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

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Hiram: Mars is hell.

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Sol 499 FY 26,07:27 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, Cafeteria

"Great news, Gordon!" said Marie, climbing onto his chest and shaking him to wake him up, then blurting out her news before Gordon's eyes were even open. "You're here for another day!"

She was smiling ear to ear, her joy radiant on her perfect face, inches from his own. He had only an instant to process this before she leaned down for a deep kiss.

Well. That was a really nice way to wake up.

Time passed.

"So," he asked later, still a little breathless, "why am I, spending more time, here today? I am not complaining."

She was practically purring, curled against his side with her face nuzzled into his ribs, feet pointed the wrong way in the bed, her ringlets dancing on his skin with the fan's periodic rotations.

She took a moment before answering. He lay back, his abs spent for the time being.

"Your dad's 'gift' is too big for us to have moved by launch time. So. Much. Fuel. We had to fab the tanks from scratch—We won't have it stowed for at least a day.. Lucky you, you're stuck here with me."

She ran short-cut, strong nails across his side, sending goosebumps up his back.

He rolled over and planted an upside-down kiss on her face. "Just the way I want it."

–––❖–––

Gordon walked into the cafeteria with new eyes this morning. The vaulted ceiling was stunning. Smart LED panels lit and dimmed in sequence, reminiscent of light through tree leaves, a calming effect. There was just so much space. Across the room, the true scale was visually apparent–three stories at least, before the curves of the vaulted ceiling began to ascend, solid stone regolith walls with the omnipresent aluminum cladding, in this room a red and black pattern that reminded him of brickwork without being quite that simple–a fractal artwork spanning the whole circumference of the room.

It smelled like sausage and fruit.

"That must have taken ages," he commented to Marie. She had not, apparently, been paying attention, her slim fingers gripping his forearm instead of his hands and her face mirroring Jillian's as both giggled at a joke he had completely spaced out on.

"Hmm?" asked Marie. He repeated his question, and her eyes lit up. "Oh! The AI did that too. Paths on the floor–green takes you to the farm, yellow takes you to the cafeteria, red is medbay, etc. you'll learn it as you go. But the walls and ceilings were also decorated when we got here. Nobody's sure where the designs came from."

"Is it paint?"

"Anodized into the aluminum. That's what all this is–" she tapped a foot on the floor. "–it's to keep the atmosphere from leaking into any porus veins in the rock layers around us."

Gordon looked around himself. "That's . . .I can't picture how complicated that must have been to arrange."

"The AI was here for about seven years undirected, and had hundreds of thousands of drones when we first arrived. It's mostly recycled them for parts by now, though."

The massive air conditioners set in the wall forty feet above his head cut on with a deep basso whoosh, sending loose foils and disturbing hair on everybody nearby. Marie's scarf, which–he wasn't an expert–looked Hindi–completely gave up the ghost and left her head, a loop still secured by a knot but flying free and vanishing into the press of people.

"Aww," she said sadly. Before Gordon could search for it, he heard little footsteps approaching at pace. A tiny little girl with metal ornaments braided into neat cornrows came flying out of the crowd, looking incongruous to Gordon in her mini version of the colony jumpsuit, and jumped into Marie's leg with enthusiasm. She was carrying the scarf.

"Madi!" Marie stooped and scooped up the little girl, pulling her into a close hug. "Thank you for saving my scarf!"

Madi took Gordon in with wide eyes. "Are you– are you Marie's boyfriend?"

"That's me," he said. It was strange and exciting to be able to say it like that to people who knew her.

"Did you apologized yet?" demanded the child. "You made her really sa–"

"–Madi!" interrupted an embarrassed Marie. "It's okay, you don't need to–"

"–REALLY sad," concluded Madi, imperious and accusatory.

Gordon exchanged glances with Marie. He could feel his brow beetling in his confusion, and knew it would look intimidating, or even angry, to someone who didn't know him. He tried to relax it. "I think I did, unless–"

"–You did. On the way here."

"That's what I thought. Yes, I did apologize. I was mean to her, and I snapped at her when I should have owned up to something instead. Will you forgive me, too?"

