Writers of the Future, Volume 28 (11 page)

“What is it this time
?
”

“I represent Renkoda Pharmaceuticals,” the representative said. He
straightened his tie and flashed a smirk that turned my stomach. “We are the
world’s largest—”

“I know who you are,” I said, waving a hand. Everyone knew Renkoda.
They had their claws in a lot more than pharmaceuticals. “What do you want
?
”

“I have been authorized to extend you an exclusive offer to work for
our company.”

“Exclusive offer to work or offer to work exclusively
?
”

The man pursed his lips, pressing them together in a flat line. “The
latter,” he said.

“Let me make this easy for you,” I said. “Not interested.”

The representative seemed taken aback. Obviously, he wasn’t used to
being turned down.

“You haven’t even . . . what about the offer
?
” he said. “You haven’t heard the offer.”

Maybe I was being reckless. Why shouldn’t I work for a powerful
company like Renkoda
?
I’d already sold myself out
to the world’s so-called elite. How would this be any different
?

And yet . . . it was different. I might sell
to
the elite, but never
for
them. I did
this for Marie and no one else. It was a thin line, but one that kept me
sane.

“You’re right,” I said. “I forgot to wait for that part. How about
this
?
You write the number on a piece of paper
and I’ll take a look.”

While the representative fumbled in his briefcase for a pen, I
turned back to the keypad with a flash of insight and punched in the eight
digits. The door unlocked with a click and I briskly stepped through, swiping it
closed behind me. I left courtesy behind a long time ago.

A hand scanner awaited me in the foyer, one security measure even I
couldn’t screw up. I took the stairs to the showroom floor, expecting to find
Kensuke preparing for an auction. The room was empty, but a selection of framed
recursion doors had been brought up from the basement and propped in the
corner.

Shaped like a square donut, the room was surrounded on three walls
with tall multi-paned windows. The cube in the center of the room was for
display, four doors to a wall.

A single recursion door hung on the wall in front of me. It was a
relatively unassuming door, weatherworn wood bordered in faded brick and
overgrown ivy. Kensuke had matched it with a simple, antique-finish frame.

I pressed my hand against the picture, feeling not the smooth photo
paper, but the ancient wood of the garden door beyond. I lowered my hand to the
cold iron handle and pushed. The door creaked painfully as it swung open,
revealing the pocket world beyond. No matter how many times I opened the doors,
it always caught me a little off guard.

A mighty river curved away from the entrance, emerald- and
slate-colored mountains jutting from the waters like watchful giants. An ancient
monastery had been built into the cliffs, whitewashed walls and tiered roof of
red and gold pristine under the perpetual sun. Inside would be empty and without
the touch of dust or decay.

How could I not feel awe
?

There was something far beyond physical appearance that left me
breathless, despite myself. The pocket world provided everything. Inside you
felt no pain, no anger, no sorrow. You didn’t need to eat or sleep. It was
possible you didn’t even age. There was a reason people referred to the
multiverse as paradise.

“You are late, Jonathan-sama.”

I jerked in surprise, yanking the recursion door shut with a thud.
Kensuke stepped in beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder as I exhaled
slowly.

“Forgive me,” Kensuke said in his thick Japanese accent. He offered
a small bow. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay, Ken,” I said. “Just edgy, I guess. Another fanatic
approached me about paradise.”

Kensuke paused thoughtfully, folding his hands before him.

“It is not entirely implausible,” he said. “Do you not think so
?
”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.”

I could imagine nothing more arrogant than believing I had
discovered paradise. Never mind that I didn’t do anything, that the pictures
just happened.

“True,” Kensuke said, nodding. “Though there are some who might say
reality is nine-tenths perception.”

“What about all the paradise abusers
?
”

I’d seen plenty of lives torn apart—friends and loved ones
neglected, careers destroyed, responsibilities abandoned—all because the lure of
the multiverse far exceeded reality. I sold them paradise and they turned it
into a drug.

“Eden was lost to us for a reason,” Kensuke said. “Was it not
?
”

“So who am I to give it back
?
”

“God works in mysterious ways.”

“I wish he’d work through someone else,” I said. I nodded to the
stack of recursion doors. “When’s the auction
?
”

“This weekend. I scheduled it as soon as I learned of your return.
Our patrons are getting restless. You have been gone some time.”

How long had it been this time
?
I tried
to work the days in my head, but they just blurred together.

“How many days
?
”

“Forty-two,” Kensuke said. “Not including the two and a half you
took while sleeping.”

I blinked in surprise. Had it really been so long
?

“There are several hundred high-profile patrons on the waiting
list,” Kensuke continued.

“Let them wait. I don’t cater to spoiled trust-fund kids.”

“Apologies, Jonathan-sama,” Kensuke said, inclining his head
slightly. “But those spoiled children are the reason you are able to continue
your work.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Sometimes I truly
regretted selling the recursion doors, but exorbitant production costs and an
empty bank account had forced my hand. And in the end, the doors were my only
chance at finding Marie—I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

“I’m sorry, Kensuke-san. I know you’re right, but I don’t have to
like it. I’ll see to it first thing.”

Kensuke looked at me, deep lines of concern etched in his face. “You
will find her, my friend.”

For once, I didn’t trust myself to respond.

T
he night of the auction, I sat
in my office off the showroom floor, reluctantly awaiting the proceedings.
Kensuke had helped me load my latest photos into the swinging display and I used
a clicker to shuffle through: a false door at an Egyptian tomb, the inked blue
door from Tunisia, a pair of massive double doors from a Spanish church. I
flipped through worlds like so many photos in a catalog, sifting through endless
realms until my eyes burned and my head felt light.

Nothing.

