NOVEL NEXT Chapter 86: Soapbox
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Gordon: Father won't ever drop it, Harry. He cannot stand letting people stay wrong without mocking them for it.
Harry: Just wait until he discovers the internet.
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Sol 498 FY 26, 15:10 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, 9.32.002.B
A blast of high-pressure air had cleared the last of the dust as they left the rover lock, followed by a surprisingly generous three-minute rinse. Now dry and sore, Gordon stepped through the door into the colony's third floor, the pressurized civilian area—out of the suit, but not exactly comfortable.
His normally comfortable, tight-fitting turtleneck and slacks touched his skin in all the wrong places, sliding over bruised ribs and down thighs that still throbbed with the combined after effects of his suit and everything else. His shoulders ached from her grip and her teeth. His back stung from fresh scratches. His groin ached. It was good and bad, a mix of sensations which reminded him of where he was and what he'd been doing with every step or stretch he made.. Not sharp pain—just persistent and impossible to ignore.
Marie hadn't let go of his hand, and her warmth was an anchor, but each stride cost him something. He was tired, aching, off-balance—and the happiest he'd ever been.
The place was a marvel.
He was too busy in his inner fog to bother dreading whatever opening line Hiram was preparing when the older man turned from his place near the cafeteria door, where he stood deep in conversation with Vera, his smile just a fraction too welcoming. Vera, standing with hands busied with a plate of carrots and dip, moved cautiously in his wake.
His voice remained quiet—no need to raise it when his words carried their own gravity.
"I admit I am surprised," he said, directing it at Gordon with surgical precision. "I had honestly thought that purchasing you a pressure suit would suffice to keep your amorous impulses under control."
He paused, letting the silence drag just long enough to sting.
"A commendable performance," he added, eyes flicking to Marie. "I suppose you truly are my son."
"Is he your son or your dog, Mr. Stone?" asked Vera.
He turned to regard her frostily, but whatever response he'd planned to make was waylaid.
"Until this moment," Gordon said quietly, "I'd have thought that was beneath you."
The words weren't loud, but they weren't friendly.
"Yes, well," he said at last, his voice lower, almost contrite. "I've been kept waiting. Waiting a long time."
A beat. Then a dry exhale.
"I'm afraid I let my temper get the best of me."
Gordon nodded once, just enough to acknowledge it. Nothing more.
Hiram took a deep breath and let his shoulders settle. His face fell a bit more into its familiar half-scowl. "Still, these are deplorable conditions to make someone wait in, much less live. I cannot believe you wore one of their suits and your first thought was, 'I should do this every day'."
His gaze was sharp again, his tone almost pleading.
"That doesn't make any sense, Gordon. Be rational."
Marie stepped forward protectively, her scant height against Hiram's towering form. "You're primarily insulting Gordon for it because he's bucking your control and plan for his life—I don't think you'd care otherwise! Frankly, it's childish for an adult to throw insults instead of treating his son like the adult he is."
Hiram scoffed. "It's laughable to call my son an adult, or you, Marie, either, for that matter. Gordon is making an objectively unwise decision—criticism is only natural and appropriate. The facts of the matter are these: Gordon is an employee at Binary Systems Corporation. Due to his status as the next likely CEO candidate, Binary Systems has already invested money in his training, his healthcare, and even life insurance policies on his behalf. Yes, Miss Marie, were you two to tie the knot, you might someday find yourself quite grateful for our interest in my son."
"No. In the end, I can summarize your argument more concisely: he doesn't want to take up his responsibilities, so you think I shouldn't make him. But that, unfortunately, is the cry of the immature and pampered. That is the cry of a five-year-old who doesn't want to take a nap but will be crying later at 4 PM when he's overtired. That is the sound of someone unprepared for responsibility objecting to the possibility of responsibility being thrust upon them. But you do not learn responsibility through theorycrafting."
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"Practice at handling responsibilities is necessary. That is, in fact, the final test of whether you are prepared for the sum total of your future responsibilities: to take them up. I would not be doing my son a favor if I denied him the fullness of what his future might still be—by passing the reins of his rightful inheritance to someone else. He has a duty to his family and to his company, which gave him everything he has, to take his place at its head."
Marie was quiet for a moment before Vera spoke up, responding.
"All of that is true," Vera admitted. Then she turned to Gordon. "But this is a simpler question than you're making it out to be, Hiram."
