Twin Paradox Book One

Chapter Eighteen: The Virch

February 14, 2021 King Everett Medlin Season 1 Episode 18
Twin Paradox Book One
Chapter Eighteen: The Virch
Show Notes Transcript

Tonight we continue with Part Four, Heroes and Scapegoats.  The Santa Maria is now entering year three of its journey back to Earth.  The crew are getting restless.  Perhaps it's due to the strain of having come out of stasis only to be faced with the daunting task of building up the colony on Kapteyn B; along with all the unpleasantness dealing with the bombastic colony commander Luigi Cadorna.  

Captain Stehter tends to think they're just itching to get home!  He's correct.  They are.  Worse; they're terribly bored, and that's sure to lead to mischief.

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 approaching year three of its journey back to Earth.  The crew are getting restless.  Perhaps it's due to the strain of having come out of stasis only to be faced with the daunting task of building up the colony on Kapteyn B; along with all the unpleasantness dealing with the bombastic colony commander Luigi Cadorna.  Captain Stehter tends to think they're just itching to get home!  He's correct.  They are.  Worse; they're terribly bored, and that's sure to lead to mischief.  

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 Eighteen, The Virch....



 

 

Maintaining discipline became an ongoing issue for the now-worried Captain Stehter; especially heading into the second year of the return voyage.  Things became more and more lax with every passing day.  He detected this in reports coming back to him from B.J.  Then again, he could sense it without her saying so.  Little things, like the way people addressed him, or the way they saluted him in the hallway, or the way they wore their uniforms (if they wore them at all) ... sometimes it seemed like he was living in one big sorority house.   

There were so many females!  It had been planned that way of course.  The presumption was that a mostly female crew would be more docile and easy to manage.  The return voyage was meant to be uneventful, with merely an occasional monitoring of the Matter Pod Line stretching back to Earth just under 3.2 parsecs (a parsec representing 31 trillion kilometers).  Matter pods had been placed at intervals - so the crew might go weeks with nothing to do before they’d approach the next one, then scramble the monitoring team to verify the device was still functioning and in its proper location.  That left the crew with hardly anything to do for long stretches of time; and not surprisingly the accompanying boredom was a recipe for acts of devilment.  Space Programme had considered that.  But they’d also assumed a mostly female crew would be less combative.  Less likely to mutiny.  Less likely to conflict with one another - and best of all those inevitable disagreements that might arise would rarely if ever escalate into physical violence.   

It was a good theory.  What Steinhart was seeing was occasional sniping and plenty of tittle-tattle (or klatsch as they’d call it back in Germany).  But he also saw half-naked young women walking around whenever they were off-duty, heading to the hygiene chamber or the VRC wearing next to nothing.  They didn’t seem to think it was that big of a deal.  That’s why it got to him. 

True, they’d dress in full uniform when on duty.  That was required.  Nevertheless, Steinhart would often run into scantily clad females (and males) scampering down corridors heading to the “showers” or heading off to play in the gym or Virtual Reality Chambers wearing little more than a smile.  He’d chastise them - lightly – usually give them a stern warning, yet with a half smile on his face as though admonishing an errant teenager for staying out too late.  

He never pursued it officially.  In normal circumstances he probably would have.  Could have written them up and noted their personnel files.  Harshly reprimand repeat offenders, assuring them that he had every reason to do so if they kept on violating dress code.  And yet he’d relent … every time.  To be fair, people already knew of his regular liaisons with B.J.  He had to admit he wouldn't have a leg to stand on if facing an official inquiry when they one day returned to Earth.  That above all was what held him back from “throwing the book at them”. 

All the intrigue, the cat-fighting, the gossiping, and of course the sex; there was plenty of that going on.  He couldn’t help but notice how the crew were changing little by little.  Morale was “acceptable” but his crew’s adherence to decorum had greatly diminished in comparison to that of his predecessor’s.  It was far less professional than during the Away Team’s voyage to Kapteyn B.  Captain Stehter discovered this when reading Tommy Berwick’s ship log from the first leg of the mission.  No, those folks weren’t exactly “choir boys” either, but Away Team’s moral decline as the years passed was nothing like what Steinhart was seeing now.  He was compelled to just let things slide, like Captain Berwick did.  He rarely sought B.J.’s advice on matters of that nature.  When he did, she’d only tell him what he already knew.  