Madi looked at him with narrowed eyes. Forgiveness was not forthcoming, it seemed.

Marie jiggled her a little.

She relented. "I guess. Be nice to Marie, she's the best aunt in the whole world."

"Aunt?"

"How do you explain 'only child in the generation between you and your parents' to a six year old?"

"That must have been so strange."

"That must have been so strange," Gordon said, still half-distracted by the quiet weight of the place, its subtle hums and distant clangs that spoke of more going on behind the walls than he'd ever guessed.

Madi scampered off before they reached Marie's destination, a long table tucked into one of the quieter alcoves, where Lark and Vera were already in the middle of what looked like a battle of attrition against a mountain of aluminum playing cards—at least ten decks' worth, Vera apparently shuffling each and setting it aside for re-shuffle by Lark.

Lark barely looked up. "Sit down, young man. You're gonna be here a while. What's your day job?"

Gordon took the seat across from him and nudged aside his mug. "I mostly code. Unless you count streaming."

"I mostly configure," Lark said, reaching for a particularly curled card at the edge of the mess. "Works for me."

Vera gave a one-shoulder shrug and pointed at her plate with a fork that still had noodles clinging to it. "I fabricate. Machining, printing, finishing, what have you. If it's solid and wasn't here before, I probably touched it."

Marie, mid-sip of her tea, had her eyes already narrowed in anticipation.

"And Marie," Lark added slyly, those amber-brown eyes finally lifting with amusement, "fits in small spaces."

Marie sputtered, choking slightly. "HEY."

Gordon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Do I want to know?"

"She's the only one who can reach the fuse boxes under the tanks. Unless we want to grab a ten year old, she's practically irreplacable."

"I am not that short," Marie protested. "Or childlike."

She was not, Gordon thought, at all childlike.

Vera smiled. "We've got footage of her crawling through ducts like a raccoon, if you'd like to see it."

Marie pointed a finger at both of them. "You're both banned. From everything."

Lark didn't even blink. "Your deal," he told her, plonking down a bunch of cards in front of her. "Game's bridge."

Vera snorted into her cup.

Gordon sat back, smiling faintly. Maybe he was beginning to see how this place worked.

A shadow passed over their table.

Jillian, unmistakable even without the welding soot now marking crisp "tan lines" halfway up each freckled arm and across her neck, slid smoothly into the seat beside Marie. She worked an early shift, he supposed.

She leaned back with a dramatic whoosh of air. "I'm soooo glad the import finally arrived. Now we can finally have mini-me's for my mini-me."

He blinked, mid-chew. "I. . .what?"

"AND you've had proper nutrition your whole life. Good for strong sons."

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Gordon shot Marie a questioning glance, but she was busy blushing and glaring at her friend.

Vera leaned back. "Ninety-one percent of new adults here are women."

"'Mars needs men'," quoted Lark, sourly.

"The old colonist suits messed with male hormones," Jillian said, already stealing a noodle from Vera's plate. "ED, low sperm counts, and when they did reproduce? Girl after girl. After the eighth one in a row, someone ran the numbers."

"I still say it was the food," Lark muttered into his cup. "You can only be so healthy before the farms are running. Nothing wrong with the suits."

Before Gordon could recover, another woman strolled up behind Jillian. She didn't say a word. She simply caught Jillian by the collar, reeled her in, and kissed her like no one was watching.

Gordon, instantaneously very much watching, tried not to make it a thing, averting his eyes—not that they seemed worried about it. Cultural norms were perhaps a little different, here, that was all.

The newcomer, tall and wiry with skin like burnished teak, surveyed Gordon over Jillian's shoulder. Her eyes were frankly assessing.

"Huh," she said. "Not what I pictured."

She moved behind him, placed both hands on his shoulders—and squeezed. Hard.

"I was expecting Big Iron. You know, cowboy hat, jaw like a hammer, biceps for days."

Gordon tried not to wince. Her hands felt like clamps. The others didn't bother hiding their snickers.

"I left my hat on the shuttle," he said dryly.

"Jaz," Marie said fondly, but with a roll of her eyes, "His avatar is literally a 3d scan of him. You can't tell him he's not what you pictured."

