by Marie Harbon
Seven Point Eight
The First Chronicle
Marie Harbon
© Marie Harbon 2011 All Rights Reserved
2nd Edition © Marie Harbon 2012 All Rights Reserved
The right of Marie Harbon to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on a subsequent purchaser.
Published by Magnetic Lion Productions
Magnetic Lion Productions logo by Blue Harvest Creative
Cover by Richard Crookes
Photography by Gryphon’s Egg Productions
Model: Monique Candelaria
www.richardcrookes.co.uk
www.gryphonseggproductions.com
Contents
Prelude to Odyssey – Room 104
Part One: Genesis of Genius
Part Two: Kismet
Part Three: OOBE
It is said that a long time ago, our ancestors lived in a remarkably different world from the one we inhabit today. We understood the language of the Earth, the stars, and the sky people, and we knew of the Number. Life was sacred, and we lived in harmony with nature. This was a moment known as The First Time.
~
Although over the centuries, we forgot all of this and began to feel separate from the Earth and the stars. We became lost souls, without direction, and harmony was replaced with fear and distrust. The wisdom of the number was lost.
~
The further we wandered from our true selves and nature, we actually became more miserable. We walked through life asleep, ignorant of the truth.
~
However, we retain a deep and hidden memory of everything that we ever were. There lies within us hope that one day, we can re-connect with the language of the Earth, the stars, the sky people, and the wisdom of the Number. The moment has arrived for The Second Time.
~
It is time to wake up
.
Prelude to Odyssey
Room 104
October 1988
The London underground was a sinister place to be when being followed, especially for a woman travelling alone. Whoever stalked her always seemed ambiguous, amorphous, and at times almost inhuman, often fading into shadow.
Ava caught a train on the Victoria Line and instantly felt safer in a crowd, being surrounded by a heady concoction of commuters, tourists, and Londoners going about their daily business. The smell of sweat and perfume accompanied them, and their ignorance allowed her to feel anonymous. Trying not to appear shifty, she hid among them, focusing her eyes dead ahead.
Everything’s fine, no one can jump me here.
The busy hour meant a full train though, and she felt the bodies of the commuters press against her, some radiating formidable body odour. As the train rapidly accelerated and decelerated, Ava tried to maintain her balance. She distracted her worried mind by glancing over at someone’s book, attempting to ascertain what they were reading.
After the carriage rocked and screeched in the dark tunnels, making five stops along the way, she finally reached her destination. Pushing through the crowded station, she slid her ticket through the slot at the barriers and exited, wondering if her stalker had followed her.
I’m in a public place, so no one can kidnap me here.
The Tube station opened onto a main road, and she felt more exposed and vulnerable here. Glancing around, she crossed a street full of terraces, following her usual route. Often, she caught the scent of flowers at this point in the journey. A classical-looking matriarch with long, dark hair watered hanging baskets at the front of her house. She always smiled, giving Ava a pleasant reassurance, even though they didn’t know each other. Once or twice, there’d been children at the door too: a few in their teens and a younger boy who hid behind the mother, unsure what to think.
As Ava walked through a park, she encountered the same Afro-Caribbean man playing football with his two teenage boys. They were involved in a vociferous tackle, although generally they just dribbled the ball towards two trees, which were the goal posts. In the same park, an elderly gentleman walked a multitude of dogs. He normally tipped his hat to her. Finally, the same forty-something man sat on a bench, watching her intently, contemplating whether or not to approach, and perhaps afraid to initiate conversation. Always curious, he either partially hid behind a book or sipped tea from a polystyrene cup. Vague memories plagued her, suggesting she’d encountered this man before, but she couldn’t recollect where, when, or why.
He appraised Ava, this lithe young woman who often looked troubled, yet projected a quiet dignity with an introspective demeanour, as if internally preoccupied with some grand secret or purpose. She possessed an inviting sensuality, coupled with a compassionate aura. Untamed, golden hair shone in the autumn sun and cascaded down past her shoulders. With an olive tint to her skin, she looked a little Mediterranean, and her face had a soft, oval shape. A young student with spiked hair gave her a second glance as she walked past, but she paid no attention to him, being too consumed with the purpose of her journey. For a moment, she locked eyes with the man on the park bench, and noted the hint of affection in his eyes.
He’s too old for me, she thought, relieved he wasn’t too creepy though.
Did it comfort her, or was it just downright spooky that she encountered the same people on each journey? Were all these people actually acknowledging her, or was it just her imagination? She didn’t want to be extraordinary or to stand out; she merely wanted to contribute something extraordinary, something that stood out. In the near future, Ava would become involved in a critical project unprecedented in contemporary science, but how would these people know that? They wouldn’t. It had to be her imagination, surely?
