Tonight we continue with Part Four, Heroes and Scapegoats. The Santa Maria is now hurtling toward Earth; a journey which in normal circumstances would take just over fourteen years. The crew fully believe it won't take nearly that long because word from Space Programme is that the new re-supply ship Nautilus will be intercepting them in only four years; delivering them to their homes and families by the year 2107.
Nevertheless that's still a healthy chunk of time. It will leave folks like B.J. and Captain Steinhart - for that matter, the majority of the crew - with little to do in the meantime but find ways to entertain themselves.
Tonight we continue with Part Four, Heroes and Scapegoats. The Santa Maria is now hurtling toward Earth; a journey which in normal circumstances would take just over fourteen years. The crew fully believe it won't take nearly that long because word from Space Programme is that the new re-supply ship Nautilus will be intercepting them in only four years; delivering them to their homes and families by the year 2107.
Nevertheless that's still a healthy chunk of time. It will leave folks like B.J. and Captain Steinhart - for that matter, the majority of the crew - with little to do in the meantime but find ways to entertain themselves.
Hello, and welcome back to Twin Paradox. I'm King Everett Medlin and what you're hearing is a SciFi trilogy I wrote four years ago under the pseudonym Purple Hazel. Twin Paradox follows my first podcast series entitled Deathwalker Colony, which is now a full length novel available for purchase on Amazon. Go online and check it out! It's on sale today in E-book format, as well as the first two books in the Rijel 12 Series, The Rise of New Australia and Return of Anarchy.
Tonight we continue with Part Four, Heroes and Scapegoats. The Santa Maria is now hurtling toward Earth; a journey which in normal circumstances would take just over fourteen years. The crew fully believe it won't take nearly that long because word from Space Programme is that the new re-supply ship Nautilus will be intercepting them in only four years; delivering them to their homes and families by the year 2107. Nevertheless that's still a healthy chunk of time. It will leave folks like B.J. and Captain Steinhart - for that matter, the majority of the crew - with little to do in the meantime but find ways to entertain themselves.
Twin Paradox is a SciFi series encompassing three full length novels; all of which will be read in their entirety during the coming weeks. You can go online and download the E-books ... or if you prefer, tune in and listen to me read them to you. So let's continue!
Ladies and Gentlemen, Twin Paradox, Part Four: Heroes and Scapegoats. Chapter Seventeen, Schmutzfink ....
After the Star Shot system was activated and the ship sent streaking through space, the Santa Maria sent yet another message pod back to Earth detailing for them their departure date and confirming with Space Programme the anticipated rendezvous point. It would take about 13 months to reach Mission Control, now located on the Earth’s moon, and despite what had been stated by the lovely-sounding spokesperson in the recording they'd listened to from Earth, only then would the Nautilus launch itself toward Kapteyn B, allowing for enough time to outfit the ship with all it would need in order to resupply the colony.
It would be based in large part on 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 regarding everything he’d observed, including difficulties with the colony commander Luigi Cadorna. Spared nothing in fact.
“Improper and inappropriate conduct toward subordinate officers” was 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.
Meanwhile, back on the Santa Maria, B.J. was 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 constantly available to the good captain whenever he … required her.
This had been planned years before during crew assignments and 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 and she’d be at his beckon call within minutes. She didn’t mind. 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 in her nylon uniform with 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. It was a pretty easy gig, she had to admit. When not needed by the captain, she chatted with the crew and stayed abreast of all the latest gossip - of which there was plenty - especially with a crew of 53 people predominantly made up 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 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 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 hallways or corridors. 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 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 information from her - right after all the hot lovemaking that is. That always came first. He just couldn’t get enough of her – and truth be told the feeling was mutual. She wanted him just as often as he wanted her. They became one of the two permanent “couples” on board – even if this was strictly forbidden by military protocol. No one argued, and for that matter why would they? It was going to be a very long flight home.
********
When it came to sex, Steinhart’s deepest fantasies stemmed from his obsession with pirates and pirate ships during the late 17th and early 18th centuries. He loved the subject and knew a lot about most of 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 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.
