Seven Point Eight

by Marie Harbon

  In many ways, it reminded Tahra of that moment in the States with Max: the anticipation, the pleasure of a man’s lips on the most intimate part of her body…except Paul didn’t allow her to climax. Instead, he laid on top of her and spoke to her softly.

  “Is this really going to be your first time?”

  She nodded, looking at him with a longing she’d suppressed for months.

  He fully appreciated what she was giving him, and kissed her with a passion he’d not felt for months. For her first time, it offered her a gratifying experience and Paul maintained a steady rhythm, as he wanted to give her a perfect introduction to sex. Tahra coordinated her own body movements with his, and once she’d become accustomed to the feel of him inside of her, she focused on using her gift to send waves of energy coiling up his spine.

  Unlike Max, he embraced it, his breathing deepened, and he opened himself to the experience. He wasn’t selfish and focused on her pleasure too, only allowing himself to climax once she’d obtained the maximum amount of pleasure from the experience. After his orgasm, he collapsed beside her, gazing at the sky. Tahra rolled onto her side, and trailed her fingers on his chest.

  “I’ve decided I like sex,” she declared. “We must do this every time we meet.”

  Paul laughed and hugged her.

  “We’d never finish the project.”

  “Then we must meet more often.”

  Was that something he wanted? Lying next to her, he felt as content as she did, like he was the luckiest man in the world. Yes, it was something he wanted, but he wanted to complete the project too. He sat up, or otherwise he’d fall asleep.

  “We have work to do,” he insisted.

  She didn’t disagree and remembered what they were supposed to be doing, so they both got dressed. He kissed her to conclude the intimacy of the session, but then realised he didn’t feel ready to head to the research room. A wave of pleasure crept up his spine and he wanted to repeat the whole experience. In retrospect, it now seemed foolish refusing her, if only he’d known how good it could be.

  ***

  I don’t know why that particular day I relinquished to her, but I had no regrets. As a forty four year old man, a young woman just turned twenty is indeed a prize to cherish, especially one so beautiful and talented. Why did I not give in previously, when it was clear that I didn’t love Eleanor, despite my moral integrity? Maybe I didn’t feel worthy, which is foolish. Maybe I felt guilty, assuming I’d be exploiting such a young woman. It’s hard not to become attached to someone you work closely with, when you know that the most significant piece of work you’ll produce in your life is directly related to their success or failure.

  Any sense of guilt dissipated quickly, as she became the driving force behind this union. The age gap was difficult to get used to at first and she certainly saw the world with different eyes, but the project acted as common ground that connected us and transcended the generational difference. If anything, I needed that injection of young blood into my life.

  I started to see more of her, and we socialised locally to get away from the intensity of the project, ironically frequenting the very pub I’d taken her to on her last birthday. She became proficient at horse riding, and we enjoyed outings to the cinema.

  The sex was an entirely different experience. I don’t know whether it’s the close proximity of her electromagnetic field or whether it’s something she deliberately does, but my whole body surges with energy every time. The thought of sex with her had crossed my mind on numerous occasions prior to it happening, but making it reality is another thing. Maybe I’d believed the idea of it was more intriguing, and that the reality would spoil it. However, it was the other way round. Tahra was a naturally sexual being, and never let an opportunity slip by to enjoy her favourite activity. I always found it difficult to say no, but I felt comfortable with that.

  The OOBE project acted as the cohesive force in our relationship. We fed each other’s enthusiasm, almost daring the other to break all boundaries, a very sixties thing really without the drugs. I felt no need to introduce her to LSD though, because what we were doing seemed more profound.

  The project needed to move forward and for it to do that, I needed to understand more about the circumstances in which Tahra projected her consciousness. This was the key and at that point, I couldn’t have imagined the nature of the events that followed.

  In all my work with resonant frequencies, I hadn’t found one in particular that equated with projection of consciousness, mainly because my prior research with resonant frequencies hadn’t focused on remote viewing. I hadn’t met Oscar, George, or Tahra. Before I felt willing to play around with an oscillator, I connected Tahra to an EEG to measure her brainwave activity during her sessions. The results were revealing.

  Tahra has the ability to switch straight from beta wave activity, the normal level of alertness we experience during the day, to quickly enter theta wave state, at the lower end of the frequency range. Theta wave state is interesting: it’s equated with daydreaming and that time just after we wake, when the mind is at its most receptive and creative. When Tahra projected her consciousness, I observed her brainwave activity registered in the theta range. The precise frequency at which her consciousness left her body was 7.8 hertz, or cycles per second.

  Maybe 7.8 would turn out to be a significant number.

  ***

  Tahra felt ecstatic about relinquishing her virginity, and she couldn’t have chosen a more suitable candidate to relieve her of her chastity. Although she’d insisted on no sex before marriage during her strange relationship with Max, that hadn’t been an issue with Paul. She sensed she’d found a good man, someone she’d remain with for the rest of her life. He made her feel secure, appreciated, and loved. Max attracted her on an innately primitive and emotional level, but he didn’t share his life in the way that Paul did. In the conflict between opting for an open book or an enigma, Tahra gravitated to the path of least resistance.