“They’ve been through so much!” she’d exclaim.  B.J. was one they trusted to keep the good captain off their backs so they could find a way to tolerate the constant, crushing, debilitating monotony.  “It’s like I’ve been telling ya’ Schnucki; just lay off.  We’re like some college marching band on a cross-country road trip … on a big long tour bus in the middle of the night coming back from a football game.  You need to be like the cool band director who ignores the couples making out in the back rows ... stays up front with the chaperones ... gets some sleep until we make it back to campus.  Seriously!  Let 'em have their fun; they've earned it.  It’ll work out better that way … you’ll see.”  

Steinhart never liked that comparison.  Feared he was letting discipline slip away and it would be more and more difficult to get it back if he didn’t tighten the reins.  Felt he should set an example!  Then he’d give in as always and try to ignore all the violations as well as indiscretions that should have been officially addressed when he had the chance.  As for B.J.?  She was far more valuable to him as a trusted colleague amongst the crew.  If he came down hard she might lose that trust.  Her abilities at communicating with junior officers far exceeded anything he was personally capable of.  She was “one of the gang” everywhere she went and people adored her:
 

"Na ... nah… if you're gonna try out a sixty-nine together … inside of a sleeping berth," interrupted B.J. one day, as she walked in on a group chatting about oral sex, "… one of ya’ll has gotta climb in headfirst and lay on her side.  The other gal – she’s gotta slip in feet first.  That’s how ya’ do it."   

She had stumbled upon a conversation among four crew members (three of them female) going on inside the hygiene chamber dressing area.  They were talking about two women they’d seen getting it on inside one of the ship's 'hammocks' located in the barracks.  Prior to B.J. arriving on scene they’d been discussing how much racket the girls were making trying to get into position.  B.J. had caught the tail end and felt compelled to weigh in with her personal expertise on the matter. 

"Then … ya’ just open up your knees wide; let her put her face between your legs ‘n have at it.  Bon Appetit.  Trick is to do it all in one motion, ya' see?  Makes less noise that way."  This she politely informed them; as though she were some math professor helping a student figure out an algebra problem.  It elicited a number of giggles and snorts among the four. 

"Non mais allô quoiDiscrétionnez s'il vous plaît!" exclaimed one of the girls, making a swiping motion with her hand.  "There are virgin ears among us here, Lieutenant!  You must be more careful!"  

She was referring of course to Shamiso Kachote who was sitting with them, naked except for a pink tank top and with her uniform folded neatly in her lap covering up her crotch.  The rest were pretty much nude as well, seated on a long bench awaiting their turn in the shower. 

"Bollocks!"  retorted Shamiso - with her thick London accent.  "Not since three bloody years ago!  No virgin here, you slapper."  

Shamiso hated it when people kidded her about their age differences.  Wished they'd stop.  Of course, she realized they couldn't help doing so ... she'd basically grown up right before their eyes.  Met them for the first time back in Florida when she was only ten!  In fact, when the 31 women and 19 males of Return Team were revived from stasis machines while in orbit around “B”, they were stunned to see her all grown up.  She'd aged about seven years biologically by that point - and now that the Santa Maria had been in space a couple years since departing Kapteyn B for Earth, she was now (physically speaking) about 20 years old.  Everyone got a good laugh out of her sharp reaction – even the Belgian lady who fortunately didn’t know what “slapper” meant to a Londoner. 

"So look who's the expert," scoffed the one male among them, returning to the previous discussion regarding 69'ing in a sleeping berth.  He was a slightly effeminate fellow from Brazil.  Preferred boys, generally speaking, but would on occasion swing both ways if the idea proposed was kinky enough.  

