The little icons before my eyes didn't disappear. The artificial neural network couldn't be switched off — it just changed interfaces, closing or opening certain options. Glancing at the clock, I dialed the delivery service for my late dinner. A couple of minutes later, the hydraulic elevator hissed. A capacious cylinder rolled out into the receiver tray. I picked it up and sat at the table, pulling the sides off and ripping open the seam along the middle. The wrapper unfolded, becoming a placemat laden with everything one could need. Food, drinks, each in its own airtight container. Healthy and nutritious, but most importantly, convenient. No need to go anywhere.
I had two meals a day and slept in the virtual capsule. So practical and familiar. So safe.
A mental disorder? Absolutely. I am the first to admit it. Still, I wouldn't change anything.
I'd received my first holographic nanocomp for my twelfth birthday. Since then, the real world had gradually faded into insignificance. I was increasingly reluctant to come back from the game. Had it been down to me, I'd never have come back at all. But unfortunately, our technologies still weren't up to much. This neuroimplant I had was the first sign of things to come.
I was thirty-nine. Single, well-off, commitment free. How I earned my living... I'll tell you about that later.
I ate unhurriedly as I skimmed through my mail and PM box, deleting most messages with a swipe of my eyes.
Having discovered nothing of interest, I opened the search engine and entered Phantom Server.
I had to admit it had piqued my interest. The rest, as experience had taught me, was purely a question of application.
No results found matching your search criteria.
The incoming call icon flashed insistently. It was from the developers of my unique wetware. Vultures. They had to have their daily report on the dot.
Okay, okay. A promise is a promise. My eyesight clouded, blurring out of focus, while the artificial neural network scanned my mind, uploading some of the more memorable neurograms.
A test model, yeah right. The implant's developers promised that the finished version would perfectly comply with the Privacy Law. Somehow I didn't believe them.
Having finished with my daily report, I rose and walked over to the window, feeding the wrapper with its unfinished dinner into the macerator on my way. I just wasn't hungry.
No results found, they said? I stared at a city enveloped in a cloak of emissions. The urban landscape served as an abstract backdrop to the more and more search reports that flashed before my eyes. No results found.
Could whatever had happened simply have been my imagination playing up?
No way. Impossible. It wasn't for nothing I'd uploaded my daily report. Had they found the slightest malfunction in the implant, they'd have already been on my case by now, telling me to switch on the dedicated communication channel, then "sit comfortably and try not to think about anything".
What were they waiting for, then? Hadn't they noticed the sudden surge of emotional activity in my logs?
Anxiety was growing within me. I could definitely smell a rat there somewhere.
Should I leave it as it was? Should I maybe take a shower and go to bed? Then first thing tomorrow morning I could start looking for a new game world that could become my life's purpose for the next few years.
Still, the spark of awakened curiosity began to burn me from inside — the anxiety within me growing, inexplicable. What if everything that had happened was the neurocybertechs' setup?
Admittedly, I hated feeling like a half-dead mouse at the mercy of a fat cheeky cat. It always gave me the desire to strike back.
The Phantom Server.
The name sat like a thorn in my memory.
Never mind. I'd had this implant for about a year and had a decent idea of how it worked. I'd also come up with a couple of backup scenarios in case someone tried to use me as a guinea pig.
I'm relaxed. I'm perfectly happy. I have no disturbing thoughts. I peeled off my clothes and headed for the shower.
The neural network was safely sealed within its plastic casing. Water couldn't damage it anyway, but the developers apparently wanted to minimize any risks considering the device's cost. So I'd long noticed that the mnemonic interface shut down every time I took a shower. I also knew about the micro slot in the machine's lower part. Currently it was empty, but I'd already found out, by very careful trial and error, that it was perfectly adapted for a 1Tb memory card. A couple of them I kept at home just in case, filled with pre-recorded neurograms of deep sleep.
I picked the slot's lid with my nail and pushed the card into its groove without locking it. It wasn't yet time. I turned the water off, toweled myself dry and jumped into the capsule, leaving the lid open. I set it to repose mode and moved my body around, making myself comfortable. Like, I was fast asleep.
After a few minutes I touched the implant, pushing the card in until it clicked. I'd done it many times before. Predictably, the icons of the internal interface faded.
I waited some more, just to be on the safe side, then slid out online. Reality disappeared. I closed my eyes and entered a very rare login I virtually never used.
The chat room was crap: empty and boring. I entered a code phrase. The PM window flashed, the cursor blinking inquiringly.
The Chrystal Sphere. Agrion. The Tavern.
OK.
My message had been accepted.
* * *
The tavern was noisy and packed with players. There, no one could tell me from a newb. I walked in humbly, looking for an empty table at the back.
"Hi," a rather scruffy goblin took a place next to me. I looked at his hands. The sign was correct. I showed him mine.
We spoke quietly without attracting any attention.
"So you finally decided to make a few bucks? It's been a while. How's it going?"