As a child he’d 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 in some old film, sometimes depicted as scalawags, thieves, ne’er do wells, leathery-skinned sea dogs … other times depicted as charming rakes. There was nothing wrong with it really. Many little boys grew up idolizing otherwise undesirable anti-heroes like bank robbers, bandits, rebels, and outlaws. Even ones he’d read historical accounts about: ones who’d once been hunted by the law and eventually met with grisly deaths; it didn’t matter. He loved learning about them.
As he entered puberty, those seamy images of scurvy freebooters capturing ships and plundering cargo holds looking for treasure, evolved into something far more perverse and unsavory. He began imagining those same pirates doing other things as well – things a good Christian boy should not be entertaining thoughts of. Steinhart - as a ten, eleven, and then twelve-year-old youth - started having dreams of pirates ransacking ships, raiding towns, and abducting buxom, beautiful women for their own personal pleasure. The fantasies grew and grew, degenerating further and further. Visions like these were what eventually developed into his darkest and most perverse private longings.
In his fantasies he was never the perpetrator of such atrocities. Not directly that is. He’d picture a woman being dragged or herded on deck by snarling, lustful pirates, stripped of her fancy dress and forced to stand half-naked before the crew, terrified and helpless. She'd be in nothing but pantaloons and corset, cleavages exposed, cowering in front of some evil pirate captain he’d conjured up, as the other scalawags surrounding him leered lustfully at her bare flesh.
In his mind he’d see daggers held to her throat as greasy hands manipulated laces and ribbons to remove her bodice and bloomers, leaving her completely naked - with her 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. By his mid-teens and even into his days as a university student, these visions became ever more graphic and debased. His dreaming mind seemed to crave more and more debauchery as the years passed.
He never spoke of such things. Tried living a decent life for all intents and purposes. Dated girls in town during his youth; experimented with sex and sexuality. Had quite a few lovers during those heady days as a teenager and then into his early twenties as he discovered more and more women willing to sleep with him. But he avoided addressing his most intimate desires – steered clear of doing what he really wanted to do to them.
Nothing violent of course. He would never hurt a woman; not under any circumstances. Wouldn’t have ever crossed his mind. In bed with a young woman, he’d typically perform intercourse much like any other guy excited about the opportunity for intimate companionship. Typically achieve orgasm within a few minutes of penetration. It never occurred to him to try and show the girl what really, really turned him on. That, he felt needed to remain secret. But while driving into the girl with his rather generous endowment, he’d often hold the girl down by grasping one of her wrists, if it was laying by her side or next to her face, gripping it roughly while letting the other hand remain free. Just that one small thrill of partially restraining her was usually all he’d attempt and it was typically enough to move him to the brink.
Naturally if the girl squirmed or struggled or protested in any way, he’d relent - not wanting to ruin the moment before he’d had a chance to ejaculate. He’d always stop well short of that - at least in the nick of time before the girl would think she was in some sort of danger, or believe he was nothing more than a “Schmutzfink” or a “Dreckschwein”. Those were labels he never wanted applied to himself. He was after all, a young man who cared about his “reputation”.
Pursuing his career with earnest, he avoided settling down with a wife until his late twenties, when he’d found a young woman who seemed to fit the bill as the type of companion who would bolster his image. She was beautiful, his first wife. She was well-connected; essentially just what a man like young Steinhart needed in his life at the time. Trophy wife one might call her. Pretty. Good personality. Influential family. Skinny. Tall. Decent figure. She had it all.
Yet there was a problem with their marriage right from the start, and it was hard to pin down in those early years. Both fully immersed in their careers, she was the type who was on the way up in high society and Steinhart was just the kind of husband she needed to show off to her friends and colleagues. Steinhart was all for that arrangement . He enjoyed being the man she liked to parade around: handsome, tall, muscular, smart, educated, and driven to be successful. It was only after a few years that issues arose in their apparently perfect partnership.
