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

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Gordon: I just realized—Claire doesn't stream from the shared studio because you both use AC mode. That's why she keeps locking the door and going dark. I've been in that room, Harry. I sat in that chair.

Harry: I do know what Lysol is, Gordon.

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Sol 499 FY 26, 08:36 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, 9.32.002.B

"Okay," said Vera. "What did we just watch?"

"Well, I think my father just bought the planet out from under you." Gordon's voice was apologetic.

"I'm going to need more information, please."

"Okay, you have to understand how my father works. The first step is modeling strategically. He figures out what you have to have, and then makes sure that he's offering it. He looks at what other competitors are offering, and he tries to beat them. He always tries to give you the best short-term result on the table.

But some people think long-term, and sometimes he has a longer-term plan that isn't quite as nice. So he also uses pressure tactics. If you tell him that you need to think it over, he'll just get up and walk away, and he will completely redo his offer later. But he will not entertain that kind of back-and-forth over the table. It's too easy to get manipulated in real time or to miss a crucial detail, and he's not going to do it.

He also brings everything bad that he can dig up about his competitors and your situation. What it boils down to is this: one briefcase, three folders. Each folder has a document and some corroborating evidence—photos, essay results, whatever. But the important part is that when he comes to me and says, 'I have the best products available,' he does. He will show you all the good things about it and make you feel really happy about the idea, and then he will show you all the bad things that will happen if you don't do it right now. If you still don't sign, he walks."

"Oh," said Vera. "That's a lot."

"In your case, you had just accepted 45 years of colony safety as a free gift from him, and he knew it. You just don't have leverage at that point, which is why he did it. He landed overweight, so he couldn't take off for humanitarian reasons. You would never strand someone on Mars, so you took his gift. Now you implicitly feel like you owe him the value of the gift. And the value of the gift is about the value of your settlement. So your administrator signs unwillingly. And that's what that is."

Vera looked at him thoughtfully. "It doesn't feel like a good sign," she said, "that you understand the ins and outs of this mindset."

"It wouldn't be a good sign," he said, "if after all these years I didn't."

"Touché," acknowledged Vera. "That might not have been fair. I just worry about Marie."

"We both worry about Marie," he said. "But you don't know me yet."

"No," she said. "How would you have handled the negotiation?"

"Do you want me to roleplay it or just give you an honest opinion?"

"What do you mean?"

"Am I me, or am I Hiram?"

"You are you."

"I'd hire a negotiator," he said promptly.

She laughed.

"If I were Hiram—I mean, let's be honest—his system does work. But it doesn't cost anything to show some respect. The gift thing was overdone. I wouldn't have done that. And I would probably bring three offers, plus the other documents. But I would walk if they didn't accept any of them. It works. Like, one of the things you learn watching an irascible asshole do business is that irascible assholes are better at business than normal people."

"There's something profoundly sad about that," Vera said.

"I agree with you completely."

–––❖–––

"So what's going on here?" Gordon asked. "Like—really. Is this all a performance? Am I getting the second degree?" He gestured vaguely. "I feel like they like me, but—"

Marie sighed. "I'm sorry, Gordon," she said. "This isn't just about you. You're the test case. You are—or were—the example everyone's going to point to. Like, 'Okay, this is what it takes to come to Mars. And look—he did it.' Or, 'he didn't.'"

"Right," he said slowly.

She nodded. "They're vetting you, partly for each other. Jillian doesn't know if she wants kids someday. Jaz doesn't. One of them might want a male partner eventually. And now they know that meeting up in person is possible—even if it's not easy."

She met his eyes. "And I'm not saying this because your dad's rich. I mean—sure, that changes things. But there are people here who've wanted to meet someone for a long time. They just didn't think it could happen. And you're the first one. Do you get that? They needed to see that it could be done."

Gordon frowned, listening.

"Look—I'm sure you knew it wasn't serious. Jaz lost her composure when you flexed, Jillian lost it when you flirted back—nice, thanks for checking with me though. Just. . .they needed to know it was possible."

He nodded.

"Cassie's been crushing on random Internet hotties her whole life," Marie continued. "This whole conversation? It's making her wonder if she should go to Earth. And that's a whole other problem."

Gordon blinked. "Wait—who's Cassie?"

"She was in the cafeteria during the quick-draw thing. Didn't see you, but she's seen the video. Everyone has. What I'm saying is—don't focus on them. They're not trying to interfere. They just want to know if you're for real. You're the proof of concept."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

She softened a little. "I do think they like you, though. And thank you for not trying to hit on my friends."

"No," he said. "I didn't come here for your friends. Besides, I think what they were fishing for was probably 'Are you a judgmental asshole' rather than 'Will you join our polycule', you know?"

"One would preclude the other," she nodded. She smirked at his expression. "And you didn't. You're my guest. And you're. . .a foreign—."

"A what?"

"--I don't even know how to put it in words. Like, a foreign dignitary. An executive. You guys are executives. Don't look at me like that—you are. You're the head of audits. Just because you're not the showboat doesn't mean you're not a mover and shaker."

She shifted gears. "So yeah, you can do what you want. I can do what I want today because you're my guest. Nobody's complaining if I don't show up to work. But—what I need to do is make sure the forklift operator moves my tank. That'll take me half an hour, once I get the first one in. After that, the numbers will back me up, and they won't be able to say no again."

