Twin Paradox_Book Two

by Purple Hazel

  And for his part Steinhart almost had to wonder if the prickly colony commander’s incredible turnaround might have been only temporary...that perhaps now, right at this very moment, those colonists back there had begun getting fed up with him. Maybe he’d gone mad. Maybe he’d become desperate without B.J. around anymore to console and encourage him.

  That said, he knew he’d be wise to find a way of tempering their expectations—those of the crew, that is. Again, so much could go wrong with Nautilus’s return mission. For instance, what if Luigi Cadorna had gone crazy all over again and they’d had to deal with that potential “shitstorm”—as Germans loved to say?

  Going into year three of their return flight (year eighteen of the overall mission) he had to assume Nautilus had already landed and began—maybe even completed—construction on its projects. Perhaps now, he calculated, Nautilus was preparing to return toward Earth. Might soon be passing them, arriving at their rendezvous point and sitting out there floating in space awaiting the opportunity to pick them up.

  Yet all those bored crewmen and women onboard Santa Maria; what to tell them, really? How could he go back again and again to warn them it might not work out as planned? Morale was already declining rapidly. Why burst their bubble? “Why fuck it up?” as B.J. might say.

  There was just no way to allay the burnout they felt; which was rapidly catching up to them as the years passed. Even being on the ship with its artificial gravity and amazing Virtual Reality facility—it wasn’t the same as the burning thought that they might be returning to Earth soon.

  It was like being stuck on some endless transcontinental jet airplane ride where one keeps waking up to look out the window into endless sky and still has no idea how much longer the flight is going to take. They only had a “date” in mind and nothing else. “And just what the hell does that matter anymore?” he had to ask himself. Knowing the arrival time meant nothing to someone wanting the hours and days to go by faster. This was no better than a prisoner knowing they’d be up for parole in a few years.

  Daily routines were simply uninteresting and unfulfilling. Shower, eat, sleep, report to duty, then basically do nothing for six hours at a time before knocking off for the day, then heading off to the gym or the Virtual Reality Chamber for a few hours. Maybe hook up with someone (for the umpteenth time) for a naughty encounter? But even that wasn’t particularly thrilling to most of them by then. Almost everyone who was sexually active had pretty much tried out everyone else.

  Steinhart easily noticed how they’d changed, those crewmen and women. Many hardly ever showed up at the gym anymore—not by year three that is. Most preferred a “quickie” with a fellow crewman then heading off to a sleeping birth for seven hours of sleep. Meanwhile the gym stayed for the most part empty and devoid of activity. Ozzie Guerrero was often the only one working out there. Him and Ensign Shamiso Kachote that is.

  They were practically inseparable those two; and a frequent topic of gossip among the crew…

  Chapter 19

  Shah-zee

  “So...whaddya think we’re gonna do when we get back home?” asked Shamiso. She was floating in a weightless love embrace with Ozzie inside the Virtual Reality Chamber—enjoying a zero-gravity space fantasy scenario that her lover had devised and programmed into the computer for them. As they’d just finished making love, their bare bodies entwined lovingly with each other, the thought about their future as man and wife suddenly crossed her mind.

  “You mean Earth?” he asked with a grin, and Shamiso giggled, “Yeah stupid! That’s where we’re goin’, remember?”

  To this he snorted, “Oh yeah, I forgot...been out here so long, I guess.” He wasn’t kidding, either. In Earth years they’d been traveling in and exploring space for eighteen years—though experiencing little more than half the actual time duration. Their birth certificates might have indicated they were pushing thirty; but their bodies and minds were that of twenty-year olds.

  Shamiso giggled for a moment then agreed, “Abso-bloody-lutely...you’ve got that right. As it goes, I’m kinda wondering if we’ll ever get back. Not sure where in blazes we’ll go when we get there, either. How ’bout you? Put much thought into it, have ya’?” She was obviously testing him a bit, the way girls and women often do, but they’d been together so many years already it didn’t faze him.

  “Sure,” replied Ozzie in his now-fading Texas accent. He’d been around so many Europeans and Asians—so many Brits and Russians and Brazilians to boot—he had lost most of it, by now. Only when he was completely relaxed with Shamiso did the accent come back.

