Seven Point Eight (41 page)

“These journeys are beginning to feel so experiential,” she told him. “With each visit to another planet, I really sense some kind of…intelligence, if that makes any sense.”

He sat back in his chair, trying to critically analyse what she’d just told him. Did such a concept as planetary intelligence exist? Were the rocky or gaseous bodies orbiting the sun capable of some kind of sentience? It seemed absurd, but he wanted to maintain an open mind, despite the general scientific consensus that planets themselves were generally inert.

“Are you satisfied with my work?” Tahra asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“You impress me every time, Tahra. It all seems too easy for you.”

She gave him a confident smile, and in her enthusiasm, she asked, “Where next?”

Paul dotted the final sentence in his journal with a stab of euphoria and replied, “By Jove, we’re going to Jupiter!”

***

With business as usual at The Institute, I counted down the days until the next planetary remote viewing experience. The next one fell on March the 21
^st
, coinciding with the Spring Equinox, and my mission would involve an excursion to Jupiter. Although it had been seen through telescopes, no probe had paid it a visit yet.

Paul gave me the star chart, and my consciousness separated from my body with ease, almost too smoothly. There’d come a point where these assignments failed to challenge me. However, for the time being, these tasks were an exciting interlude from the monotony at The Institute.

A reddish-orange, striped orb came into view and as I’d trained my mind to remain focused, I found extracting detail came quite naturally. My mental tenacity seemed to increase, something sorely needed for these breathtaking yet lonely adventures. Over a period of time, I’d sharpened my internal visual acuity, and that practice now reaped dividends.

Jupiter appeared lucid and clear before me, this majestic giant of the solar system. The red spot loomed beneath my consciousness, a swirling mass that invited me to dive right in.

“By Jove, it’s calling me, in some undecipherable and non-verbal language,” I said, aware of my voice although it seemed detached from my experience, like an echo you hear in another room, or when the television is broadcasting in the background.

Out in space, the silence confronted me again, but now I began to accept it rather than resist it. The quiet helps you listen, hear your own thoughts, and sense the cosmos as it really is.

I drew closer to its brown and cream bands of cloud, and saw that the planet had a faint ring of dust encircling it, which I thought peculiar as only Saturn had rings, not Jupiter. Looking around me, I spotted a few of its moons not too far away but they were rather uninviting, so I returned my focus to the planet itself. It transfixed me, and I sensed it tried to call out, so I accepted the invitation and allowed my consciousness to drift further inwards to the core.

“The planet wants to tell me something,” I heard myself say.

Passing through a series of gaseous, turbulent clouds, I sensed something try to penetrate my consciousness, like someone knocking on the door to your mind although not in a threatening manner. Feelings of reassurance enveloped me, as if some God-like arms wrapped around me and granted me an almost divine perception that there was more to life than my physical body. Jupiter wanted to communicate with me, but I couldn’t comprehend the message.

“Speak,” I said, “I’m listening, I’m ready…”

I sensed its benevolence, and allowed my consciousness to bathe in its presence. This intelligence felt like balls of cotton wool, and feathers boas. Deeper I plunged, becoming more relaxed, more detached from my physical body.

“Tahra!”

A voice tried to intrude, but it sounded like it came from a billion miles away and I ignored it, eager to hear what Jupiter wished to tell me.

“Tahra!”

It seemed like an eternity before Paul’s words penetrated the veil I’d placed around me. At first, he sounded so distant, but his voice rang clearer and clearer like a bell travelling towards me. I felt something like an electric shock and snapped back into my body.

“Sorry I had to shake you, but I thought I’d lost you there,” Paul said. “It looked like…you weren’t coming back.”

“Huh?” I responded, trying to focus my physical eyes.

“Your breathing… it almost stopped.”

He snapped his fingers in front of my face. I blinked and returned to reality, trying to shake off the daze that clouded my attention.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.

I nodded and finally realised where I was. Slowly, I sat up in my chair, trying to digest what I’d just experienced and looked Paul in the eye, with a feeling of childish amazement.

“It’s alive,” I whispered. “The planet…it’s alive. They’re all alive, but Jupiter is the most magnanimous force of all, if only you could feel its power…”

Paul didn’t know what to say and I don’t blame him. How could someone comprehend my ability to touch something so profound beyond this world’s confines?

“You’re scaring me,” he said.

“I’m fine, Jupiter wished to communicate and you disturbed me before I could hear its words. I need to go back.”

Paul shook his head.

“You gave me a real scare,” he admitted. “Don’t do that to me again.”

“Nothing terrible can happen, please, let me return.”

