Cataclysm

by John Russell Fearn, Vargo Statten

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

Troubled Martin Clegg has always suffered from dreams which seem intensely real. In them, bizarrely, he's another person not of this Earth! He's finally forced to confide in his fiancée, Elsie Barlow, and they consult Martin's scientifically inclined friend Tom Cavendish. He reveals, astonishingly, that Martin has a cosmic twin on a planet of Betelgeuse to whom he's mentally linked. Unsuspecting, they are both about to become caught up in the strands of an incredible cosmic mystery in which, to save the universe from destruction, Martin must die--twice!

Release date: March 31, 2015

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 94

Sample

Martin Clegg had always been aware of it since he had first taken a conscious interest in life. It was a vague something, as indeterminate as a nebula, only assuming a degree of reality during the hours when he slept. Somewhere he had a twin, if not in body then in thought—and as he grew older it became an increasingly disturbing factor in his life. It was not easy to almost live two lives and not make a good job of either of them.

Outwardly, Martin Clegg was similar to any young man of twenty-five. He had the three inseparable adjunts of his age—a job, good health, and a girl-friend. He spent his days as a draughtsman, his evenings with Elsie Barlow, and his nights with—— He didn’t know what. Something. That Other, that mystical conscious being who was half himself and half somebody else. Far away, yet becoming increasingly dominating.

In appearance Martin was not particularly fascinating. He had no looks to speak of, his main virtue being a ruggedly chiselled face which made him appear many years older than he was. His hair was black and untidy; his eyes a piercing grey. Those with an understanding of human nature would have said he probably could be clever but was too apt to wander from the main point ever to bring anything to a successful conclusion. There was a reason for this, though—— That Something, that Other. Far, far away.

Elsie Barlow noticed the increasing dreaminess of Martin and did not particularly like it. Being a completely natural girl with an everyday outlook on life, a girl who punched a typewriter by day and spent her evenings thinking of the future with Martin, she found it disturbing when he cultivated the habit of walking like a somnambulist and only answering her questions when she nearly underlined them with a nudge in the ribs.

“Mart, what on earth is the matter with you?” she demanded one evening, and halted their slow walk past brilliantly lighted shop windows.

It was the week before Christmas and they had decided to make a “viewing” expedition to determine what they should buy for their relatives and friends. Only Mart’s interest was plainly miles away. His face was thoughtful, his eyes looking through Elsie as she questioned him.

“Am I talking to myself?” she enquired.

Mart still looked at her. He hardly noticed her face, rosy cheeked from the icy wind, or the curls of fair hair peeping from under her saucy little hat. He was looking into an abyss where there was a powdering of brilliant stars and, amidst them, Something calling. Something irresistible——

“Mart!”

Elsie’s voice knifed through Mart’s consciousness and he gave a start. She was there in front of him, her hands on her hips and profound exasperation on her pretty face. Men and women, muffled against the wind, were going back and forth in the bright lights.

“Remember me?” Elsie asked sourly. “I’m the girl who came out with you on a shopping tour. You might as well be a corpse.”

“There may be more in that than you realise,” Mart replied, thinking.

“What?” Then Elsie caught impulsively at his arm. “Mart, what’s wrong? Why do you behave so strangely these days? Are you ill, or something?”

“No, I’m not ill. Never felt better—physically.”

“Then what is it? After all, I am your fiancee. If you can’t tell me, there’s nobody else.”

“I don’t think you’d believe me if I did tell you.”

Elsie hesitated, momentarily unsure of him. Then she said brightly: “No harm in trying, is there? At least let me know what it’s all about.”

“Very well. Come with me.”

Mart took her arm and to her surprise he led her away from the bright lights of the street and down numerous back alley ways. Though she had known him for many months sow, and he had always treated her with quiet gentility, she did begin to wonder if perhaps something had changed him—if he was perhaps an unsuspected psychopath and might murder her. His grip on her arm was certainly fierce. She thought of making a dash for it, but just at that moment they came out on to the open expanse of Ridley’s Common—a great, barren area of dry grass and clods of earth supposed to be a recreational centre. Actually it was one of those bare spots inseparable from any provincial town.

“Nice and dark here,” Mart said, lowering his hand.

“Yes.” Elsie laughed uneasily. “Isn’t it?”

“What’s the matter?” Mart sounded mildly surprised. “You sound scared!”

“I—I hardly know how I sound, Mart. You’re acting so queerly …”

He looked at her in the starlight. Out here in this empty expanse the lights of the city were dimmed and instead the sky was the only illumination, frostily bright in the cold air.

“Good heavens, Elsie, you didn’t think I was going to murder you or something, did you?” Mart laughed incredulously for a moment and then drew the girl to him and held her tightly. “Dammit, you’re even trembling,” he added. “It’s all my fault for being so morose … I wouldn’t hurt you for all the gold in the world, sweetheart. I love you too much——”

He became practical again as he released her. “My only reason for coming here is so that we can see the sky clearly. I hope it may help my explanation.”

