Seven Point Eight

by Marie Harbon

  I felt as if my head were about to explode and I couldn’t take it anymore. Hearing myself scream, I clutched my head, feeling the roaring, the pounding, and the pain threaten to destroy me mentally.

  These elves were trying to kill me.

  They sought to destroy my mind.

  They wished to annihilate my soul.

  As I reached breaking point, this world began to fade. The interior of the machine came into view, and I found myself holding my head in my hands. Paul must have noticed on the monitoring screen as he came rushing in, looking worried. I realised that Beth and Peter were staring at me, but for some reason, they felt no excruciating pain.

  “Tahra!” Paul said, urgently.

  Slowly, I removed my hands from my head. Despite how scared I felt, the pain no longer existed, although the memory of it did. I looked at Paul and saw the concern in his eyes, but I didn’t want to worry him so I put on a brave smile.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, I just met the machine elves,” I responded, “and they’re not very friendly.”

  He didn’t understand what I meant although Beth did. She got up from her seat and put her arm around me.

  “I think our guide here needs a stiff drink,” she said, leading me away.

  We moved into the main farmhouse and when we entered the lounge, I discovered Max seated on the sofa, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. He began to smile when he saw me, but when he noticed that Beth had her arm around me, his expression changed and he put his newspaper down, rising to his feet.

  “Everything all right?” he enquired.

  “She needs a few minutes,” Beth explained.

  Max dismissed her with a little wave of his hand and we were both alone in the sitting room. Someone else tried to enter the room but Max insisted on my undivided attention for the next ten minutes. The room fell oddly quiet and he gazed at me with genuine concern, so I stood up straight, smiled politely and asked what he wanted to see me about.

  He paused, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a letter.

  “It was addressed to me,” he began, “but you need to read it.”

  “Who’s it from?” I asked.

  “Your parents,” he replied.

  It suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t written to them all year and I started to feel guilty, but when I read the letter, I realised I should have maintained contact.

  “I failed to keep them updated too,” he apologised.

  The contents of the letter were badly timed, asking why I hadn’t returned home because they believed I’d finished my course of study, and fulfilled the obligations of the agreement made between Max and my father. I held the letter, not knowing how to respond at first. I thought of how angry my father would be and without warning, I found myself standing before my parents.

  “Why hasn’t Mr Richardson telephoned me?” I heard my father say, irately, “He will have received the letter by now!”

  “He’s a busy man,” my mother remonstrated. “I’m sure he’ll contact you soon.”

  “It is not right!” he complained. “I have a husband here, ready to marry her on return. If I don’t hear from Mr. Richardson in the next two days, we are flying out there!”

  I jumped back into my body and found Max clicking his fingers in front of my face.

  “Tahra!”

  I focused on his face, noting the worried expression.

  “You don’t look good,” he told me.

  For some reason, tears began to roll down my cheeks. He reached out and wiped them away.

  “You don’t have to go back,” he told her. “Just speak the words and I’ll sort this out.” Then he added, in a more subdued tone, “You’re my best asset, I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Am I just a business asset to you?” I asked, although I don’t know why I said it.

  He didn’t answer affirmative or contradict it, his face remained deadpan. Finally, he responded to my question.

  “You don’t have to go back,” he repeated. “You’re too valuable.”

  I gathered myself together and declared, “I don’t want to go back. I’m not my father’s little Persian princess any more, I’m my mother’s daughter, a free spirit; a free English spirit.”

  Max smiled, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, using it to wipe away from tears.

  “I’ll have my lawyer draw up a legal and binding contract giving you indefinite stay in this country. Even though you were born here, you still need an income and a home to be independent of your family. Is that what you want?”

  “Yes,” I said with certainty, “this is my home now.”

  However, the tears didn’t stop. Now he stepped up his concern.

  “What’s wrong? I need to know, you’re my responsibility.”

  Against my deepest principles, I couldn’t help but spill the beans.

  “The experiments are…challenging,” I told him. “It’s getting harder to focus, our reality seems less real and the other realities seem more than real. Not all the dimensions are friendly, I was attacked today…and Beth and Peter weren’t…”

  Max put his hand to my cheek, and it felt strange to feel something genuine from him again.

  “I don’t like what I’m hearing, your safety and happiness are paramount. I’m giving you two weeks leave from the project, regardless of what Paul thinks. He’s pushing you too hard.”

  “The project means too much to him…” I began to protest.

  “Exactly. It means more to him than your safety. Grab your stuff, I’m taking you back to The Institute for some medical and psychological tests, and plenty of rest. I’ll inform him of my decision while you do that.”

  I relented, because I knew he was right. After five minutes, Max whisked me into his car and I looked out the window to see a helpless Paul punch the door of the machine barn. Now the project would be stalled for two weeks. Without me, Project OOBE would sit in limbo, leaving Paul to consolidate the statements and finances, because he couldn’t do anything else. I waved, and he waved back with a sad look in his eyes but it didn’t console him. I began to wonder if this heralded the beginning of the collapse in respect of Paul and Max’s friendship.

