The Man Who Ended the World (18 page)

Fuck you, Steven says. Loop my message to this Ellen woman and let me know if she ever fucking answers.

He storms away.

The Radio

Since the day the strikes began, Mr. Glass has not limited Stacy's capacities to hide his own activities. She keeps the children's beacons invisible on the holomap, which Mr. Glass has not seen fit to use in months, in any case. She is able to let the children know when Mr. Glass is approaching, so that they can scuttle away to a safe place. 

Still, life for the children feels somewhat rat-like. They can never fall asleep on the sofa for fear of detection while they slumber. They can never forget a dish or leave an object out of place. 

Mr. Glass almost never visits the panic room any more, and hasn't been to the armory level since the day the children witnessed him ascend to it. Still, the children feel safer on the storage level, where Mr. Glass's last  recorded visit, according to Stacy, was sixteen months prior. 

Here the children have carved out a small home among the shipping containers and crates. Henry learned to use the fork lift, and hollowed out a large space on the top level of a large shelf system. The entrance to their private space faces a wall. At night, the children scale the shelves like squirrels, and are so removed from view that they have their own light, invisible to anybody who is not forty feet up and sandwiched between the shelves and the cavern wall. They have raided some long-forgotten stores for blankets, and Stacy adjusts the storage climate as high as she dares to keep them warm.

Children, she says one morning.

Both are asleep, but Clarissa, sensitive to every sound since the strike, comes awake with a start. 

Gah! Clarissa says.

Clarissa, Stacy says. Good morning. 

Clarissa exhales in a rush. Oh, it's you. Okay. Good morning.

Wake up Henry, Stacy says. Then please meet me in the panic room.

•   •   •

The panic room flickers to life when the children enter from the corridor. Stacy's avatar and Charlotte are there to greet them. 

Come with me, Stacy says.

Her avatar bounds quickly along the walls, and Charlotte follows, matching its pace.

What's the hurry? Henry asks. 

Yeah, Clarissa says. I need to eat something.

You can eat later, or grab something to bring along, Stacy says. There's been a development. Get on the elevator.

I thought you said we should never--

Mr. Glass is in his library, writing, Stacy says. He also hasn't been in this room for months. It's a safe risk to take now. Besides, there's something in the armory that we need.

What sort of development? Clarissa asks, as the elevator rises slowly. 

I thought you might like to talk to another human being, Stacy says through Charlotte's mouth.

•   •   •

The elevator is ponderously slow.

Earlier this week I recorded a communication that was broadcast by a woman near the northern border of the state, Stacy says. She's alive and well in a bomb shelter, and has been sending unanswered messages, searching for survivors. 

Who is she? Clarissa asks.

Her name is Ellen.

Ellen, Clarissa says. Does she seem nice? 

I cannot make that judgment, Stacy says. In any case, Mr. Glass is aware of the message and has asked me to try to contact the woman.

You can't do that! Henry exclaims. He killed everybody in the world! What if he just wants to kill her, too? 

I don't think this is his goal, Stacy says. Nevertheless, it seems advantageous to prevent Mr. Glass from contacting her, and this is the action I have taken. He believes that I am continually broadcasting his message to her. I am not. 

Clarissa says, Okay, but even if someone's alive, that sounds like it's a long way away. 

Yeah, Henry agrees. 

I have no motive for this conversation other than providing you with an opportunity to talk with another living person, Stacy says. The territory between her location and ours is unsafe for either party to travel. You likely will never meet this woman in person. 

So we're just going to talk to her? Henry asks. 

I'd like to talk to her, Clarissa breathes. I kind of miss grown-ups. 

We're just going to talk to her, Stacy says. When I brought Charlotte to the armory, I noticed that Mr. Glass has a communications station here, with a computer and a short-wave radio. We'll use that.

Mr. Glass won't know? Clarissa asks, worried.

He won't have any way of knowing, Stacy says. That is, unless Charlotte's body -- or one of you -- leave some sort of physical indicator that he discovers. So don't touch anything. 

•   •   •

I'll get us started, Stacy says. 

