by Sam Nash
Hugo was lost in the complex ramifications of Parth’s account.
The Archbishop drew in breath. “You are suggesting that we all access the same pool of information?”
“Only when we are immersed in sympathetic electromagnetic frequencies. If, for example, there was a particularly strong geomagnetic storm, the turbulence would undoubtedly prevent a connection. But, while our brains are at rest, particularly in the dream states of alpha rhythms, we would be at our most congruent. That’s probably why we tell people who need to make decisions or have problems, to ‘sleep on it.’ The solution is found by tapping into the font of all knowledge - aka, the ionosphere.”
The Archbishop smoothed his beard and re-crossed his legs. “Can anyone do this, do you suppose, or would you have to be trained in yogic practises or meditation?”
“Anyone who can calm their mind down to match the Earth’s Schumann Resonance of 7.83Hertz. Isn’t that what you do when you pray? You try and sync your mind with a deity who will listen and give advice?”
Mary winced at Parth’s pronouncement. He was deliberately provoking them.
Hugo bit first. “That is an outrageous suggestion. How dare you?”
“With all due respect, Hugo, Has God ever replied to any of your prayers? Could it be that you were simply transmitting your problems and wishes into the great backup in the sky? That there is no God to hear you, only a collective consciousness of seven billion people, or by logical progression, hundreds of billions of people since Homo-erectus died out in the Pleistocene era.”
“You are dismissing two thousand years of worship for the sake of a shaky argument over an unproven hypothesis.” Hugo snarled.
“I am merely proposing an alternative approach to a current trend in consciousness experiments. It just seems curious that the more we bathe ourselves in artificial electromagnetic fields of telecommunications, the less able we are to empathise with one another. If we switched off all the interference in our lives, we might all have a telepathic ability with each other and with our ancestors. Might we achieve genuine harmony? No one sector of society could sequester information at the expense of all others. No one group could retain control. No rich, no poor, no corrupt governments. True equality could be achieved.”
“Hold, for one moment, Dr Arora.” The Archbishop interjected. “Let us circle back to what you just said. A connection with all our ancestors?”
“Precisely, isn’t it logical that the ionosphere retains all our memories and thoughts even after we die.”
“Are you suggesting that the ionosphere is Heaven?” The host chimed in.
“I’m saying that there is no heaven.”
Chapter Twelve
Mary hit the pause button. The video froze with Hugo’s mouth wide open. It was not a flattering look. She could guess his reaction to Parth’s assertions. She knew that Parth was hellbent on antagonising his old college friend in retaliation for his part in ruining his chances of a Nobel Prize. This latest outpouring would reignite the science versus religion debate, sending it into a stratospheric level of global conflict. Did Parth’s motive also include raising the potential backlash for Mary too?
Resting the tablet PC on the arm of the sofa, she closed her eyes and rubbed them. Did Parth really believe that anyone could tap into a collective consciousness? A tethering much like her own abilities, but with the wider implications of connecting all mankind. If his theories were correct, there could be many more people with gifts like her own. People who had managed to stay off Alexi and the British government’s radars. More importantly, if the essence of a person’s character, memories and thoughts are preserved after death in the ionosphere, could she still make contact with her grandfather? Was it his voice calling her name among the clamour and noise when she tried to contact Dan? Could she speak to her father from beyond the grave? Mary felt light-headed; her chest constricted. On the edge of tears, she inhaled a long breath, stilling her emotions.
“Can I get you something to drink, madam? Tea, perhaps, or something stronger?” Harvey stood up, collecting the iPad from its precarious position and setting it down in a charging dock.
“I would get roaring drunk if I thought it would help. As it is, I have to attend that charity function with Shrimant Shinde tonight.” She tucked her legs up on the settee and hugged a chintz cushion.
“Would you like me to call his assistant and cancel?”
“In truth, Harvey, I need to see him. I asked him for a favour about something important. I want to know what he has discovered. I won’t be able to rest until I know that everything is resolved.”