"Is your plan best for him? Maybe. But that's not what matters right now. What matters is what you're willing to let him choose."
She let the words settle before continuing.
"At the crossroads, when he turned away from your plan, you framed it as your moral duty to stop him. Maybe you're right—maybe you do see further than he does. But the moment he chose a different path, your job changed. You could either respect that decision or stop pretending you meant to hand him anything at all. If he turns down the great gift you've spent years preparing for him, I can imagine being angry, feeling he was ungrateful."
"But once his decision is made—if he has resolve—then, whatever you think of the quality of his decision, respecting that decision becomes the only thing you can do while remaining coherent—If you remain in control of your legacy, it has not yet become your legacy, after all. If he shirks his duty, his duty is shirked—you should have chosen someone who wouldn't say no. If you actually pass off the torch, like you say he should allow you to do, and he accepts it as you say he must, there is then nothing preventing him from setting the torch down."
Marie didn't pause, continuing Vera's line of thought: "If it's no longer your choice, if he's an adult, then you can't argue that your only option is to deny him what he wants because it's not good for him. Because that's infantilizing him. That's not respecting him as an adult."
Hiram scoffed. "As if adulthood really mattered. For society to run, we must select some line at which to distinguish those we cannot hold responsible for their actions from those we can. That line is arbitrary—there's nothing sacred or scientific about eighteen, or twenty-three, or even thirty-three. In fact, the older you become, the more obvious it will be that, with the exception of the truly exceptional, nearly everyone spends their entire lives as little more than children. And even the exceptional—if we pretend my son is among them—require experience before they begin to get things right."
"An argument from intellectual exceptionalism might as well be an argument that might makes right. If you've come that far, you might as well admit that you're doing this because you can—not because you have a good reason." Marie looked a bit pleased with herself.
"I think further ahead than most, because I can, and if I have influenced Gordon's life because of this, that would be because if I did not, my idiot son would make a mess of it, and of the things he's obligated to take care of—the company, and his sister. To those who can foresee disaster, it is our responsibility to prevent it—isn't that right, Miss 'Environmental Engineer'? Or would you let the administrator control your algae tanks and trust that he can handle the consequences?"
Gordan didn't wince, but he felt like it a little. Vera, however, did. Marie had tried to be reasonable with his father and then got slapped down—gently for Hiram, but firmly for her.
"In fact," Hiram continued, "filial duty is one of the oldest virtues. Since we're talking about moral duties, let's acknowledge that the duty to one's family, one's clan, one's tribe goes back to before written history. People already agreed that this was central to the duties of man. It was only around the turn of the last century—in the 1990s—that people truly began to discard the idea that blood had value beyond its ability to oxygenate your tissues. The bond between man and wife, father and son, and so forth has been diluted. Filial responsibility—that was the term."
"You can't just argue from precedent," Marie protested.
"I would note that most of civilized society disagrees with you on that one. People do not commonly have the time or wherewithal to argue their points from first principles."
"Fine," she conceded, "Then how about the precedent that you're allowed to refuse gifts—like your inheritance, or the precedent that there's a right to life and pursuit of happiness."
"I've covered that. The short answer is: He owes me."
"Did I ask to be born?" - Gordon, breaking his silence.
Hiram looked at him like he'd stepped in something disgusting, but didn't reply. Instead, he turned his attention to Marie once more.
"Who do you think you are?"
Marie tilted her head with an innocent smile.
"Apparently, to you? A child."
Hiram gave a sudden grin. "And a willful one. Very well—enjoy what time you have. I maintain that unless something major changes, your current course will not play out to your liking."
She gave him a bright, guileless smile.
Marie didn't linger. Instead, she took Gordon's arm and started walking. Hiram's longer strides soon outpaced them as the taller man vanished through the cafeteria doors ahead of them.
As they passed, the sign on the wall read CAFETERIA in small white letters against a brushed steel nameplate
Vera: "I hope he didn't ruin your appetite."
She gave Gordon a long look before slipping through the doors.
Gordon: "You were awesome."
She shrugged, looking momentarily awkward. The footfalls of rubberized shoes on metal tiles retreated from the Cafeteria airlock, which appeared to be fully disengaged. Presently, Marie spoke again. "So. . .just a reminder. On Mars? Everybody knows what you had for breakfast. I've met your parent . . .now it's your turn to meet mine, for real."