The Man Who Ended the World Read Online Free PDF Page A

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    Level three is beautiful, but it is not yet Steven's favorite zone. He has never been what people regard as unhealthy, but he is comfortably overweight, shy of obese, and eschews exercise that does not contribute something to his more creative goals. 
    Still, he attempts to visit level three once every day or two. 
    He occasionally refers to it as hell.
    Stacy had offered to rename the location to Hell in her mapping system, and for a moment, Steven considered it.
    He swims for a time, understanding in theory that he should be synchronizing the motions of his arms and feet to propel himself forward more effectively, but unable to execute this theory very well. His arms bravely cut through the water. His legs drift below the surface, flailing about now and then. 
    You appear to be struggling, Stacy says. 
    Steven's face is beneath the water when she says this. Her voice hums through the water, startlingly clear. He had forgotten that he specified that she should be audible in all circumstances, from any place within the space station. 
    He realizes for the first time that this means that he will not have privacy even when he is drowning. 
    He stops swimming and stands up in the pool. The water reaches his collarbone.
    I'm not struggling, he says. 
    Your physical efforts do not match usual water exercise patterns, Stacy observes. I concluded that you were struggling.
    Well, I wasn't. Anyway, how would you know? 
    The west wall of the room is overtaken with a collection of still and moving images. Stacy flings them onto the wall quickly and irregularly. There is an image of a dog paddling in a lake. A home video of a boy swimming in a small pool. Another video shows a scuba diver chasing fish. There are dozens more, including footage from Olympic events, a clip from an old science fiction movie, Gattaca , and clips of Aquaman shooting through the ocean in old Justice League cartoons. 
    I conducted some visual research and compared my findings to your behavior, Stacy says. 
    I was swimming just like any one of those, Steven protests. 
    I analyzed your wave and wake patterns, and searched for similar behaviors as well, she responded. 
    The images of powerful swimmers shrink out of view, and Stacy flings new images into the wall. The struggling monster squid from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea . Mickey Mouse drowning in a flooding room, from Fantasia . An animation of a mammoth twisting about in a tar pit. 
    Oh, shut up, Steven says. 
    He slogs through the water to the steps, and climbs out of the pool, naked. 
    Will you be continuing your exercise regimen? Stacy asks.
    Steven rests his hands on his knees, then looks up at Stacy's glowing orb. What?
    You've completed a moderate level of aerobic activity, she says. Perhaps you would be interested in some weight training, or resistance exercises?
    You're my goddamn trainer now?
    Frequently when he snaps at her, Stacy's responses become cooler and more formulated. 
    I detect a hostile response, she says now. 
    You're goddamn right, he says, angry now. You just compared me to a drowning elephant.
    I believe the subject was a mammoth, and it was not precisely drowning.
    New rule, he shouts. Don't bother me on level three unless it looks like I'm dying. Understand? 
    I understand, Stacy says.
    Fucking good, Steven mutters. 
    In my defense, Steven, Stacy adds, I was not certain that dying was not exactly what you were doing in the swimming pool.
    Stacy, Steven says.
    Sir? 
    Fuck the fuck off, please. 
    Fucking off, sir, she says. And Stacy's light hops away, dimming as it goes. 
    He blinks at her use of profanity. 
    That was new. 
    •   •   •
    After his swim, Steven retires to his own library, recessed into the eastern wall of level four. It is encased in glass, with a single desk in the center of the room, surrounded by  dozens and dozens of banks of servers that radiate out from the center in gently curved arcs. He crosses to the desk, leaving