Twin Paradox_Book Two

by Purple Hazel

  Parts of the Santa Maria would be cut away or jettisoned, then the Nautilus’s cargo bay, having been emptied months before of all its supplies and material intended for the colony, would “swallow them up” and carry them all the way home in a little over ten and a half months (approximately ten months and sixteen days). They’d be landing on Earth in July 2107, basically nine years ahead of schedule! This was indeed thrilling news.

  Captain Stehter quickly called a meeting with the rest of the crew still out there working at their posts. Appropriately enough he chose the inside of the cargo bay which was at this point almost completely empty of its machinery, equipment, supplies, and matter pod shells used for housing nonbaryonic matter devices. First off, half the crew were already there! What’s more the cargo bay was the biggest chamber available on the ship, not counting the hydroponic garden and the cryogenic lab. He also wanted them to see their own personal messages from family and friends at home.

  By now the frozen bodies of ninety-eight crewmen, including both Lieutenant Kelvin and Captain Berwick, were in suspended animation inside cryogenic containers across the ship. Stored in their big stasis machines, hung upside down so that their brains would be best preserved, they were hanging there gazing out through bluish colored fluid while the rest of the staff stood and received the great news over in the cargo bay. The rest of the ship’s full complement, all fifty or so crewmembers, plus of course, the three twins Ozzie, Shamiso, and Young-Min, were brought together for the hastily-called assembly.

  Well, not all of the crew, of course. Only one crewmember was left behind to watch over the “cryo-lab” and that was of course B.J. She’d pretty much figured out what the ruckus was about anyway; and shooed the other girls out after she put on her bio suit to enter the area. Cryogenics Lab was a “clean room”, of course, and would remain that way until the stasis machines were again opened when they reached Earth’s orbit years later. Thus, she had to put on the same baggy “hazmat” suit all of them wore before walking in through the chamber’s air-locked security door. Cheerful as always, she merely waved at them to let them know who she was under that shiny yellow headgear and goggles.

  “Hey ladies. You heard the announcement, didn’t you? It’s okay...you gals go ahead ’n go. I’ll handle things for you. Go hear what the captain has to say,” she urged them, and as the girls rushed out the door into the hallway, stripping out of their bio suits, booties, and headgear, she sat back on one of the therapy beds which had been left over from reviving crewmembers a year earlier. Finding herself alone, she looked up at the bodies hanging upside down in their stasis machines staring back at her. She smiled nervously. It was certainly creepy being in there all by herself!

  Addressing them as though they were alive again, she commented dryly, “Well, folks, I guess that’s the news we’ve all been waiting for. Get ready for a shock when we get back home to Earth. Most o’ y’all are gonna be in your early thirties when we get back home to wake you up—while all yer ex-girlfriends and boyfriends from college ’ll be in their mid-forties or fifties. How do ya’ like that? Pretty fucked up, huh?” She paused a moment, then joked, “Stunned silence, I see...oh well...I guess I can’t please everybody all the time, can I now?”

  That was just about correct of course—the way she’d added it up—assuming things went according to plan, that is. Any one of them who’d been say, twenty-five or maybe twenty-eight years old when they’d left Earth, would have aged only about eight years—while their friends and former lovers back home would be twenty-one years older.

  In that regard, she was pretty much accurate. But to be brutally honest, there was a little more to it than that…

  A successful rendezvous with the Nautilus would be tricky at best—because the Santa Maria, using Star Shot technology, could only travel at ninety percent of the speed of light. For it to move that fast, it had to be “shot” into space and could not slow itself or regulate its speed until it reached its destination. It could steer of course, but could not stop and then restart without the aid of a laser fired into its solar mirrors.

  By way of comparison, the more advanced Nautilus could both start and stop independently. It merely had to program into its computer a destination point, then activate its “warp drive” for the journey. That’s basically why everyone was so excited during Captain Stehter’s speech over in the cargo bay—even though he, as the man ultimately responsible for getting them home alive, tried not to get their hopes up as he talked to them…

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I am both pleased as well as quite proud to announce that our ship can expect a rather speedy return to Earth—especially when compared to our comrades over in the stasis chamber who bravely journeyed to this planet for over fourteen long years. However, it would appear our friends back on Earth have come through for us by constructing a new vessel which will link up with our ship in only about four light years during our trip home. After that rendezvous, which we’ve all been hoping and expecting to see I’m sure, we could—and I hasten to emphasize this is merely a projection, mind you—but we very well could be arriving home within a mere ten and a half months...after being intercepted.”

  To this, he received not just polite applause but even a few whoops and hollers from the mostly female Return Team crew. He was not surprised at this in the least. In the absence of this proposed “retrieval” it would take over fourteen years to get home. Yes, he fully anticipated a positive reaction—even though he felt compelled to give them a stern warning or two. Discipline on board would continue to be strictly enforced, he reminded them. Expectations of their conduct during this comparatively short four-year flight and projected rendezvous date would be exactly the same as the standards imposed and enforced by his predecessor Tommy Berwick.

