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

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Gordon: "Ya'll wouldn't separate a cowpoke from his cards, now wouldja?

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Wednesday, November 13th, 2090, about 10:00 pm MST, Montana City

Gordon felt shaken.

Breath fogging the air, he beeped his car on an old-style car fob, then climbed into the chilled plastic and leather seat.

His company car was a Mazda Rx Vision, well past its use-by date. It was a muscle car, Japanese-made, once a project car of his Dad's when the man still kept his hand in mechanical things—but Gordon much preferred his previous vehicle, a Toyota Corolla. Apparently, his father had not enjoyed maintaining a fleet of Corollas, which was a shame, because the muscle car's engine sometimes did this thing where it went thrr-thrr-thrr-thrr-thrr-thrr, and he had to rev it to get the noise to stop. The idle was a little off. It happened more often when it was cold, so it wasn't a big surprise that it happened today.

If his father had bought a fresh-off-the-line RX-series, Gordon could at least justify it as being practical in a high-performance way.

Instead, he got a quirky old sports car that demanded actual driver engagement in an era when executives shouldn't have to think about their cars. It was even a manual, and how his dad had managed that Gordon was sure he'd never know.

Gordon had forgotten his usual coat. Something about feeling morose lent itself to feeling cold, and besides, he didn't feel the chill as acutely as Sam did. Years spent in server rooms where the AC was cranked up had left him accustomed to colder temperatures.

His car felt cold, too. He started it. The engine went south.

"Thrr-thrr-thrr-thrr-thrr-thrr-thrr," it groaned.

He gunned the engine.

"VRRROOOOMMMMM—thrr-thrr-thrr-thrr-thrr."

He gunned it again.

"VRRROOOOMMMM!!!"

The car gave a throaty, satisfied purr.

Whatever.

He had always hated rich kids who gunned their cars, removed their mufflers, and made the streets unbearably loud for no reason—yet here he was, joining them, courtesy of his father's purchasing decisions. But tonight wasn't about that.

He drove. The roads were fairly empty this late, a little after nine. He found Harry's place.

Not that Harry lived there, not really. He spent most of his time by preference in Claire's room, or at the innumerable cyber cafes he'd discovered around their town—'perfect for hutting up and coding'—but when she was at work and when he wasn't working on his contract coding, he could be found here, in a little clapboard apartment block named after lesser-known, lesser-liked flowers. Gordon climbed to the third floor, room thirty-two of the Pansy Suites, and knocked.

Harry opened the door, looking distressed and disheveled. That was the first clue.

The second clue was that he didn't say anything.

Gordon had only seen Harry looking this upset twice, both times from frustration to do with his relationship. So the odds of this being a spat with Claire were high.

"I brought Uno," said Gordon.

Harry blinked. "Uno?"

"Uno," confirmed Gordon.

Harry exhaled. "That's never a good sign. You having girl trouble? Marie say something mean?"

"I am actually having some trouble," admitted Gordon. "It's not Marie, though."

"But you are having trouble," Harry repeated.

"And you're also having trouble," Gordon noted.

"One of those days," agreed Harry.

"Let's start with you," said Gordon, stepping inside. "You've only got one girl to worry about."

"Don't sound so proud of yourself," said Harry.

"I am truly, truly not," said Gordon.

"All right, well," said Harry, "I guess if we started at the beginning … sit, sit .. you don't play in Adult Content Mode."

Gordon pulled up a bucket seat, the rickety furniture catching several times on the carpet as he scooted it.

"That's true," Gordon confirmed the non-sequitur. "I wouldn't be able to stream if I did. Plus, I don't know. Feels—I don't think I'd like that. It'd be weird to do that sort of thing with my circle of friends all present."

"A little weird," agreed Harry, immune to irony and sarcasm. "So you know I play AC—did you know Claire did too?"

Gordon hesitated. "Claire, really?" He thought about it. "I had not known that."

"Right. So anyway, she's—well, her outfit might look a little different in Adult Content Mode, but you can't stream AC, and when she's around anyone except for our very specific group, she puts on a poncho. So basically, it's just between her and me—it's not her being open to that sort of self-expression in public."

Gordon nodded. This was a dangerous topic for him to comment on. But then a thought hit him:

"Hah. So that's why she fell off the cliff," he said.

Harry nodded, a twinkle returning to his eye. "Yeah. That would've looked very different to you in another mode. I think you would've appreciated the mortification on her face."

Gordon chose not to picture it.

"But anyway," he continued, "I was just having a normal conversation with her about your girlfriend's avatar—"

Gordon connected the dots. The low-cut neckline of the witch's robes. His stepsister's heretofore unknown to him state of undress.

"Okay," he said. He took a preparatory pull of beer, just in case he needed to be able to chuck something.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"So," said Harry, "I just said she needed to cut back on the 'burqa talk' because that was just Marie expressing herself to you the way she wanted to—just like Claire expresses herself to me the way she wants to. And apparently I'm missing something, because those are not at all similar, and I'm a pig, a chauvinist pig." There was a pause, then a broken-sounding "Ha." that wasn't convincing to either of them.

Gordon accepted a freshly cracked beer. "Well. That's something," he said carefully.

"That's what I thought," said Harry. "And you know that thing," he continued, "where once you're in an argument, you're supposed to know everything that's happened in the argument up to that point? And sometimes you forget a detail, and then they won't tell you, and your ability to continue depends on knowing what was said, but you don't, and then it just kind of… stops? And everyone's mad?"

