NOVEL NEXT Chapter 16: Truce
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Karen: If we have the tools but don't improve ourselves, then can we really say we're doing our best? Implants are the future.
Gordon: I've worked on AI programming. I'm sorry, I am just not about to let one root around in my eye socket.
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Saturday, November 9th, 2091, about 8:00 pm MST, Montana City
"An unfortunate side effect of not having ocular implants, brother dear: everyone can see your screens."
Gordon looked up from the glowing array suspended above his desk, the screens arching overhead like some kind of glowing cocoon. Too many. She'd lose her mind with that much input. The AI audit outputs from the twelve assembly plants, plus who knew what else. Well, that wasn't a secret: Gordon knew. And nobody else did but Hiram.
"It's encoded," he said shortly. "It's not a security risk."
Perhaps not, but it looks so—casual. Unprofessional.
He could read her tells, apparently. He stretched his shoulders as if preparing for an argument, shirtless and over-muscled in a way that would have made most people pause. Claire rolled her eyes instead, as unimpressed by his physique as she was by his antiquated wall of screens.
"Save the defensive posturing, I'm not in the mood," she said, dropping onto one of the foam platforms Gordon had scattered across his studio-bedroom. Her tone wasn't sharp—at least, not entirely—but it carried enough edge to make him hesitate.
"You just barged into my bedroom—"
"—It wasn't locked—"
"—and start criticizing my system right off the bat."
She paused, then allowed herself to respond with genuine, mellow eye contact and a relaxed posture. "You're right. It's none of my business anyway, and not why I came in here besides. Actually, as difficult as it sometimes is—"
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She breathed out, running fingers through her ponytail in a nervous fidget.
"—I came to apologize."
His fingers froze over the keyboard he'd been continuously tapping on, even mid-conversation. He blinked at her like she'd started speaking another language.
"I haven't made a very strong start, I'm afraid," she conceded.
He leaned back in his chair—a gesture of openness, or at least attention.
"I appreciate it," he said at last. "The thought, anyway."
"You're stubborn," she went on, "and an ass who'll never believe he's wrong when people gang up on him. I knew it was a mistake to take Dad's side even as I was doing it, but I was upset, and I know it didn't help anything. I even understand why you might think I don't have the right to be mad."
His eyebrows rose a fraction.
"I stand by what I said," she continued, "but I didn't say it the right way, and I don't want to leave all this tension in the air between us. It's bad enough when he's home and in one of his moods—no need to add infighting."
"Well… okay," he said. "No infighting." He reached out a hand.
She eyed it. "I'm sorry, I don't know where that's been."
"My keyboard."
His eyes drifted back to the glowing wall of monitors, as always, checking for updates. Gordon was always on—plugged into the pulse of his monitoring software. Worse, he was probably itching to return to it. She wondered what it would take to make him take a vacation.
"I won't keep you," she said, smoothing her skirts as she rose.
"Actually, I do have a sec, since you're here. What was that at the cliff top? I look away for half a second, and you fall off—"
"—We don't have to talk about that," she cut in. "I thought you were giving me a hand up, but it was a faerie prank. And if it hadn't knocked me out, we'd still be trying to get the donkey head off."
She was not going to explain the peculiarities of Ghostlands' adult content to her own step-brother; he could Google it.
"Yeah, I should have warned you not to eat or drink anything faerie," he admitted.
"All in all, I think it was worth it. I got to burn the place down—for a second time."
He chuckled. "Didn't know you had history with them. If you've got any other skeletons in your closet, I'm happy to help—"
"Don't forget to lock the door," she teased, neatly sidestepping the invitation. She hadn't always been picky about which questlines she accepted, and hadn't always hated the results, and this was not the time. There might never be a time.
The quip restored his familiar, wary look—which was okay. Balance re-established, she stepped out.
He didn't move, but the lock thunked shut behind her anyway.