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

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Vera: Something seems wrong in the world, for one person to have so much power.

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Sol 498 FY 26, 04:40 Mars Time, Low Mars Orbit

Gordon was jet lagged in a way that felt foreign, the kind of exhaustion you might expect from someone who had deliberately avoided travel for most of his life. Maybe he just wasn't accustomed to thinking about this particular type of fatigue. He'd spent countless hours late into the night talking with Marie, and while he'd certainly been tired then, he'd never considered how disorienting travel might feel. But now, after crossing the equivalent of four time zones in a single bound relative to his normal wakeup, the toll was undeniable. Everyone else, including his father, seemed bright-eyed and unnervingly alert, leaving him alone in his haze of grogginess. It was supposed to be five in the morning right now.

Of course, on Mars, it basically was five in the morning.

That explained, at least, why the old man had spent the entire trip power-napping.

The spacecraft's engines continued their relentless reverse thrust, a steady roar that vibrated through the cabin. The weightlessness of the descent began to shift into something new—Martian gravity. Gordon felt lighter, almost buoyant, as though he could manage a standing double backflip if the nausea didn't have its claws in him. He adjusted his seatbelt absently, watching as attendants moved through the cabin, deftly unlatching cargo straps and locking them into new configurations with flickering fingers. His thoughts drifted, disconnected, latching onto the surreal fact that he was now entering the atmosphere of another planet. None of the attendants seemed to notice—or care.

He supposed you could get used to anything.

It was nighttime on Mars. Below, faint pinpricks of light glittered in the dark expanse, sparse and carefully arranged. Some formed looping arcs or wide, deliberate circles—evidence of human ingenuity carved into the red landscape. Toward the edge of his field of view, he spotted what appeared to be their destination: a sprawling ring of lights with a single glowing line radiating outward. The landing pad. Beneath it, the colony would stretch into the subterranean depths, hidden from the unforgiving surface. Twelve hundred souls, hidden beneath the shifting Martian sands.

One day, he might be one of them.

"Get ready, Gordon," his father said sharply, his voice buzzing with energy that Gordon found grating, especially given the early hour. "It's time for you to put childish things behind you."

One of the attendants scoffed—at him. Hs father didn't so much as glance at the man. Still, Gordon could feel the unspoken agreement: they both knew who the attendant had sided with. He reddened, heat creeping up his neck, but kept his mouth shut.

The jab stung, but Gordon wasn't about to respond. He knew how these exchanges went, and there was no point in taking the bait. Instead, he turned back to the window, trying to focus on the landscape below. Faint geographic features drifted slowly by, shifting as the ship descended. He tried to estimate their altitude, drawing on dim memories of flight simulator games he'd played as a teenager, but this wasn't a game. The mechanics of real space travel were beyond his grasp, and he had no way of knowing how far they had left to go.

His father, meanwhile, clicked shut his anachronistic briefcase with a sharp finality. Gordon had only seen the thing briefly, but he knew it contained three documents—none of which he had been allowed to read. Presumably, they were part of some export agreement. His father's company, Binary Systems Corp., had built its reputation on their twin fusion core engine, and the Martians likely wanted their own version for intra-system transport. The briefcase probably held the contract his father expected them to sign, along with supporting documents to justify the terms.

Hiram's methods were as predictable as they were effective: present one option—his option—and browbeat everyone involved until they capitulated.

Perhaps his proposal would be an orbiter which worked with Martian propellants instead of running off hydrogen and water. Maybe he'd promise goods shipments from Earth on discounted launch prices for bulk goods. There were so many vectors of attack.

Gordon sighed and leaned back in his seat, shifting his thoughts elsewhere. Marie. She was the one bright spot in this entire ordeal, the only reason he hadn't outright refused to make the trip. Spending this much time with Hiram would have been unbearable otherwise.

The descent stretched on, the minutes dragging as Gordon resisted the urge to fidget. The Martian surface still looked distant, more like an abstract painting than a tangible place. Resigned to the wait, he pulled out his tablet and opened the e-book he'd been working through—a recommendation from Harry. High fantasy, of course—a story about a cunning thief outwitting a dragon. Light reading, but better company than his father's smug silence.