"Imagine that ... B.J.'s already tried it out with the captain and no one noticed.  Puta que o pariu!  How could we have missed this?" he added with a humorous smirk.  B.J. chuckled mischievously in response to the young fellow's sarcasm.  He was being inconsiderate of B.J.'s superior rank but she didn't mind.  He was probably miffed that he'd not been able to see Steinhart getting a broche (or bobo as he also liked to call it in Portuguese).  Probably wished he’d been there to see Steinhart’s big dick.   

"Besides," he went on to say, "why would you two have to use a bed?.  I see you at the Virch all the time."  The other girls giggled knowingly.  The Virch had become the latest nickname for the Virtual Reality Chambers; now everyone had taken to calling them that.  "You're going again today, aren't you?" he asked, but B.J. could only shrug her shoulders.   

“Well,  he ain’t called for me yet … figured I’d get my pussy cleaned up all nice 'n fresh for him just in case.  Gotta be ready.  The guy's an animal.” 

She proceeded to strip completely naked while they cackled joyously, then continued chatting away about all the latest gossip (who was doing who – things like that).  It was a great way to pass the time – otherwise there wasn’t much else to talk about … or do. 

Discretion was practically out the window by the end of year two.  Anyone could see it.  Even B.J. was surprised.  Female crewmembers finished their duty shifts and stripped down to nothing but panties and a t-shirt (or just panties) before flitting across the ship to the hygiene chambers then heading to the Virtual Reality Chamber for some play time.  Male crewmen merely had to be available.  Stand around the lobby area outside the VRC wearing boxer shorts and a tank top; preferably just boxers, soon enough some female craving intimate companionship would snare them like they were a butterfly fluttering around a flower garden.  That’s pretty much what things were like that whole second year in space.  Work a little.  Play a lot.  Eat.  Shower.  Sleep.  Then do it all over again - sort of like college students on spring break. 

                                                                                                   ******** 

Most everyone had their own particular kink of course.  Even Shamiso!  She, just like Captain Berwick, had grown up with the same recurring imagery haunting her dreams.  It had nothing to do with pirates and pirate ships.  On the contrary her simple little fantasy, which developed while she was still on the Away Team, was of lying naked on the ground in some alien forest while being “attacked” by something rather sinister.  Only it wasn't scurvy cutthroats taking advantage of a damsel in distress.   

In her dreams, vines and tree branches would come alive; grasping, encircling, and binding her ankles and wrists, leaving her helpless on the soft grassy surface.  This was before they’d landed on Kapteyn B, only to discover the atmosphere was unbreathable for humans.  Yet the idea of her tethered to the ground, with plants holding her down, spreading her arms and legs apart, and feeling a cool breeze wafting over her private area, was the most titillating and thrilling sensation the youngster could possibly envision.   

When she’d awaken inside her sleeping berth she’d be all gooey and sticky between her legs, not understanding what had happened to her, thinking she might have wet herself during her sleep cycle.  In those early years she’d often be tempted to consult B.J. for guidance, only to remember B.J. was frozen inside one of the stasis machines and wouldn’t be available for several more years.  But as Shamiso grew into a beautiful young woman, those dreams never faded.  They only evolved into something more bizarre.   

In time, she began to dream that she was lying completely naked on the floor of a small room.  Colorless - with no doorway or windows - the room would have white walls, a white tiled floor, and a white tiled ceiling.  Instead of an eerie alien forest assaulting her, the walls, ceiling, and floor would come alive with strands of electrical wiring.  They’d burst through holes in the wall, or erupt from the floor beneath her.  They’d snake downward through seams in the ceiling above; and once again they’d reach out to ensnare her, wrapping around her ankles and wrists so to spread her apart, exposed and helpless.  Even as she aged into young adulthood, the dream would return:  ever-evolving, with the wiring now creeping down her body to her crotch … often times entering her vagina or vibrating against her clitoris, bringing her to a spectacular orgasm.  

In some dreams she’d be driven to climax only once.  In others, she imagined the wires electrifying other parts of her body as well as her nipples and anus, pushing her over the edge repeatedly until she’d faint with exhaustion.  Those versions of the dream were her favorites.  But it didn't end there.  Any time she’d see maintenance teams pulling out wall panels to perform repairs, the very sight of exposed wiring would trigger those sinful thoughts all over again; then she’d rush off to see Ozzie.  Or if he was still on duty, head over to the VRC to pleasure herself in private.   