As she drew closer to her destination, a disheartened emotion took over. She arrived at an austere building, which loomed over her like an architectural vampire, bleeding the positive energy from her soul. Even the design resembled fangs and it exemplified sobriety, bearing down upon the miniscule human ants that swarmed around its base.
This institution catered specifically for people with severe psychological problems, who’d been sectioned because they were a danger to themselves and to others. Furthermore, it housed a number of inmates who were certified as criminally insane. The fact that one of Ava’s relatives was a permanent resident here seriously unhinged her.
The place amplified her feelings of being watched and every fissure, every crack in its stone structure seemed to haunt her, harbouring some presence or aftershock of a catastrophe. Walls appeared to have faces, which were stark and non-human. Corridors felt active with amorphous people passing through as if it were a busy high street, even though the corridors were, in fact, empty. Light seemed to have a life of its own, dancing a cosmic waltz in a sinuous fashion, entwining with the dark shadows. Was it the people here or the place itself that was insane? Did its aura drive sane people crazy in insane places?
She reached the reception, where a matronly woman recognised her.
“Hi, I’m Ava Kavanagh, and I’ve come to see Maria Martinez.”
She signed into the visitors’ book, and the matronly woman escorted her to the low security wing. It sat at the end of a long corridor, illuminated by garish fluorescent lighting. Errant luminosity twisted acrobatically across the walls, as if projected by car headlights, and Ava focused ahead, ignoring the strange activity in her peripheral vision. She didn’t
want to attract undue attention to her erstwhile grasp of reality.
The route to Maria’s room passed some rather unusual residents and each visit, Ava glanced through the windows in their doors. She noticed a dark haired man, who always surrounded himself with reams of paper and this time, Ava felt a strong desire to enquire about him.
“Is he a writer or something?”
Her escort reacted with surprise at her interest, and replied curtly.
“We call him The Scribbler, as the only way we can manage his behaviour is to give him access to paper and a pen. He writes constantly but it’s all gibberish, rows and rows of symbols.”
Ava gave him a lingering look, feeling a sense of sadness regarding his predicament. What a waste of human life.
They passed another character, a blonde haired woman with an intense and seething stare. This time, she wasn’t restrained although she crouched on the bed, bearing a menacing expression on her face. When she saw Ava, she snarled.
“What’s wrong with her, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Her escort acquiesced to her questioning again.
“Schizophrenia… she hears voices, which she claims instruct her to do evil. Because she enjoys inflicting pain on others, we have to isolate her.”
The woman’s predicament touched Ava more deeply.
“Like Maria’s original diagnosis?”
Her escort tried to smile sympathetically, although she said nothing. Ava made eye contact with the intense character behind the door, which sent a chill down her spine.
“She reminds me of the girl from The Exorcist,” she commented.
They turned the corridor, where Ava observed two more enigmatic characters. An Afro-Caribbean couple resided in the same room, and appeared to be actors in a play of their own making.
“Lost in their own little world, aren’t they?” Ava said.
“We call them The Time Travellers, as they always insist they’ve visited the past and future. Most of the time they’re locked in an imagery scenario, living some other reality.”
Further down the corridor, where a broken fluorescent light flickered, Ava peered through the window to see a man with fair hair, who had a tendency to punch walls or shout for books. He remained oblivious to their presence and Ava’s gaze. On this day, he stood in front of a wall, reaching out to touch it with his fingers.
“What is he doing?” Ava asked.
“He believes he can walk through walls,” her escort explained. “My, we’ve had some bruises over the years. I don’t know what’s worse, his wall or book obsession.”
All these residents seemed to have some strange back story, and Ava felt intrigued by what tale lay behind their predicament. How did they end up so crazy and sick? Were they doomed to spend the rest of their lives scribbling, snarling, punching walls, or acting out another reality?
She followed her escort through some double doors, which required a security code to gain entry into the next corridor. There, they soon found Room 104 and Ava paused outside.
“Has there been any change in her condition since I last visited?”
Her escort shook her head with regret.
“She’s still in a persistent vegetative state, exactly the same as the day she arrived.”
Ava accepted the situation with reluctance.
“She’s the only living relative I have. I hope one day I’d discover where we came from, who our parents are, and if our father is still alive. Did you recover the file from the facility she transferred from?”
“I’m sorry, it’s still missing.”
Undeterred, Ava pressed further.
“Does anybody else visit her? They may be able to offer some clues to her history…why she ended up in this condition, when and why she cut her wrists...”
“I can’t disclose that information, it’s confidential I’m afraid.”
Her escort opened the door and Ava entered, determined to present a face of hope to Maria, her sister.
***
She felt a sense of relief to turn the key in her front door, and collapse on the sofa in her flat. Ava closed her eyes, trying to dissolve the day’s frustration through positive thinking, but didn’t totally succeed. There were too many questions and nothing made sense. Her life was becoming chaotic, not that it had ever actually been fathomable.