Hiram sat ramrod straight, his hair perfectly trimmed, his tie crisp and meticulously knotted, his jaw freshly shaved. Gordon frowned. When had he even found the time to do that? He glanced down at his own rumpled shirt and unkempt hair, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Hiram didn't get where he was by collecting postage stamps, Gordon allowed. He might be a bastard, but he was good at business, good at finding or creating weak points and clawing the most traction possible out of them.

He could squeeze blood from a stone.

–––❖–––

Soft vibrations hummed underfoot as the docking clamps made fast, followed moments later by the hissing of atmosphere exchange. The hallway lights stuttered once as the docking port lights resolved to green.

Gordon slumped in his seat, external camera up on his executive-quality display, watching the crates roll across the mag-track: reinforced fusion containers, sealed pressure drums, sparkling with frost in the light of the distant sun. Enough He3 to power a colony for years.—transferred on an apparent whim, because it happened to already be in orbit. Gordon wasn't so sure of that.

The crew members were calm and efficient. From this distance, at this resolution, they could have been robots–shining bubble helmets with sun filter down, glinting golden and letting off puffs of fog. The ones coming in through the airlock at least had helmets off, but all had the same crew cut, all bore the tell-tale scars next to their left eye–first generation optics. Essential for spacers. To them, this was all clearly just routine. A mass transfer, checkboxes to fill, carts to restock, cargo to reallocate and rebalance.

A senior officer, clearly older, with steel-grey curly hair walked up to Hiram with a confident step, mag-boots clicking crisply. He acknowledged her without unstrapping of otherwise moving.

"All made fast," she reported. "Sir."

"With gratifying speed," he amended her statement, an offhand compliment she absorbed without her expression shifting an iota. "And the manifest?"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"We'll transmit the updated manifest once quantities are confirmed—after we double and triple check, per our discussion."

"Of course. We wouldn't want a single variance on the ledger."

She nodded understanding and stepped back, raising the other vessel on her suit radio: "Manifest transmission delayed pending post-quantity verification. Load complete. Begin final prep for descent."

She paused and put a compassionate hand on Gordon's shoulder. He must have looked as miserable as he felt. "You're almost there," she said kindly.

—

The sky outside was still dim—early sunlight diffused through dust haze.

"This can't be right," said the technician.

Marie was waiting anxiously by the viewport—not that you could actually see the landing from here, across the retaining walls. Adya stood off to the side, arms folded and scowling. Vera lingered by the instrumentation panel, not because she was monitoring anything in particular, but because it gave her something to do.

When Mr. Cook started muttering about his readings, though, Vera leaned in.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"They're coming in hot," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. "They're a fusion ship. This is Binary Systems. They run clean fusion. They can come in hot."

"No," he said. "I mean they're coming in capital HOT hot. They're about to burn straight through the crater bed."

Vera blinked. "Why would they do that?"

"From how sluggishly they're moving...look at this." He toggled the display with his joystick. The feed zoomed in on a flickering streak—like burning phosphorus, a huge plume of pure white light. A line of brilliance, not flame shaped at all. A firebolt blazing downward. The ship itself was invisible inside the radiance.

"That's closing fast," said Adya.

"That's really fast," Cook agreed. "You can tell how massive they are by how little the thrust cone is diverging. They're keeping everything focused just to slow down. They're not maneuvering. They're bracing."

"They're going to ruin the landing pad," Vera muttered.

Cook grunted. "We'll bulldoze again. But I'm more concerned about why a visiting exec and his son are riding down in something the size of a city building."

Vera narrowed her eyes and pulled up the manifest on her portable. She had to use Flowers' access key to do it. He didn't know she knew it.

She skimmed rapidly.

"Five hundred fifty tons of fuel," she said aloud.

The entire room paused.

"What?" asked Adya.

"Look." Vera shared her screen across the local network to everybody's portables. Holos lit up around the room.

