truth

Information flowed through his fingers. It felt like a freshwater stream on a summer's day.

Being the editor of a news corporation had changed with the advent of Arachnida, and Jeffery Steingart, Editor of Apollo News, liked it. He tugged on a stream of blue, its red band marking it as the news picked up by routine. More reports of the warfare in the Congo. The slight smile never left his face as death tolls, words of arrogance and images of fire and weeping men and women scrolled past, bathing him soft light. He tugged, the data coming free in an azure wisp. A flick of the hand sent it off to be compiled into something the public would swallow, made into News.

What else? He needed something political. Russia's insistence calls for mech technology to be banned would do. He yanked the stream free, then frowned at a few images of rusting giants in aircraft hangers. Too "parts" story. He made a scissoring motion with one hand, and the photos were hurled into oblivion. The now shorter string of news followed its predecessor.

Something closer to home. His hands blurred, grabbing reports of delayed reforms, angry Republicans, dire warnings from economic experts and the paranoid ravings of talk-show hosts. Some he tagged with a yellow band, wrapped around the floating strings of fact. These would be edited down by his juniors. Others he had to cut himself, or rejected outright - nobody cared about the private life of a no-name senator. He felt no irritation doing it, just mechanical satisfaction.

The News blurred past. A pop singer had OD'd on a new drug. Everyone had seen it coming, but she had shown some talent. He reached out and snagged a cute story about some ducklings, hurling it wholesale into the pile. A handful out outraged reports on the latest teenage trends were carefully trimmed down. A small ball of stories from trainee reporters hovered close to his head in a tangle to be looked at more closely.

"Having fun, I see!"

Jeff's faint smile didn't change. Aimee was allowed into his office to bring him his morning coffee. He looked around and realised that the mechanical harness of the Arachnida system had lifted him into his usual spot - almost brushing the high ceiling of his office, facing the floor. He managed to twist his head to look at his secretary.

"I'm not," He said, his voice a smoother, higher counterpoint to Aimee's reserved tones. "News is important."

"Uh-huh." The coffee mug clicked on a desk devoid of papers or identifying features. "And you decided to fly up onto the ceiling because..."

"It's more comfortable for me! Besides, I always wanted to be Superman when I was a kid."

Aimee managed a brief chuckle. Jeff was thinking about booking a restaurant and seeing if she would do more than just tolerate him. He liked the way she was no-nonsense about work but more than relaxed outside of the offices, and how she tied her hair back.

"Anything from the new kid?" She turned up to him. Her eyes were hazel, but in the light of the News, they looked like a clear sky.

"It'll be in the ball. How's he doing?"

"Doing fine. Spending a bit too much time with the girl in sports."

"Who, Emily? Huh. Give him a tap on the shoulder then."

"Will do, boss."