  As we drove away, I saw the face of the machine elf that had attacked me. I saw it in my mind’s eye very vividly, as if it were stood in front of me. It smiled in a smug kind of way, whilst looking deep into me with those huge, almond black eyes. Why was it so satisfied?

  ***

  It felt strange being in the quiet of The Institute again, with an empty space next to me in bed. On my bedside table, my copy of The Qur’an sat feeling neglected, covered with a thick layer of dust and without any feelings of guilt, I picked it up and placed it in the drawer underneath. I felt more connected to the divine through the machine, and in many ways, I almost felt divine myself.

  As I brushed my hair, I looked in the mirror, feeling that my reflection held a deeper truth than the flesh and body I was sometimes trapped in. My eyes were drawn to the slip of paper I’d taped there a while back. In large letters, I saw the word ‘satus’ plus its translation from Latin: seed, or origin. We’d certainly started something, but would we finish what we had begun?

  I fell asleep thinking of Paul, worried because the project had stalled for two weeks, it must be so frustrating for him. However, just because I had two weeks to consolidate what I’d been through in the machine, that didn’t ensure a return to normality.

  I opened my eyes in the morning to a strange and disturbing sight. At 6:00am. it was still twilight, giving the room an otherworldly feel and the silence created a stranger ambience. Through the cast iron pattern at the foot of my bed frame, I saw a greyish figure crouching, its huge almond black eyes staring at me with a glimmer of satisfaction. I froze in my bed, a cold chill running through my veins as I remembered my one and only encounter with these beings.

  It didn’t remain at the foot of my bed. In its crouched position, it scuttled around
the bed and began to move closer towards me, those huge black eyes bearing down on me, willing me to meet its gaze. I feared it was going to hurt me again and foolishly, I pulled the bedclothes over my head, as if it would offer some protection like a fabric force field. My heart pounded in my chest, and after what seemed like an eternity, I eventually pulled the bedclothes away from my face.

  There was no sign of the machine elf, and I breathed a sigh of relief. These intrusions on my reality were not welcome; would this now be a regular thing? I wasn’t sure I could cope if that was the case.

  I dressed in some casual clothes and went downstairs to the communal dining area for breakfast. Max sat at a table, with a newspaper and cup of coffee but other than his presence, I found the room empty. I helped myself to some toast and tea, and sat down at the table with him.

  “How are you feeling today?” he enquired, folding his newspaper and placing it on the table.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  We sat drinking quietly, watching each other, unsure what to say. Max broke the silence.

  “So, tell me about the last world that you visited,” he prompted.

  I shrugged my shoulders.

  “Well, it was a machine world populated by small grey people with big, black eyes. They weren’t very friendly, I don’t know what they did but my head hurt so much it felt like it was going to explode.”

  “A machine world?” Max questioned.

  “A world of machines and technology, they made an artificial sun and were feeding it energy, or something. I saw a spinning orb at the centre of the sun which kept exploding. I’m not a scientist so I can’t explain it very well.”

  “This technology sounds fascinating,” Max said, looking very thoughtful.

  “I guess. They certainly knew how to attack me without even touching me,” I added.

  Max’s eyes registered how I’d piqued his curiosity.

  “This world sounds worth another visit, doesn’t it?” he proposed. “After all, this technology could be very useful for our world.”

  I looked at him, realising his business brain was working overtime.

  “But they obviously don’t like us, or they wouldn’t have attacked me,” I countered.

  “Well, hopefully we can find ways of sending others in without putting you at risk. You are most certainly not expendable.”

  I smiled weakly, finished my toast and excused myself. His agenda made me feel uncomfortable. Max’s suggestions could potentially change the driving force of the whole project. Would greed poke its grubby finger in the works from now on?

  ***

  The two weeks passed slowly, interspersed with encounters with The Institute’s residents, who were still required to fulfil contracts set up by Max. Each one I saw, I asked about Paul and how things were going in my absence. The responses were pretty much identical; ‘he’s frustrated’, ‘we’re stuck in limbo until you get back’ and ‘Paul’s not a happy man with the machine sitting idle’.

  As I had too much time on my hands, I went shopping, spotting a fantastic twenties style cloche hat. I also found myself in Kensington that day and couldn’t resist popping into the Biba boutique. What an amazing place. It had blacked out windows, and a black and gold shop front. Inside it was dark and moody, very art nouveau and the clothes were so cheap. I walked away with two smocks and a skinny fit jumper.

  However, the boredom drove me crazy. Max sensed my frustration so when Emilie stayed over, he gave us some money to go out, along with the use of a chauffeur for the night. Previously, we’d had our differences but since the OOBE project involved everyone at The Institute, the relationship between us had developed into one of trust and camaraderie. I enjoyed the experience of a night out with a woman, it felt liberating to laugh and joke about the shortcomings of men, and discuss the merits of finding a special one.

  “So,” I began, tentatively, “is there something going on between you and Nicholas?”

  She tried to keep her cool but then burst into a refreshingly child-like giggle.

  “Maybe…” she inferred.

  I lowered my voice so the chauffeur couldn’t hear.

  “Have you had sex with him yet?” I asked, innately inquisitive.

  She seemed a little embarrassed at my directness.

  Finally she answered, “I think it’s on the cards soon.”

