Behind the Kaleidoscoped Door Read online

  But he wasn’t stupid.

  “Did you relive it?” Izaac asked, staring at the door.

  The slaver let out a sigh, his great chest rising and falling beneath the folds of his frockcoat. “Not yet. I haven’t been back here since I had the memory stored. I wanted to savor the moments before. It would make the reliving that much sweeter.”

  Again Izaac let go of his weapon. He saw the subtle shift in the slaver’s face: a relaxing of the harsh creases around the lips. This man was no threat. Somehow, someway a year of running had been enough for the man to find some kind of peace.

  The slaver understood that a reprieve had been granted. Izaac wasn’t ready to go. He knew how important it was to Nabaldian because he knew how important his own saved moment was to him. Thinking he had some new understanding of this man gave Izaac a measure of comfort and a belief that he was still in control.

  The slaver stood up from the table—it was good for him that he’d reacted in that moment—the monstrous frame blocking Izaac’s view of the Hall’s kaleidoscoped door.

  Izaac wasn’t sure how long the impulse to give the man another day of life would survive. Maybe it wasn’t an impulse but just plain stupidity.

  The slaver placed a credit chip on the table. “When you do it, make sure I don’t see it coming. One last surprise from life.”

  Izaac watched as the man turned and walked away. The million reflections of light that were the door into the Hall melted away for an instant as Ibor Nabaldian, the slaver, the man sometimes called Greentooth, walked away. The door reappeared and Izaac was left staring at the dancing colors.

  He felt relief: from the hazel eyes and the question that lingered within.

  A pang of shame welled up deep inside him. It overcame him, manifesting physically, an angry pain clutching his stomach. Is not knowing what my answer would be, an answer itself? Why can’t I just know? Just flip a switch, one way or the other, so it’s a certain thing. A thing I’ll know was the right choice, a thing I know I can love.

  The memory of the man that had been seated opposite him came to Izaac then, and he thought that, perhaps, Nabaldian had found such a thing. How else to explain his calm acceptance?

  Izaac had believed that men who lived cruel lives, like the slaver and Verzatz, had to have an overwhelming, obsessive, selfish need for self-preservation—so how had the man suddenly shed it?

  Or was Izaac completely wrong? Was it just a ploy to lure him into whatever trap Verzatz had planned?

  And then, as the shame continued to tear at his stomach, the frozen memory called again. Watching the slaver walk through the door of a thousand lights had only increased his own need to remember.

  The kaleidoscoped door hummed and buzzed, beckoning to him. Maybe he could find his own sense of peace beyond that threshold of a thousand lights.

  Chapter Two—In a White Embrace

  It was early when Izaac woke, his head hammering, sounds leaking in from the outside world, distracting him enough, so he could not find sleep. His stomach roiled as he got up from bed, and he lurched up against the wall. Am I drunk? He’d had one drink, after a few hours of sleepless tossing and turning.

  Verzatz had not come for him. The seeker was on guard, hidden in a crevice of the hallway ceiling outside his door.

  As Izaac had lain there, with sleep refusing to come, it—the memory left behind—had called to him. At first his mind had been buzzing: there was the need to find Verzatz before Verzatz found him, and at some point he would have to kill Nabaldian. But slowly the memory of the memory had slipped into his mind, growing and growing until he could think of nothing else.

  Her face came to him again, sad and withdrawn, in focus, against the blurry backdrop of a terrible red moon. Maybe remembering how it had been would spark him into a knowing: transform uncertainty into a calm conviction.

  You shouldn’t have let him out of your sight, the seeker warned, not for the first time.

  “Just because . . . I’m awake doesn’t mean . . .” Izaac rubbed at his temples trying to make the headache go away, “that I want . . . you . . . to bother me.”

  You are getting sloppy. You shouldn’t have let him out of your sight.

  Izaac began to dress, the headache ignorant of the effort he’d put into soothing it away, his stomach still uneasy. “Yeah, I get it.”

  It’s been too long. You should have done it, and we could have left. Both of us want to go home, remember?

  “You kill him,” Izaac growled.

  The door opened and shut, the creature had relinquished its shelter. It hovered around him, staring at him with its strange eye, a sphere with irregular edges, as if it were the outline of some craggy volcano. It let out a noise that Izaac knew was frustration—a brief, shrill whistle.

  “Calm down, he’s not going anywhere.”

  But if you killed him, we could leave.

  “Why do you want to get back so badly?”

  The creature blinked, a sheath spiraling briefly over its eye. It is my home, too.

  Izaac righted himself, pushing his way back down the hallway. He felt slow, drained. Eventually he was back at the pub where he’d last seen Nabaldian, the kaleidoscoped door waiting on the other side of the arcade.

  It did not take long before he was being bathed (it was oddly warm) in its light, and through the other side. Across the long, thin walkway he went, and it was through the large multicolored windows of clear spaceglass, which formed the whole of the walls on either side, that Izaac saw the universe around him. To one side there was nothing but tinted blackness: the depths of darkspace. To the other, points of light shone in the darkness. The windows would glow briefly, a sporadic pattern that shocked his mind. Notes were timed with every flash of light; an eclectic mix: synthesizers, chimes, bells, clocks, piano, strings, and drums, each having its part in what the Custodians considered music.

