That's my choice."

"Well a,t least you're not arguing with the obvious," Hiram said, not agreement but not pushing in a bad moment—"The offer is still open. We've had worse headlines. We'll clean this one up like we always do."

Gordon placed the bodyguard's magazine on the desk—neatly, deliberately.

"Sure, Father. Whatever you say." Gordon didn't hide his disgust. It would have made hiding his other thoughts more difficult.

As he turned and walked out—back past the silent guard, back toward the elevator, he could already picture the boardroom in his mind.

–––❖–––

Gordon had never called an emergency board meeting before. He'd scarcely even attended one of his own free will, and when he had, never with a tie on. But today—was important.

Today, Hiram would fall.

Board members filed in, nearly universally startled to see the prodigal heir standing behind the podium, dressed to the nines. Most of them probably worried there had been a major quality assurance breach in the company—and, truth be told, any little side initiatives that panic fostered in the minutes it took for everyone to arrive would probably be for the better.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Gordon said, at length. "I realize this isn't our standard meeting format, but recent events, currently trending on social media, have made this meeting unavoidable. Also, thanks to Director Mehta for supporting this emergency agenda item. Don't worry: I don't plan to take much of your time.

Hiram, his projection from whatever faraway place he might be streaming from, taking up half of the projector's image, stiffened but didn't interrupt. Not yet. Gordon's gaze landed on him, sharp and unyielding.

"Today, we address Hiram's overreach. His misuse of company resources. I've prepared the evidence. The only question now is whether this board values its integrity—or whether it will continue to protect a man who has so flagrantly abused his position."

The words were a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down in full view of everyone. Gordon leaned forward, his hands pressing flat against the table.

"Today," he said, his voice low but carrying, "we decide what kind of company we want to be."

The video began to play, its audio muted, but the images were unmistakable. On news stations across the globe, Karen's flawless execution of a kick-flip played in an endless loop, her movements sharp and precise, just like a ninja in real life. The footage cut to her terrified face, tears streaking as she ran off into the distance. It struck the perfect balance: a fighter and a victim. Both a bad choice of target and an innocent person caught in the crossfire.

Gordon's gaze lingered on the screen for a moment before addressing the room. "This is the kind of headline none of us wanted to see associated with Binary Systems Corporation." He paused, letting the weight of the statement settle, before continuing. "Karen—a close friend and someone who has contributed indirectly to the success of this company—was targeted by my father's bodyguard under his orders."

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He turned, his voice calm but edged with iron. "My father has been targeting my friends," he said, looking directly into the camera now. "Because he is trying to pressure me into taking the CEO position when he retires in a couple of years."

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room, the tension palpable. Across the projector screen, Hiram's face shifted, his carefully constructed image flickering with indignation. "Quite an accusation—" he began, his tone measured but biting.

Gordon didn't let him finish. "—but I reject my inheritance," he said, cutting through his father's words with ease, his gaze unwavering. "I will continue to serve Binary Systems Corporation as your Head of Audits, a position I believe suits me and in which I can provide consistent value to the company."

The board was frozen, their eyes bouncing between Gordon and Hiram. Gordon didn't let up, his voice steady and deliberate. "Not only has he abused his position, but he has failed in his goal by doing so and, in the process, solidified my decision for me."

Hiram's projection froze for a split second, not because of a technical error but because of the sheer force of Gordon's rejection. The room itself seemed to hold its breath as Gordon let the words sink in, his posture straight, his expression unrelenting.

Then, slowly, he straightened, his hands leaving the table as he delivered his final blow.

"This company deserves leadership built on integrity and respect, not manipulation and coercion. I trust this board will make the right decision moving forward."

–––❖–––

Claire watched the traffic light change for the third time and didn't move. The road was empty. No one was honking.

Karen still hadn't taken her eyes off the windshield.

"He gave it up," she said again. Softer now. Less awe, more ache.

"Gordon never wanted it," Claire replied.

"No. But he was thinking about it," Karen murmured. "If he got high enough, fast enough, he could override the Mars ban. Fix it from the top."

Claire said nothing.

"Instead, he used what power he had," Karen went on, "to blow up his own succession chances, all to undermine your dad."

"I don't know what to tell you. It was stupid. But . . . he was being protective," Claire said quietly.

Karen nodded. "Yeah. And I'm the one who triggered it."

A long pause.

Then she added, voice barely audible:

"I think I might cry now."

Claire sighed and passed her a napkin.

–––❖–––

Claire stepped closer. "Gordon, what the hell happened?"

"I did what you've been telling me to do for eight years," he said, finally turning. "I grew a spine."

"No, you threw a tantrum."

His eyes didn't quite meet hers.

"You didn't do it for the company," Claire said. "And not even for yourself. You did it because Karen got hurt, and for once, your rage made it past your self-control filter."

He didn't answer.

"You were spitting mad," she said, voice softening. "And you decided to make permanent choices. Don't pretend this was some elegant maneuvering with Dad."

"It was the simplest option," Gordon muttered.

"It was effective," Claire corrected. "And that's fine. I'm not angry you did it. I'm angry you waffled about what you wanted for so long and let him escalate this far."

Gordon said nothing for a moment.

Then, low: "If I'd taken the job, I'd be him. Eventually. Two point oh. The chair shapes the man, isn't that his favorite line?"

