The NeurOcean Line

1. Ladder

In such ways are we seduced by power and by our peers...

A careful, rational decision might not have hurried things but nature, he supposed, must expand through such curiosity. And now he clenched the feel of the wood of the doorframe harder; pressed the tips of his fingers against it and gazed at the dark, solid floor of the cool interior.

Blake entered his mind now. Was it Blake? No, not the real one: his avatar. But there was not much difference, even then.

"I see Reality and Fantasy as being intertwined," Blake had said. "Or more like the cogs of a system, working the wheel of life; in tandem. What did you call it? Confluence. They complement one another. Always have."

He could recall the location too; large tongues of flame licking round the visibly damp logs in the Merrie England simulation, a brilliant web-world. New Sherwood. He remembered those flames, the way they appeared real. Would I have remembered they weren't real? But that they had suddenly lengthened and changed into intricate hues like the effect of sun upon oil upon water-pools - iridescence - and they had all gasped at Blake's creation. Or was this memory the one of the real trip, where they had actually gone camping. It was getting harder to distinguish his memories. It was getting harder to focus. He was becoming so confused.

And only thirty-nine.

He went inside where it was cool and found the bottle, pouring himself a glass and taking a thick, cleansing gulp. He felt those real flames rise up into his throat. The glass made a comforting knock, a familiar sound, back on the bar surface. But his hand shook slightly as he kept it on the rim. He tried to keep it steady. Control. Then he gave up, instead pressing the glass into the resistance of the wood beneath; to force stillness. Steady.

No, maybe it was some girl from before he had met Blake and Rosa? Before Rosa had found him, disenthralled from the system, blubbing like a baby. It was only through her help that he had re-acclimatised so quickly. She had saved him. Zack too. But Rosa had become a victim, and Blake had been comatose for too long and then turned off. Gone. How he wanted them to be here; now.

The vision could have been a dream from this world in which he stood, within his body, propped against his kitchen bar. How unfamiliar I still am, he thought, with this body. He could not know if the girl had ever been real or not. She was familiar. But he just couldn't place it; not in any context where he had spent time. Time.

Where had it gone?

The interface had been two years in the developing, and as a well-known builder, gamer and artist of the Superworlds, he had been asked to assist in its development. It wasn't just the seamlessness of it, the sensitivity of the mask and the sensations from the vest and suit; the peripherals. It was the breathing too, for even this was linked to various actions in-world. And then came the IBH; Intricate Brainwave Harnessing.

Other superworlds would, one day, be built just for this. It had become known as 'the Focus'.

Through these features, they were the few who had first been able to near the Neurocean Line, as it was sometimes still called. But - if my memory serves - they had surely crossed over it that time.

Just look at me still... even now.

The virtual 'Neurocean' had been a test environment or 'sim' to accompany the combination of interfaces created for it. The main hardware was the usual: a close face-mask with various connecting points and an advanced upper-body haptic feedback vest. However, this was linked with the hugely successful Virtual Reality 'trainer' which was still new then, and has seen a number of changes since. Once connected to its flexible harness system, it allowed for every movement, including some bounce freedom, if this was required of the 'sim' you were visiting (sims included the spectrum of environments: ocean, desert, jungle, space etc). Trainers were the ultimate VR interface because of their flexibility but they took training to master, because some of the movements varied from everyday realworld movements. They were at the top-end, but it was possible to access such elaborate worlds using lesser interfaces, or without a Trainer at all, and still have highly involving experiences. The biggest breakthrough however, for any user, had been in the 'focussing' ability, where the mask harnessed brainwave signatures and fed them into the system. Its controls gave final, comprehensive meaning to the word 'connected', or being 'jacked in', after so long in use in the computer world. It was magical transportation and transcendence for the mind and major senses.

The whiskey went down again, igniting the fire again in his stomach.

Alone... and tired, he thought, and rubbed his head, pulling hair lightly at the roots to elicit some sensual response within him. He needed it.

Too much thinking. Where our thoughts have power.

He surveyed himself in the large mirror on the opposite wall.

You, Ben Fielding, were younger once, and restless like our whole race. Running from your own will to power. Skiving off the Know-zones to conquer the dark, richer Gameworlds. Much later, you bled your mind for the Super; gave so much life and time in the scramble to regain that power. Then, you longed only to be free and young, free of it all, free of that which was only one form of living and experience. They had gone so far, and too quickly.

And now that memory. A dream?

"Music", he spoke. But mostly the pure sounds from the garden were all he needed these days. He spoke to his empty house: "Embertime." Ambient guitar music floated out of the speakers in the corners of the rooms. The sound eased his mind as he thought harder, to clear unwanted thoughts and reconcile himself to what they formed; his unresolved, collective spirit underneath. But he wanted to be reconciled though, and therefore more crucially, resolved. So with some effort he forced his mind back to... two dark figures on the shore... no, further back... a starting point... digital water...