Gordon, who had had relationships with women before, noted that he had, indeed, experienced this.

"So anyway," said Harry, "that's what's up with me. How about you?"

So Gordon told him, including the part about Claire's involvement. He still wasn't sure what to feel about that. Or Karen.

The two looked at one another.

Gordon shuffled his cards.

"Women," said Harry, like it was a curse.

Gordon began to deal.

"So anyway," he said, "that was one of the two earthshaking things I had to tell you."

Harry looked at him expectantly.

"I'm also going to Mars."

"He's dragging you all the way to another planet to make a point."

"Yep."

"Guy gives me the creeps."

Gordon looked at him expectantly. "'Creep' is not usually the word people use. What happened?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "Just… he gives me the chills, I never thought anybody would be objectifying me but Claire, and then her dad looks me up and down like a piece of meat and assesses whether I 'cleaned up passibly' or not."

"You're Claire's arm candy," Gordon said with an eyebrow waggle. "I don't see it myself."

"She buys me flannel! And has me pose in it. Uh. Anyway, that's small potatoes—I was thinking, you know you could've let Karen down easy by telling her you were already going to Mars," Harry suggested.

"It wasn't like that. She was making her 'proposal', and Hiram breaks into the room, yells at me, and tells me I'm an idiot, and a coward, etc., and that I'm not facing reality so… well, long story short, I'm going to Mars. He's taking me there to show me how bad it is."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Karen was in the closet."

Gordon exhaled slowly. "Yes."

"Naked."

"Yes."

Harry whistled and took his cards. "Yeah, you've had a bad day."

"No shit."

Gordon put down a Draw Four.

Harry sighed at yet another disappointment from a disappointing day and drew four cards.

"I have a theory," said Gordon. "About Claire."

"Yeah?" said Harry, hopefully.

"I think it might be related to the fact that Claire made her avatar by hand."

"She started with basic scans," said Harry. "Just like I did."

"So? She edited them afterward. They're how she wants to be portrayed, in a way. She keeps control. You know she likes being in control."

"Sure, I'm listening."

"Well, I didn't edit mine," said Gordon. "And neither did Marie."

Harry blinked.

"So… she's real?" he said, making a vague gesture toward his chest.

"That's my girlfriend we're talking about," Gordon reminded him, punctuating the reminder with an accurately thrown beer can. "Let's keep the commentary to a minimum."

"Well, sure, but—well, she's not shy."

Gordon looked him dead in the face.

"She has spent her whole life living in coveralls and atmospheric pressure suits, looking exactly like everyone else," he said. "She wanted to feel pretty. Tell me you can't empathize with that."

Harry nodded, playing another card.

Gordon finished his beer in a long pull.

"Anyway," he said, "I think what's going on is that she's willing to be a little risqué with you, but maybe the fact that that's not really her, while Marie is really Marie, has something to do with it. Maybe it's a confidence thing. Envy—not that there's anything wrong with Claire's anything, but she might envy Marie's confidence. Or maybe she's saying that Marie is performing in front of an audience on purpose, while she's just doing what she does for you."

There was a beat while Harry visibly considered this, his expression growing grim.

"Either way," Gordon added, "I think the biggest thing you did was compare your fiancée's chest to your future brother-in-law's girlfriend's chest—to your fiancée."

Harry nodded slowly.

"I'm going to buy her flowers," he said, taking another drink.

"At a minimum," said Gordon.

He took the round. They started again.

"So… Mars," said Harry. "You told Marie yet?"

"Not yet," admitted Gordon. "Doesn't feel real yet."

"Well, you're gonna want to say it beforehand. She'll be mad if you leave it to the last minute—'Hey, by the way, I'm coming to Mars, better get gussied up.'"

Gordon sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

He drew three cards before finally finding a red one.

"Anyway," he said, "Claire is apparently backing this whole—" he made air quotes, "—'Karen initiative.' So that's a bit awkward."

Harry nodded. "How do you yell at someone for leaving a beautiful, naked woman in your room?" he mused, half-quoting Gordon's own remembered question from his retelling.

Gordon exhaled sharply. "That."

"Funny," Harry said.

"I haven't thought of her that way in years," Gordon confessed. "Not since she was with—"

"Adam," Harry supplied.

"—Yeah," Gordon admitted. "They seemed serious. They were together a couple years, so I just… I don't know. Backed off. Tamped it down. She never stopped being flirty, but—you know Karen. She flirts with basically everyone."

"Except me," Harry pointed out.

Gordon gave him a look.

"I think she's making a special effort for Claire's sake," Harry said smugly. "I am irresistible."

He held out a beer towards Gordon, who rolled his eyes.

The two clinked their beers together.

"Uno," said Gordon.

"Rat bastard," said Harry.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "what you need to do is decide how you feel and act on it before you hurt anybody. And in the meantime, what you can do is tell Marie you're going to Mars."

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Sol 493 FY 26, 21:50 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, 9.32.002.B

Ping!

Marie looked down at her personal, eyes scanning the screen. Her face lit up in sudden joy.

Vera, watching her, found herself smiling in sympathy at Marie's sheer excitement.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" Marie squeaked, holding up her personal to show the text.

Guess what? it read.

Dad's taking me to visit Mars.