Claire didn't disagree.

"So I stepped down," he said.

"I saw," she replied. "Karen did too. She thinks you gave up the empire for her."

That made him flinch.

"Did you?" she asked.

"You can do things for more than one reason," Gordon said eventually.

–––❖–––

Gordon wasn't expecting the knock.

It was late—close enough to midnight that the glow from his monitors cast long shadows across the floor, the rest of the house settled into hush. He blinked away spreadsheet fatigue, half-aware of a drone looping through audit flags, and barely registered the quiet tap-tap at the door.

Then it came again. Sharper. Intentional.

He opened it and froze.

Karen stood in the hallway like a dead person. Her hoodie was pulled up, sleeves too long—Claire's, by way of Harry, probably—hospital bracelet still faintly glowing on her wrist. Her bag hung off one shoulder, and the lower half of her face was chapped raw—skin scraped and purpling, a web of road rash stretching from her temple down toward her cheekbone. Her lip had a healing split, and one eye was puffy but fierce.

"Hey," she said. No smile. No bite. Just there.

He stepped aside without a word. She entered without looking at him.

For a long moment, she just stood in his room. Silent. Breathing unevenly.

He watched her—unsure whether to ask, or hold her, or not get in her way.

"You wore a tie," she said finally. Her voice was rasped, flat. "Claire showed me."

The boardroom recording. He supposed it wasn't that surprising.

He swallowed. "I thought it might help."

She nodded once, then sank onto the edge of his bed like her bones had started to fold in. She set her bag on the floor. It didn't land gently.

"You stood up to him," she added.

"I had to."

"You didn't."

He sat beside her slowly, not sure whether to take her in his arms or keep his distance, playing it safe. "Are you okay?"

She laughed once—a short, joyless sound. "I broke someone's femur, Gordon. Does that sound okay to you?"

"You didn't mean to," he said.

She looked down at her knees. "That doesn't change what happened."

There was a pause. He wanted to comfort her—needed to, even. So he tried to soften the edge.

"Don't worry," he said gently. "Claire told me the guy didn't die."

Karen went still.

Her head turned slowly toward him. There was no relief in her eyes. Only horror.

"I wasn't worried he died," she said. "I didn't think he could."

He blinked. "What?"

"It was a VR move. Our kick-flip." Her voice was cracking now, the adrenaline wearing thin. "I didn't think. I just—ran. Like we do in the game. Like you taught me to. And I used the move because the chance was there, and he went down, and I kept going and I didn't think I could hurt someone like that—"

She stopped, trembling.

He reached for her hand. She didn't pull away, but her grip was taut with grief.

"I think I could've killed him," she whispered. "And that scares me."

"That wasn't your fault—you got pushed into that situation, remember?"

"I didn't want to be a survivor, or a chess piece." Her voice hitched. "I just wanted to go to school. I wanted to finish my degree. I wanted to graduate and start a company and maybe—maybe—get the guy."

He squeezed her hand, but she wasn't done.

"I didn't want to be a meme. I ran. That's all I did."

"That's not all you did," he said. "You beat up the bad guy like an action hero and toppled a corporate monster from his throne. You're a badass."

That last comment made her look up sharply, but he shook his head, negating it.

They sat in silence. Then, slowly, she leaned in, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. He moved his arm around her waist, feeling the tremor in her muscles—just now beginning to fade.

Her hand played over the surface of his bed, then caught on something unexpected.

"A blanket?" she asked, her voice incredulous.

"Well." He wasn't sure how to explain the train of thought that had led to the purchase of the thick comforter she was fingering. He'd liked the weight of it, that had been the tipping point.

"Congratulations for joining the rest of the human race, Gordon," she told him. Irony, fondness.

She leaned into his side, comically flopping her head into the side of his shoulder.

"I didn't want to be alone tonight," she murmured after a moment. "I don't feel safe. I don't know if I even am safe. But I know that when I'm with you, it feels better."

"You don't have to be alone," he said. "I won't make you."

She pulled back just far enough to look at him.

Then she kissed him.

He kissed her back.

She pulled her hoodie over her head, slowly, awkwardly—wincing as it brushed her scraped skin. He helped her ease it off, then let her undress the rest of the way with silent, methodical movements. She was wearing another of her mock tops beneath, with yoga pants, neither designed for seduction. She was dirty, having fallen in gravel, with leaves and debris in her hair, and had stubborn hospital bracelets that just wouldn't come off.

Crumbling leaf fragments littered the carpet when she took off her hoodie.

He didn't care. And she didn't seem to, either.

"I don't want to wonder what this means right now," she whispered. "I just want you to be here with me."

Her breath, hot on his cheek.

"I am."

She kissed him again.

–––❖–––

Karen fell asleep with her head on his chest.

Gordon didn't sleep, for a long while. His eyes remained open, trained on nothing in particular, the unfamiliar weight of his comforter draped over them both, capturing her body heat like a cuddly furnace.

His thoughts: about Marie. And about what not telling Karen what this all means says about him. As if he'd know.

He didn't make the first move.

He didn't lie to anyone.

But he couldn't keep pretending he wasn't making real decisions here.

Harry was right: he needed to make up his mind. Neither, either? He couldn't have both.