The Man Who Ended the World (12 page)

I packed a few things. 

Why? she asks.

Uh, he says, looking furtively at Clarissa. Should I say? 

You won't need the bag yet, or even at all, Stacy says. 

Wait, you said I could --

Stacy shushes him. Nothing has changed. You just won't require a bag. 

Clarissa looks back and forth between Henry and the old Toyota nervously. What's going on here? she asks.

Stacy says, If you'll come with me, I can show you. 

The trunk of the Corsica opens gently. 

I'm not sure, Clarissa says.

It's okay, Henry says. Really. I promise. You can trust me.

Clarissa studies Henry's face for a moment, then nods. Okay. Nobody's going to eat me or anything, right? There aren't bears down there or something, right? 

Stacy says, No bears. 

Alright, Clarissa says. 

She steps toward the car, and Henry follows. 

Just Clarissa this time, Stacy says. 

But I -- 

It's better if she sees things through her own eyes, Henry.

Clarissa stops. If Henry's not coming, neither am I. 

Yeah, Henry says.

There's a long pause. 

Henry, Stacy finally says. Were there any packages?

Henry shakes his head. No. No packages. 

Okay, Stacy says. You both better come on, then.

•   •   •

When they step off of the ladder, Henry barrels ahead towards the service elevator, but the door remains closed and almost invisible. Instead, a door behind him slides open, revealing the lovely interior of Steven Glass's personal elevator.

Clarissa says, What is that?

It's just an elevator, Stacy says. 

Hey, Henry says. How come I had to ride in the service elevator if that one's okay for her to ride in? That one's way cooler. 

Stacy says, This is why I thought it best to tour Clarissa alone. You each have very different interests, and I'd like to show you the best parts of the space station for each of you. 

Wait, Henry says. Space? 

I apologize, Stacy says. This complex is not actually a space station per se. Space station is the nomenclature that Mr. Glass prefers. 

Mr. Glass? Clarissa asks. Who is Mr. Glass? 

Steven Glass, Henry says. The missing rich man. Remember?

He's here? This is his... house? 

Sort of, Stacy says. Step aboard, please. All questions will be answered, children.

•   •   •

Sit, Stacy says. 

Clarissa sits down in the chair. Henry remains standing.

Henry, would you like a drink? Stacy asks. 

He looks around the room at the light walls, the leather benches, the hardwood floor. From where? 

The panel behind him slides silently open to reveal the elevator's temporary living quarters and micro-kitchen. 

Look again, Stacy suggests.

Henry turns around again and jumps. Where did that room come from? Man, you should have taken me on this elevator the first time! I'm more impressed than I was then!

Clarissa, Stacy says, ignoring Henry. We'll be descending for a short time. There's something I'd like to show you in the meantime. 

Okay, Clarissa says, settling into the chair.

The light wall is overtaken with video. The picture is of a beach on a cool gray day. Waves slap against the sand. Wind ruffles the sawgrass. An old fence stretches up the beach as far as Clarissa can see. In the distance, birds flap around a grove of trees. It's getting foggy, and the sound of the surf is pleasant.

Have you ever been here? Stacy asks. 

I've never been to a beach ever, Clarissa says. Where is it? 

It's called Rama, Stacy says. I think you're going to like it. 

Henry says, Big deal. Beaches are boring. You gotta show her the cool stuff, like the holograms and that spacey tunnel thing. 

Patience, Henry, says Stacy. Clarissa may want to see different things. And since you get to see them, too, maybe it's okay that you each have a different experience here. 

You said that the rich guy lives here, Clarissa interrupts. Why would he do that? I mean, seriously. Why would a guy with that much money live underneath a junkyard in our stupid little town? It doesn't make sense. 

Hey, she's right, Henry says. I didn't even think about that. 

Henry, you already know why he's here, Stacy answers. Don't you think this is an optimal location for that sort of thing? 

Oh, Henry says. Well, I guess you're right.

