NOVEL NEXT Chapter 21: Portal Fantasy
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Gordon: I never had a 'dad'. I have a 'father'. Baseball is off the table. I wouldn't want to talk to him about girl problems. Does that make sense?
Harry: Sure. I never had a dad either. Well. I did, but he died.
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Sunday, November 10th, 2091, about 11:00 am MST, Montana City, Gordon's Suite
Marie's words, a promise of vengeance, played on Gordon's screen a mere twelve minutes later, the video streaming site at least still bound by the twin tyrannies of light speed and server lag.
"A kraken, huh?" mused Gordon. He hadn't seen one in-game himself, but the monsters were supposedly vicious, intelligent, and bigger than houses. He idly flicked over to the game's user-updated wiki. The image on the wiki was of a younger specimen, a mere eighty feet long, and it seemed to be covered with blue rings—a tropical kraken. Still, the commonalities should still hold true—spined 'towing feeders', the two armored hunting arms, and hundreds of smaller manipulator arms. Toxic ink was an interesting touch. Perfect memory.
Marie had her work cut out for her.
12k viewers on the stream, last time. If they could keep this up, another $200 towards the Marie fund would come on payday.
[11:04] Gordon: We can talk if you're still awake
A Q-net link came through fifteen minutes later. Her profile picture popped up on his portable, the wrist-mounted computer on its subcutaneous magnets buzzing a bone-deep notification before displaying the holo: Marie's lovely ringlet-framed tanned features, pictured in stark light and shadow. They always made him wonder again where she'd taken that picture—it couldn't be sunlight, not that brightly, not on Mars—right?
And those teeth were perfect. How?
"Hello!" he said cheerfully, his second wind well and truly in gear now. "I was just watching your stream—how are you?"
"I feel like a chew toy," came her voice. Her image wasn't currently streaming, but her voice sounded duller, flatter than usual. "My emotions are all aching from overuse. That Mars character was—I liked him, and the game killed him. I don't think I could've saved him either."
"I'm sorry I couldn't be there to help," he said simply.
Her screen changed, a now-somber-looking Marie shaking her head at him. She was lying on her belly on her suspended bed, her hair balled up in a towel and her face glowing from a fresh scrubbing.
"I don't think you could have done anything even if you were there—I'm pretty sure this was scripted. I just... I need to take a step back from Ghostlands for a second. Process my big feelings."
"That was a lot. Anyway, you're going to take vengeance on the kraken?"
"Not any time soon," she admitted. "Unless you've been holding out on high-tier magic on me."
"Well, maybe that can go a little further down the to-do list." Gordon shifted the topic. "Planning anything fun on your Dad's birthday?"
"Obviously. I just got the best present in the world—or I'm getting it, anyway."
Gordon raised an eyebrow, his voice gaining confidence. "That's the idea."
"I believe in you," her voice promised. "So—hypothetically, if it were his birthday, what would you get your dad?"
She smiled a pearly white smile at him, quirking her dark eyebrows with exaggerated curiosity. It looked almost cartoonish on her slender, heart-shaped face.
Gordon's expression hardened, his mouth setting into a line. "I don't get Dad things," he said. "I tried once upon a time, but we had a conversation where he made it clear: since everything our family has, wealth-wise, comes through the company—and he owns the company—anything we give him as a gift is basically coming out of his own pocket."
"That implies you're working for free," she said dryly.
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"Well, yes," Gordon said. "I'm sure I would be, if that were legal and he had his way. He doesn't really value gifts, though. I guess that's what I'm getting at. He'd rather the money stay in his pocket than see me spend it on getting him something—even though the money isn't in his pocket, it's in mine."
"He thinks you're still in his pocket." Marie frowned. "That's... unpleasant," she admitted after a pause, then moved on to more pleasant topics. "Last year, I made Dad a coffee mug."
Gordon made the mental effort to follow her to more cheerful things. "It's so weird hearing you talk about Mars having coffee. Why would Mars have coffee?"
"Well, you want the Martians to wake up and go to work, right?" she quipped.
He nodded. "Touché."