  I do not like this place, the seeker told him. It had trailed him through the kaleidoscoped door, hiding in the dark recess of the ceiling.

  “It gets weirder,” Izaac replied, wondering if the creature could even pick out his voice in all the chaos that lingered somewhere between noise and music.

  I can. Hear you.

  “Well, keep your eyes out for V.” As Izaac spoke, three beeps sounded to signify the end of a session. All around him the lights roared and crashed, piano and violin notes taking over the bulk of the musical work while the tumult of lights played out. Bodies were melting into the hallway. They pressed in, close around him, an array of emotions on their faces, footprints left from whatever memory they had finished experiencing.

  Some appeared euphoric: the wide-eyed bridge-jumpers who had experienced some sexual fetish, intense physical extremes, or a strong, positive emotional connection, going from memory to memory without bridging the gap with lesser highs, like many of the other patrons. Others looked more cautious, their shifting eyes still searching, ready for the chaos to continue—the frights that wanted nothing more than to feel the most intense sensations of horror. Then there were the grave-yarders: they wandered aimlessly, passive members of the crowd around them, having just experienced the sensation of dying in one of its uncountable forms.

  The hallway filled with an intoxicating scent of body odor. Some of them had been at it for hours or days: they were the real addicts, staying in the memory world until their credit ran out.

  Izaac could feel his heartbeat in his stomach, a sudden pounding that rose from nowhere. His hand went to the chain blade sheathed on his chest.

  The seeker responded to his motion: Relax. If I see Verzatz, I’ll tell you.

  Again he heard the shrill piping emitted from the holes along the underside of the seeker’s tiny body.

  “You’ve seen his work. Can you blame me if I’m a little uneasy?”

  You? Uneasy?

  “That’s cute.”

  Maybe a little trust is in order.

  “Fair enough. I doubt he’d find anything of interest here anywa
y.”

  Are you so certain?

  “About what?” Izaac asked quietly, as he pushed his way through the crowd of bodies leaking out of the Hall of Memories.

  They say that the Hall holds pleasures immeasurable.

  “Something for everyone,” Izaac agreed. “But Verzatz isn’t human, he’s a creature. A tool.”

  Like me.

  “You certainly aren’t human.”

  True. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t things here that interest me. If I could experience the gift, I could see what it is like to be human.

  “Who says you couldn’t?”

  I wonder if any of my kind has ever touched the dream-builders.

  “You could if you wanted to.”

  No. I wouldn’t dare. There are certain things that should not be shared, certain things that should not be bagged and sold. All I want is to go home. Kill them both and be done with it.

  “Yeah, I know. Nice and easy like that.”

  Izaac stopped at a door with six lights of different colors arranged in a circle. He checked the passcode that had been sent to him, confirming this was the appointed room.

  Are you sure you should do this?

  “Kelli—”

  Loves you. There’s no doubting that.

  “That’s not what I’m doubting.”

  You love her too. You know that.

  “Exactly. If I didn’t, this would be so much easier.”

  Above the door the seeker snuggled into an unnoticed crack.

  “I’m shutting off the link.”

  Okay. If he comes, what do I do?

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  That’s stup—

  The strangest thing about switching off the neural link was not noticing a difference.

  After taking a moment and waving a hand in apology for cutting the seeker off, Izaac pressed his hand into the center of the circle, and the door opened silently.

  ***

  Behind there was a circular room. A single window reached around the curve of the room, open to the emptiness of darkspace. Izaac felt some of the queasiness leave him: finally a place lighted with a single color: bright white light. From some unseen spot a Custodian emerged.

  The thing that had once been man but now through symbiosis was something else entirely approached him.

  “Izaac Bennett of Tyson’s Earth. You’ve requested a private memory session, correct?”

  “Yes,” Izaac confirmed.

  The creature wore robes of separate strips of a dark blue, silky material. Each was bordered with a color that clashed violently with the one next to it. They connected at the Custodian’s neck where a brilliant silver collar reflected the bright white light. As the creature moved, white skin could be seen between the silk bands.

  “One private memory in vault. Access?”

  “Yes,” Izaac confirmed.

  Then uncertainty gripped him. He started to reach out with his hands to stop the Custodian. The creature looked at him, its face human but hairless, white skin with two eyes that were nothing but black, empty voids that reminded him of darkspace.

  But then he heard her whisper in his ear: Do it. Remember how we were.

  His hands fell to either side.

  The Custodian approached, reaching out for him, and in that moment Izaac could feel his muscles tense, his body edging slightly away from the arms. But they were there, grabbing him, pulling him in, swallowing him whole. And then he felt his body sigh, the tension oozing from him.

  ***

  Everything was bright white and floating away. The world bending, twisting, melting away. Everything was forgotten . . . and then reborn.