Well into his thirties and climbing the ranks at Space Programme - where he was bucking for a promotion to become a space ship captain - Steinhart struggled to get his wife pregnant. And even though sexual intercourse was clearly not the issue – his wife was perfectly willing to pursue trying and they attempted to make a baby hundreds of times – they just couldn’t seem to make it happen. Even with their hectic work schedules and Steinhart’s traveling, they made it a point to find time for one another. Yet they continued to fail and fail. Steinhart’s wife either couldn’t get pregnant or Steinhart was incapable of impregnating her, one or the other. Truth be told, neither of them wanted to find out for sure.
It became a problem by the fourth year, when family members started asking difficult questions like, “When are you two going to give us a grandchild/ niece/ nephew?” The pressure got to them, and no matter how hard they tried downplaying it, claiming their schedules were too difficult or the stars merely hadn’t aligned just right, facts were (or at least apparently) that they simply could not have children.
This ate away at the intimacy between them and led to many a heated argument which damaged the relationship further – until finally they began giving up entirely. Sex became more and more infrequent. Passion faded. Love died a slow, sad, and painful death … until eventually they became like estranged roommates living in the same house otherwise paying little attention to each other.
During this, those deep, dark fantasies (gone largely unfulfilled), and the images haunting Steinhart’s mind of pirates ravaging helpless women, plagued him mercilessly. They manifested themselves in many ways. He took to decorating his office with pirate memorabilia; for example a replica ship’s wheel which adorned one wall, and a pirate cutlass over the top of it which he’d acquired from an artisan at a medieval cultural fair called Burgenfest over in Manderscheid. He even had a pirate hat sitting up on a coat rack and reproductions of famous paintings of pirates and pirate ships framed on his walls. Bookshelves filled with technical manuals covered most of one wall, and yet the lone picture of his wife – a photo taken of her at their wedding – was about all he had available to let anyone know he was married or even had feelings for her anymore. To those with a keen eye for details this was a strong indication they were quite less than in love. The photo was tiny at best, and faced outward, toward the doorway, instead of sitting on his desk facing him so he could see it while he worked. It would have appeared to any visitor taking note that he was a man trying to appear like some normal, run of the mill, happily married man. It was all for show. Inside he was actually a depressed, sexually frustrated fellow who longed for companionship - and there was little if any waiting for him at home.
The fantasies were vivid and real though. Tormented his mind. Entertained him many an evening during business trips when he’d be lying in his hotel bed flipping through channels on the room’s Ultravision panel. He’d drift off to sleep, imagining some bodacious beauty, clothes in tatters, shackled to a wall inside an iron cage below decks of some moldy pirate ship, whimpering and trembling over the fate she feared might befall her that night when the crew had gotten a belly full of rum and would descend to the ship’s hold for another “go” at her.
She’d inevitably be brunette or raven haired, this woman of his fantasies. That was consistent in all his dreams. Tall and curvy; enticing but with an angelic face. That’s what he seemed to go for. She’d have been taken prisoner by those reeking bilge rats during a raid weeks before and kept as their hostage, then reduced to a sexual plaything for their ongoing perverse amusement.
He’d often picture the woman being dragged, screaming and writhing in terror, out of her cage onto a bed of straw, with greasy fingers caressing and groping her body as a gang of cutthroats circled around her. He’d see her vividly in his mind as they ripped away the last pieces of her clothing and held her wrists and ankles, spreading her wide apart and raising her legs in preparation to mount her.
Then he’d see himself - always the hero of the story - bursting onto the scene, flanked by his own loyal sailors from some ship he commanded. He'd promptly defeat those revolting swashbucklers, slicing them with his cutlass and firing his trusty flintlock into the face of the enemy captain when the fiend drew his saber.
Rescuing her and taking her back to his ship, wrapping her up in a clean blanket or throwing his tunic around her shoulders, he’d sweep her away from the filth and debauchery, saving her from yet another night of being degraded. Then he’d sail away to his island hideaway where she’d immediately and with no reservations, become his grateful, devoted lover.
Her virtue taken from her, her dignity all but ruined, he’d assure this imaginary vixen that she was safe. He’d tell her confidently that she belonged to no one now, was under his personal protection, and should fear no further indignities. What’s more he’d promise her she was free to leave at any time … that he’d take her anywhere she’d like to go … and drop her off at the nearest port of call to allow her to return to her previous life.
