SIGHT
Chapter 14 of Senses
"Okay," Jim said, "How do you propose we harness telekinesis?"
It had been several weeks since the death of Jeff. Although there had been serious protesting on the parts of consumers and radio, the album had been pulled (although that left over a million copies sold). Both Jim and A.J. were in seclusion, avoiding the press and all interviews. The Blue Shift album was released without fanfare, and was doing well despite the absolute lack of promotion. Although Blue Shift was planning a tour, the final details had still to be worked out.
No experimentation had been done during this time. Jim was hard at work in his studio, trying his hand at writing a symphony that he would play himself, using synthesizers and his own playing abilities. Karen was back with her patients, including a new one; an eleven year old boy who would not speak but would respond to sound. He could talk, but for some reason chose not to. Karen had been working for two weeks to get approval for the child the meet Jim, as he was an avid fan of Jim's music and Karen was running out of ideas on helping the boy. Her superiors were considering it, and Jim himself liked the idea although he was worried that he would not be a good role model.
A.J., away from everyone else, poured over his data from the experiments. He had been analyzing formulae and coming up with possible ideas on how to beat the barriers set up by their recent discoveries. He had gone through several ideas with Larry, who in turn proposed several viable ideas of his own.
When all three met in A.J.'s gym, A.J. was ready to try a few of them out.
"I came up with several ways of doing it," A.J. responded to Jim's question. "All of which supplant the idea of Karen's emotive overload."
"I told you I won't do that again," Karen said.
"I said supplant, didn't I? It's a moot point anyway. Larry pointed something out to me I hadn't noticed that changed my direction of thinking."
"And that was?" Jim asked.
"Larry saw in my equations that while we got hit by an overload, we were all experiencing the same emotion."
"Makes sense."
"Larry stated and I also believe that perhaps that was all that is necessary."
"You mean it could be done without the overload?" Karen asked.
"Exactly," A.J. replied. "It appears to me that if you are controlling emotion for Jim or myself, it frees up a processing center in the brain. With that freed up, we'd be able to project."
"Would we still lose speech?" Jim asked.
"Probably. It's my theory that the emotive centers are tied to the communicative centers. We normally communicate through speech, so when we supplant emotion it manifests itself as a loss of speech. You probably can't write under those conditions either."
"Let's see," Karen said. "We can take the experiment one step at a time."
A.J. nodded. "Fair enough. You game, Jim?"
"Always have been," he replied.
A.J. got a pencil and a note pad. "What you'll do, is once Karen has supplied the emotion, just write your name and address on the paper."
Karen decided to supply happiness. When A.J. nodded, Jim began writing on the paper. After thirty seconds they examined the paper and found nothing but random drawings.
"Interesting," A.J. noted.
Jim was amused. "I honestly thought I was writing my name and address down. It even looked right as I was doing it."
"Well," Karen added, "that bridge has been successfully burned. Shall we give telekinesis a try?"
"Why not?" Jim replied.
A.J. went to the far end of his gym and retrieved some weights, ranging from five to fifty pounds. "You'll try lifting these," he said.
Jim nodded and turned to Karen. "Hit me with the same emotion. I liked that."
Karen smiled. "You're on."
"Do it," A.J. said.
Karen hit Jim with happiness again, and Jim responded with, "Very nice."
A.J. caught it at once. "Shit! You can talk!"
"It appears so. There's a flaw in your logic."
"Yes, and I can see it now. You lose speech with the supplantation of formulae. With simple emotion you lose writing, which is less rudimentary. Needs to be investigated."
"Gentlemen," Karen said, "you digress. I can't project forever."
"Right," Jim said. He concentrated on the five pound weight, and lifted it into the air.
"Good!" A.J. responded. "Good. Set it down and try the next weight."
Jim did so and moved on to the ten pound weight, lifting it in the same fashion.
"Does it...uh...feel heavier?" A.J. asked.
"No," Jim replied.
"Fabulous! Okay, next weight!"
Jim picked up the twenty-five pound weight. "This one feels a bit heavier." He was beginning to sweat.
A.J. turned to Karen, who was also sweating. "Are you feeling the weight?" he asked.
