by Marie Harbon
“These two weeks have made me realise what’s important,” she declared.
Paul put his arm around her and kissed her on the forehead.
“Same here, you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone.”
“This project is my purpose in life, and you’re a part of my destiny too,” she continued.
“I don’t mean to put you in difficult situations,” he began to explain, “but the nature of what we’re doing is risky. I realise that you’re correct though, it is happening too quick. I’m on the outside so it’s easy for me to dictate the pace without due consideration for your wellbeing, harder for you to enter a different reality every few days. I can slow this down, just say so, you come first, not the project.”
He kissed her on the lips this time.
“Earlier in the project, I had an encounter at Jupiter, remember?” He nodded so she continued. “I wrote the word ‘satus’ on a piece of paper and taped it to my mirror at The Institute. This truly is the beginning of an exciting journey, we can change the world. All I need is courage to see this through. Something important is about to happen and I’m not going to stand in the way. I’ll do whatever’s necessary.”
Paul hugged her tightly.
“That means the world to me,” he said.
With that, he released her and called for the attention of the twelve recruits. He hushed them, starting to address them as a whole.
“I have an announcement to make,” he declared. “Although the project has been on hiatus for two weeks, it’s full steam ahead from now on. I propose three major expeditions: one with all six of the residents of The Institute, another with all six new recruits, and the third with all twelve together. On each of these expeditions, we’ll scout out a new world, beginning just after the New Year and culminating on the 21st of February 1967.”
Tahra nodded to agree and Paul smiled with delight. Project OOBE had returned with a vengeance. He allowed them to discuss the next stage and while they did so, he pulled Tahra to one side, dying to ask something.
“About a week ago, I had a strange experience in the kitchen of the farmhouse,” he began, looking to see what her response would be.
“And what experience was that?” she asked, touching his lips with her finger. “Did you actually cook something for once?”
Paul feigned indignity.
“No, my dear Tahra, I felt your presence, it was if you were touching me. Where you there, Tahra? Did you remote view me?”
She detected the playful amusement in his tone of voice.
“Yes I did, because I missed you.”
“How did you do it? How did you make me feel as if you were touching me?” he asked, curious. “It seemed so real.”
Tahra struggled to explain how she’d achieved it.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, “but since I’ve used the machine on a regular basis, I’ve changed, I’m…enhanced.”
“Did you move the chair?”
“Yes, I believe I did.”
“I’ve never known a remote viewer who could affect the environment,” he said. “This really is something else, isn’t it? It’s the machine… I wonder if these are permanent changes. I need to take measurements of your electromagnetic field…”
She interrupted him with a kiss.
“You were right,” she declared, “it is exciting, it is a gift. Who can argue with that?”
***
The twelve recruits celebrated Christmas with Paul and Tahra, the dinner requiring ‘one helluva turkey’ as Tyrone put it. They discovered the simple pleasure of crowding around the huge farmhouse pine table, enjoying good food, wine, and conversation. Opportunities to socialise outside of the project were rare, and it felt good to remember they were all human beings with their own lives, foibles, and social commentaries to discuss.
Paul had bought a small gift for each of his recruits, commemorative cufflinks for the men with the number 7.8 created out of solid silver, and similar hairpins for the ladies with pretty gemstones set into it, including one for Tahra too. They were a small token of gratitude.
“I’ll wear this always,” she said. “It’ll remind me of what we achieved together.”
“It’s not the only gift I have for you,” he added, producing three more.
She opened them, beginning with the soft, floppy one, finding a beautiful red silk scarf inside.
“It reminded me of you,” Paul explained, “your passion and your fire.”
“Reminiscent of the passion I feel, for my life, the project, for you…”
He tied it loosely around her neck and she proceeded to open the other two, finding boxes containing a delicate gold necklace and a ring set with a ruby. Tahra loved them both and wore them immediately.
“I love all my gifts, thank you.”
She produced two presents and passed them to Paul, who opened them eagerly. He discovered a solid gold ring with an engraving of an Egyptian ankh on it, plus a framed photograph of the OOBE team.
“This has got to be the most memorable Christmas I’ve had so far,” he said, giving her an appreciative kiss.
New Year featured celebrations in a similar manner, fuelled by the belief that 1967 heralded a major breakthrough. Max always hosted his own party every New Year, although he accepted the OOBE team had formed their own clique now. They greeted the New Year with twelve bottles of wine, the chinking of glasses, and some drunken revelry, which progressed from a pleasant merriness to something a little more raucous. Everyone deserved to cut loose for a while though.
Curtis volunteered for the role of DJ, with some assistance from Sonya, who enjoyed pop music in addition to classical. They played a range of current and recent tunes, and as the night progressed, a whole chorus of OOBE recruits sang ‘Reach Out, I’ll Be There’ by the Four Tops. Paul appreciated the social atmosphere they’d created at the farmhouse, which seemed to imprint positive energy onto the fabric of space around them. Hearing the laughter, and sensing the hopeful vibrations in the room fostered his unshakeable conviction in his vision.