The woman in his fantasy would always refuse his offer, naturally. She’d inevitably pledge her loyalty to him and him alone, beg him to keep her as his woman, promising to remain with his ship as his personal possession (his concubine if he so wished it!), dedicated to serving his every need. Then they’d make passionate love with each other. That was pretty much the way things went. It’s what his mind craved.
From there, the sequence of events varied, but it always ended up the same: the woman would implore him to take her aggressively, just as the pirates had done to her night after night, abusing her body and pleasuring themselves at her expense while she wailed and moaned – reviled at their appearances and offending odors. Yet now, in the arms of her dashing lover Steinhart, it became her deepest desire to be made love to in this very same way. That’s how she’d explain it to him, however bizarre and unrealistic it would have been in real life, he always assumed.
He’d dream of varying positions frequently (which his first wife never tolerated or desired by the way), tying her hands and feet together or tethering her to a bedpost or pillar before flogging her until her creamy white flesh was striped bright red (which was also something his first wife - not surprisingly - would never have permitted either). She’d beg for him to do so, describing to him what those dirty pirates had done to her in that dank ship’s hold for so many months, longing for rescue, only to abandon hope of ever seeing her home again.
His fantasy woman would plead with him desperately to mount her again and again until he finally brought her to the pinnacle of ecstasy as he too climaxed, wailing and snarling and growling like some primal beast, draining both his mind and body as he exploded deep inside of her. These visions would afflict him so mercilessly he’d occasionally awaken in the middle of the night to masturbate – often twice – just to exhaust himself so he could thankfully get back to sleep.
It happened like that almost every week; even as he got older and his career continued to flourish. It embarrassed him. He thought he must be some kind of sexual deviant to be imagining such disgusting things. Yet the dreams came back to him, revisiting like a specter in the night whenever something would trigger those debased thoughts. Even visions of a sailing ship with a pirate flag or dastardly swabs brandishing pistols and daggers toward a cowering prisoner would set him off once more; and that night he’d have the dreams once again.
Steinhart’s marriage ended eventually. Made it about ten years together before they finally pulled the plug. How they even got that far without leaving each other was a feat in and of itself. They saw each other so infrequently that it was really just a matter of getting around to filing the paperwork. It was she who made the first move. Steinhart at the time was so defeated emotionally that he hardly raised an objection. She went back to live with her family in Berlin, while he kept their flat in Darmstadt.
So there he was: single once more. And the world it seemed - for a while anyway - was now his oyster. He started dating almost immediately and plunged headfirst into the surreality of a divorced man in his late thirties seeking love and affection in a cruel and sometimes heartless world. Being single was not all it was cracked up to be, he learned quickly. Steinhart found this out almost immediately. He found lonely women for casual sex; that was certainly no big challenge. But they were never beautiful, young, inviting, or even appealing for that matter – not anything like the dazzling, dark-haired damsels in his dreams. It seemed he’d missed out on something he’d now never get to experience: the excitement of making love to a vivacious woman, body pristine and lovely like his wife had been when they were younger.
He took to drinking. Ate like he’d always ate when much younger. Gained twelve kilograms. Got a belly on him that would show through his sweaters whenever he’d be at the pub, guzzling liters of beer and packing on the weight while he hobnobbed with all the other lowlifes in town. Then, in time, he got sick of his clothes not fitting and got sober. Got back to the gym. Got back in shape. Stopped eating big meals. Swore off sweets and bread and snacks for nearly a year. Started looking sleek and shapely. Started looking like a ship’s captain too. That’s when his career really started to take off.
After that, the women suddenly seemed far more interested. He’d see them in the pubs and they’d look right back at him, rather than ignoring him as though he were some undesirable middle aged man staggering through life and dead-ending his daily existence at the local bar. But by then his attitude toward women had changed; and changed dramatically. As he got in better and better shape at the gym, looking suave and handsome, he couldn’t help but notice he’d evolved into something he’d never considered himself before: a piece of meat with a big bank account, and now a sexy body to go along with it - as well as a shiny late model solar sports car, and a good-paying job in town. That certainly played into it, he could only assume.
