Seven Point Eight (55 page)

“Well, the therianthropes said the first seed was planted in the 1940s.”

“I remember,” she agreed. “What do you think they were referring to?”

“I’m not sure, but I found some very interesting research carried out in that decade.” Paul flicked to the relevant place in his notes to get his facts right. “In 1946, a psychoactive substance called Dimethyltryptamine, or DMT, was isolated from a South American tree by a Hungarian chemist. He attempted to create an oral based solution, but found it became inactive due to an enzyme in the intestines so eventually in 1956, he injected himself with it. After a successful but short trip, he injected thirty volunteers, who experienced visions of spirits, sunlit Gods, and a sense of flight from their body. What’s significant about DMT is that it’s endogenous, in other words, it’s a naturally occurring substance in our bodies.” He paused then continued. “But I’m not sure the therianthropes meant this, maybe there’s something…much bigger I’m missing.”

They were both silent for a long moment.

“Maybe DMT is simply a mediator,” he concluded. “I’m not sure how this is connected to the Second Time though. However, I believe my machine is the key.”

“You must keep the faith in what you’re doing,” Tahra reassured. “Our project really can change the world.”

Paul held onto that thought, as securely as he hugged her.

***

Tahra returned to The Institute a few days later, while Paul wrote in his OOBE journal to note the experiences inside the machine. He liked to record detailed reflections and include technical information regarding the progress of the project. Tahra found The Institute dull, and she still tried to avoid Max, although he regularly attended during testing now. As ever, she discovered a long waiting list for her skills and he had several sessions lined up for her. Tahra started to think she spent more time out of her body than in it.

It seemed strange not using the machine to project her consciousness, but she knew the task didn’t require technological help. It was easy, like playing with a pre-school toy. Max gave her some coordinates and a map, which she glanced over, then laid back and closed her eyes. The target looked like some kind of educational institution, and an old, Victorian-like building came into view. It appeared to be grand, probably elitist and full of stuffy old professors. However, this test felt more vivid than her usual sessions at The Institute, in fact, it felt no different than if she’d walked up to it in her physical body.

She pushed her consciousness towards the heavy, studded oak door and it felt so lucid, she clearly saw the grain. Tahra moved through the door, like flour passing through a sieve, and felt herself glide down the corridors. The experience seemed so free and liberating as she extruded effortlessly through the doors and walls. She passed by people in the building who were making their way to classrooms or to the library, and she saw their facial expressions clearly, as if she were standing right next to them. The words sounded crisp and not as garbled as they usually were when remote viewing. For all intents and purposes, she felt physically present in the building and the only reason she disbelieved that was because no one saw her.

However, Tahra didn’t want to be here, it was mundane, not profound or spiritual like the other realms. A wistful feeling passed over her, making her yearn for the magical quality of the journeys in the machine. Then, probably due to her attention being diverted elsewhere, the educational institution dissolved from her field of vision. A familiar face loomed in front of her, creating a vivid sensation. The ibis headed entity from the therianthrope world spoke.

“Well done, my brave traveller. You have made it on your own.”

Tahra opened her eyes. Was that a dream, a trick of the mind, or had she retained the effects of the machine?

20

Now Recruiting

At the beginning of September 1966, the excitement over a triumphant conclusion for
England
in the football World Cup had died down, although Paul took little notice of it. He needed to take Project OOBE to the next level. Twenty people, a mixture of men and women arrived at The Establishment. They’d been selected by Max for Paul to interview and recruit, although Paul had asked two of his favourite people to sit in on the interviews to give a second opinion. He needed to know Tahra would be able to work with them, and he’d asked Emilie to sit in to pick up any false pretences and hidden agendas that would be harmful to the project. He failed to note the tense partnership between the two women though, as Emilie had never really taken to Tahra but she thought highly of Paul and if he trusted Tahra, then she needed to as well.

He met them in the ostentatious hallway and the potential recruits marvelled at the high ceiling, the grand staircase, and the oak panelling which gave The Establishment that stately home feel. As they stood around in awe, Paul quickly surveyed them: a black man and woman with the most outrageous afros, a petite copper haired girl, a Spanish looking woman, a fat man who looked grumpy, and the rest looked like the average male or female from suburbia.

“This is really neat,” said the black woman in between chewing gum, her accent revealing her American origin.

Paul ushered them to the communal sitting room, where Tahra and Emilie were waiting. Again, the potential recruits marvelled at the luxurious surroundings: the beautiful green leather sofas to sit on, a magnificent inglenook fireplace, and William Morris wallpaper adorning the walls. They looked Tahra and Emilie over, curious about their role, and sat on the sofas when Paul asked them. He shushed the room of its excited chatter and introduced himself.

“Welcome to The Establishment,” he began. “My name is Dr. Paul Eldridge and this is Tahra Mamoun, my associate, and Emilie Charron, an advisor.”

He gestured to them and they gazed at twenty pairs of curious eyes.

“You are here because you’ve been short listed to take part in a project which will take you to the outer limits of your imagination. It will test your sense of reality and your nerve, so it’s not for the fainthearted. You will need to be open minded and psychologically stable so I stress to you now, if this is not for you, then I highly recommend you stand up and exit the room now.”