Even Marie pulled herself away from the window.

"What the hell is going on?" she asked.

"I don't know," said Vera, "but your boyfriend just brought down absurdly valuable cargo, and lots of it."

"We've lost visual," said Cook. "Thermal bloom whited out skywards sensors."

They could see it now. Even without instruments. Ionized air shimmered above them like auroras. Dust twisted up in a spiraling vortex, a towering funnel cloud shaped by the crater walls, illuminated from within by sunlight in a bottle. It was literally day-bright, the first time Marie had had the opportunity to see Earth-standard noonday sun brightness. And growing brighter. She had to shade her eyes from the reflected light from the well-upkept, polished aluminum walls of the entry chamber.

"The column reads a kilometer long before it stops incandescing," muttered one of the engineers, a readout on his portable holoing over his wrist. "The part of the exhaust which is still BURNING is reaching a sixtieth of the way down from space."

"Full flare. Ridiculous."

The column of divine fire ebbed as it approached–but slowly, slowly. From eye-searing to an inward-lit flare of steam, the apparent 'fire' dying but really throttling back.

"At least one of them's an adult," Cook muttered. "Won't glass the pad. It'll be close, mind."

Marie pressed her palm against the transparent aluminum ceramic windowpane. It was buzzing with the vibrations of the fusion torch, even a mile distant.

"You're staying in the hab," Vera told her. "We'll go get him."

Marie nodded, silently. "I'll be right outside, anyway."

She turned back to look outside.

"This is insane," she whispered. "That can't be safe."

"It's not unsafe," said Cook. "Just...aggressive. They had me worried for a bit there, though."

Everyone leaned toward the window. Everyone except Vera and Adya.

"What does it mean?" Adya asked.

Vera didn't answer at first. She was staring hard at the numbers.

"They're not leaving," she said at last.

"They're not?"

"Not unless we unload them. They brought too much mass to escape Mars orbit again. They can't."

"Then why bring that much fuel?"

"Look at the manifest." Vera turned her tablet. "It says 'Gift.'"

Adya stared. "A gift?"

"Fusion-grade. Forty-five years' worth."

"Why would you bring someone a gift they can't return?"

"Because now we owe him," Vera said. "It's a debt. He's here to do business, and he's poisoning the well with a big fat 'Gift' and we're going to thank him for it while he robs us blind."

Adya was shaking her head. "That's bribery. The colonists would never stand for it."

"Joe colonist won't see it that way. Heck, they'll name their kids for him after this."

The ground trembled again. The windows buzzed. Cook swore softly.

"Touchdown," Mr Cook said softly. He didn't sound quite pleased about it. "With 45 years' of fuel aboard. Tell me we're not paying for that."

Vera winced—Cook's '45-year' figure was the rule-of-thumb for old tritium-cycle rigs, not for the lean D-³He plants they ran now. The fuel they'd just landed would...she squinted as the third decimal showed up on her calculation.

"Bloody big lever he put under our butts," Vera confirmed.

Marie had gone quiet again. "Is Gordon okay?"

"They landed. Looks like the gear held. But I'm not sending a rover until that pad is safe to traverse. Half an hour, minimum," said Cook.

"So what do we do?" Adya asked.

Vera exhaled. "Nothing. It's done. There's no point in closing the door after the horse. Besides, Marie's got a big rendezvous to attend to."

Adya watched her daughter in silence, then turned back to Vera.

"You do love my girl. I've always appreciated that."

Vera gave a soft smile. "Our girl. The whole colony is behind her. Besides: she was my apprentice. It's only natural that I keep an eye out—both eyes. But ...thank you. I know you care too. This just isn't your moment for being on the same page as our girl. You have your reasons."

Vera touched Adya's arm briefly, then moved to Marie's side. She placed a hand on her back.

Marie smiled, just barely. Then she turned to her helmet ring and began sealing it.

She was going to meet him on the pad.

Dawn was rising. The radiation wouldn't be too intense for a brief surface walk.

Vera only hoped that Marie would find what she was looking for.