  They fitted together like a lock and key, an enzyme and its receptor, like body and soul. Because neither of them planned on bringing a child into this world, she took advantage of the birth control pill, allowing her to enjoy sex without concern.

  Summer allowed them to take part in recreational activities, not only horse riding but cycling. She wobbled down the country lanes, while Paul snaked ahead, even letting go of the handlebars. It occurred to him, in that moment, that teaching her to drive would be a good idea.

  Tahra wrinkled her nose at the thought of driving the old Ford Popular, which often sat parked outside The Establishment. Her eyes gazed in the direction of Paul’s beloved Triumph Spitfire, and he appeared reticent, so Tahra delivered a wave of positive energy.

  “I promise to look after it,” she said, cocking her head on one side in a persuasive manner.

  She further enticed him with a sweet kiss and a hug, and he relented, slipping into the passenger seat of this sleek and sporty vehicle.

  At first, Tahra found it awkward operating the clutch, accelerator and brake while trying to steer and watch the road ahead. They stuck to country lanes, usually devoid of traffic and with determination, she grasped the basics. Paul remained patient, although he gripped the seat a little tighter than he cared to admit.

  “Hey,” she said, as if inspired, “I could become a more competent driver by using my remote viewing capabilities to see further down the road ahead, or check that directions are correct. I’d never get lost!”

  “Tahra, that’s cheating!” Paul objected.

  “Why is that cheating? I’m not sitting an exam!”

  “Because…that’s not the way you drive.”

  “If everyone else could use remote viewing to assist driving a car, they would,” Tahra pointed out.

  “You need to keep your physical eyes on the road at all times, and look in your centre mirror.”

  “I’ll just remote view in short bursts, when a panoramic view is required,” she conceded.


  To illustrate her point, she pushed her consciousness up above the car to get a bird’s eye view. She saw herself driving, and clearly noted the crossroads ahead with a car approaching it, so she switched back to a perspective inside her skull to make the right manoeuvres at the junction.

  “This is where remote viewing is very useful,” she explained, “as I knew there was a car approaching the crossroads before I even got close to it.”

  On subsequent days, she became more confident behind the wheel, causing her to take more risks with remote viewing and driving. Using a bird’s eye view, she surveyed a straight stretch of road and stabbed the accelerator, seeing what the Spitfire could do. Paul began to look nervous, and gripped the seat tightly.

  Tahra approached a Morris Minor quite sharply, and got frustrated as the driver didn’t see the hurry. Because she practised on country roads, the Spitfire encountered a series of s-bends, making it difficult to overtake. She projected her consciousness far ahead, as if accelerating ahead of the car. Free of her body and the vehicle, she felt herself rushing at speed like a racing car, around a series of bends and she saw there were no other cars coming in the opposite direction. Tahra accelerated rapidly, pulled out and zipped past the Morris Minor, leaving Paul gobsmacked.

  “Tahra, you can’t overtake on a bend, you need to see that the road ahead is clear.”

  “But it is clear,” she insisted, “I used remote viewing to check a mile down the road.”

  No matter, Paul gripped his seat tightly. She used a bird’s eye view to check the road beyond and behind, then opened the engine up fully. It was exhilarating, and the car just handled the corners but she had to fight with the steering wheel, which made Paul even more nervous. By the time she pulled into the drive back at The Establishment, he looked white.

  Easing himself out of the passenger seat, looking shaken, he dramatically breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I think I need a stiff drink,” he announced.

  ***

  By July the 14th 1965, the OOBE project could move forwards. Paul set up an oscillator calibrated to resonate at a frequency of 7.8 hertz, or cycles per second. He enclosed Tahra in a specially designed booth, complete with a comfortable seat, EEG hook up, and visual monitor just to be on the safe side. From a small control station, he introduced her to a frequency of 10 hertz, in the alpha wave state, synonymous with general relaxation. No sense in throwing her in at the deep end, just yet.

  She closed her eyes. The subliminal tone of the frequency was inaudible, yet it felt soothing. Paul noticed within a few minutes, Tahra’s brain wave pattern had synchronised with the output from the oscillator, so he changed the frequency to 7.8Hz after a short while. Within moments, her brain wave signature matched the new output signal.

  Focusing her attention on the outermost limits of the solar system, she felt a subtle thrust, as if her consciousness projection were guided more externally this time. She found herself gazing upon the bluish, ethereal planet of Neptune, a gas giant on the periphery of the solar system, and felt peaceful in its presence, in touch with the rhythm of the universe. However, she experienced no push to go further and when she tried to leave the confines of the solar system, she encountered an invisible barrier, frustrating her as it had done previously while trying to reach Sirius. She also discovered that, because of the oscillator, returning to her body became difficult. Paul sensed her distress and changed the frequency, returning it to the alpha wave state.

  A little concerned, he opened the door of the booth, trying to remain hopeful of the result the project needed. Tahra regained her composure, relieved to be back in her body although irritated with the poor conclusion.

  “Well,” he asked, “did it work?”

