The Man Who Ended the World Read Online Free PDF

wet footprints behind on each pale floor panel. Stacy patiently flips each floor panel behind him, replacing it with its dry underside. 
    Stacy, he says. Show me today.
    The desk's surface flickers to life, and images begin to flit across it. There are video segments displaying the day's news -- the Iranian rebellion, the final game of the World Cup, the little girl in Manitoba who donated her own savings to the hospital caring for her little brother. Thousands of written texts pass by. Critical reviews of new technology. Reports of political gains and roadblocks. 
    Archive it, he says. 
    The desk's surface changes to reveal a simple file structure. A data stream pours into a container labeled 2023. 
    Archived, Stacy says. 
    Let's go play some games, Steven says. 
    Would you like to dress first? 
    Steven looks down, then at Stacy's orb overhead. 
    Does my penis bother you? he asks.
    Your penis is fine, Stacy answers.
    Then let's play some games.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    The Secret Hideout
     
    He was on the news again last night, Henry whispers. 
    I still don't understand why he's famous, Clarissa says softly.
    That's because you don't use Nucleus.
    I don't have a computer.
    I know. But everybody uses Nucleus. 
    I don't.
    Dummy, Henry says. I just said I know. 
    Don't call me dummy, dummy, Clarissa whispers. 
    My dad says when he was a kid they used a thing called Facebook, Henry says. He says it was sort of like the ancestor of Nucleus. Except you couldn't sightlink or touchlink. You had to send these messages asking someone if they would be your friend. 
    I don't know what we're talking about any more, Clarissa says.
    Forget it. 
    No, Clarissa pleads. Teach me!
    What's the point? You have to see these things to understand them. 
    Clarissa is on the verge of tears. I want to go home. 
    You don't have a home, Henry says.
    She begins to weep. Henry looks startled, then resentful, then helpless. Clarissa turns and crouch-runs away from the junkyard fence. 
    Wait, Henry says. He turns and runs after her. 
    Go away, she says.
    Wait, no. I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. 
    No, you aren't. 
    I am, I really am. I didn't mean it.
    She sniffs. Then why did you say it? You're my only friend.
    Henry shrugs. I don't know. I don't know why.
    If you don't know why, then why did you? It doesn't make sense. 
    I don't know. He shrugs again. I'm... I'm an eleven-year-old boy. 
    That doesn't explain anything. I'm going ho-- 
    She begins to cry again. 
    I know. But it's okay. It's okay. 
    He touches her hair tentatively, and she looks up at him, surprised. 
    Why did you do that? 
    Shrugging is becoming his only means of communication. I was trying to, I don't know. Maybe make you feel better.
    She stares at him, then smiles. Her cheeks push up into her eyes, and tears spill over them. 
    She throws her arms around him. He is startled, and then puts his arms around her, too. Her grip grows tighter. 
    Into his shoulder she says, I wish I could go home. 
    Henry doesn't know what to say. 
    •   •   •
    Clarissa allows Henry to coax her back to the junkyard fence. He promises her that, if the mysterious billionaire emerges, it will be a sight to see. She imagines smoke and fireworks and glamour, but knows that won't be the case. She can imagine a man climbing out of the trunk of a Chevrolet.
    What's more interesting to her is why he went into it. 
    This is something that Henry seems not to have considered. Men don't simply disappear into cars for the spectacle of it. Henry is caught up in the excitement of having witnessed something unusual, but hasn't slowed down long enough to wonder why that moment occurred. 
    Clarissa is certain that the man is not simply sleeping in the trunk. Rich men have better places to sleep, even if they're trying very hard to get away from other people.
    Henry, she whispers.
    Henry has one eye pressed to a knothole in the wooden fence. 
    What, he says.
    Why do you think he went into the