Nicholas and Emilie become rather intimate to the sounds of ‘I’m Into Something Good’ by Herman’s Hermits, accompanied by a sing-a-long in the background. In his semi-drunken state, he placed his arms around her waist and moved in time to the music.
“There is indeed something special on my mind,” he agreed, touching her affectionately on the nose. “I’m into something good!”
“You’ve made me a very happy woman,” Emilie told him.
Nicholas grasped her closer.
“You’ve made me a very happy man.”
Paul watched with amusement, noticing how even the shyest of residents, like Sakie were joining in. Tahra, Angelina, and Tyrone became the most boisterous singers, Oscar danced with Dominique, twirling her around the floor, and even Sonya drifted into the congregation, unable to take a back seat any longer.
Tahra sidled up to Paul, put her arms around his neck and her pelvis close to his, and swayed in a semi-drunken seductive manner. Nancy Sinatra’s ‘These Boots Were Made for Walking’ graced the air, with accompaniment from the OOBE quintet and Tahra decided to get playful.
“Would you like my boots to walk all over you?” she asked, smiling and teasing as she sent a little shiver of energy up his spine.
“Mmmm,” he murmured in her ear, “I hope you’re not just teasing.”
Curtis noticed the sexual chemistry between Paul and Tahra, Nicholas and Emilie, Angelina and Tyrone, and responded with The Kinks ‘You Really Got Me’. At the sound of the tune, the three couples laughed as Curtis gave them a wink. Nicholas and Tyrone struck up their own individual accompaniment, although Paul stopped short of singing, he simply moved his body in time with Tahra’s.
“I’m inclined to agree with the lyrics,” Paul said, running his hands up and down her body. “You certainly have got me going.”
Tahra brushed her lips against his, as a statement of what may transpire. Sensing his arous
al, she elegantly stepped away from his embrace, pausing in the doorway and striking a provocative pose. Paul took the cue and walked towards her, although she moved away before he could touch her, waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“I hope you’re not wearing your best underwear,” he laughed, “because I’m going to rip it off.”
Tahra winked and ascended the stairs, casting a glance behind her to entice Paul. He followed and she lingered in the bedroom doorway, where he swept her up and placed her on the bed.
They undressed with a sense of urgency, and Paul pulled off her underwear with his teeth, facilitating a quick entry. While Tahra cried out in a spontaneous finale, Emilie and Nicholas rose to an ecstatic mutual orgasm elsewhere in the house, accompanied by the twelve chimes of Big Ben coming over the radio.
Breakfast appealed to no one the next morning, although glasses of water, Alka Seltzer, and headache pills soothed stomachs and raging headaches. By the evening, everyone had settled down to quiet chatter, cups of tea, and a small buffet of nibbles. They talked of the three upcoming missions in the machine with excitement, preparing to get down to business again.
On the night of January the 5th, everyone congregated in the sitting room, ready to embark on the next major step. They all watched the news together, viewing in horror as Donald Campbell’s attempt to beat his own water speed record ended in tragedy. As his turbojet hydroplane, ‘Bluebird’ approached 300mph on Coniston Water in Cumbria, the nose lifted from the water and the hydroplane performed a backward somersault, killing him.
Paul felt subdued.
“So much for wanting to push the boundaries,” he said, quietly.
Hopefully, this wasn’t an omen for Project OOBE.
The next morning, the six residents of The Institute stepped into the machine with Tahra, who appeared tense as she’d never towed the consciousnesses of more than two people at a time. They reached out and interlinked hands, George, Oscar, Sakie, Beth, Peter, and Emilie, gazing over at the six empty chairs that would soon be filled.
Emilie looked particularly nervous, since her last journey in the machine had been a difficult one, but Tahra gave her a supportive smile. After a brief silence, they heard the needle touch the record, followed by the opening bars of ‘Good Vibrations’.
“I’m starting to tire of this song,” she commented. “He plays it repeatedly around the house too.”
The occupants of the machine felt the customary buzzing and tingling coursing through their nervous systems, the paralysis of their physical bodies, and the separation of their consciousnesses.
“Here we go,” Tahra heard someone say.
The resonance of the electromagnetic field threw them headlong into the void. Tahra clearly saw six points of light, and she visualised a net in which to scoop them up. Focusing hard, she imagined herself keeping a tight grip, as if her friends were fish caught in that net.
What new world would they discover?
She felt apprehensive, due to her encounters with the machine elves and the world of torture. However, this time, she had a support team. Whatever they needed to confront, they’d join forces.
Within moments, they emerged in a grey and featureless world. If anything, it looked like a blank canvas, albeit one charged with cerebral energy.
“Don’t forget,” Tahra reminded, “create a likeness of yourself so we can see each other.”
One at a time, the recognisable figures of Oscar, Beth, Emilie, George, Peter, and Sakie popped into existence, like magic. They looked at each other in confusion when they realised where they stood.
“Are we between worlds?” George asked. “This place is like limbo.”
Tahra shrugged.
“Maybe we’re meant to paint our own picture in this world,” she guessed.
That turned out to be a remarkably astute observation.