  “Please understand, however, I will demand the highest state of readiness and professionalism onboard at all times during our journey to the link-up coordinates. Let us not slacken or let our guard down. Never diminish our professionalism nor our commitment to our duties. Keep in mind please that this is only an educated guess and a working theory proposed by very capable minds back on Earth using the most advanced technology our species has currently developed.” He then looked around and made eye contact with a few of the excited, nodding faces in the crowd before continuing.

  “Ironically...in our absence...science has progressed to the point where our current propulsion system on this great ship Santa Maria...is obsolete. However, and once again I must clearly point this out, the chances of a successful rendezvous are not one hundred percent. We must prepare for difficulty and setbacks as always. That’s why Space Programme chose you all in the first place, because you were the best our planet had to offer.” Then he smiled for a moment to let them appreciate the sincere compliment he’d just paid them.

  “We will continue doing our duty each and every day, as long as it takes, to return alive and well to our friends, families, and loved ones—back to our homelands and countries. You must all be reminded that space is still and always will be a very vast and dangerous place. Never underestimate it. Just like our ancestors endured conquering the sea, we must prepare ourselves for the unplanned—and plan for the unexpected. No plan is perfect I can assure you—not with all the variables we have to face as explorers of the galaxy. Please keep this in mind. That is all.”

  Of course, the crew did little to try and “keep this in mind” after that stirring speech. No, they only heard four years plus ten months to get back home after interception, and pretty much blocked out the rest. No one would even consider any alternative possibility. That joyful day was not to be derailed by any other negative way of seeing things. Steinhart’s warnings to temper their expectations were largely ignored, even by B.J., whom the captain was quick to lecture later when she expressed her joy over the fabulous news.

  “Now don’t get too excited, my darling,” he warned her, “There is no guarantee they’ll find us...no assurances they can keep these timetables they’re proj
ecting.” He then sighed, adding, “Of course, I had to tell them it was a possibility, yes. But I personally foresee many difficulties with it.” For her part, B.J. couldn’t yet grasp what he was so worried about. Wondered why he was trying to downplay things.

  “But it’s simple ain’t it, Schnucki? We just travel at near-light speed until we reach the rendezvous point, and they’ll be there waitin’ for us...won’t they?” Steinhart could only shake his head soberly.

  “No Darling, nothing is simple when it comes to space,” he replied patiently. “Everything is theoretical until it’s been done successfully; and even if it works, the most you can ever claim with any degree of confidence is that it was merely good fortune. That’s why sailors on the sea were always so superstitious in ancient times.”

  B.J. wouldn’t hear of it though. In her mind, humans had developed technologies that resolved guesswork and had long abandoned foolish beliefs in things such as angry gods, sea monsters, and dumb luck. No, as far as she was concerned, in her calculating mind, the theories and projections had been confirmed, reconfirmed, and all but sewed up tight as a tick by now. Those brainiacs back at Space Programme would have taken into consideration every possible setback or challenge.

  Anything and everything must have been contemplated before projecting that rendezvous date. Besides, ancient sea mariners sailing the oceans of Earth never had computers, now did they? In her mind that date mentioned in the communiqué from Space Programme was all but guaranteed, give or take a month at the most. She and Steinhart would return to Earth still young, virile, and healthy—with many long years to spend together as husband and wife; and there was no convincing her otherwise.

  Not yet anyway.

  Chapter 17

  Schmutzfink

  After the Star Shot system was activated and the ship sent streaking through space, the Santa Maria sent its own message pod back to Earth detailing for them their departure date and confirming with Space Programme the anticipated rendezvous point. This would take about thirteen months to reach Command Central, now located on the Earth’s moon.

  Only then would the Nautilus launch itself toward Kapteyn B, allowing for about six months to outfit the ship with all it would need to supply and relieve the colonists there. This would be based in large part on the details provided in Captain Berwick’s original report which was compiled during the year prior; and contained information on the potential for ocean harvesting, plant and animal samples, average climate, air and water toxicity...as well as pertinent details regarding their experiences with certain personnel while establishing the fledgling colony.

  Typical of any British naval officer, Captain Berwick was brutally honest about everything they’d seen and endured—including difficulties with the colony commander Luigi Cadorna. Spared nothing, in fact.

  “Improper and inappropriate conduct toward subordinate officers,” was clearly stated in the text. “Disrespectful. Unprofessional.” Oh yes, it was all there, even details on Berwick’s field promotions, commendations for outstanding bravery and dedication to the mission...everything he could pack into it! Nautilus and its relief crew, as well as its captain, would know pretty much everything there was to know.

  A crew of two hundred would be onboard Nautilus, including one hundred new colonists, fifty construction engineers, and fifty officers and command staff in charge of operating the vessel. A second “B-lander” was also attached to the craft, used for ferrying supplies and materials down to the surface for the construction of permanent housing as well as a new ocean-marine food processing plant.

  Meanwhile, back on the Santa Maria, B.J. was quickly put in charge of Crew Communications by Captain Stehter. That was the perfect function for her on the ship, no question about it. It was basically a do-nothing job that kept her busy for, at best, a few hours out of every duty shift. It also made her almost constantly available to the good captain at a moment’s notice whenever he...required her.