Eyes widened in response to his honest and direct introduction, it provoked some chatter amongst the potential recruits but there was no way to ease them in gently, he needed to know they had the mental tenacity to handle it. He sensed an awkward moment, some shuffling of feet but thankfully, no one left the room.

“Well,” piped up a Black American man with a well sculpted afro, “that’s why we’re all here! I don’t dig reality anyway.”

“Good. That means you’re all motivated. Before I explain the project, we’re going to get to know each other first, as the six of you who are selected will need to be able to work together. It will give us an impression of your personality, your strengths and qualities, and it will help you relax into the day.”

He paused for breath before continuing.

“Our schedule today involves mingling for the first forty five minutes, we’ll participate in some icebreakers and then go into a coffee break. After that, we’ll administer some personality tests and questionnaires, take lunch, which will be provided and the afternoon will focus on one to interviews. I’ve decided to interview ten of you, so you’ll know after lunch whether you’ve been short listed or not. We’ll make our decision tonight and you’ll be notified by telephone tomorrow, with details of the dates and remuneration. Any questions about today’s activities?”

Everyone thought the instructions were clear. Paul set up some simple games that enabled everyone to get to know each other. Tahra got involved while Emilie acted as the objective observer, picking up on the undercurrents. She sensed the relationship between Paul and Tahra, it stood out a mile, and she guessed the great secrecy surrounding this, so for his sake, she’d respect that. The two Americans were conspicuous in terms of their honesty and transparency, coming here for reasons of personal development. Others attended for purely financial reasons, while some were inquisitive and keen to be involved to satisfy their curiosity. The Spanish lady was hiding something, while the fat grumpy man felt as if he would rather be elsewhere and didn’t have the social skills to mix with the others. She didn’t like the way he eyed her up either.

They continued to mingle into the coffee break, then Paul took them upstairs in small groups of four to a research room, where he administered some personality tests. While he did this, Tahra and Emilie kept the others occupied by asking each person to give a short presentation about a favourite topic of theirs. Subjects ranged from The State of Tennessee, Spanish Cuisine, The Lost Library of Alexandria, Music of the 1960s, English Literature Classics, The Future of Robots, Renaissance Art, and Films of the 1920s. It provided insight about what made these people tick.

The morning passed quickly and lunch time gave everyone a breather. The presentation topics stimulated discussion over the delicious buffet that Max had ordered for them. Emilie gave Paul some initial feedback regarding who she believed were the most suitable candidates, and Tahra fed into that too. So, by the end of lunch, he gathered everyone together, shushed the chatter and announced the lucky candidates.

“As you know, only ten of you will be interviewed this afternoon and we’ve come to a decision who these individuals will be.”

He paused for effect.

“We’ll interview Angelina, Tyrone, Nicholas, Kevin, Samantha, Sonya, Curtis, Jane, Dominique, and Sally.
 
Those who didn’t make it to interview, thank you very much for your time and effort, and safe journey home. Transport has been arranged to take you back to the centre of
London
.”

Half of the people in the room stood up, gathered their belongings and made their way to the gravelled driveway, where three taxis awaited them. The lucky ones still remaining in the sitting room now wondered exactly what they’d let themselves in for.

Paul continued with the selection process.

“You’ll be asked ten questions in the interview, some of them may seem strange and irrelevant to you, but I ask you to answer them as honestly as possible, no matter how odd they may seem. You may be tempted to lie about some of these, believing I’m trying to catch you out, but the questions you think will eliminate you from the project will turn out to be the ones that will help me select you above the others. Best of luck with the afternoon.”

Paul took them upstairs for interview one at a time. There were three crucial questions that would ultimately assist his decision, he needed to know how open minded they were. He’d already established that the ten remaining candidates were psychologically stable, with a strong mental constitution. Now he wanted to know about their core beliefs and what past experiences modelled them. Six people clearly stood out.

The Black American, Angelina Cortez, had quite a flamboyant personality, honest manner, and beautifully sculpted afro, making her a front runner. Paul asked his final three questions in the interview.

“Have you ever taken hallucinogenic drugs or used marijuana?”

Angelina shifted uncomfortably in her seat, unsure how to answer then she remembered what he’d told them all.

“What the hell,” she began, “I ain’t gonna lie about myself. Yeah, I’ve taken hallucinogenic drugs and I smoke dope too.”

“Do you enjoy them on a regular basis?” he added, secretly smiling at her response.

“I smoke dope every day, a few joints and I take acid about once a month, hey, I ain’t the only one.”

He continued with the next question.

“What’s the most profound religious or spiritual experience you’ve ever had?”

Angelina took a moment to consider then answered with conviction, “My first trip.”

“Why?” Paul probed.

She didn’t hesitate with the response.

“It blew my mind,” she replied. Then, out of sheer curiosity she added, “So, you tried it too?”

Paul admired her directness.

“Yes, I have,” he answered, “but I’ve discovered something more mind blowing than acid.”