Hundreds of photos and not one of them brought me closer to Marie.
Sighing, I leaned back and thought again about attempting another finite
recursion—photographing a door within the pocket world—but instantly dismissed
it as too dangerous.

The last time I’d tried, the pocket world had begun to shake.
Granted, the tremors were weak, but in paradise, nothing shakes. It was enough
to realize that the extended recursions affected the stability of the entire
multiverse. I was forced to burn the doors.

In retrospect, it made sense. According to the Droste effect, an
image within an image could theoretically continue forever. However, in
practical terms, it could only continue so far as the resolution allowed.

There was a knock at the door and Kensuke entered. “I am about to
open the floor,” he said.

I nodded. “I’ll be out shortly. Thanks, Ken.”

Stretching my arms overhead, I moved into the bathroom and splashed
water on my face. I took two aspirin for the headache I was soon to have and
started to close the medicine cabinet, but stopped halfway. I cocked my head,
staring at the endless reflection created between the cabinet mirror and the
vanity mirror. A thought began to form in my head, something that struck me
instantly as too risky. But I had to know.

I strode from my office, buried in thought, nearly oblivious to the
madness around me. Kensuke had hired extra security tonight and with good
reason. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder: we were packed to
capacity. This was even more impressive when you considered the bidding started
around a million dollars.

I made for the door across the room, trying to appear casual in the
hope no one would notice me. No such luck. Before I reached it, the weasel from
Renkoda intercepted me. How had he gotten in
?

“Could we talk, Mr. Ward
?
”

“Haven’t we
?
” I said. “I thought my
answer earlier was obvious.”

“It was,” the representative said. “I’ve been asked to give you
another chance.”

“Excuse me
?
”

“No contract this time. We just want to commission you for a special
project.”

I eyed him darkly. Special project
?
What he wanted was a few recursion doors off the record. Doors he wouldn’t have
to register with the government. And without government regulation, he could put
people inside to work indefinitely.

“We’re done.”

“I really think you should reconsider.”

“Is that a threat
?
”

“Of course not,” he said, with a faint smile, “merely a
suggestion.”

The representative turned to leave, but paused.

“I understand there’s legislation on the table regarding your
recursion doors,” he said. “Apparently, some members of the government don’t
believe you should be allowed to do . . . whatever it is you do.”

“They’ve been sitting on that for months. It’ll never pass.”

He shrugged. “Then I suppose you have nothing to worry about.”

I frowned, watching the representative go. Why had he been so
confident this time
?

“Are you all right
?
” Kensuke asked.

I took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Do me a favor
and keep things running up here, Ken. I need to check the basement.”

Kensuke inclined his head. “Of course.”

I took the stairs down, passing a voice recognition test to gain
access to the basement. Lucky for me, Kensuke was an organizational genius. The
entire basement had been outfitted with automated racks like a dry
cleaners—except, instead of clothes, there was row upon row of hanging recursion
doors. All I had to do was select the date the image had been captured and the
racks would shift to the appropriate position.

I found the two I was looking for and pulled them off the rack.
Taken almost a year apart on opposite sides of the world, each door was made
entirely from mirror. Almost identical in build and shape, they would reflect
each other endlessly.

I didn’t know what opening an infinite recursion like that would do,
but I had an idea—which is why it had to be a last resort.

Making a mental note to have Kensuke send the doors to my house, I
climbed the stairs back to the auction. The thought of mingling with the crowd
for the next few hours depressed me.

It was time for another trip.

T
he twin louvered doors sagged
against each other, narrow enough to be little more than exaggerated shutters.
Faded by a ruthless sun, the turquoise paint peeled, revealing black wood
beneath.

I frowned through the viewfinder at the mustard-stained walls
framing the doors. Surely Marie wouldn’t be behind something as hideous as
this
?

We’d come to Agra for the doors of the Taj Mahal, but I didn’t have
the luxury to pass up other opportunities. The doors squeaked in the wind, rusty
latch barely holding closed. Mumbling in disgust, I took the shot and we moved
on.

“What’s it like inside
?
” Irene
asked.

The question actually surprised me. Sometimes I forgot she’d never
experienced the multiverse. Maybe it was wrong of me to forbid it, but the truth
was, ever since we lost Marie, I’d been terrified of going inside. For all the
sense of immortality the pocket worlds offered, they left you surprisingly
vulnerable to outside forces. Especially fire.

“Your mother and I used to disappear inside for hours,” I said. “I
still remember the first time we crossed over: the lurch in motion as we were
pulled forward, the shifting of lines as one world gave way to another, the
overwhelming sense of peace. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Irene stared into the distance. “Peace, huh
?
Sounds nice.”

I nodded agreement, but I didn’t want peace. I wanted my wife
back.

We continued up the road, neither wanting to break the silence.
Finally, Irene stopped, pointing at another green-tinted door.

“What about that one
?
”

I looked it over carefully, then shook my head. “Nope.”

“It looks like the last door—”

“You’re just like your mother,” I said with a smile. “There doesn’t
have to be a reason for everything. Sometimes you just need faith.”

Irene rolled her eyes. Trying to explain the concept of faith to a
teenager was an unenviable task. Certain she was no longer listening, I didn’t
waste my breath. It was too hot for talking anyway.

“Can we walk the market
?
” Irene
asked.

I shuddered at the idea of pushing through the throngs of people,
but when she looked at me with those green eyes—the same as her mother’s—what
was I supposed to say
?

“Sure, why not
?
”

“Awesome! You’re the best!”

I let Irene lead, content to take the back seat for once. We pushed
through a sea of color, men and women in a mesmerizing variety of yellows, blues
and greens. She stopped at one of the stalls, examining the local jewelry.