  “Ain’t too worried about it, really. Figure I’ll go find ma’ brother then look around for a job somewhere ’round Houston. I was thinkin’ Rodeo Clown sounds kinda nice. ’N you?”

  This time he was only joking, of course and Shamiso picked up on it. Yes, they’d be together still when they returned to Earth—she knew in her heart—and it was likely just a question of where Space Programme sent him next. She fully believed Ozzie would “go career” and follow Captain Stehter wherever his fortunes led him.

  “Rubbish...you’re telling porkies,” she scoffed; and her boyfriend smiled happily. Ozzie always got a kick out of his girlfriend’s London slang. Just one of the things about her he thoroughly enjoyed. “You’re Captain Stehter’s diamond geezer and you know it, love. Bet you’ll be on his staff one of these days, I do. He’ll see to that, I should bloody well think.”

  Ozzie agreed. Half his young life had been spent on that giant space vessel, and his loyalty to superiors, from Kelvin on up to Tommy Berwick—and now to Captain Stehter—had always been unquestioned. Making a career out of Space Programme would be like a dream come true for him. Going back to Texas was more of a distant second on his list of destinations for when they landed back on Earth. However, he felt like he needed to give her some bold assurances.

  “Yep...yer right, Meeso,” he said in a confessing tone of voice as if to allay her concerns, “An’ I think when we git home we should probably go to London first and look up yer sister Rudo, don’t ya’ ’gree? Sounds like she’s a pop music diva by now...’specially after hearin’ the news from Earth.” He was referencing the brief mentioning of someone named “Rudo Love” during the transmission they’d heard from the message pod back in Kapteyn B’s orbit a few years prior.

  “Figger that was her we listened to that recording of a while back. She must be famous. Now...how did it go…?” Then he began imitating the catchy tune they’d heard which Shamiso thought was so annoying: “Kiss, kiss, love…duh duh duh duh duh…kiss, kiss, love…”

  Shamiso rolled her eyes and groaned. Truth be told, it didn’t sound much like Rudo, the way she remembered her sister’s voice, that is, but then again, they hadn’t spoken to one another since they were ten. Maybe it was her! “Possible, I guess. She was definitely the loud type when we was kids,” admitted Shamiso. “But what about your brother, Práxido? Ranger Guerrero? That sure sounds like ’im, don’t it? What if he’s a rich Megaball star by now? That’s a bit of alright, don’t you think? Maybe we could go there and live—if you wanna bring a girl like me back home with you to Texas, I mean.”

  To this Ozzie embraced her around the shoulders and hugged her tight. She was merely baiting him and he didn’t mind. Pretending to be insecure about their relationship when it was by this point completely unnecessary. He’d pledged his love to her many, many times already.

  “Oh yeah, that’d be nice baby,” he replied, “An’ I ain’t goin’ nowhere without ya’, I promise. If we cayn’t find yer sis’, then most definitely yes. We’ll go lookin’ for Práxido down in Texas. See if he’s got some big ’ole horse ranch and some big mansion down ’round Katy...’r up in Dallas.” Then he chuckled at the thought before kissing her on the forehead and caressing her shiny, chocolate brown skin. In the program he’d designed, it was an illusion of floating in infinite space and sometimes in the darkness all he could see of his lover were her eyes and her tee
th when she smiled—or the silhouette of her Afro.

  “Yep. We kin make a real good life for ourselves down there,” he added. “You’ll like it. Pretty country. Lotsa pretty women, too. Nothin’ prettier ’n the likes o’ you, of course, but plenty o’ prospects for my brother, that’s fer sher. Guess he’s gotten himself a wife and a few ankle-biters by now. A few horses maybe. Probably nearin’ retirement from the league by now, too. Ain’t the kinda sport you can play for too many years...’fore yer knees give out, ya’ know? But…”—sigh—“if he’s made a ton ’o money then shit yeah...maybe we’ll just move into the guest house or sumpin’.” He quickly looked into her eyes to see her reaction, then sighed and looked away pretending to be satisfied with such a silly notion.