Rather than cook a meal, she decided to grab a takeaway. Only when she opened her handbag did she notice something that certainly didn’t belong to her, or any of her flatmates. In fact, she felt sure it hadn’t been in her bag before she left the flat. Ava stared at a red, silk scarf. How had it found its way into her bag, and why did she feel it held some personal meaning for her? This innocent little object disturbed her immensely.
With the red, silky fabric entwined around her fingers, she wandered over to the bay window and looked out at the twilight sky. The stars were obliterated due to light pollution, but for that moment, she felt a fleeting sense of connection to the cosmos. As if projecting her concerns to the universe, she communicated her anxiety.
“Nothing is real anymore,” she said. “What’s happening to me?”
Part One
The Genesis of Genius
I cannot but regard the ether, which can be the seat of an electromagnetic field with its energy and vibrations, as endowed with a certain degree of substantiality, however different it may be from all ordinary matter.
*
Hendrik Lorentz, physicist, 1906
1
Earthship
“Our story is the story of the cosmos, because every little piece of you, every little bit of me, everything you hold dear and everything you hate, all emerged from the first few minutes of life in the universe. The atoms inside our bodies came from the hearts of stars, or were created in their fiery deaths. When we die, those atoms will be returned to the cosmos, as part of the endless cycle of death and rebirth. I ask you, dearest audience, isn’t it wonderful to be a part of the universe?”
Dr. Paul Eldridge gazed at his attentive audience, who filled all the seats in this oak panelled lecture theatre. A mixture of potential students, accompanying parents, past alumni, and curious adults sat dressed in a typical array of post war fashions: casual and smart suits, pencil skirts, full pleated skirts, tailored dresses, trilbies, pill box hats, and real stockings. They hung on his every word, and his passion and charisma seemed to entice others to study at the university. Since attaining his doctorate in 1947, he’d accepted an invitation to lecture on physics, and had never looked back.
Paul’s proud, dignified features reflected his natural sense of authority and although not traditionally handsome, he came across as a fascinating individual. His striking blue eyes suggested both wisdom and curiosity. They possessed warmth and humour but also a special intensity, as if they were the doorway to some great cosmic knowledge. His fair hair curled in an anarchistic fashion, so he kept it short to ensure absolute follicular rule. He dressed conservatively when necessary, and casual when that rule didn’t hold. This particular day, he wore a cream shirt with neutral coloured trousers, which he deemed acceptably smart.
As he spoke, he gesticulated powerfully, etching his enthusiasm and beliefs into his facial expressions while walking up and down the stage.
“We live on this amazing giant floating ball of rock and water, spinning on its axis at over a thousand miles per hour, and travelling around the sun at over sixty-seven thousand miles per hour. Our sun drags the solar system around the galaxy at over fifty-five thousand miles per hour, and all the while, our galaxy itself is moving through the universe faster than the speed of light. What a ride!”
“In essence, our home is an Earthship which is over four billion years old. We orbit an immense power source, and in the universe, there are billions more stars like ours, possibly with their own family of Earthships. How many planets out there in the universe support life?”
“However vast our cosmos may be, it is still composed of tiny particles called atoms.
They are so small that if an apple were magnified to the size of the Earth, then the atoms in the Earth-sized apple would be approximately the size of the original apple.”
At this point, he picked up an actual apple that he liked to use as a prop.
“As we journeyed through the twentieth century in today’s lecture, it became clear that atoms are not, in fact, unbreakable”.
He threw the apple to an alert young man in the second row, who caught it in one hand. Perfection. Paul continued as he paced the stage.
“Peering inside the atom, we found that its solidity is an illusion. The nucleus within it compares to a fly in a cathedral, and that leaves us with an awful lot of empty space, over ninety percent actually. We’ve always seen this void as empty and matter as full, but now that we can smash apart atoms, freeing a host of new quantum particles, will we begin to peel away the bottom layers of our reality?”
He paused briefly, as if contemplating the question.
“Einstein attempted to draw together space, time, matter, gravitation, and electromagnetism into one unified theory but this eludes him, and his theory remains incomplete. Will we ever develop a universal understanding of the cosmos, and our place within it? I’d like to think so, yet the more we discover the more unpredictable the universe becomes.”
“This brought us to the world of quantum weirdness, where the universe exists as an infinite number of possibilities, having no precise location or being until something happens to lock one of those possibilities into place. This is known as Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle. In his double-slit experiment, a photon particle behaved as if it passed through both slits at the same time, but, when it was observed closely, it chose a definite slit. He concluded that when we observe something, we turn quantum possibilities into reality. Maybe it also means we can be in two places at once!”
