the hills are burning
At the edge of Los Angeles, I lifted my cyberglasses and could just barely make out the hills. They were still faintly burning. Lowering my glasses, I watched as a giant dome moved slowly, snuffing out flames. The firefighter hover-rolled the dome over the burning hill. As they moved, the fire disappeared until there was just a small amount of smoke. Credits racked up on my screen, and I began the pack-up protocol. I had recently traded up professions and already earned more credits than last year.
The most successful personalities all agreed that capturing carbon is the best lifestyle choice. It consistently ranks as the surest way to mine for credits. Fighting carbon-spewing forest fires ranked as the best way, as I saw it. Every tree saved would not only stop direct carbon from escaping into the atmosphere but rescued trees would be capturing carbon long into the future. Those returns compounded much faster than most would have guessed. Looking at the hologram on my wrist console, I felt a glowing warmth as credits ticked up. The trick was to make those credits work for you; they needed to keep compounding even when not directly involved in capturing.
The hills of Los Angeles, once vibrant and full of life, were now charred and desolate. The transformation of the landscape was a stark reminder of the relentless march of climate change and humanity's impact on the planet. Standing on that hill, I felt a mix of pride and sorrow—pride for the role I played in combating the fires, and sorrow for the loss that preceded it.
The air was heavy with the scent of burnt wood and ash, mingling with the ever-present smog of the city. The sun, a hazy orb in the sky, cast long shadows across the scorched earth. Each breath I took was a reminder of the deteriorating atmosphere, a reality that many had chosen to ignore for too long.
I activated the augmented reality feature on my cyberglasses, overlaying data on the devastated landscape. Statistics on carbon capture, air quality, and environmental restoration flickered before my eyes. The numbers were encouraging, but the reality on the ground was a stark contrast to the digital projections.
As I watched the firefighters methodically extinguish the last remnants of the blaze, I couldn't help but think about the long-term implications of our efforts. Capturing carbon and fighting fires were noble pursuits, but they were reactive measures, addressing symptoms rather than the root cause. The true challenge lay in transforming our society's relationship with the environment, fostering a culture of sustainability and respect for the natural world.
the credits though
My thoughts drifted to the people I had met along the way—fellow carbon capturers, environmental activists, and ordinary citizens striving to make a difference. Each of them had their own story, their own reasons for joining the fight. Some were driven by a sense of duty, others by personal loss, and still others by the hope of a better future.
One face in particular stood out in my mind: Maria, a young woman who had lost her family home to the fires. Her determination to rebuild, not just for herself but for her community, had been a source of inspiration for many. She had thrown herself into the work of restoration with a fervor that was both admirable and heartbreaking.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the landscape, I reflected on my own journey.
The credits I earned were a means to an end, a way to secure a future in the new habitats being developed off-planet. But as I stood on that hill, surrounded by the remnants of the fires and the efforts to combat them, I questioned the value of that future. Was it worth sacrificing the connections that made us human, the bonds that tied us to each other and to the Earth?
The hum of a drone brought me back to the present. It hovered nearby, capturing footage of the firefighters' progress. The data it collected would be used to optimize future efforts, a small but significant step in the ongoing battle against environmental degradation.
The government had been clear: the sooner we could get off Earth, the better. The credit system was being revamped, incentivizing early departure for those who could afford it. But the urgency to leave raised ethical questions about our responsibility to the planet we were leaving behind. Was it enough to escape, or did we owe it to future generations to heal the Earth before we left?
As the night descended, I activated my wrist console, checking the progress of my credit accumulation. The hologram glowed softly, a constant reminder of the goal that drove me. Yet, standing on that hill, I felt a growing unease. The pursuit of credits, the race to leave Earth, and the power I had gained all seemed hollow without a deeper purpose.
