Seven Point Eight (35 page)

“I’ve been practising my aerial skills,” she answered, a hint of melancholia in her voice.

Paul paused then asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m…feeling quite lonely. It’s my birthday today…”

“Oh, you should have mentioned it when we last met. How old, or should I not ask a woman that?”

“I’m twenty,” she replied, feeling a little tearful.

“Aren’t you doing anything special? A young woman shouldn’t be all alone on her birthday.”

“No, there’s no one around.”

“Hey, look, I’m not doing anything today and it’s only early afternoon. Can you get here?”

“Yes, I think so.”

 
“Well, get on the train and I’ll meet you at Croydon. That okay?”

“Yes, yes,” she replied, ecstatic.

“I hope you like horse riding,” he said.

“I haven’t been on a horse for about ten years or so,” she answered, with a slight nervous laugh.

“Oh, I’ll sort you out a suitable horse. We can just take it easy.”

Tahra replaced the receiver and allowed herself to explode into a smile. There must be a God, he cared! It all seemed so natural, his invitation and the warmth of his gesture.

After a quick train ride, Paul picked her up in his car just outside the station. He drove a Triumph Spitfire, another two seated sports convertible, although he‘d purchased and fitted a hard top for the winter months.

She felt truly grateful that he’d granted her this excursion, and he appeared to appreciate her companionship. Eleanor didn’t punctuate the conversation and Tahra didn’t ask. He took her to his local stables and saddled up his own horse, then asked for one to be prepared for Tahra as well. She looked a little nervous, but he helped her onto her horse and they set off at walking pace.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“In a riding hat and jodhpurs?” he assumed. “Like a beautiful lady of the countryside.”

His answer took her by surprise and she replied, “I meant, do I look confident or awkward in the saddle?” She felt more like the latter.

Paul didn’t seem unhinged at his unexpected flattery.

“More confident than awkward,” he answered. “Shall we pick up the pace?”

They progressed to a trot and Tahra couldn’t grasp the rhythm at first, but Paul coached her through it and encouraged her to relax. After a short while, she discovered her coordination and began to enjoy the ride. They laughed and joked like old friends and didn’t discuss the experiments, instead they talked about friends at The Institute, the countryside, music, and their dreams. To talk openly with him and develop their rapport felt such a release, and the intellectual interchange not only stimulated but deepened their connection with each other.

Two dreamers with huge life expectations.

Two twin flames with vision.

If only he didn’t love Eleanor…

As she seemed confident in the saddle, Paul suggested a canter through the woods and she agreed. It felt exhilarating, like projecting her consciousness while remaining in her body. Paul’s horse shot ahead and she watched him, the experienced rider that he was, but a creature darted out of the undergrowth and startled her horse.

The next thing she knew, the world turned upside down and she hit the ground. Her exclamation of shock and pain alerted Paul and he pulled up, turned his horse and rode to the spot where she lay on the ground. Her horse was distressed but he made Tahra the priority, as she didn’t appear to be moving.

“Oh my God,” he said, turning her over, thinking he’d killed the star remote viewer.

Checking her vital signs, he breathed a sigh relief to discover she remained conscious. The hat had obviously protected her from head injury, but he checked her all over for
 
 
fractures.

“Nice to receive such prompt attention,” she mused, “and to be frisked so sensually.”

Paul looked a little embarrassed but glad she didn’t complain of pain. He offered his hand and she gripped it tightly, however, she winced as he assisted her to her feet. On examination, he found her wrist to be slightly swollen, so he asked the staff at the stables to check it over. It looked like a sprain, so they bandaged it and told her to go to the hospital if it worsened.

Rather than end the day on such a note, Paul offered to take her to his local pub, where fine ales and an open fire awaited them. It made a change from the fine restaurants she’d frequented with Max, so she accepted his offer.

Heads turned as they entered the traditional country pub, for they’d never seen the likes of such an exotic looking woman in their establishment, and they were used to Paul in partnership with Eleanor. Paul shrugged off the stares and introduced her as his friend, announcing her birthday so the pub landlord granted her a free drink. She had a glass of red wine while Paul stuck with his favourite, a pint of ale. They sat near the open fire, free of riding gear.

“Well,” he began, “I hope you’ve enjoyed it, despite the fall.”

“Of course I have, despite the fall.”

Spotting a smear of mud on her face, he reached over and gently wiped it away with his fingers. Tahra looked thoughtful at his touch, and realised she genuinely liked everything about him.
 
He had warmth and spontaneity, intelligence and humour, ambition and wisdom. His invitation had been unconditional, fuelled by a desire to alleviate her loneliness.
 
Paul was a rare find.

“Thank you for the wonderful day,” she said. “I’ll always remember it.”