  The whiteness was gone, leaving Izaac standing at the edge of a shining orange lake. Above it mountains stretched towards the off-blue sky, clouds hugging them around their midsection, their summits poking out above like the points of a crown.

  She was there, in his arms.

  “So what now?”

  “I have to go away.”

  The sun shone brightly, orange and young.

  “But for how long?” She turned in his arms to face him. A breeze lingered about them, holding them in its warm embrace.

  He pressed his lips into her, feeling how much he wanted her there with him, wishing that everything else would disappear, and it would just be them.

  “I don’t know. That’s the deal.”

  “And it’s dangerous?”

  Izaac smiled. “Sometimes. The ones that don’t want to be caught.”

  “Who would want to be?”

  “I don’t know. Hawk said most of the time it goes quietly. Most of the places outside the Imperium aren’t too friendly. I guess they spend some time out there and realize that there’s not much difference between being imprisoned on an Imperium world and living out there in the wild.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever have to kill someone?”

  Not this again, Izaac thought. He’d known that part of her attraction to him was the line of work he was going into. She liked to feel the danger, even vicariously. The others before her had been worriers: afraid for him even before he had finished the academy. With Kelli it was different. She didn’t fear that something bad would happen to him. It infused him with confidence. That part he liked.

  But sometimes she asked questions that he didn’t want to answer.

  That didn’t bother him though, not now, not in this moment. He’d tell her whatever she wanted, and even more importantly it would be the truth. He knew, even though it had only been months since they had been together, that he felt more connected to her than anyone else before.

  “I hope not,” he finally replied.

  “Why?”

  He leaned his face away from hers, her brown skin beautiful and clean in the sun’s light. She regarded him with hazel eyes, eyes that he felt he could stare at for an eternity.

  “What if I can’t?”

  “I think you could if it would mean coming back to me.” She reached up and kissed him again. Their bodies clung to each other, reaching for each other, vibrating at a frequency where there was nothing else but them: not one thought to the beauty of the surroundings.

  “Even when I’m far away, I’ll be here with you,” Izaac whispered as their lips and tongues met again. He grabbed her head gently and pulled her face from his. “Forever, Kelli.”

  “Until your heart is black and blue?”

  It was silly but why the hell not?

  “Yes,” he said smiling. “Forever, until my heart is black and blue.”

  ***

  No, Izaac thought. No. No, no, no, NO, NO, NO!

  The white light was there.

  Blinding and pure.

  It began to fade but only partially. She was still there with him, the connection from his remembering still lingering.

  Don’t go, Kelli. It’s too soon.

  White arms released him from their grip. He could feel her slipping away.

  I love you—no matter what—you know that, right?

  But she wasn’t there to hear him. She was already gone.

  No matter what.

  It hadn’t lasted. Even frozen and saved for him, he knew it wouldn’t last. No matter how many times he replayed it, he’d always end up here, at this next moment, released from the Custodian’s grip.

  “Thank you for your contribution,” the Custodian stated. It turned to leave, the silk strips gliding in and around each other.

  “Wait,” Izaac called.

  “Would you like to re-access? Or access a public memory?”

  Just do it, she urged.

  No. I’m sorry, I can’t do it again. I can’t lose that part of us again.

  “What is your request?” the Custodian asked.

  “What do you get out of this?”

  “Your contribution.”

  “Fuck the money!” Izaac screamed. “What do you get out of this?”

  The Custodian seemed to frown. “I’m a part of something
now, something that always feels right. Something that I could never be without.”

  “Do you remember who you were?”

  “Yes. But I am so much more than that now.”

  “Do it,” Izaac ordered.

  “Again?”

  “Yes. Please. Just once more.”

  The Custodian paused. “You have credit for another ten rememberings.”

  “Just once. One more will be enough.”

  “Okay.”

  The creature reached out, embracing Izaac in its white limbs.

  Chapter Three—Black and Blue, Silver and Red

  Izaac woke in a soaked bed of twisted sheets. He sat up, his head in his hands. He felt empty, as if everything deep inside him had been dredged up and tossed into the void of darkspace. A headache, subtle at first, only hinting at the thunder with which it could pound, began to tickle his forehead.

  “What happened?”

  The seeker, perched outside his room somewhere, responded, You had a long night.

  He remembered blinding white light. The strange, absent face of the Custodian. A thousand lights beating within the ship, pulsing as if they threatened to reach a climax. The pounding in his head grew. A trembling hand reached for the glass of water by his bed.

  “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  I don’t even want to say it.

  “Yeah. I know.” He grabbed one of the self-heating meals and stuffed some of the lukewarm slop into his mouth. “Well, if you want to go home . . .”

  Yes. Please. While you were dreaming, I went to work.

  “Did you figure out how to read the access logs?”

  I did.

  “Well?”

  Nabaldian’s been there all night. He’s still there. I guess he’s got more credit than you do.

  “What do you mean?”

  I guess the experience can fry you pretty good. You went to see Kelli eleven times in total, I believe.

  “Shit.”