In the distance, or perhaps just the furthest point of their vision as no one could gauge perspective, they saw a dot, reminiscent of the first impression made by an etch-a-sketch. It began to move towards them, leaving a grey trail behind it. The point began to increase in size, becoming a fuzzy blur as it got closer.
“Do you all see that?” Peter queried.
They nodded and watched as it drew nearer, taking a more definite form the more they focused on it.
“It’s…a samurai warrior,” Sakie said, in disbelief.
A Japanese figure with ethnically correct features and a thin moustache typical of a samurai warrior advanced towards her. Clad in armour, complete with helmet and wielding a sword, he raised it above his head. Looking into his eyes, she noticed the irises of his eyes were ebony black, as if filled with inky liquid and Sakie took a step back, unsure of his intentions.
“It looks like a crawling baby,” Beth disagreed.
Looking deep into the advancing dot, she clearly witnessed a baby, swathed in a nappy, ambling towards her on all fours. As it crawled closer, she gazed at its face although discovered no picture of innocence, as it appeared distinctly alien with grey skin and huge black, almond eyes. Rather than turn away, she found herself magnetically drawn to it, however repulsive it actually looked.
“Strange, it looks more like…a sexy Jamaican lady in a bikini,” Oscar said, incredulously.
A beautiful girl with full sensuous lips and black eyes walked with a languorous gait. Oscar became entranced even though she didn’t look completely human.
“No,” Emilie interjected, “it’s a whole crowd of people.”
She watched the fuzzy haze separate into a crowd of amorphous people, clone-like with identical features. They had grey skin and black eyes, walking around in some kind of daze, as if they were asleep. Each person had a little cloud attached to their head via a string, which displayed their thoughts, their internal conversations, and their hopes and fears.
“I beg to differ again,” George countered, “they’re a platoon of soldiers.”
He saw a multitude of people like Emilie did, but they were soldiers, complete with uniform, helmets, and bayonets as if they were ready to leave the trenches for an assault over the top. Like the other images, the soldiers had ebony black eyes, giving them an unearthly appearance.
“I see my dead mother,” Peter added sadly.
A once sturdy woman appeared to Peter at the age of her death, in her mid-fifties, her grey hair swept up into a chignon. She walked with the aid of a stick and looking into her eyes, Peter saw those same black irises.
Tahra peered into the fuzzy dot and found a recognisable figure. One she knew all too well.
“What do you see?” Peter asked her.
An angry male figure strode towards her, waving a copy of the Qur’an. Maybe this reflected the repressed guilt of placing the holy book into a drawer, out of sight and out of mind.
“I see my father,” she replied, wanting to turn away but like the others, she felt strangely compelled to look into his black eyes.
“We see what we want to see in this world,” Peter concluded.
“No,” Tahra disagreed, “not what we want to see, what our subconscious is trying to tell us.”
Sakie’s samurai warrior stopped in front of her, sword poised, as if ready to strike. Beth’s infant crawled up to her feet and raised a hand, willing her to pick it up while Oscar’s femme fatale stood in front of him, untying her bikini. Emilie’s thought bubble people began to amble towards her, George’s soldiers formed a firing squad, and Peter’s dead mother held out a piece of paper. Tahra tried not to look as her father thrust a copy of the Qur’an into her face.
What the hell did this mean?
At that point, the field powered down and the interior of the machine came into view, the messages from their subconscious minds interrupted abruptly.
Paul opened the hatch with an excited and expectant expression on his face.
“Well?” he asked.
Tahra nodded, hiding the residual guilty feelings from the encounter with her father.
“I can tow
six consciousnesses,” she declared, drawing on her successes, not her shortcomings.
Everyone in the machine looked at each other with a beleaguered expression on their faces. They moved over to the cine camera, where Paul gave an introduction.
“The first major expedition of the OOBE project just took one step closer to reality,” he declared.
***
Between this trip and the subsequent journey involving the six non-psychic recruits, Paul gathered his team and reviewed their progress. Recalling his out of body experience in the shop and Tahra’s chair episode in the kitchen recently, he enquired if anybody had encountered any unusual occurrences since using the machine.
Angelina and Tyrone shrugged their shoulders, finding it odd he should ask that question.
“No,” Tyrone responded, “if anything, everyday life is dull in comparison.”
Nicholas considered the question carefully.
“I just feel honoured to be a part of this.”
Curtis also reported a null effect.
“Nope, nothing outside of what I experience in the machine.”
Sonya offered a different perspective, however.
“Musically I feel more inspired,” she declared.
“I feel stronger as a person,” Dominique offered.
Oscar responded, “Well, I must admit, I think my remote viewing skills have sharpened. The visuals are clearer during tests at The Institute.”
Paul nodded, perhaps the field enhanced their existing skills.
George reported a similar effect.
“You know, now you’re asking, my remote viewing tests are more lucid,” he told Paul.
Sakie seemed uncertain, and simply said, “Maybe.”
Emilie added her experience.
“People’s thoughts are louder,” she answered.
Beth and Peter, however, hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.
“Seems like business as usual to me,” she said.
“Nothing to report,” Peter told him.