“Wouldn’t a telephone call fulfil that objective, madam?”
“It would, but then I’d feel guilty about using his resources and then leaving him in the lurch for his function. No, I will have to attend. I just hope that I am not recognised by any paparazzi.” A cup of steaming hot tea arrived on the coffee table, along with a full pot and milk jug on a silver tray. “Harvey, you are an angel.”
Harvey tittered awkwardly. “You never know, you might enjoy yourself. I’m sure that Shrimant Shinde’s assistant has prepared for every eventuality, including the management of the press.”
There was a short period of silence, while Harvey busied himself replacing the towels in the bathroom and removing the midnight blue silk evening gown from the wardrobe. He placed a pair of navy suede stilettos and a small matching clutch bag next to the vanity unit and frowned. Returning to the sitting room he said, “madam, would you like me to enquire about a loan of some jewellery for this evening? I believe the whole ensemble would look a little plain without any at all.”
“I have spent the last few weeks borrowing everything from everyone. People must be sick and tired of me. No, thank you, but it is kind of you to think of it.” She scrambled up from the sofa and reached for her satchel. “I almost forgot. I have a brooch that I inherited.” Mary pulled Grandma Phebe’s jewel from her bag and held it up against the hanging dress. “What do you think?”
“A match made in heaven, madam.” They both gave a titter.
“There you go then. I’m all set.”
“There is the matter of your salon appointment downstairs, madam.”
“Another one? I guess there are downsides to living like a duchess after all.”
***
A gentle tap on the door signalled Karan’s arrival. Harvey opened the door to the regal Indian gentleman; whose chin fell the moment he spied Mary in the silk gown. A single diagonal strap secured her modesty and negated the need for a necklace. The curls of her hair were piled high at the front and sides, but left to spill down between her exposed shoulder blades at the back. The overall effect rendered Karan mute. He handed a small, hand tied posy of violets to Harvey as he walked into the sitting room.
After a protracted silence, in which Karan just stood admiring her, she said, “thank you for the flowers,” and blushing, she turned to Harvey, “Please could you put them in water?”
“Of course, madam. Have a wonderful time.”
Still Karan said nothing. Bereft of speech, he offered his arm to her instead. With careful steps, Mary teetered on the heels and slid her hand under his forearm. The sensation was electric, even through the close woven cloth of his dinner jacket. Did he feel the spark of frisson too? Mary could not be sure. They strolled to the waiting elevator and absorbed the admiring stares of the operator.
Mary adjusted the neck strap several times before Karan found his voice. “Do not be uncomfortable, Mary. You are without fault.”
She tried to assimilate his statement. Was that a compliment? Was he attempting to say that she looked nice? “Thank you, I think.” The silk edged up her leg as she walked across the marble foyer. The cool night air stung her ankles, prompting her to flick the hemline back down her leg. God, how do women deal with dress creep? Yelena wears silk all the time. She never has to wriggle her clothes back in place. An elegant descent into the limousine was much easier than she had fe
ared. She sat on the edge of the back seat and swung both legs together into the foot well. So far so good. Karan walked to the far side of the vehicle and slipped in beside her. Their thighs grazed whenever they rounded a corner. Mary found herself shallow breathing.
“Karan, do you think it would be better to drop me off at a service entrance to the venue?”
“Why would we do that?”
“What if I am recognised by the press? I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
“I doubt anyone would recognise you in that gown, Mary, but even if they did, you could never embarrass me. Just relax and enjoy yourself.”
She couldn’t relax. The side of his leg was firmly pressed against hers. It had been a long time since she had danced the tango of courtship. This is flirting, isn’t it? He doesn’t normally like physical contact, so I guess this is particularly unusual behaviour for him. What am I supposed to do now? If I raise the subject of Alexi and the nuclear material, he might go all cold and formal on me. Better leave it until later to ask.
