The scar still itches on hot days, or when there's a change in the air pressure. Every single one of us is bound together now, each networked into BLAKE by virtue of the implant – at least if you're a law-abiding citizen. Which I sort-of-am.
The Emotional Experience Act is in place, and now every part of my experience is being INDEX-ed. No more need for me to get in the rig again – I just shunt certain aspects to the portion of my mind that 'leads' to the Obsidian Partition and it's streamed straight to the Museum without evaluation.
Clearance Has Its Privilege. That and a frightening level of mental control from all the time Deep Down mean I'm actually better off than most. Did you know I apparently have a lower resting heart-rate than a professional athlete, according to the Sure Heart surgeons?
I didn't tell them that I can raise and lower it – and my body temperature - at will. That's just the tip of the iceberg though, and as I'm sure I've said before, I have no wish to be a lab-rat. Nor do I want to be up against some of the super-keen decontamination team lads I've been training.
I don't know what kind of indoctrination they're put through before they come to me, but they're True Believers all right – smart suits and cut glass King's English accents straight out of a century ago. They're good people though, and with the right technical control, I'll give them ten, maybe fifteen years before they have to be rotated out from the sharp end.
Otherwise they'll die, probably. Or end up like me – functionally insane. Because honestly, that's what I am – my dreams go straight to the Museum. I daren't write anything down, otherwise the entire house and office would probably end up under a Hazmat quarantine.
Even these logs are getting hard to string together now. I can only do it through not thinking about what I'm saying so that the emotional context doesn't come through. If I keep talking, putting the words one after the other, my neurology can't fire up quickly enough to push the intensity over the limit.
That's the key, you just have to let it go. Be ruthless – sense, acknowledge, and let go, no matter what. It's got so as I have a reputation as some sort of Ice-man, because my feeds have hardly any spikes.
They seem to think I've got some sort of secret to the level of control. Nobody believes me when I tell them its simple – give up the notion of any control and immerse yourself. It doesn't matter what is, and the future is unwritten.
I've shunted all these logs to BRAVO clearance. Nobody will ever check that high...not until after. Which is good because I'm not done yet. There's a few more pieces to be laid in place – bits in the machinery that need tweaking, because it's not running as smoothly as it should, not yet.
And before you ask that question, no I don't mean the Sure Heart system. There's a design to it, you see. A design that has emerged, organically despite - and because of - the modulation and manipulation of digital desire.
I can see it – shining in the dark like a spider's web, like the thread in the maze.
No, I'm certainly not done yet.