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

––––––

Harry: I gotta say it's weird seeing a guy heavier than me hopping around like that in real life.

Gordon: You said that in the worst way possible, on purpose.

––––––

Tuesday, November 12th, 2090, about 5:00 pm MST, Montana City

This time, the duel was much closer to home—so to speak. Wuataar's Imperial Promenade stretched ahead, empty aside from the usual foot traffic moving between the imperial palace's spawn points and the city's temples. The time? Once again, high noon.

"I think I'll head off early," he told the group. "Thought I'd go the hard way again, spice things up a bit."

"Want company?" asked Karen. Her flirtatious smile aside, he knew she enjoyed the challenge of free-running as much as he did. He gave her a little bow with a 'ladies first' gesture, her smile deepening.

Gordon surveyed their options. The sane route—the way normal players navigated the pyramidal building—was a winding obsidian-tiled staircase lined with chanting NPC monks and vendors hawking stone charms against the undead. Safe, but slow. He flexed his fingers, eyeing a carved serpent relief slithering down the side of the pyramid. Marie's stand-in, along with Claire and Harry, would have to figure out their own way.

Bracing himself, he swung over the ledge, gripping the serpent's ridged spine. The sun-baked stone burned against his palms as he lowered himself, muscles tight against the strain.

Halfway down, he released.

He hit a narrow balcony, rolled, and came up running. The railing was next—one hand, one foot, and then he was airborne, aiming for the banner pole jutting from the stonework. He caught it high with both hands, legs wrapping around just as his weight forced it to bend.

It flexed under him, bowing toward the aqueduct below. As it did, he unhooked his legs, shifting his weight downward. The extra pull made the pole bend even further—just enough.

The moment his boots scraped the aqueduct's edge, he let go. The pole snapped upright behind him, a final, harmless recoil buzzing in the late morning air.

A jade tablet clattered to the stone beside him. An NPC scribe gawked, mouth open in shock.

"Morning," Gordon said ironically, already scanning for Karen. Sometimes it was weird how badly disconnected Ghostlands' time was from real-time. That happens when a day is only three hours long.

She'd taken the scaffolding—faster, but too unstable for his weight. Wooden beams rattled as she descended, her boots barely touching each plank before she kicked off again. At the last stretch, she swung from a dangling rope and landed lightly beside him.

She grinned. "Took the scenic route."

The Sun Market stretched below them, a pulsing maze of spice merchants, textile traders, and knappers hawking obsidian blades. The air shimmered with the scent of roasted cacao, cinnamon, and dried chilies. Gordon's stomach clenched at the thought of food.

"No point in rushing now," Karen said, shaking water from her footwraps. "Might as well enjoy the view."

Below, the market was a mess of player traffic. Cutpurse NPCs slithered through the crowd, food vendors shouted at enchanted clay golems carrying trays of roasted maize, and guild recruiters waved banners from raised platforms, advertising sieges and bounty missions. The aqueduct offered an easy path—broad, clean mosaic tile sparkling with a shallow layer of crisp mountain spring water. Gordon realized he was suddenly thirsty and frowned. The haptic feedback was too accurate.

They took their time with the walk. It was impossible to keep their feet dry—foot wraps or moccasins, neither were made to keep the water out, and the ledge of the aqueduct wasn't wide enough to comfortably walk along. Besides, the cool water was refreshing, a nice contrast to the direct sunlight from above their heads.

The aqueduct curved in a broad sweep, its clear water feeding into smaller basins along the way. Some had narrow walkways around them—six inches, maybe—but jumping in and climbing out was faster. And more refreshing.

Gordon had been enjoying the silent companionship of two experts doing something difficult together—but Karen apparently had other things on her mind.

"I hate the word sluice. It sounds murdery," she volunteered.

Gordon climbed the last few inches of channel wall, moist stone slick under his questing fingers. Below, the water from the sluice poured into the basin, the sound pleasant and natural. He was concentrating too hard to comment.

"S - the front part. The S is like the blade's edge, catching on a jacket or armor plate and rubbing. It's the friction sound when it penetrates anyway. Lu - it's a wet sound, a sharp punctuation done liquid. The I is basically silent. You know, because they're dead now. C-E says S - more friction, the withdrawal."