They sat in silence, immersed in the warmth of attraction. The limousine cruised downtown, towards the financial district. Mary marvelled at the compact use of space; of how the old traditional churches rubbed shoulders with the concrete and steel of modern architecture. How the avenues would terminate with an impressive landmark building, reminding visitors and residents of its colonial history.
The tyres rumbled over the tight-packed cobbles, where once a canal ran. The Broad Street Ballroom lay just ahead. A queue of several stretched limousines inched forwards, delivering their passengers into the hands of an illuminated media circus. Mary shuffled forwards on the seat. She could see a flock of cameramen, presenters and sound engineers, each with their respected equipment thrust into the attendees faces. Mary panicked. “Can we get out here, and just sort of, well, hide from them?”
“You’ll be fine. No one would expect to find you here.” Karan tried to affect a calm air, but failed. He seemed equally perturbed by the spectacle.
“Please?”
They alighted from the car on the side furthest from the pavement. Karan swooped down and grasped her hand. Together, they rounded the back of the limousine queue, and strode confidently along the sidewalk towards the entrance. A red carpeted area, surrounded by roped cordons created a funnel shape for the arriving dignitaries. As they approached, a tall man with cropped silver hair and smiling blue eyes was seized by the crowds. Just above the neck of his dress shirt, Mary spotted a thin cotton dressing, attached to his skin with surgical tape. The paparazzi went wild. In a feeding frenzy of reporting, stark lights, woolly microphones and hooded video cameras jostled for prime position.
“Senator! Over here! How are you feeling, senator?”
“Luca, did your life flash before your eyes?”
“Did it hurt much, senator?”
“It did smart a bit, yes, but you know what they say; you can’t keep an old dog down.” He gave them the entire upper register of his perfect orthodontics, canines and all.
“What did it feel like, senator?” This, from a female reporter in a low-cut dress and a thick layer of cosmetics.
Luca held out his arm and stripped off the white cotton glove covering his left hand. The reporters gasped. A delicate branching pattern of scarring traced down his wrist to the end of his index finger. “They call it Lichtenberg Flowers. I’m told they will fade as they heal. It could have been worse. At least it flashed over my skin and not through my organs. Ruined my favourite suit though.” The female reporter reached out to touch him, but he snatched his hand away.
“Is that all over your body, Luca?” The female reporter arched her back in towards him so that her chest was almost in his face.
“Just from my neck to this hand.”
A larger man pushed his microphone between them. “Do you think your bill will pass through the second house?”
Another shouted, “What’s next for you, Senator?”
Luca took a huge step backwards, disregarding the political enquiry. “Next, is attending this function for a very worthy cause… If you’ll excuse me…” A man in a black suit and a curled cable stretching from his ear bud to the back of his collar, held out his arms and herded the press back to their cordoned area. Mary and Karan slipped in through the entrance immediately behind the senator. Luca did a double take at Mary, and then proceeded to fend off a variety of well-wishers. Karan and Mary glided right through to the ballroom without fanfare or issue.
A waiter presented a platter with champagne and fruit juices to Mary. She took the alcohol.
Karan gave her an awkward smile. “Will I need to carry you home later tonight, Mary?” The inference was clear. He did not think she could hold her drink and did not want a repeat of their encounter in London.
Mary chose to ignore it. He was beginning to remind her of Parth, and that would scupper more than one pleasant evening together. “So, is there something specific you have chosen to bid upon tonight or are you just here to be seen?”
“You make me sound so mercenary. It is a part of the job, you know.” He checked himself, smoothing the ill-tempered frown into a forced smile. “Mary. Let us not quarrel tonight. Come, let’s examine the lots.”
She took his arm once more, allowing him to sweep her through the colonnade of pillars to the fake plaster plinths supporting photos and explanations of the items for auction. Between them, a fabric vertical banner advertised the charitable cause. The eight-foot image showed a turtle swimming through a soup of sun-bleached plastic, the nylon rings of a multi-pack binder cutting into the flesh of its limbs. Purposefully graphic, the picture silenced them.