"Fine."
The scruffy goblin was in fact my first online employer, no less. We went back quite a while, doing business together — for whatever good it had done us.
By the age of fifteen (by then I had already sunk in cyberspace, devouring various gaming worlds indiscriminately regardless of their genre) I'd realized that the best and most interesting bits lay beyond the average teenager's financial and age restrictions.
Well, parental control chips were easily hacked by amateur experts the same age as myself. This problem could be easily fixed — unlike the financial one. I'd long given up on my studies and even managed to get a student loan, immediately splurging it and unable to keep up with the compound interest. I could sense I was walking a tightrope; no — running a tightrope, keeping my balance purely out of habit.
I played passionately and without mercy. I didn’t have time to level my chars properly. The way things were going, I was looking at a career as a low-level PK — a Player Killer — as I kept clutching at straws in the naïve belief that the loot from the killed players would allow me to stay in the game for just a little longer, trading it in for in-game currencies.
Which was when, as luck would have it, I'd met Arbido. I'd never known his real name — nor had I even tried to find it out. He, however, had a complete real-life rundown on me.
Our first meeting had been brief and in many respects unpleasant (for me at least) but, as I later found out, very productive.
He promised to pay off my loan and sort out my school innuendos. Naturally, he couldn't upload any knowledge to my head but at least he seriously promised to improve my grades and make sure no one pestered me in the future.
What did he want in return? My gaming skills. My yet undeveloped talent that I'd been wasting so uselessly. Actually, he wasn't interested in my talents at first. My initial jobs were quite primitive. Have you ever heard of a dedicated driver? You haven't? That's funny. The idea is, you are granted access to a client's gaming account. Then you get all sorts of tasks, from completing certain quests that the client either can't or won't do himself — or even leveling his char. Some of the tasks can be rather
mind-numbing, like ore crafting or collecting certain ingredients. But once you become acquainted with a particular world, learning its secrets and tricks, it takes you less and less time to complete your tasks.
That's how I'd started earning online. Working as a char driver was only the beginning. Soon they began entrusting me with more complex — and dirtier — jobs.
Gradually I started learning the lay of the land. I would register a character in some popular game world, level it up, then sell it through Arbido. Or use it myself. I was accepting orders for artifacts or unique armor you just couldn't buy — because they were dropped by particular mobs.
If you'd like to know more about it, it's no secret. An Internet search will provide you with a long list of these and similar paid services.
Arbido had a rather solid business. He had thousands of players working for him in most popular games. He was very correct, too: ripping off a client just wasn't worth risking his reputation. Recently I'd worked for him on a few VIP orders even though I didn't need the money any more. I was quite capable of earning my own way now. The game had taught me that.
The goblin's familiar squint landed on me. "I've been following your progress," he said. "This is a young world. Completely virgin. Should we bleed it dry?"
I shook my head.
Arbido raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Don't you think you're taking the game too seriously? You need to shed this Paladin role once in a while," he said with fatherly concern in his voice. "Very well now, what is it? My time is money, you know that. How many Easter eggs have you found?"
He never wasted himself on little things. What he needed was gold mines and mithril fields. Oh yes, I knew of a few, plus a few more locations that were off limits to average players. They would only be open after a couple of years. But me, I did know how to arrange a premature global event that included mass raids on the unexplored territories. I was the one with the portal keys.
"I've come to you as a client," I said.
He frowned, trying to imagine me as a customer. "Spit it out."
"I need an account at Phantom Server," I said matter-of-factly, not even questioning the doability of my request.
He immediately knew what I meant. The search engines didn't, but he did! His stare became decidedly prickly.
"Don't you think you're getting too big for your boots?" he grumbled. "What's wrong with this one?"
"Boring."
"Then you should create an alt character. Try some other ways of leveling him. This world has potential. You're not bored, if you ask me. You're just plain lazy."
I cast a surprised glance at him. He'd never been known to reject a client.
"Just say you can't do it," I shamelessly upped the ante.
"It's a shady project," he shook his head. "A closed world stuck in the alpha testing stage."
He frowned, probably realizing he'd said too much. "Are you fishing?" his practiced stare halted at my temple. Naturally, my current avatar had nothing there at all, no signs of a neuroimplant whatsoever, but you couldn't keep a cat in a bag for too long. I hadn’t told him anything. He must have found out via his own channels. He was one influential motherfucker.
I gulped. "No, it's a clean game. I wanna try. I'll pay you."
"You idiot," he answered ungrudgingly as he thought about something. "Didn't you hear me? They're alpha testing it. It's a closed shop. No paying members. If they didn't invite you, it means you're not good enough. No idea what at. You can knock at their door, no problem. They might even let you in. But then it gets weird."
"Please explain."
"Please pay. If you're so smart it's gonna cost you."
"How much?"
A six-digit sum appeared in the interface window. It wasn't in any of the in-game currencies, either. Arbido was playing it big and proper. At the time, it didn't even occur to me that he might be trying to protect me from any potential problems.