“Oh?” Elsie was at ease again now, her arm about his waist. She surveyed the star-dusted emptiness overhead, then waited.

“Up there,” Martin said, pointing, “is the constellation of Orion. See it?”

“I—I think so, Mart. I’m not very good at astronomy.”

“I mean that cluster—there. That’s Orion. You can faintly see the double-star Rigel, ruddy Betelgeux, and beyond is Aldebaran—that red one.”

“Well?” Elsie asked curiously. “What about it?”

“This will sound crazy,” Mart said, his voice quiet, “but I have the feeling that I belong up there.”

“Crazy is right! Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mart, what in the world are you talking about? Do you mean you’ve dragged me all this way just to talk nonsense?”

“It isn’t nonsense, Elsie. I was never more dead serious in my life!”

“But—but——” Elsie made a bewildered movement. “How can you belong up there? I know you like astronomy—you’ve mentioned it enough times—but you don’t have to let it go to your head like this, do you?”

“It goes back a long way,” Mart said, in the same brooding tone. “Ever since I was about six years old and first started to take a conscious interest in things. I have never in all my life had a decent night’s sleep, because the moment I am asleep I seem to be somebody else. It isn’t frustration, the repression of day-time desires, or anything like that. I—I have a twin somewhere, and I believe he’s up there.”

Elsie was silent. To have to wrestle with a problem like this was almost beyond her.

“Have—have you seen a psychiatrist?” she asked. “He could probably make you straight.”

Mart turned slightly, surprised. “Matter of fact, no. I never thought of it. I just accepted the phenomenon and let it go at that. Lately it has become much worse. I feel this other self pushing its way into my own personality with a sense of urgency—or something.”

“It’s time you did something about it,” Elsie said. “It really is. Why not act immediately? Sir Robert Cranwell has his rooms in town and lives on the premises. He’d perhaps make an exception and see you to-night, just as a doctor would … You’re so utterly changed, Mart. You owe it to me, if not to yourself, to find out what ails you.”

As Mart hesitated he found his arm seized and, almost in spite of himself, Elsie began drawing him away. She did not release her grip until they had returned to the brightly lighted main street and had the door of Sir Robert Cranwell’s residence before them. Elsie thumbed the bell over the shining brass plate.

The psychiatrist was at home, it appeared, but Elsie had to talk very convincingly to the maid before she succeeded in getting the required interview. Sir Robert rose from the chair in his consulting room as the two were shown in to him. He was a tall, eagle-like man with white hair brushed back firmly from a high forehead.

“This is very gracious of you, Sir Robert,” Elsie said, as she shook hands. “Only extreme urgency would have made me so insistent—— Er—it concerns my fiancé, here—Martin Clegg.”

“I am always ready to help if I can,” Sir Robert smiled. “What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Clegg?”

“I have a kinship with somebody or something in the constellation of Orion,” Martin answered deliberately, and this made the psychiatrist clear his throat.

“Oh—I see. Hmm… Extraordinary. Suppose we go into it more fully, eh? You, Miss Barlow, will find the ante-room comfortable, I am sure.”

Gently, but firmly, Elsie was conducted into the adjoining room and the door was closed. Here she remained—for over an hour. Part of the time she skimmed through periodicals; the rest of the time she paced up and down anxiously—then at last the door opened and Martin reappeared with the psychiatrist behind him. Elsie turned sharply and looked at them. “Well?” she asked quickly. “It isn’t anything—serious, is it?”

“Great heavens, no!” Sir Robert gave a reassuring smile. “Mr. Clegg and I have had quite an interesting chat and I think he can be cured with a course of treatment. What he chooses to tell you, Miss Barlow, is his own affair. I, of course, cannot divulge anything any more than can a doctor.”

“No—of course not.”

Elsie felt that at that moment the best thing to do was leave, particularly as Martin had a decidedly baffled look on his face. She linked her arm through his and in a moment or two they were out in the street again.

“Well?” she asked presently, as they walked along. “What was his verdict?”

“The man’s an idiot!” Martin said it with emphatic assurance. “He traced the trouble back to some incident in my childhood when a can of pineapple fell on my head. The only person who can explain what is the matter with me is a scientist—not a mind-doctor. Tom Cavendish, for instance. I might just catch him in, too. He’s an electronic engineer and has been working late recently, but it’s towards ten now so we may stand a chance.”

Elsie raised no objections and Martin had guessed right. Tom Cavendish, a young and rather saturnine being deserted his supper when his mother informed him of the identity of the visitors. He came into the drawing-room where they were waiting and shook hands cordially.

“Sorry to bother you, Tom,” Martin apologised, “but I couldn’t think of anybody else likely to have the solution to a scientific problem.”

“Thanks for the flattery,” Tom smiled. “What seems to be wrong? Radio gone haywire?”

“No—his mind,” Elsie said seriously. “He has the idea he has a twin up in the stars, or something. I never heard of anything so crazy in my life.. . .