  This had been planned years before during crew assignments and naturally Captain Stehter had devised this special “role” for her long in advance. It gave him access to her at all times, whenever he wanted her, and it meant that when his duty shift was ended and nothing else necessitated his presence on the command bridge, he could simply page her wherever she was and she’d be at his beck and call within minutes.

  That said, she didn’t mind a bit. Loved it, frankly. Strolled around the ship with that comfortable artificial gravity which made the floor feel like spongy gym mats under her feet. Strutted about joyfully in her nylon uniform with the jacket unzipped halfway to expose her cleavage—until he’d call for her, that is—then she’d zip it right up. Kept herself showered, legs shaved, and ready for him, too. It was a pretty easy gig, she had to admit.

  Otherwise when not needed by the captain, she chatted with the crew and stayed abreast of all the latest gossip—of which there was often plenty—especially with a crew of fifty-three people made up predominantly of young females. Yet this special arrangement wasn’t set up that way merely to provide Steinhart ready access to her body whenever he desired her. It was certainly a factor, but he had other more important motives in mind. There was an even better reason for assigning her these duties.

  To be sure, B.J. got along famously with everyone, as he assumed she would. She was “in” with every group and clique, however exclusive they might be. She was buddies with at least one participant in practically any little side conversation that might be going on in any hallway or corridor. She could literally walk in on a group of gals or guys discussing ship morale, daily life onboard, potential conflicts, who was sleeping with who, and just jump right in. That’s basically what Steinhart really needed her for—not only the amazing sex sessions in the VRC—of which there were several every week—but to be his “ear” for issues concerning the crew.

  That’s why he relied on her so much. She’d find out what was going on, and he’d pump the information from her practically every day—right after all the hot lovemaking, of course. That always came first, naturally. He couldn’t get enough of her—and truth be told the feeling was mutual. She wanted him just as often as he wanted her. Thus, they became almost immediately one of the two permanent “couples” on board—even if this was strictly forbidden by military protocol. No one argued, of course, and for that matter why would they? It was going to be a very long flight home after all…

  * * * *

  When it came to sex, Steinhart’s deepest desires stemmed from his obsession with pirates and pirate ships of the Caribbean during the late 17th and early 18th centuries. He loved the subject and knew a lot about the major historical figures from that exciting era.

  He could recall their names, the dates they did this or that; even the names of their ships. Loved telling tales from that period, too, and reading about those dangerous times back during the days when privateers and buccaneers squared off against Spanish treasure galleons on the open sea. Basically, anything to do with them and their adventures, both noble and for that matter not even the slightest bit honorable, thrilled him to no end and got his mind off whatever might be bothering him. He’d always been that way, too.

  As a child he’d constantly been fascinated with pirates of the Spanish Main. He’d watched films of them as a boy growing up in Germany and simply couldn’t get enough of the topic. It fascinated him every time he’d see them on Ultravision in some old film, sometimes depicted as scalawags, thieves, ne’er do wells, leathery-skinned sea dogs...other times depicted as charming, raffish rapscallions. There was nothing wrong with it, really. Many little boys grow up idolizing or being enthralled with the romanticized lives of otherwise undesirable anti-heroes like bank robbers, bandits, rebels, and outlaws. Even real ones he’d read historical accounts about: ones who’d once been hunted by authorities and eventually met with grisly deaths or public execution for their crimes...it didn’t matter. He loved learning about them as a little boy.

  But as he entered puberty, those seamy im
ages of scurvy freebooters capturing ships and plundering cargo holds looking for treasure, evolved into something far more perverse and downright unsavory. He began having images and fantasies about those same pirates doing other things as well—things a good Christian boy should not be entertaining thoughts of. Because Steinhart—as a ten, eleven, and then twelve-year-old youth—started having night dreams and daydreams of pirates ransacking ships, raiding towns, and capturing buxom, beautiful women for their own personal pleasure. The fantasies grew and grew, degenerating further and further; and visions like these were what eventually developed into his deepest, darkest, and most perverse private longings.

  In his fantasy life, he was never the perpetrator of such atrocities, of course. Not directly, that is. He’d picture women being dragged or herded on deck by snarling, lustful pirates, stripped of their fancy dresses and forced to stand half-naked before the crew, terrified and helpless. They’d be in nothing but underclothing like pantaloons and corsets usually, cleavages exposed to the cool sea air, and cowering in front of some evil pirate captain he’d conjured in his imagination, as the other scalawags surrounding them leered lustfully at their bared flesh.

  In his mind, he’d see daggers held to their throats as greasy hands manipulated laces and ribbons to remove their bodices and bloomers; leaving them naked in the tropical sun—or with their sweating, jiggling breasts illuminated by moonlight. Usually that was enough to push him over the edge and he’d masturbate furiously just thinking about it. However, by his mid-teens and even on into his days as a university student, these visions became more graphic and debased. His dreaming mind seemed to crave more and more debauchery as the years passed.