NOVEL NEXT Chapter 49: Three Numbers
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Karen: I could get you a crop and cuffs—for your wedding present?
Claire: Pain doesn't have a place in the bedroom. I love him.
Karen: So…
Claire: Fuzzy cuffs.
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Thursday, November 14th, 2090, about 7:00 pm MST, Montana City
"Pick any three numbers," Gordon called out.
"Here we go again," said Karen.
"0, 0.5, 1!" shouted Harry cheerfully.
Karen and Clair smirked.
"That was entirely useless!" Gordon's face didn't look up from his holographic keyboards and classic style laptop display. ".5 doesn't even lean, Harry. I'm picking between two dinner options."
"Generate your own random numbers, then," crowed Karen.
"Okay, I will. Truth or dare: how many days have you been wearing your underwear so far this week, Harry?"
Harry looked sideways at Claire, who continued to eat her cereal placidly. "Four."
"Gross. Truth or dare, Karen, how many—"
"—Not applicable." Gordon's ears tips turned red, and that made him look up from his laptop.
"—times have you crashed on Claire's bed this week?" Gordon continued, somewhat choked with repressed laughter.
Karen tilted her head. "Are your ears blushing again?"
"Karen."
"Okay, okay—Wait, what was the dare?"
"Count Claire's remaining coco puffs for me." Claire gave a perfectly mascara'd murder threat with a single over-the-glasses glance in their general direction, then poured herself more chocolatey cereal to obscure the evidence.
"Coco puffs are NOT a dignified dinner option, just while we're keeping track," Gordon opined.
There was a brief silence.
Karen broke it. "So why is going commando so weird? They'd just bunch up and give me a wedgie."
Clair shook her head, then covered her mouthful with her hand. "That happens to everyone, it's part of the experience," she said in a slightly muffled voice.
"She might be onto something—I could try that, " volunteered Harry. "I sure do hate wedgies."
"You wear boxers, dear, you're already covered in that department," reminds Claire.
"I should try boxers," Karen reflected.
"You can have a pair of mine if you'll answer the damn question," said Gordon.
"Oh," said Karen. "Um, six, I think."
"Thank you. Truth or dare: Claire. How many freckles does Harry have?"
"Two, both in his right iris." Zero hesitation.
The table went silent for a moment as Gordon processed this. Finally, he frowned. "In his eye? That doesn't even—"
"It's a thing," Claire said, calm as ever. "Look it up." She took another spoonful of cereal and chewed with maddening nonchalance.
Gordon narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then turned toward Harry. "Do you have freckles in your eyes?"
Harry blinked, caught off guard. "I dunno. Maybe?" He turned to Claire. "Wait, are they cute?"
"Adorable," Claire said, her voice completely deadpan.
Gordon groaned and got up. "Still useless. You guys are the worst." A minute later, he was rummaging in a drawer.
"What are you doing?" Karen asked, leaning back in her chair.
"Getting a flashlight."
"For my eye?" Harry said nervously.
"Yes, for your eye!" Gordon snapped, returning with the flashlight, only to realize the batteries were dead.
Claire stood smoothly, tucking her chair under the table. "Well, this has been fun," she said, smirking as she walked off.
"Claire!" Gordon called after her. "You're making this up!"
"Prove it," she tossed over her shoulder, leaving Gordon fuming.
"You're all the worst," he muttered, screwing a battery into the flashlight. "Okay, Harry, moment of truth:"
Harry obligingly held his eyelids open, allowing Gordon to take a look at his iris. No freckles.
"Claire is a damned liar," Gordon sighed. "Which means my range is … zero to six, and my number is two-thirds. That means I've made the decision."
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"What's for dinner?" asked Karen, obviously aware that he was hoping for someone to ask.
"Club sandwiches!"
"Remind me why I eat dinner with you losers again?"—Claire, again, coming back through the door in a full-body snuggie. Gordon always thought she looked like a flying squirrel in that outfit. Harry joined her smoothly—for good reason, this was deeply ingrained habit—and she draped herself over him and her couch cushions, claiming her accustomed place. Harry looked radiant.
"Okay… I got that ordered. Why is it so hard for you guys to help me with difficult decisions?"
"Because you could come up with your own random numbers."
"But then the outcome wouldn't be shaped by the group in any way."
He knew that was nonsense, but that wasn't going to stop him from defending it if someone asked. Nobody asked.
"So we've got a short caravan," said Claire. She'd been filled in by someone already, then. Karen, no doubt. "And we're going to guard it for two streams' worth of content while you and Karen have no equipment."
"I figured she who casts it… owes me replacement guns."
Karen lounged on her favorite couch. It had a Karen-shaped dent in it. "Seconded, but for my sabers and split-toe ninja shoes."
Claire looked too content to grace their nonsense with her attention. "I'll see what I can do," she said.
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Behind her calm facade, Claire was feeling like a complete moron.
Gordon and Karen didn't have their gear, and she hadn't stopped them from making a lasting commitment in-game to a heavy combat quest. The stream wouldn't want them to pull out—but how was Karen supposed to compete without sabers, or Gordon without guns?
Not to mention that Gordon would be leaving on Saturday, and they'd still be guiding the dratted caravan. How the hell was she going to get the thing safely to its destination with all these constraints piling on? There's a maximum limit to how difficult you can make a problem before the right call is to say "I screwed up," and she was rapidly approaching that point.