She leaned back, folding her arms. "I want you to see what it's really like here. Your dad—don't give me that look—he was so sure. Sure enough to drop ten grand just getting you out of Earth's gravity. And sure enough, that you'd hate it here that he spent hundreds of thousands more to send your cargo, your arrival present, your comforts—everything—to make the comparison feel real."

She exhaled hard. "All that chocolate? I don't even know how much delta-v that took. But he paid it."

She looked straight at him. "And he's not an idiot. He didn't do that for fun. He's smart. He was investing in a narrative. He wanted to prove to you—and probably to himself—that this place wouldn't be enough."

Her voice lowered. "And I care about you. So I'm not going to let him be the only one shaping how you see this place. I don't want you making a choice you're going to regret—not because it was hard, but because it was rigged."

"So I'm going to show you what it's really like here," Marie said. "I'm going to use you mercilessly. You're going to run the gauntlet of my friends. You're going to see the environment, the base, what we actually do. And. . ." She paused, like she knew this part would sting. "I'd like you to talk to my mom. She's waiting for you in the dentistry suite."

Gordon didn't flinch. "I like the sound of all that," he said. "Especially the first part."

Marie gave him a look. Flat. Not quite amused. "Ha ha," she said. "Just don't let Ma make you cry."

She wasn't finished.

"After that," she said, "I want you to meet me at the gym. We'll show you the routines you'll be doing for hours. Every day. For the rest of your life—if you come here."

He blinked. "When—"

But she was already moving. She gave him a fond look, eyes soft with something weightier than teasing, then rose onto her toes to kiss him—open-mouthed, unhurried, and full of promise. It lingered just long enough to for his heart rate to climb, and then she sunk down and hugged his stomach, face to his chest. Warm. Gentle.

When she pulled back, her voice was quiet but firm. "Talk to Ma. I'll be back."

"You forgot something," he said, stepping adroitly out ahead of her and snagging the back of her ribcage with one hand.

She smoldered at him. "Did I?"

He scooped her up and into his arms—and pecked her right between her eyebrows. "For luck, so you don't mouth off at the admin," Gordon told her wisely.

She was grinning in full when he put her down, from her eyes to her perfect teeth. "I really have to go," she told him.

And just like that, she was gone.

–––❖–––

The first thing he noticed was the absence of signage. No maps, no arrows, no labels—just a series of brightly colored circuitry lines running along the floor like some kind of minimalist subway system. He had no idea what any of them meant. There was no lookup key in sight.

It didn't take long to flag someone down. A few questions later, he learned that the pale blue line indicated non-emergency medical, and that yes—there were signs. Just not to things. Only inside the various modular areas. Anything more would've been a waste of time and resources.

On closer inspection, he realized the lines were chevroned—small angled arrows embedded in the pattern, showing direction of flow. Each one led outward from the administrative core: the central hub that doubled as meeting space, dining hall, and community center. You could follow any line out to its destination. And just as easily, follow it back.

He understood it. Of course he did. Dewey Decimal addresses. Chevroned floor markings. The chevrons were a smart fix—he'd seen color-coded systems like this in hospitals on Earth, but they never indicated direction. You could walk the wrong way for minutes before realizing it. Someone had solved that problem already.

What annoyed him, quietly, was that Earth had solved it too—and just chosen not to implement it. Maybe it cost a fraction more paint. Maybe no one wanted to fight procurement. Here, that wouldn't fly. On Mars, you didn't waste time letting people walk backward.

It was like the place had been designed for him.

The non-emergency medical office was a breath of fresh air compared to any Earth hospital he'd ever seen. Everything was labeled—but not with names. No ego, no glossy signage announcing Dr. So-and-So, MD, PhD, FACS. Just clear descriptors: dermatology, dental imaging, general diagnostics. Function first.

It felt like someone had gone through a list of every annoyance he'd ever had with medical buildings and quietly deleted them.

Of course, professionals had built this from the ground up. People who knew better than to slap a dozen contradictory signs on a peeling wall and call it wayfinding.

He took quiet comfort in that assumption.

Each department had its own Dewey code. Each sub-department, too. And at every intersection, a brushed aluminum lookup tree with neatly slotted cards—just like the one in his hab.

He paused, frowning.

Wait a second.

Marie had mentioned that once—something about the build AI's filing system. Apparently, no matter how many custom signs the settlers tried to hang, the AI kept quietly moving things back to where they "belonged." Until, eventually, the humans gave up and just accepted its version.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the brushed metal and laminated precision.

Wow.

He really needed to figure out how to shake an AI's hand.

Dentistry → Hygiene led him to Dr. Adya Ramirez's office.

He was expected, apparently. The sign on the door—another piece of brushed aluminum foil, labeled in what looked like black sharpie—read: MEETING. CLOSED.

He tested it with a finger. The ink didn't smear.

So: not Sharpie.

He ran his tongue over his teeth. He didn't think she'd put him in the chair. But maybe she really, really hated him.

They felt like teeth.

He was procrastinating.

He knocked. The camera swiveled to look at him, and made a camera noise.

Ah, she'd watched him standing outside nervously. Good.

He opened the door and stepped inside.