  “I didn’t travel any further,” she stated, her tone of voice clearly communicating her disappointment. “Leaving my body was easier, although getting back was hard. It was like being locked out of the house. I’m experiencing some degree of paralysis in my body, which is unusual compared to my usual remote viewing sessions, although I think I can still speak.”

  Paul smiled at her down to earth similes for spiritual experiences, they were an endearing touch.

  “We need to arrange a signal, when it’s time to ‘unlock’ the door then,” he decided.

  “Preferably not my expression of distress, eh?” she joked.

  Paul acknowledged her humour.

  “Perhaps you could just raise your hand,” he suggested.

  “It’s not as easy as you think,” she responded. “This isn’t a normal remote viewing session. I could twitch a finger.”

  “In that case, I can attach an electrode to your finger to pick up the signals relayed from the motor neurone. Seeing as you can’t lift a finger to help!”

  Tahra laughed and kissed him.

  “I love you, Mr. Paul Eldridge.”

  It had been a while since a woman had spoken those words to him. It had been even longer since he himself had spoken those words, and meant it.

  “I love you too, Tahra.”

  How could he ever regret this?

  ***

  At the end of the day, they unwound from the pressures of the project, relaxing in Paul’s old bedroom at The Establishment. He moved the small black and white television from the office and put it in a position where they could lie in bed together and watch it. Paul propped himself up on a pillow while Tahra rested her head on his chest.

  There was nothing on the independent commercial channel but adverts, so they took a moment to kiss while the sound of Bach’s Air on a G-String accompanied the voice over comparing happiness to a cigar called Hamlet. He needed to change channel, although he felt too comfortable to get up and do the dirty deed.

  “I don’t know about remote viewing,” he said, “but we need a remote channel changer.”

  Tahra looked thoughtful, then picked up a shoe and threw it in the direction of the TV channel buttons. Surprisingly, it found its mark and they got BBC 2 instead.

  “You could have broken the TV, you know,” Paul objected.

  “I’m sure we could have found something else to do,” she mused, stroking his stomach lightly with her fingers.

  With a choice between an episode of ‘The Likely Lads’, or make love, the sex won, with the sound of dialogue and canned laughter in the background.

  Paul valued the romantic element of the OOBE project, for without it, he knew he’d lose heart. For a whole month, they tried using the resonant frequency of 7.8Hz as an accelerator, but to no avail. The ‘release’ system worked fine, yet the objective of leaving the solar system eluded them. Tahra remained supportive, although she felt just as frustrated as Paul and she couldn’t offer any suggestions to achieve their objective, even though she was the vehicle for his idea as much as the inspiration.

  Tahra spent less time at The Institute, not problematic due to Max being absent on business for the past six months. Miss Tynedale believed that the extended periods of absence were due to the project with Paul. It didn’t occur to her that Tahra was in a relationship with Paul, and Max had made no efforts to intrude on the project, or enquire about her personal life before he’d left. Was it because he no longer cared and that he’d given up his pursuit? Did she care if he’d become indifferent? Max began to drift further and further from her thoughts, it was an episode in her life with closure.

  Paul lost motivation for Max’s project, the remote viewing blocker, but he knew it wouldn’t be difficult pinpointing a resonant frequency to disrupt the movement of consciousness.

  However, once August arrived, the project review lay only two months away. This analysis would determine whether or not OOBE had a future, and Paul began to feel the pressure. In many ways, it could be considered a success, as a number of experiments had been carried out and the results recorded. No matter, he still felt dissatisfied. He needed something profound, like a meeting with a being from another world. Ironically, the Rolling Stones sang ‘(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction’ on the ra
dio, and Paul smiled sardonically. Tahra walked in from the kitchen, singing along, and she danced over to him.

  “Don’t rub it in,” Paul said, his face showing the frustration at their lack of breakthrough.

  “It will happen,” she insisted. “This is meant to be.”

  She popped a piece of fruit in his mouth and looked at him intently. He wasn’t enthusiastic.

  “I don’t like to fail at anything,” he begrudged.

  Tahra gave him a stern look.

  “You haven’t failed.”

  He sighed. “I just want to find the answer, right this moment.”

  “It will come,” she reassured him, “I know this project will succeed.”

  Tahra swung her leg over his knees and sat on his lap, idly stroking his chest.

  “I can make you feel better,” she declared.

  Leaning forward, she unbuttoned his shirt and he made no complaint as she delivered a little wave of pleasure up his spine, something he never protested against. She did indeed deliver on her promise, and they sat with contentment in that position for a while, eventually retiring to bed. He soon closed his eyes and drifted into, what was in effect, a lucid dream. For the first time in his life, he actually became aware of the fact that he’d entered a dream state, and it provided a turning point in the project.

  ***

  I found myself on a partially fertile plain with a river nearby, on which boats full of people floated. I contemplated walking over to meet these people, as I believed they had something important to say. They disembarked from the boats and came towards me, however, they couldn’t see me. As they filed past, I decided to follow them and when I turned round, something amazing loomed into view. The pyramids filled my vision, but they weren’t the semi-ruins I expected, they were encased in polished limestone and reflected the light of the sun.