He started resenting women after a while. Found that the nicer he treated them, the more they distrusted him. Found that the more arrogant and dismissive he was, the harder they’d try to snare him. If he was right on time for a date, showed up dressed nice, acted politely, treated them to a nice dinner, held the door like a gentleman, and listened to them rattle on endlessly about their lives, their bosses, their ex-husband, their bratty children, or their boring hobbies - they’d eventually lose interest. By way of comparison, when he was late picking them up … or cancelled the date three hours before, only to reschedule something for a few nights later (seemingly disinterested in the inconveniences he’d caused them) … they’d be eating from his hand within a week.
It was amazing how well it worked. That said, it amazed him how much of an asshole he’d become! Every guy he’d ever heard of who’d treated women poorly and was aloof or cocky: those guys always seemed to have lots of lovers; despite being about as shallow as a teaspoon. Now, when he looked at his own self, he began to see the same terrible things evolving. He was becoming just like those detestable oafs that he’d so often criticized for making nice guys (like he’d once been) look bad.
To make matters worse, he realized that he didn’t even like them, those women he was dating. He desired the sex they gave him and nothing more ... sincerely believed that the women he was using for sex were basically just using him as well. It saddened him to think of it that way but in his private thoughts he knew it to be true. Reality was that in the absence of a true and meaningful relationship, sexual gratification was not nearly as fulfilling as he once would have believed. It’s not what humans were really “wired” for, he discovered. A soul yearns for so much more than that. It was around then; about two and a half years after his divorce, that he stopped dating altogether.
All of that changed when he met B.J. She stirred something within him that he’d never felt before. It brought him “back from the dead” and revived his soul, like a Buddhist monk finding enlightenment - or even more pertinently - a passionate, unfulfilled man coming to terms with his true sexuality.
In the Virtual Reality Chamber with lovely B.J. he became a dark angel of the underworld, a dominant master, or sometimes even a mad scientist. Sex with B.J. evolved into an infinite odyssey of erotic experimentation and surprise maneuvers that thrilled his young lover beyond anything she’d ever known. He was here and now. He was there and everywhere: penetrating her deeply, positioning her skillfully and thrilling her body like nothing and no one ever had. He tied her feet together, bound her wrists, mounted her, whipped her, paddled her, and brought her to mind-wrenching orgasms that erupted from her as though a volcano bursting within her very core.
The fantasies he acted out with her surpassed anything his mind had ever dreamt of - far beyond anything he’d have ever imagined back during puberty. He was the evil pirate captain who enslaved her, bending her to his will. He was the heroic savior who rescued her from her prison cell below decks. At times it seemed like he had become the whole detestable pirate crew, penetrating her every orifice and bringing her to the peak of ecstasy over and over and over again until she believed her mind and body couldn’t take one second more of it. Then, when she was at her limit, he’d release her from her bonds, withdraw his manhood from her throat, her anus, or her aching vagina only to become the most loving, caring, and thoughtful man she’d ever known. Oh yes, he was the best ever – and she was happy to tell him so as often as she could form the words. Afterward, she’d fall asleep in his arms, whimpering and gasping, panting from all the exertion, sweat streaking from her temples and draining down her tired legs as he’d untie her bindings. Just how much he’d needed a woman like this he could not possibly explain to her. There simply weren’t enough words in either German or English. He tried. Tried every way he could to tell her just how much she inspired him.
In return, B.J., with her sharp wit and fearless nature, thrilled his mind with tales of her past. Told him of all the lovers she’d had over the years. She told him about the rugby players that night at the stadium back in Toronto. Told him of picking up guys in bars and giving them blowjobs in the back seats of their cars in the middle of a parking lot. Told him about experimenting with anal sex; and all the times it had turned out to be a painful ordeal that seemed to serve only the debased desires of her partner while providing little if any pleasure for herself.