By her late teens she was replicating that fantasy quite regularly inside the “Virch” and programmed in her own special scenarios to live out both dreams:  the “Alien Forest” as well as the “White Room” as she titled them.  No one could have figured out what she was doing in there.  If they loaded up one of her programs they’d have merely wondered what was the big deal.  When those images would come on screen, she’d diddle herself to a crushing orgasm, squealing and wailing as she bucked and writhed … all the while spreading her legs, pinching and plucking her nipples the way she’d pictured it in her mind.  It was her private little perversion – harmless and juvenile as it were – but quite real enough to Shamiso.  Others did things differently.  Many combined their fantasies and personal preferences with programs that already existed … or manipulated props available for use in “the Virch” so to create their own private show.  

For example, there were several programs that involved riding old fashioned “motorcycles” as they used to be called – sometimes across deserts on empty highways and sometimes racing through city streets in a kind of urban chase scene.  But the highly educated crew of Santa Maria included some of the brightest young minds in electrical engineering.  Wasn’t long before someone figured out how to rewire the “saddle bench” component inside one of the chambers so to vibrate at many times its normal intensity.  They geared it so that when straddling it and gripping the handle bars (or reigns in cases where it was used for horseback riding sequences), the rider would feel an intense vibration between her legs.   

Adding in a dildo shoved inside her vagina; perhaps even a butt plug inserted into her rectum, the woman could mount the saddle bench naked and “ride it out” until she'd reached orgasm – once or even twice if she could pull it off without collapsing in an exhausted heap.  B.J. herself tried it out a few times just to see what all the girls were crowing about.  Even let them join in too; and “assist” by massaging her breasts and pinching her nipples to intensify her eventual climax.  Naturally she’d always return the favor once the next gal “mounted up” for the next ride.  Stories about things like this never made it back to Steinhart of course. 

At least six of the male crewmembers were homosexual; but two of them in particular were extremely athletic.  Muscular, fit, and clean shaven from the neck down, their preferred activity was wrestling each other naked, then following it up with vigorous sex.  The program they chose was under the category of “Earth Olympics”, subcategory “Ancient Greece”.  They played it “old school”, reenacting the ancient sport as well as its traditions which went all the way back to 708 BCE (they’d taken the time to research this beforehand just to make it more authentic).  They used a program which portrayed an ancient stadium, complete with a crowd of jeering, cheering men standing around bare-chested, glistening in the hot Aegean sun, goading them on.  They’d enter nude, just like ancient wrestlers once did, and pay homage to the patron god Heracles.  They fashioned laurels of victory to crown each other using scrap material they found in the cargo hold, even observed the ancient rules of the once wildly popular sport, such as no kicking, no deliberate striking with fists, a single point for touching the opponents back to the ground, three points for victory, and so on.  Grasping the genitals however was allowed … not only permitted but heartily encouraged. 

Conversely, several of the 31 female crewmembers were avowed Lesbians – though no one had a firm figure on just how many were exclusively gay.  A couple of them were more likely “in between” and trying it out just to see what it was like playing for the other team.  Several did so in fact.  Both genders!  Heterosexual men tried it out with other men, straight women tried having a go with another gal, etc.  But among the Lesbians on board there was a level of creativity that rivalled almost everyone.  Some of them endeavored to put the Swimming programs to good use.  “The Virch” had a program which would cause a force field to generate over the surface of the floor.  It included video images of a swimming pool, lake, river, pond, or ocean.  This force field hovered at about 1.25 meters, enabling a person to “swim” through the simulated water.  Several tried it out in pairs – or threesomes if anyone else was “game” – and held mock Olympic competitions with each other, which the program would then time for them, depending on what “event” they chose.  