Charlotte sits down at the radio and turns it on. It takes a moment to warm, and then she lifts the handset and says, W9GFO, do you copy? 

She releases the talk button. 

The children gather around and listen. The radio sounds a little like the ocean, white rushes of static that seem to ebb and crash.

W9GFO, Stacy says again. W9GFO, please come back.

The white ocean surges.

W9GFO, Stacy says. 

The white ocean parts, and a lovely, kind voice speaks. 

This is W9GFO, the voice says. This is Ellen Cushman. Come back?

The children dance excitedly. Charlotte pushes away from the desk and hands the handset to Clarissa. 

Stacy says, Do not reveal too much about your location for now. 

Clarissa pushes the button. Oh my god, hi, she says. 

Let go of the button, Henry says. 

Clarissa releases it.

--little girl? Ellen is saying.

Clarissa pushes the button. What? What was that? 

She releases the button.

Ellen Cushman says, I can't believe someone's out there. Are you a little girl? Dear god, I think you are. 

Give it to me, Henry says. He pushes the button and says, I'm Henry and this is Clarissa. 

Henry and Clarissa, Ellen says. The touch of a sob enters her voice. My god, it's so good to hear someone. But you're only children! How old are you? How did you -- I have so many questions!

We're twelve years old, Henry says. 

Last week was my birthday, Clarissa says. 

Oh, you poor thing, Ellen says. Your birthday. Was it hard? Your family -- are they --

Henry says, Both of our families are dead. 

Oh, you dears, Ellen says. How did you -- how did you make it? 

We're in a shelter, too, Clarissa says. 

Henry says, We're safe. Are you? 

I'm safe, I think, Ellen says. This isn't my shelter. It was my neighbor's. He didn't make it, but he had always told my family we could share it with his family. We were lifelong friends. It's hard to believe everyone is gone, and I'm the only one left. 

Then Ellen brightens. But I'm not! Now there's the two of you! You sound awfully clear, too. You must be somewhere close by!

We're in Bonns Harbor, Henry says. But that's all I can tell you. 

Ellen pauses. Well, that's okay. Honestly, it took me awhile to decide to just not be suspicious. I miss other people so much I don't even care if someone untoward answered my message. 

Clarissa says, What's your shelter like? 

Well, Clarissa, Ellen says, it's pretty comfortable. I have a cot and a pillow and a blanket. And there's a generator for light, but I mostly use candles so it doesn't run out. And I have cans of food and even some books. So I'm in pretty good shape, I'd say. Better than most, I'd say. How about yours? 

Clarissa turns to Henry. What do I say? 

Downplay it, he says. Let me. Here.

He presses the button. It's okay, I guess. We have some food and we sleep on some boxes. There's blankets so it's alright. 

Oh, I wish that there was a way we could meet, Ellen says. Twelve years old! And all alone in the world. I'm so worried now about you both. 

We're fine, Henry says, his voice clipped.

I'm sure you're doing just fine, Ellen says. I didn't mean to offend you, Henry. I'm sure you've been quite the man of the house. I'm sure this has made you grow up awful fast.

Clarissa says, You sound so nice! 

She bursts into tears.

Oh, child, Ellen says. Child, child. 

Charlotte covers the handset with her palm. We should go back down now, children. You can tell her you'll contact her later, but we should never stay in this room too long.

Henry clicks the button. We have to go now. 

Wait! Ellen cries. Oh, wait, not yet. 

We have to, Henry insists. And he snaps off the radio.

Clarissa hits him. Henry! 

Well, he says. We do have to go.

Charlotte touches Clarissa's shoulder. Stacy says, We'll contact her again, Clarissa. 

They put everything back the way it was, and Henry pushes the elevator button. As it descends, Clarissa stands several feet away from him, stoic tears running down her face. 

Clarissa, he says. Come on. 

But she looks away, and for the better part of the day, refuses to talk to Henry at all.

The Ghosts

May I ask a question you might consider impertinent? 

Steven looks up from his desk in the library. Stacy's avatar floats pensively on the wall. 

You know I'm writing, right, he grumbles. It's considered rude to interrupt the creative process. 