Karen looked pleased with herself.

"You've killed a lot of NPCs," commented Gordon calmly as he pushed himself to his feet, dripping. "Maybe you should talk to a professional about it."

"I am a professional about it."

He glanced at the flood of 'WTF' comments in chat, then glared at his streaming partner.

"I meant a shrink."

The cold, mountain-fed water rushed alongside them, splashing their ankles.

"Therapy's expensive."

He was running out of aqueduct, the Sun Market clearly visible below them now. A quick run-up and he was able to clear the gap to the next best footing, at the edge of the final drain, feeding the Sun Market fountain. Here, the stonework broadened to a square support structure, clearly the end of the line for the aqueduct. Karen landed cleanly behind him.

"How about 'flume'?" he asked. Anything wrong with that?"

She considered it as their footfalls pattered along the flat stone surface, moccasins and ninja shoes alike making little noise but leaving wet footprints. "No, I like flumes. Flumes are good."

"You know flume and sluice are basically cousins, right?"

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

She grinned. "Yeah, but flume is, like, a happy word. It makes me think of log rides at theme parks. Sluice just sounds like murder."

"That's because you made it sound like murder," Gordon observed.

Karen shrugged as they peered down from their vantage. There were no easy routes forward. "Also, the word 'saucy'? Sounds like blood."

Gordon was too focused to process that last commentary, having something useful to say instead:

"Imperial banners. Beneath the aqueduct, left side."

He didn't hesitate. He took a running start, his leap across the intervening space terminating at the cross-stave holding up the massive imperial flags—the material felt more like a rug under his fingers, even through his leather gloves. Swinging both legs around the flag to bundle the hanging length up into a bunch, he wrapped one leg around it, placing the other foot against it in a rope climber's hold. In real life, he'd never attempt this … but at the end of the day, it was VR. He began his descent, sliding feet at a time by the friction of his gloved hands and his controlling foot, stopping occasionally to control his orientation or renew his grip. The flag wasn't going to be long enough, he realized as he neared the bottom—he'd get his choice between awning and tent-top. From the flailing of the fabric above him, Karen was already on her way down as well, so up was no longer an option.

"You dishonor the Sapa's seal!"

Gordon observed the angry warrior with the flint-bladed spear ironically. If he were just a random NPC instead of a guardsman somewhere Gordon stored his stuff, he'd have lasted approximately half a second against the two of them—instead, they'd have to avoid him. It added to the fun.

Awning, Gordon decided. There was a nice stripey orange one which looked like it would break his fall without breaking.

The crowd was dense, carts and merchants packed shoulder to shoulder.

Ahead—an ox-drawn cart, overloaded with clay pots.

Gordon took the high route, vaulting over the cart. Pots rattled, one nearly tipping as he landed on the other side.

Karen dropped low, sliding beneath the oxen's belly and narrowly avoiding a kick.

The guard had no such options. He skidded to a halt, cursing as he fought to push through the jam.

By the time he cleared the mess, they were gone.

The high city steps were too slow—NPCs moved in a slow, solemn procession, arms full of ritual offerings.

Karen veered left. "Terraces."

They sprinted into the lush garden, a stacked labyrinth of stone planters, hanging orchids, and sacred pools.

Karen led the way, following a narrow irrigation path that zigzagged up the terraces. Gordon ran just behind, careful of the slick puddles.

No time for the full path—they cut corners, vaulting waist-high planters, their boots crushing delicate herbs.

Gordon grabbed a trellis, using it for an extra handhold to pull himself up.

Karen was quicker. She landed lightly on a flower bed, then hopped onto a water channel ledge.

A nearby NPC gardener gasped. "Hey!"

They ducked behind a pergola just as a splash echoed behind them—probably a sacred fish knocked from its pool.

One last gap—a narrow footbridge spanning a small waterfall.

Karen leaped. Gordon followed.

They reached the top. No time to stop.

The noble district was a world apart—pristine stone courtyards, still reflecting pools, opulent statues.