Other girls, who were technically bisexual (or bi-curious) experimented with each other utilizing the Ottoman Empire program.  This relaxing series of scenarios offered opportunities for the occupants in the room to experience a Turkish thermal bath (like the famous Keceli Hamami in Bursa) or frolic about naked together in the Sultan’s infamous royal harem at Topkapi Palace in Istanbul.  Several of the Middle Eastern girls especially loved these programs and B.J. was often an active participant in some of their steamy scenarios, even if it wasn't the type of thing she'd ever have believed she'd be interested in only a few years earlier.  Kissing another woman was something new for B.J.  She really enjoyed it!  Rolling around naked with other females … fondling and caressing, even tasting of the salty sweetness between their legs … was something she’d have thought would never happen growing up back in Denver.  Not as a woman who once ravenously craved men (and only men) for sexual fulfillment.  Yet it quickly became one of her favorite naughty pastimes whenever she knew Steinhart wouldn’t need her for an hour or two.  She never worried about it.  Wouldn’t have mattered if he found out.  It only made her more maddeningly aroused whenever he’d be “off duty” later.  By then she’d be burning with desire.  It served as a sort of sexual aperitif before the main course, the beneficiary of which was the good Captain himself. 

But there was more!  Much more.   

One of the fellows onboard, a young crewman from Beijing, transformed his freetime into a mock profession of sorts, creating a virtual reality Massage Parlor.  He partnered with one of the Swedish gals onboard who just like him enjoyed pretending to be a masseuse - and they would team up to welcome “customers” into their “shop” for a very thorough, full body massage.  To do it, they utilized the water simulation feature from the Swim Program to create an invisible massage table.  They’d simply reduce the gravity in the room to enable a guest to “rise” above the floor while they themselves wore weighted boots and moved about normally.  Because of this, the person literally floated above the floor while they worked on tired muscles.  Best of all they guaranteed a “happy ending” for each and every visitor at the conclusion of their one hour session!  Either gender was welcome.  Most everyone tried them out.  They got really, really good at it over the years!  Always did a smashing job for each "customer" dropping by their store … which they humorously titled “Móshú shöu” or Magic Hand

Some took it even further – almost too far some would say.  Girls who liked acting “butch” paired off with bisexual or bi-curious gals to play cops and robbers scenarios, setting up a Police Station or women’s prison scene (the computer had ten possible variations for this).  And ... for those who wanted to live out B.J.’s now legendary real-life story of taking on three (“or was it four, I can’t remember”) rugby players one night – those ladies found several willing prospects among the young men onboard.  One crewman in particular – a rather well-endowed engineer who worked with Ozzie in the Pod Monitoring section - eventually became a sort of specialist at that sort of thing.  He was an American who’d graduated from Cal-Poly named Gary Orem, and he quickly developed into the ringleader.  He’d regularly recruit additional participants as needed – or desired - by intrigued females wanting “that little extra”.  He named his skilled troupe of “beefy hunks” (as he liked to boast regarding their unique attributes) “Gary Kinkorama”

For a time, Gary Kinkorama was a hot item on board.  So many participated in his perverse sex shows that Captain Stehter considered for a time having a chat with the burly but affable fellow – just to remind him not to “go overboard”.  Steinhart never did, naturally.  B.J. continually talked him out of it.  Gary’s diabolical scenes perpetrated with hot, sweaty, naked bodies in “the Virch” were just as epic as they were realistic.  Nevertheless, in her opinion it was harmless. 

He thought of practically everything, Gary did.  Left out nothing.  He’d interview the woman days in advance, often inside the now empty cargo bay where no one could hear of their plans.  Find out all she was fantasizing about - her deepest, darkest most secretive, filthy thoughts - just to devise a scene that would thoroughly blow her mind.  Often what he’d come up with was something that would reduce the woman to an emotionally drained, physical wreck.  They’d have to literally carry the woman out when they were done!  It was just that intense: 

Prison scene with evil “guards” enjoying the favors of some female tourist who’d been arrested for disorderly conduct on the streets of a squalid third world city ... 

Captured Russian slave girl brought before the Great Mongol Khan to be ravaged by his palace guards - all for the man’s personal amusement ...

White settler woman abducted by Apache Indians and made to serve the debased needs of all the strapping warriors in the tribe ... 