Tahra reached over and kissed him softly on the cheek, quite close to his lips. He seemed receptive, but didn’t attempt to draw her further into a more passionate kiss.

“Don’t mention it, it was my pleasure,” he said.

She had to remind herself he was already in a committed relationship, and the locals were staring enough as it was. Wishing things were different, she accepted the situation as she didn’t want to spoil a mellow evening, the companionship, and a crackling fire. At the close of the evening, she bid him farewell at the station, dismayed he’d return home to Eleanor. Why were all the finest men already taken?

***

The night before the next OOBE experiment, Tahra parted the drapes in her bedroom and gazed up at the full moon. She wondered what it would be like to view the Earth from a new vantage point, and perhaps more importantly, she wrestled with the likelihood of her success.

After arrival at The Establishment, Paul laid out some biscuits and brewed a pot of tea, eager to create a more congenial atmosphere for their excursions. After some initial light conversation, Tahra plumped for the ‘hot seat’ and geared herself up for the next adventure.

Okay moon, I’m coming.

“You ready?” Paul asked.

“I’m always ready,” she enthused.

 
“Well,” he began, “there’s a capsule in orbit at the moment. Do you fancy paying it a visit on route to the moon?”

“I’ll peep through the window,” she declared.

Her consciousness drifted in an instant, like going through the motions of a finely tuned musical warm up. Slicing through the clouds like Moses had parted the
Red Sea
, she skimmed the stratosphere with her consciousness. Tahra caught up with the capsule, feeling as if she were travelling faster than it. Revelling in her freedom from gravity and the need for oxygen, she focused and swooped round, circling the capsule. It looked so fragile, more vulnerable than her robust and unbreakable consciousness.

She couldn’t resist peeping through the window. When operating in real time, Tahra needed to create a narrow beam of concentration to observe details of things, something she’d become more adept at during her research at The Institute. The interior of the capsule came into focus and she saw one of the astronauts inside, taking measurements.

Tahra watched him, his body protected by a spacesuit and the capsule shielding him from the hostile environment of space. She pitied him and his powerlessness against the icy vacuum of space. Without warning, the astronaut’s helmeted face loomed at the window and he surveyed the Earth below, its turquoise, white, green and brown canvas painted by Mother Nature herself. However, something distracted him, drawing his attention away from the home planet.

For a moment, Tahra felt as if he were looking right at her, not through her but at her directly. That was impossible, wasn’t it? Nevertheless, in a confused state, she withdrew her consciousness.

Paul noted the puzzled expression on her face.

“Everything okay? Did you see the capsule?”

She nodded, albeit in a distracted manner.

“Yes, I saw it but the capsule saw me too.”

Paul adopted a pose of curiosity, hand rising to chin.

“You must be mistaken, consciousness simply isn’t visible.”

“No, really, the astronaut looked right at me.”

“Tahra, there’s nothing there for him to see. If consciousness were visible, remote viewers would have been spotted years ago. I can’t see how he could have sighted you.”

“I can’t explain it,” she said, “and it’s never happened before but for some reason, he did see me.”

For a moment, he digested what she’d disclosed and arrived at a decision.

“I’ll contact Max and see if we can corroborate your statement. Anyway, let’s press onto the moon. Ready?”

Tahra nodded, took a deep breath and clasped her hands lightly. Time to visit the great moon goddess, Earth’s satellite and trusty companion. With the moon in her sights, she focused on the luminescent orb and tried to snap straight to it. A thought crossed her mind: could her consciousness remain connected to her body over such a vast distance? As she attempted to push her remote viewing abilities to their limits, she became aware of something deterring her. Was it the doubts in the back of her mind, or the mind and body connection simply being over-stretched? Tahra opened her eyes.

“I failed,” she admitted, fighting the overwhelming sense of frustration she felt. “I’m sorry.”

“You can do it,” Paul urged, “try again.”

His positivity encouraged her and once more, she focused her mind through the clouds and towards the moon. It appeared larger, with visible craters and she realised she’d travelled further than any astronaut, just using her consciousness.

She saw a dry, dusty ball of rock, totally devoid of life yet amazing…amazing because it was alien to Earth. Once she’d cleared the home planet, the pull back towards her body seemed to diminish, and she started to believe that consciousness could, indeed, know no bounds.

Tahra hovered her consciousness a short distance from the moon in astronomical terms, to contemplate what she’d done, ventured where no man or woman had ever gone before. Looking back at the Earth, it looked like a technicolour beach ball, suspended peacefully in the sky.

If only humans could witness what my mind is experiencing.

Up here, there are no countries, no borders, no storms, and no wars.

If only humans understood how precious this beautiful planet is.

This detachment from the ground on which we walk removes me from everyday life.

The peace and silence is overwhelming, my dear humans, and I swear I hear a little voice trying to break through.

Oh dear Allah, I’m so far away from home…