Greedy bastard. He knows I don't have that kind of money.
"How about a swap?" I offered a solution.
"For what?" his stare was cold.
So I made a counter-proposition. A list of all the yet undiscovered — and unmapped — unique locations plus some artifacts from my own little stocks.
"Not enough."
"Are you raving mad?"
What was wrong with me today? I just couldn't control myself. I hadn't even noticed the moment when the spark of initial interest had transformed itself into a little bonfire of still unclear but already pressing desires. I felt like the last needer but I could do nothing about it.
"As you wish," he shrugged and stood up, about to leave.
"No, wait," I threw in the closed locations and the portal keys.
He sat back down, reproach in his stare. "Aren't you gonna regret that?"
"Regret what?" I flashed him a stubborn fearless smile trying to suppress the ever-growing anxiety. "Happy with the price now?"
"Yeah. Now look. This is how it works," he got straight to the point. "This is a new-generation game, the game of the future," as he spoke, the information I'd just swapped was changing hands. "How long since you've had the implant?'
"About a year."
"They've been testing the Phantom Server for five years now. They only accept veteran players. They want single loners — those who have no family or friends in real life."
"What's the catch?"
"Not many of them come back. They log in and that's the last you hear of them. I do know that all of them had these same neural network implants installed first. Just like yours. Also, there're rumors, of course. About worlds being breached. Virtually all games have had incidents of those. All sorts of weird creatures crawling out of the woodwork. According to my information, they're all from the Phantom Server. But there is no direct evidence. The admins make sure they cover up all trace."
I listened, piecing the information together.
The first game based on direct neurosensory contact? That was breathtaking. Every ounce of adventure spirit within me cheered at the news. I'd already had the opportunity to experience one side of this new technology. Admittedly, I was impressed. What could be waiting for me there if every object in that world was interacting with the neural network?
Surely Arbido simply was unable to grasp it all. But I, I could see it clearly: the only reason those players hadn't come back was because they didn't want to! My craving for a new adrenaline fix had got out of control, bundling reason into the farthest corner of my mind. As long as my brain was dominated by my selfish urge, it blanked out any suspicions the old man could offer.
"You don't think they might have died there, do you?" he snapped, ripping the wings off my hopeful dream.
"Why would they?"
"These things are dangerous," Arbido glanced at my right temple again. "They cause brains to pack up."
"Know of any cases?"
"No, I don't. But I have reasons to believe it. Trust me."
"You can stuff your reasons-"
"So you've made up your mind, then?" he asked with a bitter smirk.
"Yes, I have! You can't talk me out of it."
"Well, suit yourself. Go back home. And wait."
"I'm gonna stay here a bit. I need to auction a set of armor."
"Leave it to me. And all your other accounts, you need to either sell them or rent them out to me."
"Depends on the price."
"Have I ever had you over?"
"Very well. I can do that. You can keep the money for the time being."
"Why?"
"You never know. I might need some cash injections, whatever."
He didn't say anything, just sat there all grim and gloomy as if I was already dead.
"So is it a deal?"
Arbido nodded. Moments later, his avatar disappeared.
* * *
Logout
Night had swallowed the real world. I was pacing the room, stopping and staring out of the window trying to while away the anxious hours of waiting
.
You think I'm an addict? A nutcase? Take a look out the window.
The stepped silhouettes of the megablocks pierce the clouds. Smog envelops the wind-pervaded city stretching half the continent. The buildings' blank walls are prudishly covered with eerie holograms; rivers of lights flow between them, disappearing into the clouds of all-pervasive emissions. The city gasps, struggling for breath, still alive and full of energy — but in all honesty, it's been hopelessly dead for a long time.
Only the serves can survive outside the sealed house units. It's their planet now. The only place for me and billions of others that still guarantees some semblance of sanity is cyberspace.
When I was young I used to think it was infinite. But with time I started to understand that most virtual worlds are just copies of each other. What used to take your breath away — the world, the gameplay — had long faded. My disenchanted mind demanded new experiences, but where was I supposed to take them if I'd done it all already hundreds of times in a hundred different ways?
Leaving the boring predictable cyberspace and going back to the miserable real life was especially unbearable. Many of you can relate. It's driving you mad, the glimmer of unknown new experiences tearing your mind apart.
The game of the future! Alpha testing, so what! I wanted so badly to give in to this new neuronet-technology world.
No incoming messages.
Waiting was unbearable. But this agonizing anticipation felt too good. A selfish cocktail of craving and adrenaline.
At three in the morning, the interface blinked.
I opened the message.
A web link. A user's name. A password.
I shivered uncontrollably as the capsule whirred its start-up gears. Why did it take it so long!
I climbed inside. The life support sensors clung to my skin.
Warning! You're entering a restricted area.
I entered the user's name and password.
Neuronet connection activated. Neuroimplant connected.
Edge of Reality Page 2