  She didn’t really believe all that “bollocks” of course. Didn’t question his devotion to her, but didn’t for a moment imagine a bright young man like Ozzie Guerrero settling for a boring existence. Tending horses on his rich brother’s ranch? Standing in his famous twin’s shadow—after all Ozzie had accomplished at such a young age? No. Shamiso saw much more in the future for her dashing, muscular lover.

  He was big. Everywhere. Including between his legs. He was tall. He was athletic. If that person mentioned in the Earth transmission really was his identical twin Práxido...well, Ozzie would never accept playing second fiddle to anyone, let alone a mere sports celebrity. What’s more, Ozzie was much smarter than his twin—both Kelvin and B.J. had assured her of that many years before. He’d proven them right time and again ever since taking off from Earth.

  Yes, he was going places, that boy. And with her on his arm, they’d have every reason to expect a long, fabulous career together in Space Programme. A real “power couple”. Famous astronauts, both of them. Political aspirations perhaps? Why not? After all they’d still be in their fifties when they retired. Indeed, the possibilities were seemingly endless.

  A fancy upscale flat in Darmstadt until they finished their thirty-year service contract? A vacation cottage in Scotland to go spend summers together? Maybe a condo right on the beach down in the Caribbean or on the Gulf of Mexico for winter getaways? Holidays visiting the French Riviera? Touring the Greek Isles on a pleasure cruise with B.J. and Steinhart—on the Stehters’ own private yacht someday? Oh yes, that would be terribly nice as well. She could picture it already…just like in the movies…

  * * * *

  Ah!...Shamiso and Ozzie. Now that was certainly a bright point in the otherwise dreary existence on board Santa Maria. What an item they were. Gorgeous and perfect. Young and beautiful. Practically everyone followed their every move and gossiped about them endlessly. “Shah-zee” they’d call them in a comical combination of their two names—like they were some kind of media celebrity couple one might read about in those trashy tabloid “E-zines” back on Earth.

  They were only apart when on duty, and within mere moments of the end of one’s shift they’d be off in a flash to find each other. They were “so stinkin’ cute,” as B.J. often called them, they drove people damn near crazy with obsessive, almost overbearing interest. But that was only because of harmless jealousy, really. Anyone would have wanted to have the happiness and bliss they seemed to enjoy. Nevertheless, it appeared only to be achievable by them and them alone—for those who desired such a thing, that is. Besides, it was more fun just to live vicariously through the winsome young couple.

  They’d fight or squabble, sure, but that would only serve to fuel the rumor mill. Keep the gossipers’ tongue’s a’ waggin’, basically. And then, when they’d inevitably make up, everyone would be overjoyed and relieved—like they were watching some teen reality show on Ultravision. Yet this was even better. Everyone was a potential participant in this ongoing drama.

  Shamiso would confide in her colleagues at the cryogenics lab—then Ozzie would talk about the latest developments in their relationship with his mates in the pod-monitoring lab. Most everyone on the ship knew everything about them, from the first time they’d “gone all the way”, to the blow-by-blow details of their latest argument. Even Steinhart followed their relationship just like a regular viewer of a weekly broadcast of some 20th century “Soap Opera”. B.J. naturally kept him abreast of all the latest dirt she could find out about them; and he ate it right up.

  To be honest, it certainly was a little bit unfair to the adorable pair. But what could anyone do about it? People couldn’t help being terribly interested in them. And on top of that, Shamiso and Ozzie had no way of knowing any better, anyway. To them this had simply been reality for the past eighteen-plus Earth years. Essentially everything they knew about relationships—and love and sex—they’d learned from their shipmates—plus a little private experimentation with each other along the way. Yet even that—all the intimate details—had become common knowledge to most everyone on board—usually within a day or two.

  Nonetheless, people respected it; the love between them that is, and encouraged the relationship every way they could. In a sense, maybe they needed Shamiso and Ozzie to be that happy, loving couple that everyone cherished as they blossomed and evolved together.

