Seven Point Eight by Marie A. Harbon Page A
Authors: Marie A. Harbon
Tags: Speculative Fiction
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follow the world’s events. On October 4 th 1957, the Russians launched Sputnik 1. It was the first ever man made satellite to go into orbit, with a mission to study the Earth’s atmosphere. Completing an orbit of the Earth in around ninety six minutes, it emitted a fast beep, beep, beep sound transmitted at twenty megahertz, very easy to tune into. I listened to the beeps numerous times, until Sputnik’s battery died after twenty two days. It revitalised my interest in the cosmos and I wondered if we’d make it into space during my lifetime. It began to look that way.
Back in my life of research, I reached a point of consolidation. Despite the fact I’d performed countless experiments on my subjects throughout the last decade, one particular volunteer tripped my fuse on a fateful day in the autumn of 1959.
A young female student had offered herself to the study where I attempted to induce psychic powers through the application of electromagnetic fields. She sat in the chair, surrounded by equipment and for some reason, looked me straight in the eye.
In that moment, I sensed her apprehension, as if she’d not really volunteered for the study at all. Nevertheless, I switched on the field and began to observe, scribbling notes. She kept staring at me, drawing me into her world, sucking me into her experience. I watched as the anxiety progressed into full blown panic. I tasted her fear, felt her heart pound, and my stomach somersaulted with hers.
Ceasing my scribble, I watched as her eyes opened wide, her face contorting into a grimace.
“What is this…a form of torture?” she queried.
The experiment continued, and she began to have a seizure right there in the chair. I snapped into action, coming to her aid but in that moment where I touched her, I looked deep into her eyes and saw sheer terror. She screamed, causing the other technicians to come running.
She changed my life, because she lost hers. I don’t know why she died, but the seizure overwhelmed her and we failed to resuscitate her.
I felt disgusted with myself for weeks. I’d never caused anyone’s death, and it affected me deeply, particularly due to that fleeting emotional connection. From that point onwards, I realised I’d spent the past decade of my life on some sort of fairground ride. Maybe I even jumped aboard the carriage before I met Max. At the start of the ride, I knew it would be exhilarating, possibly even frightening at times. Committing myself to the ride, I closed my eyes then screamed my heart out as I surrendered control to the twists and turns, the climbs and dips. At no point did I consider getting off, or it ever ending. But then, as the carriage drew into the terminus, I wondered what the hell happened and what I’d become.
In this light bulb moment, I became aware my ethics were not my own anymore. Had I passed through a dark era in my life, where I became so entrenched in Max’s circle and research that I began to lose myself? Had living things become commodities in my quest for breaking boundaries? Was I so in love with investigation that I could switch off my conscience? The military applications of my research began to haunt me, and I realised how I’d digressed from my original, philosophical objectives.
Spiritual cravings began to take root and throughout these last weeks, I began to feel like I’d never get to investigate life’s mysteries. However, Max sprang the unexpected on me one day in late 1959. We’d taken our horses out in the woods near the coach house.
“I have another project for you,” he announced. “I’ve noticed your enthusiasm has dwindled and your peers are experienced enough to complete the study. Life must progress, so that we can change and grow, therefore, I’d like you to work at a sister facility called The Institute. It’s in London but quite accessible. You’ll like this one, more up your street. You’re going to study some people with extraordinary talents.”
Whether I
Back in my life of research, I reached a point of consolidation. Despite the fact I’d performed countless experiments on my subjects throughout the last decade, one particular volunteer tripped my fuse on a fateful day in the autumn of 1959.
A young female student had offered herself to the study where I attempted to induce psychic powers through the application of electromagnetic fields. She sat in the chair, surrounded by equipment and for some reason, looked me straight in the eye.
In that moment, I sensed her apprehension, as if she’d not really volunteered for the study at all. Nevertheless, I switched on the field and began to observe, scribbling notes. She kept staring at me, drawing me into her world, sucking me into her experience. I watched as the anxiety progressed into full blown panic. I tasted her fear, felt her heart pound, and my stomach somersaulted with hers.
Ceasing my scribble, I watched as her eyes opened wide, her face contorting into a grimace.
“What is this…a form of torture?” she queried.
The experiment continued, and she began to have a seizure right there in the chair. I snapped into action, coming to her aid but in that moment where I touched her, I looked deep into her eyes and saw sheer terror. She screamed, causing the other technicians to come running.
She changed my life, because she lost hers. I don’t know why she died, but the seizure overwhelmed her and we failed to resuscitate her.
I felt disgusted with myself for weeks. I’d never caused anyone’s death, and it affected me deeply, particularly due to that fleeting emotional connection. From that point onwards, I realised I’d spent the past decade of my life on some sort of fairground ride. Maybe I even jumped aboard the carriage before I met Max. At the start of the ride, I knew it would be exhilarating, possibly even frightening at times. Committing myself to the ride, I closed my eyes then screamed my heart out as I surrendered control to the twists and turns, the climbs and dips. At no point did I consider getting off, or it ever ending. But then, as the carriage drew into the terminus, I wondered what the hell happened and what I’d become.
In this light bulb moment, I became aware my ethics were not my own anymore. Had I passed through a dark era in my life, where I became so entrenched in Max’s circle and research that I began to lose myself? Had living things become commodities in my quest for breaking boundaries? Was I so in love with investigation that I could switch off my conscience? The military applications of my research began to haunt me, and I realised how I’d digressed from my original, philosophical objectives.
Spiritual cravings began to take root and throughout these last weeks, I began to feel like I’d never get to investigate life’s mysteries. However, Max sprang the unexpected on me one day in late 1959. We’d taken our horses out in the woods near the coach house.
“I have another project for you,” he announced. “I’ve noticed your enthusiasm has dwindled and your peers are experienced enough to complete the study. Life must progress, so that we can change and grow, therefore, I’d like you to work at a sister facility called The Institute. It’s in London but quite accessible. You’ll like this one, more up your street. You’re going to study some people with extraordinary talents.”
Whether I
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