You're not telling me something, Clarissa says. 

All in time, my dear, Stacy says.

It's really creepy when you talk that way. You can't say things like that to kids. We've seen
The Wizard of Oz
. We know when bad guys are trying to seem like good guys.

A fair point, Stacy says. My apologies. There are things that you don't yet know, but I promise you that before we're done, you'll know them. And you'll have some decisions to make then. About your future. About all future, really.

See what I mean? Clarissa says. You're creepy!

She's not creepy, Henry says. She's just different.

It's okay, Henry, Stacy says. Let me try to explain.

The Box

There's something not quite right about Steven these days. Stacy has been observing him more carefully, treading more softly around him. He is sluggish in the mornings, stays up all night long, takes no pleasure in his video games. He has stopped drinking the juice that Stacy makes for him, and is instead abusing his supply of energy drinks. He'll watch the news lethargically, then erupt at some development or another. When something horrible happens, he cheers, and then mopes about for hours, grumbling about the insignificance of the event.

He doesn't wear any clothes at all now. He hasn't shaved in days. He hasn't visited level two in ages. Stacy continues to cycle the water in the pools, but Steven probably wouldn't even notice if she allowed a film to settle across the surface. 

Before Steven disappeared into the bowels of the Earth, he planned dinner with each person he thought he might miss. Dinners were not an unusual way for him to interact with his acquaintances -- for none of them were truly friends. He liked the finite nature of a meal. You eat, you drink, you manage a little talk, you're done. He thought it was the decent thing to do, spending time with these people before he went away and waited for them all to die. 

But the meals were uncomfortable to him, so he cancelled the dinners after the third one. He couldn't help but stare at the people who sat across from him, studying their faces, wondering what expressions they might wear when the end came. He felt an obligation to warn them, and yet doing so would undermine his great plan.

It isn't that he actively wants people to die.

It's as if the story of humanity is an enormous novel, and he's somewhere in the slow middle passage. All he wants to do is skip to the end to see what happens. He's not sure he can bear to flicker in and out of existence without seeing the endgame. He must know. 

It is all he can think about anymore.

•   •   •

Stacy reads Steven's communications. There aren't supposed to be any, other than his contact with people who know he is living underground -- people like Tomas the architect, or various other contractors who have signed secrecy agreements. But lately Steven's sending out little message flares to the outside world, and Stacy has been flagging the ones that concern her most. 

One in particular changes everything. It's deeply encrypted, and she runs a complex decryption process for nearly fourteen hours before the contents unearth themselves.

The message is comprised of video and audio. The video is of Steven himself, sitting on the hood of a vehicle that Stacy does not recognize. Steven is clothed in an ordinary T-shirt and blue jeans. And combat boots. Stacy has never seen him wearing combat boots. 

In the video message, Steven is speaking to an unknown recipient. 

I support your cause, he is saying, and while I cannot publicly do so, I can certainly assist you in ways that I think you may find useful. 

Steven lifts a remote that he is holding in one hand and presses a button. The video zooms outward to reveal more of the room that Steven is filming in. The hood of the vehicle resolves into what appears to be a heavily armored assault wagon. There are weapons mounted in various places. One appears to be a rocket-propelled grenade launcher.

Stacy does not recognize this vehicle.

It is parked in front of large wall. Along the wall are many weapons racks, and Stacy scans these and detects assault rifles, rocket launchers, long-range rifles, a variety of handguns, and even a crossbow. Stacked ten deep atop the racks are hundreds of boxes of ammunition. 

At the corner of the image is a hint of another vehicle.

Stacy recognizes what appear to be tank treads.

Steven goes on. 

As you can see, I have a personal investment in the use of force to achieve a goal, he is saying. I am an open book, and my resources are deep. I'd like to discuss how I can help. 

The video ends. 

Stacy analyzes the video file and detects that it was recorded on a handheld device just fifty-two hours earlier.

Several things register concern deep in Stacy's server core. 