"I wanted him to be . . .rougher, Stone-y, iron-hard. Only the best for Auntie," Jaz winked at the table, raising a round of chuckles.

Jaz kept kneading his shoulders.

He flexed.

"Huh. Well. . .okay, that feels like cable. Never mind." She gave one final squeeze, then a pat. "Minimal pass, Earthman."

Gordon exhaled and stood, brushing her off. "Well, after that performance, I think I'd better do something to reclaim my dignity. And I've been meaning to try this anyway."

He pointed. "See that gallery?"

The cafeteria's vaulted ceiling soared above them, two tiers of balconies running along either side—community spaces nestled behind sealed doors. From here, the lower railing looked to be sixteen feet up, maybe a bit more.

On Earth, this would've been ridiculous.

"Yeah?" said Jillian warily. "That's the preschool. If you're planning on getting busy with Marie, I guess we could show you what you're in for. The stairs are—wait, you're going the wrong—Gordon?"

He broke into a jog.

While not the largest man in the cafeteria—his father and the bodyguards were easily as big, and a few colonists matched his frame—he moved quickly, steps light with the unfamiliar grace of reduced gravity, and colonists cleared a path for him, most giving him odd looks. Sprinting wasn't quite an option; each footfall carried him farther than expected.

But that was fine.

The wall approached fast—blocks of regolith-sized for giants, clad in aluminum so thin it had deformed to the stone beneath. The surface was uneven, but firm.

Perfect for a wall run.

He remembered what Karen had shown him. Big step. Smaller step-hop. Third step dragging up almost at the same time—convert all your force upward.

In microgravity, it felt like a superpower.

He hit the wall, drove upward, caught the railing one-handed, and swung over the lip in a fluid motion.

Below, scattered applause broke out across the cafeteria.

"OKAY FINE I'M IMPRESSED!" Jaz bellowed.

Gordon took his time finding his way down to the cafeteria again, trying to feel the . . .vibe of the place. Were the children happy, healthy? The books here were all foil, not paper—were they readable, easily? Was there plumbing?

Yes, possibly, no, and, surprisingly, yes.

By the time he returned, the energy below had shifted. The quiet buzz of conversation had turned into movement—lines forming at the food stations, trays clattering, steam rising from big communal pots. Breakfast had officially begun.

Marie waved lazily. "Get me some too?"

"I've got lots to catch up on," Vera added innocently, stretching in that way people did when they weren't tired at all.

Gordon narrowed his eyes. "You all want me gone so you can talk about me."

"Talk is such a small word," Jillian said sweetly.

He sighed. "Fine. I'll bring you the most embarrassing fruit I can find."

As he turned toward the line, Lark's voice floated behind him.

"So he looks sore."

"Oh yeah," Jillian agreed. "Neck's marked up. He's walking like it's leg day."

Vera leaned in, gleeful. "So. . .you waited eight months. Worth the wait?"

Marie groaned into her tea. "I will push all of you into an airlock."

Gordon, tray in hand now, didn't need to hear the rest. Judging by the hand gestures, he had a pretty good idea.

He wasn't even mad.

"So how about it?" said Jaz—from approximately two feet away.

Gordon turned, startled. He hadn't heard her approach.

She had no sense of personal space.

". . .What?"

"Rug rats," she said plainly. "Making babies. You and Marie. She'd be a great mom."

He blinked at her. "I. . .don't know enough about Mars yet," he admitted. "Long-term health stuff. Fertility rates, exposure, immune tolerance. I've read studies, but living here's different."

Jaz nodded like that was a fair answer. "Smart. Thoughtful." Then, before he could say anything else, he felt a slender hand enter his front pocket and leave something square behind.

"Until you decide."

His eyebrows went up.

"For my money?" Jaz said, stepping back with a grin. "They'd be cute babies."

–––❖–––

One of Hiram's bodyguards—the slighter one—stepped forward from where he'd been keeping quiet watch by the corridor wall.

He didn't offer a greeting. Just said, gruffly and low, "Mr. Stone would like a word. In the hallway. Alone."