An NPC gardener blinked in confusion as they vaulted his pergola.

Rooftops were the only escape.

Gordon spotted a row of tall stelae lining the perimeter wall. Perfect spacing.

"Up there."

Gordon balanced on the last ledge of the terraced garden, the warm stone radiating heat through his boots. The scent of fresh citrus and roasted maize drifted up from below, mixing with the faint hum of conversation. Karen landed lightly beside him, adjusting her stance without breaking stride. They had cleared the terraces, but the next problem had just presented itself: the noble's courtyard.

Below them, a long stone table stretched beneath a shaded pergola, where a noble family dined in casual affluence. A merchant in sky-blue robes gestured over trade records, while the matriarch—clad in deep red trimmed with jade—listened with a calculating gaze. Servants moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, setting down earthenware cups of spiced cacao, bowls of smoked quail, and fresh tortillas wrapped in woven cloth. A few children played by a reflecting pool, their laughter a soft counterpoint to the murmured discussions of the adults.

And then there was the jaguar. It lay stretched at the noblewoman's feet, muscles slack but golden eyes half-lidded. Watchful.

Karen tensed at Gordon's side. "No way down without running into them," she murmured.

Gordon followed her gaze to the row of tall stone stelae lining the courtyard's edge, each one a geometric monument, each cut with the names and deeds of the noble's ancestors. Six feet apart, cleanly spaced.

Perfect stepping stones.

He smirked. "Stele run."

"That's stupid," she said. Her grin belied her words.

> TurtlesTheWholeWay: "HE'S GONNA DO IT. HE'S REALLY GONNA DO IT."

The holographic grid flickered around him, casting the courtyard's edge over the foam flooring of his real-world studio. In reality, his feet were just skimming carpet—but in-game, every step carried him across stone pillars above a lethal drop.

They moved as one.

Gordon sprang first, landing lightly on the first stele. The engraved surface was smooth, weathered only slightly by time. No real tactile feedback—only his balance, his instincts. Karen was right behind him, her steps barely making a sound.

The noblewoman's jaguar lifted its head. Ears twitching.

A servant crossing the courtyard froze mid-step, a bowl of cacao trembling in her hands. Her gaze tracked upward. Her mouth opened.

A child pointed. "Mama—thieves!"

The noblewoman's hand slammed against the table, rattling the clayware. "Stop them!"

A guard moved, reaching for his spear, but he hesitated, uncertain whether to throw or chase. The distance between the stelae meant a mistimed jump could send one of them sprawling below, straight into the guards' reach. Gordon didn't intend to find out what happened next.

Karen leapt ahead, gaining ground.

Then—a miscalculation.

Her boot caught the inscription on her next landing—a fraction of an inch off. The slight unevenness sent her step just the tiniest bit askew.

The stele wobbled.

For one sharp second, she was about to fall.

His body snapped into action, reacting before his brain even caught up.

His left hand found the next stele's ridge. His right hand lashed out—catching her wrist.

Karen's breath hitched. The momentum yanked her forward just enough to stabilize her gait.

> Chat: "DUDE REALLY JUST GRABBED HER MID-AIR WTF."

She landed cleanly, shaking out her wrist as they ran.

"Thanks," she breathed.

"Anytime," Gordon muttered, heart pounding but hands steady.

> Randoon_the_Wizard: "No need to patch this one, devs - nobody else in the world could have done that'

The last stele loomed ahead. The final jump.

The noblewoman's guards had reached the base of the courtyard wall, spears in hand.

Too late.

Gordon and Karen hit the last stele, pushed off, and caught the rough lip of the outer wall.

Gordon swung his leg up first, rolling over just as Karen followed.

Below, the matriarch was still shouting orders, and the guards were rushing for the courtyard's gated exit. They'd have to run all the way around to reach the outer street.

By then, Gordon and Karen would be gone.

They swung their legs over and dropped into the alleyway beyond, landing softly in the narrow, shaded passage between merchant stalls. The distant murmur of the noblewoman's anger barely reached them now, drowned out by the chatter of the city.

Karen grinned, still breathless. "That was kind of fun."