46. Chloe – Making Headlines

Catch you on the flipside.

My reports had never caused a stir before, certainly not enough to end an online argument by stint of crashing the server. In my heyday, two, maybe three viewers would message per week to garnish my stories with their expert opinions, but then this was the first time I’d ever hosted a poll.

As the votes racked up, I wondered if they’d run neck and neck or maybe tie. Perhaps they’d fall to one side for a landslide majority.

I thought about the arguments, for and against rescuing those below. The ArkRing would in danger. A single miscalculation would throw the entire structure out of balance, and while James and his foundation might have developed the antigravity tech that locked us around the world, it was primitive, a relatively new concept and untested beyond stabilizing our orbit.

The five percent of the nine billion souls we saved still ranked four hundred and fifty million in number. James was right. How could I ask that many people to sacrifice their safety? Who could expect them to jeopardize their children for a handful of survivors who couldn’t even make the cut?

So as the numbers slowed to a crawl and the time limit ran out, I bit my lip, drawing blood, and turned to my main computer for a distraction. I took the millionth screenshot of Earth that day. The sky was eerie, that strange, deep blue of glaciers, tinged by an ocean green, yet somehow they never merged into a single color. Against that sideways sky, phone towers, skyscrapers and houses all protruded from the wall of Earth. East was down, West was up, and our drones filmed the survivors straight on from what was formerly a bird’s-eye view.

I played the clip of George Travers again, informing us he was descending the longest ladder in history, and sent it to the Guinness World Records. They were still active online and I reminded them of my own death defying feat not two week prior.

As George reached the opening in the mountain, steam or smoke or ash blasted out of the cliffs around him. The Earth was spewing molten red, bleeding through innumerable fissures, wounds surrounded by the rotting carcasses of fish and crabs and more dead sea life than I had a vocabulary for. They lay cemented to the melted bedrock of the oceans themselves. Most had dried out in the sun, it’s heat encapsulated in the greenhouse effect of the ice shell.

My observations were interrupted by a link from Reece. The message brought me out of my musings and onto Roundhay, where some enterprising smartass had imposed the old eighties Mario theme over footage of the survivors. Each jump from platform to platform was accompanied by the iconic plumber’s sound effects and catchphrases. So far, less than a hundred of its six thousand views had left an even number of likes or dislikes. Whether it would be seen as funny or offensive in the coming days rested entirely on George and his pack’s survival. Maybe it was an act of optimism, but I gave it a thumbs up.

Another ping opened to a direct message. Reece’s sweaty face filled the screen.

“We reassembled thirty choppers across the Ring,” he said. “All hands are focusing on checking and maintenance, and then double checking again. Call me paranoid, but there’s something about flying in a kit helicopter that just doesn’t sit right with me.”

“You already assembled them?” I said, failing to hide my incredulity. “We haven’t even reached the end of voting yet.”

Reece raised his eyebrows. “Have you looked at the way the votes are swinging?”

And I did just that. Of the four hundred and fifty million geniuses in the ArkRing, only fifty-four so far had enough sense to go against what I wanted.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said, “almost half the Ring still hasn’t cast theirs yet.”

Reece shot me his wry smile and sent me a screenshot. “Have you seen how many viewers you have on your drone feed?”

I looked it up. “Whoa. That’s a lot of customers.”

“All those guys voted to go for it. Now they’re watching through your eyes. They wanna see your friends pass into the safe zone.”

“I parked at the entrance of the tram line. They all must think I’m in the train tunnel.”

“Oh. You should tell them.”

“Hell, no! You wanna be the guy that says hey, for a master race of geniuses, y’all so stupid, you’re watching the wrong channel?”

“Yup. Hang on. There we go. I let them know, so now they all feel as stupid as they look. That means I officially look smarter than all of them. I’m the smartest man alive now. Tell me that’s not an impressive credential.”

“It’s not the size of you credentials that impress me.”

He smirked and closed the window, and I returned to my keyboard. Thirty minutes of tapping later, a third ping interrupted my work.

“This is the last call I’m taking,” I said. “After this, notifications are off.”

“Then I’m glad I caught you,” James said.

“Well, well, James Kinsley himself. And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I think you’ll he happy to hear voting just closed. The engineers are going to lower the orbital elevators.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I assure you, Chloe, I am not ‘shitting’ you. I called to tell you we deem you competent to manage your endeavor. I hope your people get to where they need to in time.”

“You’re alright, James. Keep your fingers crossed.”

“We’re risking everything we worked for to save a handful of people. I’m not leaving our success to crossed fingers or clasped hands or luck.”

“Relax. It’s just a phrase. You heard of phrases before, right?”

“You’ve heard of precision engineering. Tell your not-boyfriend his helicopter will fly just fine.”

“I’ll call him when he’s strapped in. Let the worry stew for a bit.”

James tutted me. “You’ll do it now, Chloe. In person. This was your idea, remember? So you’re covering the story.”

I gave him a blank blink. “Go back to Earth? Ain’t that kinda dangerous?”

He clipped off without answering and left me to reflect on my cowardice. Why had I said that?

Well, it was dangerous, obviously.

I slid into a pair of jeans and a smart top, and joined Reece in the hanger. He wasn’t done with his fortieth double check, so I waited inside the chopper. It was a Chinook, a two rotor carrier with a wide body, if memory served. For all its weight and bulk, it could fly with the grace of a hummingbird. Reece found me pacing inside, holding on to the overhead safety railing.

“Hey,” he said, “you alright? You look like you wanna hurl.”

“I’m coming with you,” I said. “Got orders to record everything. Is this really gonna fly?”

Reece banged on the walls. “Relax. We’ll be there and back again in an hour from the get-go.”

He held out a hand. I took it.

“I never thanked you for saving my life,” I said.

“No, you were actually a pain in the ass about it.”

“Sorry, force of habit. I just really don’t like owing anyone anything.”

Reece let go of my hand and floated to the pilot’s seat. “Look, Chloe, I like you, but I don’t wanna feel like you’re seeing me because you feel you have to. I hoped you liked me because of my winning personality.”

“Actually, it’s the way your arms stretch every top you wear to bursting point, but your personality’s not that bad.”

“Well yours is a mess. So, Chloe Heralds, it’s time to choose. Who do you want to be?”

He swiveled the adjacent seat around and pointed to it with one hand. His other hand pointed to the door.

I squeezed the railings and shut my eyes. “I built my career reporting on other people. Maybe it’s about time I did something for them. Make headlines instead of making headlines.”

I felt Reece’s hand on my shoulder, as warm to the touch as his eyes were when I reopened mine.

“Alright, then,” he said, grinning his trademark Cheshire grin. “Let’s go save your friends.”