She continued, "They genetically enhanced the coffee because we can't sustain the full ecosystem needed to grow it naturally. And we import instant coffee by the ton. Anyway, I made Dad a mug. Out of aluminum. I designed it to have an internal honeycomb structure in the walls, with air in the middle so it would insulate better—really thin internal supports so it wouldn't conduct too much heat. I went into all this detail." She sighed. "It turns out aluminum, when you make products with it on Earth, isn't usually left unfinished. It gets these little holes from hydrogen outgassing that have to be fixed."
"What I actually made Dad was a watering can that looked like a coffee mug. That was my best idea, and I was so excited about it. I even engraved the best phrase I could think of on the side—'sic semper patronis'. And it failed. So now I'm just wondering—do you have any ideas?"
"If Dad and I were closer..." Gordon mused, "I suppose I might get him a bathrobe and slippers. Something dignified but relaxed. Something to gently suggest to him that sometimes it's OK to put down the work and kick his feet up. I don't know." He paused. "I'm not very good at this. We aren't that close."
"I know," she said sadly. "It just seems like a real shame. Do you ever feel like you're missing something? Missing out?"
He hesitated. "I think if I am, it's probably not good for me to dwell on it," he said. "Because whether I am or not, I don't think it's going to change just because I don't like it."
"That's probably best," she agreed, her tone still sad. "What about Claire? Things... things blow over, over there?"
He paused again. "It's better. It's not that it's rough, exactly. It's just... yeah, it doesn't need to be smooth. Just—" He trailed off. "She sided with father on the Mars issue.
"Ah," she commented, drawing the word out. He nodded. "Regarding the Mars issue—If it helps, I am on your side," she quipped with a smile. She blew out a deep breath. "I really want to like them, Gordon. I know you've settled into this status quo with them, that's sometimes based on hostility and power dynamics, but if I'm going to be a long-term part of your life—and I hope to be—I need to build my own relationship with them. I need to set my own expectations and baselines. And I am really trying to stay positive."
"We'll have to see. My most recent chat with Father wasn't great, though. He said he didn't raise me to be like this, and I said, 'Half right.'"
She winced.
"What about your parents? Talked about me?"
"Yeah," she said ruefully. "I think my parents are willing to meet you, and they want to like you, but it's a really big leap of trust for them. They're not sure you'd actually come all the way here just for some girl."
"Oh, that's easy," he said. "I'm not coming all the way there just for some girl." Her eyebrow quirked.
"Oh?"
"I'd be going all the way there for 'one girl'," he clarified with a teasing tone. "One specific and very interesting girl."
"She might just have to hear what makes her so special," she prompted, playing along.
"Well," he said, pretending to think. "If you catch her in the right mood, sometimes she sings while she's working, if she doesn't remember someone's listening."
"Hey now," she said, a grin clear in her voice.
"She sees the good in everyone," he added, his voice softening. "And she's taught me to look for it myself sometimes."
"I'm not sure I believe you," she teased. "This girl sounds a little too good to be true."
"Well," he said, grinning himself, "I haven't actually seen her in person yet. She probably has a unibrow she keeps carefully plucked, and I'll bet she snores like a chainsaw. And, I mean, she's from Mars—she probably can't even open a pickle jar. She's going to be so weak."
"Hey, now, you better be careful," she warned, mock-indignant.
He smiled. "I'll make it up to you."
"See that you do," she warned him. "So… what were you doing before I called?"
Gordon looked over at his screen, where the Far Lands gate, the inter-server trading portal, was starkly depicted in icy blues and whites. "Mostly planning tomorrow's stream," he said vaguely. "I guess you'll have to stay tuned."
Her pout wasn't audible, but he knew she'd done it nevertheless. "I'm not like your other girls," she teased. "Hanging on your every word at the other side of a screen, eating up your curated image and sending you messages themed on hopeless longing."
The irony was palpable. "No, you certainly aren't," he agreed.
"I have certain privileges and standing," she crowed. "Three questions."
"Sure, but I'll stick with yeses or no's," he countered.
"Will it be terribly dangerous?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation.
"Is it worth it?"
"Also, yes," he affirmed.
She smirked warmly. "I don't think I need my last question. She'll be waiting for you at the Gate."