Mary nodded. “A very worthy cause.”
“You should see the massive build up off the shores of some of the Indonesian islands. This is a global issue, and it will require a global solution.” Karan moved towards a photograph of a Yacht, picking up the booklet to read the terms of sale.
“Someone donated a yacht?” Mary peered around Karan’s shoulder.
“No, just the use of it for a season.”
“I was going to say… these people have more money than sense.” The moment she said it, she wished she could take it back.
“You don’t fancy a trip on my yacht then?” He grinned.
“I am sorry. This is a whole other world. I don’t think I could ever understand it.”
They both shuffled towards the next item; a Kandinsky original, resting on a display easel. As they drew nearer, a photographer ushered Senator Luca Bonovich to the canvas. Shouting directions for him to pose, the senator stood to one side of the easel, ill at ease, and sported his genial grin.
Karan steered Mary away. “Probably a good idea to avoid media attention.” He winked at her and took a large gulp of champagne.
Maybe now is a good time to ask him about Alexi, he seems relaxed enough. In her peripheral vision, Mary spied an older woman bearing down on them. She could feel her upper lip curling the closer she drew. Her one and only meeting with this prominent CEO, left Mary in no doubt about her ethics and moral standing.
“Hey, Mary. Good to see ya again.” Bernice Feinstein launched herself at Mary, her hand extended and rigid.
Mary edged backwards and filled her free hand with her clutch bag. “Hello.”
“Got your eye on something in particular?” Bernice lowered her arm and then flicked her head towards the exhibited lots.
“No.”
“I gotta say, that Kandinsky looks damn fine. Too rich for my blood though. How about you, Shrimant Shinde? You could get it for your bathroom wall.” Her attempt at humour fell flat. Karan would not bite. “I made the Giving Pledge, this year, that’s in addition to the charitable donations I make on Phlaxo’s behalf. That reminds me, I meant to ask you about the permits for our India campaign…”
Before she could finish her request, Karan grabbed the sleeve of her couture dinner suit and dragged her into a corner. Mary watched Karan’s features transform from dis
pleasure, to anger and then full on fury. Their discussion intense, and conducted between set jaws and gritted teeth. Bernie appeared less flustered by their conference, although even at a distance, Mary could see Bernie’s pulse throbbing in her neck. Glancing around her, Mary felt exposed. The guests seemed to be clustered in cosy groups at the far end of the room. The cavernous ceilings and opulent table decorations dwarfed her tiny form. Leaving her date to his business dealings, Mary made for the relative security of the buffet table. A lavish spread which spanned the width of the hall. She picked at an avocado hors d’oeuvre, trying to appear confident among the VIP guests.
As she leaned in for a second offering, she heard a high-pitched giggle. Mary glanced around her for the source and was blinded by a pulsing red beam. The giggles grew louder. Again, she scanned the room only to be blinded a second time. Mary averted her gaze and blinked until her vision was fully restored. Turning once more, she found Senator Luca Bonovich by her side.
He pointed to a low dome shape, sticking up above the buffet table, topped with sandy hair. Mary watched as the little boy bobbed up and aimed a laser pointer at Luca’s face, before dipping low to hide.
Mary nodded. “There’s always one, isn’t there?”
“I’m afraid so.” He looked at her as though he was making an analysis. Not in admiration or disdain, but an all-encompassing sweep of her presence. “Hi, Luca Bonovich.” He shook her hand, holding on for a little longer than necessary.
“Hello, I'm Mary A… just Mary.”
“Good to meet you, Just Mary.” His eyes roved everywhere, without shame. She turned back to the table and collected her glass. He seemed keen to prolong their discourse. “It’s ah… a real nice brooch.”
“Thank you. It belonged to my grandfather’s grandmother, so, you know, it’s pretty old.”