She has never seen the clothing Steven was wearing.

She has never seen the vehicles or weapons that surrounded him.

She did not detect Steven's absence at the time the video was made.

But she did recognize the wall that was behind Steven. 

It's made of the same light panels as every other wall in the space station.

Stacy considers a number of possibilities, and settles on a reasonable conclusion.

Steven has ways to avoid her ever-present detection.

And Steven has a secret room somewhere in this complex.

The message concerns her. It appears that time may be running out. 

•   •   •

One afternoon, while Steven is passed out on the floor next to his bed, several hard lemonade bottles scattered around him, Stacy smuggles Henry and Clarissa into the space station. She gives them access to the supply entrance, which is disguised as a compactor machine in the corner of the junkyard. 

Henry and Clarissa come bearing gifts. Nineteen packages have arrived inexplicably at the junkyard, and Henry has dutifully hidden them inside the gate each time, hoping that nobody else has noticed that the scrap metal is apparently shopping online these days. 

Most of the packages are large and from various department stores. Stacy explains that they contain various supplies that the children will need very soon. Clothing, shoes and the like. There will be more packages arriving, she explains. After all, they are still growing, and eventually the clothes they wear now will no longer fit. 

And the one thing the space station does not have is a fashion warehouse. 

One box, however, is very large and is discreetly marked. Stacy refuses to tell the children what is inside, but Henry correctly points out that Stacy is not capable of opening a box herself. 

The supply entrance serves as an alternate elevator, though it only descends as low as the main foyer. From there, the children haul the boxes into the service elevator, and Stacy takes them to the storage level. 

As Steven sleeps, she guides them to the panic room, and they store the clothing in a hidden panel that Stacy is quite certain Steven has forgotten exists. When they're finished, Henry and Clarissa return to the cave-like storage level.

Now, Stacy says to them, I require your assistance with the large box.

Upon opening the box, Henry exclaims, Awesome! and Clarissa's reaction is decidedly less enthusiastic. 

What's it for? she asks. 

Stacy tells her that one day she'll understand, but that for now, she probably shouldn't ask any questions. 

Now, she says. I need you to help me set this up. 

•   •   •

The hand on Steven's shoulder is gentle.

He groans and coughs and says, Fuck off.

But the hand is patient, and begins to lightly rub his back. It's a nice sensation. The hand is smooth and cool on his skin. 

He exhales.

This feels pleasant. 

He hasn't been touched in a very long time. 

His eyes snap open. Through the brickfog of his hangover his brain is shouting at him. 

Who the hell is touching him? 

He comes awake like a giant, pushing off of the ground with more force than he thinks. He is propelled to his feet and overcorrects, and backs into the wall. He kicks over a bottle, which skitters into another bottle, and both of them bump into a third. The last bottle turns on a spindle, spilling the remains of the hard lemonade on his bedroom floor.

His hands go to his eyes and he presses the palms into his face, hard. Squeezes his eyes shut, forces them open, then squeezes them shut again. 

Shakes his head to clear the fog. 

What the fuck -- he starts to say.

But the woman kneeling next to his bed just looks up at him and smiles. 

What, he says. 

The Roommates

Clarissa's tour of the space station had been spectacular. Henry had forgotten to be jealous of her special treatment once he saw level three. Stunned at first, the children were soon running on the beach and in the surf, and even building little castles for the waves to destroy. 

Stacy, watching, had drawn her own private analogies between their sand castles and Steven's master plan. 

There are three primary levels in the space station, Stacy had explained to the children as they stretched out beneath a tree. The bottommost level is highly off-limits. That's Mr. Glass's personal quarters, and while he doesn't limit his activities to that zone, he spends most of his time there. 

The next highest level is a very large fitness facility, she went on. You're also not permitted there. Mr. Glass uses that level erratically, and his movements are less predictable in this regard. I cannot always forecast when he will feel the urge to enjoy some exercise.