"No," Karen replied, "but the emotive output is starting to strain. You'd better continue."
"Okay, Jim. Go for fifty."
Jim set the twenty-five pound weight down and lifted the fifty pound weight. "Definitely heavier," he said.
"Okay, set it down. Karen, can you hold out for a moment more?"
Karen nodded. "I think so," she replied.
"Good. Let's test the limit, shall we? Jim, try to lift me."
Jim nodded and concentrated on his brother. After nearly ten seconds, A.J. floated up six inches. Jim held him there nearly thirty seconds before setting him down. The effort showed on Jim's face.
"Shit, you're heavy!" he said. Karen had released Jim from her hold, and she looked a bit tired as well.
"Consider my size," A.J. responded. "Of course I'm heavy. There's no way I can't be."
Karen looked at A.J. "At least we seem to have accomplished a lot," she said.
"Yeah, but I wish we didn't need you. No offense, but if we could control this on our own we'd be closer to understanding unified theory. We've made many gains, but the ultimate goal remains as distant as ever."
"No offense taken anyway," Karen replied.
"Are we through here?" Jim asked.
"Yes," A.J. replied.
"Then let's go for a drink. I haven't seen the bar since Mike refurbished it, and I'm dying to see it."
"All right, but let's put my weights away first."
"Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've waited weeks for has finally arrived!"
Jim had to admit that he was impressed with the work his bartending friend had done. The lighting was much the same as it was before, and the tables and chairs looked about the same, but there the similarities ended.
The jukebox was gone, replaced by a compact disc compatible changer. There were now three dartboards, instead of one, and the back room had been expanded to include billiards. The mirror behind the bar, which had been broken during the brawl, was replaced, and was quietly back-lit with a dark neon sign with the bar's name spelled out.
The dance floor had been resurfaced, and there was now a disc jockey's booth, although no one was manning it. The walls had been recovered in black, and if one looked by the door, a stack of menus could now be seen to show what was available from the grill that was hidden behind the storeroom.
All of this registered in Jim's mind later in the evening. The first thing he noticed upon entering (after drinking the Bushmill's that somehow ended up in his hand) was the red ribbon around the center dartboard, and the bartender grabbing his hand to lead him to the throwing line.
"What we have here at center court," the bartender continued, "is an unused dartboard. Who other than our reigning champion should break it in?"
There were perhaps thirty people in the bar, and all of them cheered. Jim waved and smiled to everyone, mentioning to A.J. how much he had missed this place.
"Didn't we all?" A.J. replied.
Jim laughed, then spoke to the crowd. "My friends," he began, "thank you for that implausible welcome. In spite of the cliche it is good to be back. Now before I throw the first ceremonial bullseye I would ask that someone, with all haste, get that damned ribbon off the board."
The bartender handed a pair of scissors to Jim, who in turn gave them to Karen. She in turn walked to the board. "I the name of this bar," she intoned, "I dedicate this fucker." She cut the ribbon away as most of the patrons drank their drinks in salute. Jim included, as another Bushmill's was in his hand.
Jim set the empty glass down and held up his right hand, counting to five. One the count of five there was an audible slap as his personalized dart case fell into his grasp. On cue, the entire bar erupted with "Thanks Mike." Jim raised an eyebrow in surprise while everyone in the bar laughed.
Jim stepped up to the throwing line and A.J. clapped him on the back. "Virgin board," A.J. pointed out. "Pop the damn cherry."
Jim groaned, then motioned the lane clear. Then he threw. Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye.
The bar erupted with applause, even from those patrons used to such things. Jim went to the board to retrieve his darts, and found the bartender standing next to him.
"This has been fun," Jim said, smiling.
The bartender winked. "Someone had to get you back in public," he replied. "You're more fun when you're here."
Jim regarded the bartender soberly for a moment, then smiled again. "Thanks, Joshua."
The bartender shook his head. "Call me that again and I'll cut you off." With a wink and a smile, the bartender walked away.
Jim stared after the man for a moment, then let loose
with a hearty laugh. After a moment he faced the rest of the bar. "All
right," he yelled, "who wants a real game?"