Steinhart changed that paradigm as well. He showed her just how wonderful it could be; and practically every week or two he’d carefully and ever-so-gently slide himself into her rear entry, only to pick up the pace until he’d drive her to the most extraordinary and delightful climax she’d ever had. Surprised her immensely when he did so the first time; after that it became a regular thing. When she’d crave it, she’d plead with him to do it to her again, knowing he’d get it right. Do it in just the right way so that her body would feel little if any discomfort until she was relaxed and comfortable with his long, slow, meticulous thrusts, increasing velocity and speed until she’d cry out in desperation, begging him to release deep inside of her then feel torrents of semen gushing within her as sweat dripped from his brow onto her creamy white backside. When it was over, they’d collapse beside one another.
She’d sleep a while, curled up next to him, snoring peacefully, with that look of bliss that women often get after fabulous sex – that look of completeness which all men know means they’ve done their job and done it well. When she’d awaken, with the pirate ship video or beach scene still playing on the Virtual Reality Chamber floors, ceiling, and walls, Steinhart would almost always be snoozing peacefully, lying on his side facing her, yet within a few moments he’d awaken instinctively, as if he sensed his lover had come around. At that point, he’d politely thank her for the amazing sex – as though she was somehow solely responsible for how good it had been. Only when he’d finish saying those lovely things to her, would he begin discussing the business of the day.
********
“So … how are they doing darling - the crew I mean?” he’d typically ask her after one of their incredible lovemaking sessions. Might word it differently from time to time, but that was basically what he wanted to know. He might ask her about a particular incident he'd heard about, or recall some situation she’d told him about prior, then she’d “spill the goods”. He wasn’t being manipulative. He just wanted to utilize his lover’s expertise in identifying morale problems before they grew into open conflicts - or matters requiring disciplinary action, which rarely became necessary in those early years of the voyage.
The common issue she raised, especially during that first year of their journey, was the excitement the crew felt over their rapid return to Earth. They were talking about it like it was only months away, even though they used terms like “years” when speaking about it ... as if 2106 was right around the corner. Which it really wasn’t. Not even close. Steinhart could tell they were allowing themselves to become overly-enthused about that target date and this was potentially dangerous.
He knew better than to expect the interception to go off without a hitch. There were so many problems that could occur. For example, the Nautilus would be travelling toward them at such speed that they’d never see them approaching – for that matter never know if they were passing by. Santa Maria was to travel with the matter pod line to her starboard side at all times (as the communiqué had explicitly instructed him), allowing for a safe distance so to avoid any possibility of collision. Steinhart and his command staff would never know Nautilus had streaked past them. They could only continue until the relief ship magically appeared in front of them, thousands of kilometers away, ready to retrieve them and spirit them back to Earth.
It just seemed so risky and filled with uncontrollable variables. If the Santa Maria missed the rendezvous point they could not just simply stop and go back to link up with the Nautilus later. Star Shot technology required them to continue on their current pace at just under light speed until they reached their destination and only then could they activate their forward propulsion system to slow to a stop. They could steer to avoid debris and objects if that was ever necessary – which it likely wouldn’t be – but otherwise Santa Maria was effectively “flying” much like a lunar capsule plunging to Earth after re-entering its atmosphere. Essentially they were “shooting” toward Earth like a guided missile - at a pace set by the activation of the laser beam against their solar mirrors back at Kapteyn B - and could not stop until they reached Earth orbit – or clearly identified the Nautilus lying in space awaiting them. Thus, if Nautilus over-shot, or met with any form of delay back on Kapteyn B; and Santa Maria had thus passed their rendezvous point, then all Captain Stehter could do was simply continue on their journey back to Earth, hoping they’d link up in space later during their voyage. Technically - and he tried not thinking about the possibility - they could just as likely spend the full 14 plus years in space until their arrival at Earth’s orbit.
If that were to happen he’d have some very disappointed crew members to have to deal with.
This concludes tonight's podcast of Twin Paradox, Chapter Seventeen: Schmutzfink. I hope you enjoyed it. Watch for episode eighteen; which I'll be posting very soon.
Also, and don't forget, my latest full-length novel ... Deathwalker Colony ... is available right now in E-book format and can be downloaded today on Amazon.com ... along with the first two books in the Rijel 12 Series, The Rise of New Australia and Return of Anarchy.
A link to these can be found in the transcript for this episode.
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I'm King Everett Medlin. Thanks for tuning in.
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