  I nudged her and gave her a big smile, although a more protective consideration came to mind.

  “Make sure you take precautions,” I whispered. “You can go on the pill now, you know. I don’t think Max would be very pleased if you got pregnant.”

  At the sound of his name, she looked down at her lap and shifted awkwardly in her seat. Surely, there had to be history, which would explain why she’d initially disliked me.

  “Was there ever anything between you and Max?” I enquired, surprised I’d never noticed this before.

  Emilie looked pained but she answered, first with a nod.

  “He…took me out to restaurants, bought me flowers just like a perfect gentleman, then I went to bed with him and after that…he ignored me,” she told me.

  The story sounded familiar, and a tight sensation gripped my stomach. That had so nearly been my tale too. I felt angry at Max, and cross with myself for almost falling for it. Luckily, I’d not ended up as one of his conquests, like Emilie. Part of me wanted to ask for further details about her experience of sex with him. I must admit, I felt a pang of jealousy but it was overshadowed by the feeling of having had a lucky escape.

  “It nearly happened to me too,” I revealed, “but I said no, I didn’t think he was a good man.”

  I gave her a hug, and decided not to dwell on the subject as she’d obviously fallen for him at that time and was hurt by the fact that he’d used her, quite callously by the sound of it. Meeting Nicholas offered a positive step for her, he seemed quite genuine and she probably wouldn’t give herself so easily this time.

  We went to the cinema, where we childishly flicked popcorn at the irritating people in front who couldn’t keep quiet. I instigated this retaliation. We saw ‘Alfie’, starring Michael Caine, a film about a man who had sex with lots of women. We compared the character to Max, recognising Alfie had redeeming qualities of innocence.

  After this, we dined at a small and friendly restaurant, with copious amounts of wine to finish the night. Back at The Institute, we almost fell out of the car onto the street. I saw the curtain of the communal dining room twitch and we stumbled through the door, discovering Max had let us in.

  “I take it you had a good evening, ladies,” he said, amused by the sight of two normally serious and focused women happily inebriated.

  I gave Max a dirty look, which confused him. Did it not occur to him that women compare notes? I guided Emilie up the stairs to her room, due to her wobbly legs. Max watched us stumble upstairs, saying nothing and I think he retreated to another part of the house. Needless to say, I slept well.

  In the morning, Max faced me in the dining room at breakfast while Emilie vomited upstairs. I felt guilty about that, having a higher alcohol tolerance. Max seemed offended after I‘d given him a dirty look last night, but he said nothing about it. In retrospect, I recognised that I hadn’t shown any appreciation for his good willed gesture.

  “Thank you for the night out,” I said.

  He smiled and looked relieved.

  “My pleasure,” he responded.

  I didn’t linger, as soon as I finished breakfast I returned to my room, via a knock on Emilie’s door to check she was okay. I spent most of my day reading or talking to Emilie, after she’d recovered. By the evening, the alcohol had been metabolised from my body and my head cleared.

  Relaxing on my bed, I counted down my return to Paul. There were five days left and I missed him, I craved the excitement of the journeys in the machine. If anything, my two weeks leave made me realise the importance of Paul and the project.

  Because I thought of him, I found my consciousness standi
ng in the kitchen at the farmhouse. Paul was preparing his evening meal, alone, glass of wine at hand. I saw a newspaper on the table, showing a completed crossword. He looked disenchanted with the whole two week leave thing, I could tell by the expression on his face. I stood close to him and wished to hug him, so with my consciousness I reached out and touched his cheek.

  He jumped and looked round, as if he expected someone to be there. Was this just a coincidence? To test the theory, I placed my ‘hand’ on his back, gently stroking it. Paul responded as if I’d done this with my physical body.

  “Tahra?” he asked, softly.

  If only I could answer, what a surprising development in my psychic capabilities. I’d already found the remote viewing experience more vivid and but this time, I’d touched someone and made them aware of my presence. An empowering feeling spread through my body.

  Because I couldn’t vocalise my thoughts, I retreated, knowing we’d be reunited in just under a week. As I pulled back, I passed through a chair and the strangest thing happened. It moved as if I’d actually walked into it, making a scraping noise on the terracotta tiles. At this point, I stopped and looked at Paul’s reaction. He watched the chair intently.

  Had I imagined it?

  I passed through the chair again and it responded in the same way, scraping along the floor.

  “Who’s there?” he called out. “Is that you, Tahra?”

  I wanted to respond, although didn’t know how. Withdrawing my consciousness and returning to my bed, my eyes snapped open, a big smile on my face. I could remote view and affect the environment now. The side effects of the machine started to pay dividends. A sense of power and awe came over me, and I began to realise this was the beginning of something else.

  21

  Seventy Five

  Tahra returned to the farmhouse in time for Christmas. On arrival, she bounded over to Paul and embraced him in a bear hug, and he lifted her up and spun her around. Their reunion rejuvenated Project OOBE, the prodigal missing link had re-entered the fold. To celebrate her return, he gathered all twelve recruits in the sitting room, where they welcomed her back. For a while, everyone wanted a slice of her but when the fuss subsided, she spoke to Paul with openness and honesty.