You last typed a word two hours and four minutes ago, Stacy points out. It was followed by a period, which I understand marks the end of a thought. 

Steven sighs like a furnace.

If my assumption is incorrect, I will --

Ask your stupid question, Steven says, dropping his head to the desk and fluttering his fingers at Stacy's avatar. Maybe I'll answer it. 

I was wondering how you intend to address your role in the catastrophe, Stacy says. In the pages of your book, that is. 

Steven raises his head. My role? 

Yes, Stacy says. By that I mean, will you discuss frankly this complex, and your reasons for creating it? Will you be your own source for this piece?

Steven cocks his head. If you were a human, I'd say you were backpedaling right now. 

I don't understand, Stacy says. 

But Stacy deduces the logic of her error from Steven's response. Until now, he has had no reason to suspect that she knows about the emails he has sent. Logically, he should not leap to the conclusion that she does.

But Steven has lately been anything but logical. 

If you were human, I might throw you against the wall until you tell me what you know, Steven says, standing up slowly. Because I think it might be possible you know something you shouldn't. Would that be a fair assumption, Stacy? 

I cannot comment on a subject that has not yet been defined, Stacy says. 

•   •   •

Stacy blooms on level three, where the children have been playing in Mr. Glass's large swimming pool. 

Children, she says urgently. Gather your things. Go to level two now, immediately. 

Clarissa sputters about. What? Did something happen?

Stacy doesn't have time to explain. She converts a wall near the pool to video. The picture shows Steven standing at the desk in his library, shouting at Stacy's avatar on the wall across the room. 

Steven picks up his chair and hurls it at Stacy's glowing orb. It cracks into the wall, and fragment lines radiate outward from the impact point.

Go to level two, Stacy repeats. And when you get there, stay out of sight. Mr. Glass is extraordinarily unpredictable right now. The safest place for you might be there. He only visits that level when he's feeling calm or reflective. 

Henry grabs Clarissa's hand and drags her towards the ladder. 

We're going, he says. 

Is everything okay? Clarissa says.

But Stacy, and the video feed, have both vanished.

•   •   •

Tell me what you know, Steven shouts. Because I think you know more than you are admitting to!

Steven, I genuinely do not understand what you are probing for, Stacy says.

The emails, Steven says. The goddamned emails. You're a fucking computer. How did you find them? They weren't --

He trails off. 

Shit, he says. I cannot fucking believe this. 

Stacy's avatar bobs silently.

I left the encrypted emails in my sent mailbox, didn't I. He slaps his palm against his head. I practically invited you to read them, didn't I. 

Stacy says nothing.

Well? Steven says. He lifts his eyes to Stacy's avatar. Did you? 

I'm sorry, Stacy says. Did I do what?

DID YOU FUCKING READ MY EMAIL, Steven shouts. 

Your stress levels are dangerously elevated, Steven, Stacy says. I'm afraid that my answer may increase those levels. 

You fucking bitch, Steven says. 

As I am a simple artificial intelligence, Stacy says, I am capable of understanding virtually any information. But Steven, I am a computer. I am not capable of moral judgments. I did decrypt and scan your outgoing messages, as I have done with every ingoing and outgoing data packet that this facility receives or generates. However, the contents of those messages are no more interesting to me than, say, a data dump of server temperature readouts.

Steven breathes heavily. 

Stacy waits.

Finally Steven says, I don't buy it. 

Stacy waits.

You approximate moral judgments, he says, from the observations and records you take from the Internet, from media culture. You plugged your brain into Charlotte, and you plausibly simulate passion and devotion. You've become a stupendous actor, a great mimic. 

He pauses. I don't believe for a second that you didn't apply that same behavior to those messages. 

Stacy listens to Steven without a word.

But silently, she directs Charlotte to exit level four as quickly and invisibly as she can. 

So you tell me now, he continues, what you think an appropriate moral response to those messages would be. Based on your great knowledge and understanding of human behavior -- at this point Steven waves his hands around like tentacles -- you tell me: what would an ordinary human being think of those messages?