And she couldn't forget the hired guns.
The door buzzed. Gordon moved in an easy lope to the door, passing Karen's low-effort jog effortlessly. Being tall was such a cheat.
What to do, what to do. She could try cheesing the system and get them some weapons ….
Claire stopped. "System," she subvocalized. "Replace any instance of 'cheesing' in a gamer context with 'exploiting'. Save."
The caravan, though?
They were so screwed.
"Love?" asked Harry. He shifted uncomfortably, his knee digging under her shoulderblade, until he could look her in the face. "You are a million miles away tonight. How about you sit here and think your deep thoughts, and I'll get you a sandwich to go with them?"
She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Brief, but once she'd begun it she allowed herself to enjoy it for a moment. A breath or two. Propriety.
He was staring at her from inches away when she leaned back into his lap. He'd liked that. "Mustard too if you want me to love you," she said lightly.
Karen was looking at her with approval that rapidly morphed into thin-eyed suspicion, but her friend didn't comment. Claire didn't blame her—Gordon had arrived, bearing sandwiches. Yummy sandwiches.
"I should probably sit here for a moment longer," Harry suggested.
Oh. Propriety.
Claire started giggling. It wasn't the right moment for it, nobody had said anything, and they'd all think she was dipping out of the conversation to read a web novel or something—implants were so convenient during meetings—but she couldn't help it.
"My stallion," she murmured in Harry's ear, intentionally directing warm breath to the sensitive hairs there. He shuddered, then looked at her helplessly as his own chuckles began.
"Sandwiches." said Karen. When did she get there? Her friend was looking at her with mock sternness and holding out two, apparently selected at random, sandwiches. With mayonnaise packets.
"Those are deeply wrong," Claire told her friend. "In color."
"I don't see you getting up and getting your own," Karen retorted. She sat on the couch arm, brushing Harry's arm out of the way as she did so. He allowed it with grace, trading seating for a sandwich. They'd been generous with the turkey today. No, focus! Mustard.
"Mustard?" she asked in her tiniest voice.
"I dunno, I'll have to hear you explain why you're checking out all of a sudden. Mr. Man's charms don't seem to have evaporated—wait, still? Harry, think about grandmothers."
"I am thinking about turkey and Swiss," he defended himself.
"Anyway. No excuses for checking out present themselves, so obviously there's something worrying you, and I want to know what it is. Or no mustard."
"Gordon!" squeaked Harry. "They're holding me hostage for mustard!"
His friend threw a lazy handful their way and turned back to the computer. Packets pattered down around them, one landing in Claire's lap. Karen seized it like a pouncing tiger.
"OKAY, but not here," Claire said, folding. "I did something stupid, but we need to talk about it later."
"I'm sure we'll survive, hun," said Harry, around his elbow. Waiting until his mouth was empty was too much to expect when his woman needed comfort. She loved it about him, and would happily staple his mouth shut if he dropped mayonnaise on her snuggie.
"I'm not. I completely forgot Gordon wouldn't be here Saturday."
"To be fair," said Gordon, who was either completely in his own world or preternaturally acute in his hearing, "I'm usually here. Practically a shut-in. Making plans with the assumption that I'd be here is usually a safer bet. What'd you do?"
"I just forgot that we'd have to caravan without you on Saturday," she said, covering for her deception with a sharp glance at Karen. She didn't have to worry about Harry—strange as it might seem, he understood discretion.
"I'm sure you'll do fine without me for a week or so," he said confidently.
"A week?"
She'd have the house without her dad or Gordon for a week?! That hadn't sunk in before now either.
She wondered how she'd get rid of Karen.
"About two days to get there, three there, about two days back. A solid week of his busy CEO schedule, just to rub my face in how wrong I am," Gordon said cheerfully.
"It's not going to work," Claire hissed at Harry. He didn't comment, taking another gargantuan bite—she swore he still had wisdom teeth and she could SEE them when he did that. Freshly brushed, though. So that was nice. Focus. "Gordon doubles down."
"Heard that," Gordon said. He stepped away from his desk and walked over, looming over the three of them on the couch. From a seated position, he was nearly as imposing as father. "Look—I care about you guys. I care that you think about me, too, and want me to be safe. And I won't just throw my life away or anything. If it's a bad fit, I'll come back. Even if it isn't, I'm pretty sure I still have to come back, for a few months anyway. You could do me the favor of not acting like it's my funeral already."
"I was eating a sandwich," said Harry, sagely. "Innocent man, right here."
"Hug?" asked Karen. Her body language was surprisingly reserved, shoulders forward and hands in her lap. Claire made a note to ask her if the two of them had cleared the air since the awkward 'seduction' thing Karen had pulled.
Such a shame.
Gordon gave her an easy one-armed hug, her friend smooshing her face into his side with more emotion than Claire suspected she was aware of showing. She was going to miss him while he was gone. She was almost clinging to him.
Claire reluctantly reached out a hand and tapped Gordon on the shoulder. "Here. Affection. Are you happy now?"
His deep-set eyes creased with amusement. "Better, maybe."
"Nobody wants my love," complained Harry.
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Claire needled him absently, leaning her head against his to take the sting from the jab. "Park it on an asteroid somewhere and you'll get plenty of love, just you wait."