“I’m responsible for your safety and wellbeing during these experiments. We’re breaking new ground here so it’s impossible to predict what could happen, we simply can’t continue this project with preconceptions about what’s safe and what isn’t.”

I reached out and took his hand, observing the concern in his eyes.

“You’re right, we are treading on unfamiliar territory, but that’s why we need to take these steps with an open mind, otherwise we won’t discover anything. I just want to be allowed to hear the message, we might learn something really important.”

Paul’s expression indicated the conflict that waged within him.

“It’s just that…you seem to enter some strange trance, for want of a better word. Your breathing slows to a point where it’s barely perceptible. I don’t want to have to end these experiments, but I will if I see persistent danger.”

If only I could make him understand…

“Anything of real value and discovery is risky. We can’t let it get in the way of progress. This is your vision, do you wish to concede simply because of the tiniest risk I might die? My physical body remains here in this room…nothing can hurt me.”

Paul still seemed reluctant.

“If the worst comes to the worst, then resuscitate me,” I said, almost ruthlessly.

I sensed his apprehension, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

“Let me try again,” I insisted, pushing a little wave of positive emotion towards him.

A thought crossed my mind albeit briefly: could he actually resuscitate me if the necessity arose? Was it worth the risk? My eyes pleaded with him, and despite his initial reservations, he finally agreed.

I closed my eyes and my consciousness slipped from my body with ease. In the blink of an eye, I returned to the previous scene, like locating a bookmark in a novel. Allowing myself to bathe in the planet’s presence, I waited for that imminent contact. In my urgency to hear the message, I actually felt myself drifting away from the reassurance of its presence, but rather than get frustrated, I realised that the connection I’d previously made with the resident entity had been achieved by letting go. I allowed it to penetrate my consciousness again, not thinking about any changes in my physical condition that Paul would have to deal with.

My consciousness slid further into the planet, a really peculiar feeling and I sensed the connection to my body loosen. As if it happened to someone else, I perceived Paul taking hold of my wrist and checking for a pulse. His touch felt barely noticeable yet it reassured me.

Reaching a point of stillness, as if my consciousness had paused for breath, I looked all around me. The clouds had become more luminous and they swirled, making indiscriminate forms.

Gradually, almost imperceptible at first, a message filtered through. Rather than eagerly ask for the message, I let go further and it became clearer. It exploded in front of my eyes, causing me to laugh out loud. Half spoken and half visual, the communication burned into my consciousness like a cosmic branding iron. I wanted to scream, laugh, and cry at the same time but nothing came out now. Instead, I accepted it.

It was a word, one word.

That one word was
Satus
.

Opening my eyes, I sensed its significance, but I didn’t know for the life of me what it meant.

What is ‘satus’?

What does it mean?

And why did Jupiter choose this word in particular?

17

The First Time

The word made little sense to Tahra, perhaps it could even be some ancient cosmic language and as Paul wasn’t much of a linguist, she decided to investigate in case it bore some similarities to an Earth based language.
 
When Tahra returned to The Institute, she perused a few foreign language dictionaries, and eventually found the etymology and meaning of the word. It was actually Latin and meant ‘origin’ or ‘seed’, an appropriate word as they were embarking on a new adventure.

“Is that what you mean, dear Jove, this is the beginning of something? The beginning of what?”

 
A beginning implied a middle and an end, like a story. To what end did they aspire to? More importantly, why had Jupiter chosen a Latin word?

She wrote the key word ‘satus’ in big letters on a piece of paper and scribbled the translations around it, then stuck it to the mirror with tape. Although its real significance eluded her at that moment, it would all make sense eventually. Nothing remained a mystery forever.

There came a point in May of 1965 where Tahra reached the edge of the solar system. She’d visited Uranus, an electric blue, luminous giant which spun on its side, just to rebel against the rest of the solar system. Who said a planet had to revolve upright? Rules were for squares. She’d graced the giant
Neptune
with her presence, a planet as blue as the sea, complete with a dark spot and skittish white clouds. It had a mystical energy, although wanted to veil its message just to confuse everyone. Finally, she’d perused tiny Pluto, a rocky, icy and brown body accompanied by its twin. On the periphery of the solar system, it felt like the gate to the Underworld, possibly representing what lay beyond the orbits of the planets.

The trips had been documented through her verbal accounts, recorded by Paul, who’d passed these notes to an artist. Therefore, a selection of sketches accompanied the journal, awaiting verification from the future probes of NASA and the
USSR
. Paul knew that repeat journeys should be made to validate the previous descriptions and show some sort of reliability, yet he felt compelled to find some inhabited world to explore. The final planet, Pluto, had served as an anti-climax to the tour of the solar system.