Marie arched an eyebrow. Her instinct was to decline—emphatically—but she stopped herself. Hiram was likely to be her father-in-law someday. Probably.

She exhaled slowly and rose, brushing invisible wrinkles from her sleeves. "Fine."

The corridor was empty, except for Hiram, which just emphasized his size.

He didn't loom. He didn't have to. He just was. A slab of Earthen-muscled mass, arms clasped behind his back like a sculpture of command. His face held no anger—just the expression of a man who had already decided what the world would be, and was now methodically rearranging the people in it to match.

"Ah, Marie," he said, his voice carrying the superficial charm of someone who knew how to speak to people he didn't care about. "I've been considering our findings here and my son's growing attachment to you, and I want to make you an offer."

Marie blinked. "I thought I was just some young lady your son was impressing you by performing on."

So much for diplomacy.

Maybe she wasn't that motivated by the whole future-father-in-law angle.

"You're exceptional," he said evenly. "No one disputes that. Not even me."

Her throat went dry. She didn't answer.

"I understand why he listens to you. Why he trusts you. You've earned that. And you've earned this conversation."

He paused. A clean, deliberate silence.

There was no threat in his body—but the threat came anyway. Because everything about him was absolute.

"So." He inclined his head a fraction. "I approach you as a peer. To give you the chance to come to Earth as my son's bride, have your medical needs supplied by my corporation, and be given the broader playing field of Earth upon which to unleash your formidable talents."

He held her gaze.

"Six certifications in disparate fields is no small accomplishment. At your age, I had only the four."

He didn't mention the nuclear engine he'd built by then.

He didn't have to.

The subtext roared between them.

He looked down at his steeped hands.

"Gordon is returning to Earth. That is not up for discussion. His future is there, where the company and the system need him. It's what I've built. It's what he will inherit."

His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.

"You may go with him. If you love him, you'll want that. You'll help him become what he's meant to be."

Marie raised her chin. "Why would I trust you?"

"I seldom lie," Hiram said. "A clever man doesn't need to."

He took a step forward.

Not fast. Not looming. But it was enough.

Suddenly, Marie felt the space between their bodies contract. She felt how much smaller her frame was, how much weaker her muscles. What different creatures they were.

He continued, calmly:

"Now—if you want less than his best future—if you want him to stay—perhaps he will. For a time. But he'll figure it out. That living here is a slow death. And when he does, I promise you: it will not be your kindness he remembers."

His eyes stayed locked on hers.

"I will safeguard your health. You'll live in luxury on Earth. With all the tools and projects you could want. Or—" he paused, just long enough.

"You can tempt my son to an early death on Mars. And we will be enemies."

He stepped back.

The silence returned, thick and cold. No longer comfortable.

Everything she loved about Mars flitted through her mind. The children. The habs and halls. Her parents. Jillian. Vera. Lark.

The blue sunrise—all of it was home.

She couldn't even imagine living under a different sky. That was for VR, not real life. Even the idea felt unnatural.

Besides, he should be asking Gordon.

Besides—he should be asking Gordon.

"It isn't my choice to make," she said, calm but defiant. "No more than it is yours."

Hiram regarded her for a moment, eyes analytical.

"A pity."

He adjusted his sleeves—barely a twitch—and continued as though she hadn't spoken.

"We play zero-sum games when we must," he said. "But it is better—best, perhaps—for each side to leave the negotiation smug and mistaken, each in the belief they got the better deal."

A flicker of thought passed across his features. The statesman behind the skull.

"This deal disappoints me," he went on. "Not that I require your blessing to secure my own goals. But that. . .I see the root of your mistake, and you do not."

He scratched his chin lightly, like he was polishing a hypothesis.

"Children are taught that love is self-sacrifice. That because you love Gordon, you would sacrifice your potential on Earth to prevent him from living his life there, perhaps."

His tone stayed steady, intellectual.

"But children are not taught that, sometimes, you must sacrifice your tactical goal. . .to win your strategic one."

His eyes were still on hers. Piercing.

"It will be a hard lesson.

But it's a true one.

From one thinking adult to another—do not subordinate strategy to tactics."

He turned and left without another word.