  Despite all the debauchery going on around them, with lustful crewmembers engaging in various forms of perversion at nearly every hour of the day (in at least some place onboard the ship, if not several) truth was that what everyone really, really wanted was to have what Shah-zee had. A love so pure and innocent. A love unspoiled by a corrupt and evil world like they’d endured in their teens. Ask any one of those crewmembers, and they’d have gladly opined: they weren’t missing a thing, those two.

  The media bombarding them with 24-hour a day news reports about all the sadness and horror going on in the world? Corporate advertising portraying dazzling imagery of perfect people living perfect lives largely unattainable by most common folk? Domestic violence tearing apart communities and families? Peer pressure from fellow students to try drugs and alcohol?

  Poverty eating away at the fabric of inner city societies? Financial pressures provoking conflict among young couples struggling to “make it”? Competition from rival lovers driving a wedge between them? Overbearing parents superimposing their own cultural prejudices onto their child’s way of seeing the world? Colleagues and acquaintances compelling them to be in all the right cliques and seen at all the right parties?

  No. They’d been spared these detriments to growing up as otherwise enlightened human beings; and saved from being vulnerable teenagers in an unforgiving society which pressured kids to be what they couldn’t be or tormented them with lofty achievements that were unrealistic for most youngsters. Oh yes, Shamiso and Ozzie had it good. They had what everyone else could only dream of having: true, untainted love, unaffected by anything, supported by all, living day to day in a tight-knit community in which they were valued members.

  True, most everyone very well should have desired to have what they had. It was completely elusive, no matter what anyone did to remedy this malady, but many tried pursuing it at one time or another. Relationships did start up from time to time, usually based on sexual attraction and especially due to constant proximity to one another. Folks really tried emulating the young couple. But those relationships were doomed to failure, no matter how they tried keeping it together. One after the other they fell apart—except for Steinhart and B.J. of course. Thus, casual sex was one of maybe two possible diversions that seemed to lend any form of genuine release for the bored crewmembers on Santa Maria.

  Unfortunately, getting high on marijuana was the other. And that problem grew and grew as the journey continued. Many among the crew began to resort to it, even though that was precisely where Captain Stehter finally chose to draw the line...

  * * * *

  He may have had to give in a little with all the sex and promiscuity—as well as partial nudity in the hallways. He knew he couldn’t do much about that and still maintain his regular liaisons with B.J. But when it came to crewmembers abusing cannabis onboard, that’s where he knew he had to
intervene. For the sake of the success of the mission at the very least, if not the preservation of the crew’s sanity, he endeavored to put a stop to it.

  True, Lieutenant Young-Min Jo had tried once more to “relieve” the Return Team of their ills with his special contribution to the ship’s intricate food distribution system. Same as he’d done for Away Team, he and his staff grew vegetables and fruits in their hydroponic grow system. Just like before they spliced roots, created brand new strains and varieties of cannabis-laced produce every few months.

  Yet Steinhart, as opposed to Tommy Berwick, felt this was a dangerous long-term prospect. To risk having crewmembers under the influence of marijuana while still on duty was a serious threat to crew morale regardless of the “logic” that some tried clinging to. Sadly, it was quite a while before he began to learn the full scope of the problem with those among the crew who were abusing it.

  Yes, he’d found out about cannabis being made available in the food distribution system. He’d learned of it when he’d been re-activated from stasis and went through therapy sessions to rejuvenate his body—only to find the food he was consuming contained THC. And to be fair, back then he’d appreciated the pain-killing effects as well as the much-needed stress-reduction. It had been quite a relief to have this aiding him in his remarkably quick recovery.

  But now that things were different, now that he was commanding a galactic transport vessel hurtling through space, he saw marijuana consumption as a potential problem that had to be suppressed, if at all possible.

  Three years earlier, when they were establishing the new colony, one of Luigi Cadorna’s biggest gripes was crewmen and women being “high” while at work. There was no question they often were and no one could deny it. They’d work out an arrangement with Young-Min’s cronies in the garden center or select produce that contained heavier, more potent strains of cannabis indica—just to cope with the harsh life there. Hardly anyone blamed them back then. Most found it a lot easier to get through the day when using it. Some found it to be a great relief when consumed on a regular basis.