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The Time Twins
In Berlin, Max Schneider was born with difficulty. He did not want to enter the antiseptic atmosphere of the maternity ward. From within the cushioned walls of the womb he had perceived depletion of a world that had once been beautiful. And he sensed danger.
It was 7.15am on October 14 in the year 2,227. And the ward seemed stable. Even reassuring. Through the veil of strangeness at two hours old, Max sensed a contrived air of caring; remote but efficient. It kept him clean, replete, breathing.
Suddenly he heard his heart, loud in his ears, as he was forced against the flesh of his mother which was not unpleasant, yet between the beats of his heart, uncannily he heard another, beating in perfect time.
In the Stephen Mitchell ward of the New City Hospital in London at precisely the same time, Donald Barkworth was born with ease, and filling his lungs with air, screamed lustily. When he stopped crying, above the rapid beating of his heart, he heard, like a rush of wind, but from nowhere in the ward, deep breaths being drawn and exhaled.
Max grew into a strong boy with flaxen hair and blue eyes; extrovert but lazy to learn, which was why his teachers were baffled when he sometimes paused in the midst of grappling with a problem in class and appeared to be listening; his blue eyes wide and alert, his body tense as though receiving some signal imperceptible to others. Even in the midst of boisterous play, he would suddenly cease and, motionless, strain to hear some sound or receive some sign, above the clamour of his companions.
Donald, an introvert, learned fast, as though by instinct; his movements swift and in a sallow complexion, his brown eyes keenly comprehending. He often paused and seemed to draw to him vibrations and perceptions, his hands moving slightly. His fingertips too, might be receiving mystic indications that then moved on, and, still dazed, he resumed what he was doing.
Max was an average teenager, and anticipating modest qualifications, prepared for routine ground work at the Steinhoff Space Station, the area's principle employer. There he would help maintain the great crafts that ploughed weekly between the sub stations suspended in the void, providing military and leisure facilities.
He had no urge to visit one, but on clear nights could dimly glimpse them through the transgalaxial telescope at the base and noted they were as shabby and congested as any on Earth.
Instinctively, Max sensed the futility of travel. As some poet once pointed out, life's essence lay in a grain of sand. Yet occasionally, after gazing long at the mystical movement of the stars, Max saw in an inexplicable flash, a dark figure moving with alacrity through the motions of late adolescence; restless beneath the influence of a woman whose form lay in soft shadows, but whose aura was pervasive.
In time, Max perceived more clearly the woman's apprehensive insistence enveloping the man who was rooted in resolve. Their conflict roused Max from sleep; a humming of opposite wills in his head.
Coincidentally, Donald also chose to work for the current space programme. But with top qualifications he opted for an active role, applying to help man the newest mission plant between Uranus and Neptune, that had not yet rusted, stained or shown signs of stress.
Donald was confident, courageous, persuaded by the propagandists that the possession of such plants established global status, as increasing intimations of other colonisations in space, were received.
Yet periodically, he was perturbed as he had been as a child, by a seeping doubt that halted him at the height of anticipation. Involuntarily, his eyes turned upwards, as though to penetrate the cosmic layers and perceive more clearly their warning. Or did it issue, as he increasingly suspected, from a mind, less finely tuned than his, yet its rationality grasping some well-founded fear?
Max was standing alone outside the refitting plant on October 4, 2,249, on a still clear night; the stars poignant points of light in the motionless black. Then from the outer spheres he heard the voice of a woman, distant and edged with sadness, the words indistinguishable yet implying a plea, a warning fraught with fear.
As he looked, as though resolved to coax clarity from the void, Max perceived very palely, her taut face, her fair hair flowing among stars, her slowly-moving mouth forming enigmatic words.
Slowly she faded, the voice trailing like a soul lost along the Milky Way and in her place Max had an impression, although he could see only stars, of a man, concerned yet implacable to her plea. The two voices mingled briefly, coming closer, then receding until they might be the whisper of a cosmic wind.
Max had the impression that momentarily, he had been possessed by another being, sharing his blood, bone and instincts. Then he saw him clearly; the dark man he had glimpsed long ago, his keen brown eyes shot with anxiety as he entered one of the experimental capsules bound for the sub station.
Briefly, the universe might have been holding its breath, then as the capsule was launched, a blinding explosion of light and sound rent the sky. The capsule disintegrated, its fragments flying to whirl for eternity among the stars.
Max hurried back to base to check it out. No capsule had crashed. None had even been launched in the past twenty four hours. He tried to dismiss the cosmos from his mind; the vast existence, indifferent to Earth dwellers, yet teeming with incident, change, constant explosions; shifting components as if in a great board game that would always defy the comprehension of man.
As he worked, Max was repeatedly drawn to the area outside the main plant where he was compelled to look upwards, aware of the impression of the man. No features formed among the stars, yet the essence of him hung there as though striving to communicate.
At night the antagonism involving the woman, rose within Max to a crescendo, shattering the silence of his simple room, until he could not believe that the entire work block had not heard. Towards dawn it subsided, leaving in its wake a residue of fear.
Donald defied those casting doubts on his determination to carry out the test flight. Occasionally, the distant vibrations and uneasy perceptions returned. Now the sensations seemed linked to some aspect of his future he could not fully grasp. Some being might be moving, thinking, speculating, uncannily in tune with himself.
Donald arrived at the Steinhoff station a month later with Melissa, the pale woman he planned to marry. She was nervous, poised, as though for flight from fear and she pleaded with Donald to reject the mission.
Max was in charge of Lexus, the newly assembled capsule designed to cut travelling time to Uranus by days. He did not meet the space crews but saw them departing for the launch pad; white-swathed beings already borne in unearthly limbo.
As he prepared the craft, Max was constantly distracted. Some force obdurately drew him outside; an unnameable portent; wordless, formless yet lead-like and penetrating, drawing his eyes inexplicably skywards.
He could not eat or sleep and several times had to rectify his work. As the launch neared, his tension grew. Intermittently he trembled. On the day of the launch he experienced dizziness, blurred vision, an obsessive trepidation. He could barely carry out his final checks.
Donald, with two fellow astronauts, approached the launch pad. He lacked his usual confidence and was possessed by a fear he could not define.
His feet slowed of their own volition as though some excessive force of gravity bound him to Earth. He was reluctant to look at the capsule and up to infinity. For the first time he perceived the arrogance and folly of man's attempted conquest of the universe.
But, already half automaton, he approached the craft and was sealed in. At the controls some unseen agent was transmitting panic, filling his mind with the need to escape, remain rooted to Earth.
The countdown ended. Lexus lifted, sped towards Uranus, its flight at first faultless. Then, with a shudder, it deviated to the east, diving and rising out of control. As it exploded into countless pieces, for the first time, Donald fleetingly saw Max's face; appalled, consumed with guilt, yet unable to comprehend that some omission on his part was responsible for the disintegration
of the capsule and the death of Donald Barkworth, his twin in Time.
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