Stranded female motorist on some desolate desert highway walking into a roadside bar only to find a group of lustful bikers glaring at her; later being made to pleasure them one by one in exchange for transportation into town ...  

Those were only a few of the many scenes he devised. 

Gloomy dungeon scene underneath some medieval castle during the Spanish Inquisition ... 

Partying backstage with members of some famous rock-n-roll band after a sold-out concert ... 

A visit to the Gladiator paddock underneath the Roman Coliseum to meet the fighters up close and personal ... 

A space alien ménage where a female human has been abducted for unspeakable “experiments” and “probing” to be done by mysterious, vibrating devices and icy, slimy, fingers... 

Those were successful as well. 

Indeed, the VRC offered just about every possible means by which Gary “Kinkorama” Orem could create diabolical scenes which replicated as closely as could be, just what each woman desired … had been fantasizing about all their lives.  Nothing was out of the question; and it was done safely without threat of injury (for the most part).  True, there was one concussion and more than a few pulled groins, sore backs, and skinned up knees to go along with all the sore jaws … not to mention an unmistakable limp when the woman would return to her duty shift.  But “the Virch” was quite the ingenious contraption, no doubting that.  It even offered replicated smells and odors to go along with the visual imagery.  Temperature and artificial humidity could be regulated.  Gary could make it into the most realistic fantasy world a woman might imagine.  If it needed to look, smell, and feel like a dank, foul-smelling dungeon beneath an evil warlord’s castle – he could make that happen.  Or - if it needed to look and smell like a French bakery – that was easy to create as well.  The Belgian woman for instance – the one whom Shamiso called a “slapper” (which basically meant slut) – that was how she did her group sex scene.  Gary had his male cohorts carry in a big table and sprinkle it with powder so she’d be covered in “flour” throughout.  She was covered in much more than that when they were done. 

Of course the VRC’s weren’t the only place for casual sex.  The athletic center was also popular – whenever a couple could find a spot to be alone in there amongst the elliptical machines and Yoga mats that is.  Sleeping births could sometimes be found occupied by a couple making out – with the hatch closed up tight naturally.  It was common courtesy more than anything else.  Since everyone was bedding down with practically everyone else on board, the least they could do was seal themselves inside to muffle the moaning and groaning. 

These were the things Steinhart was hearing about from B.J. - not to mention witnessing in person on occasion - whenever couples weren’t being discrete.  And as far as he was concerned, this didn’t pose any threat to morale.  If consenting adults wanted to have hours of hot sex in order to relieve stress, then who in their right mind could object?  He couldn’t.  He was certainly “getting his” and then some, wasn’t he?  Plus there were other, more practical reasons for being so accommodating.  

All females were taking birth control pills.  That was a requirement.  What’s more, crewmembers had been tested for venereal diseases long ago and given a clean bill of health way back in 2086.  No one could get pregnant.  No one could get infected with anything more than an occasional head cold and there were plenty of antibiotics for that.  Basically just like with the Away Team - and the experiences with their many years in space - sex and open sexuality was an easy, clean, and safe way to provide a diversion for the crew and soothe their constant boredom. 

That being said, Steinhart could see how this was degenerating and feared what it could lead to.  He worried that someone might speak to someone else about the sexual prowess of another.  Jealousies might arise.  Conflicts might occur.  And what of the opposite circumstance when an individual might be scorned and rumors spread regarding their ineffectiveness or undesirableness as a lover?  What might happen then, when a person’s sexual shortcomings (offensive personal hygiene … meager endowment, etc.) might face public scrutiny, even ridicule?  Oh yes, Steinhart could foresee rather heated arguments erupting from such scenarios.  Men might brag to their mates - that was in their nature - and women might gossip about who had what and who was particularly good with what they had to work with.  That was most certainly in their nature too!  But with such a small community of people – and over two-thirds of them sexually active – problems were bound to occur.  

He tried not revealing such concerns to B.J.  She, being the happy, positive-energy type of person, in love with her man and dedicated to pleasing him - he couldn’t bring himself to warn her of the potential threats.  Yet it was often on his mind as the years passed.  Year one of the return flight had been a breeze.  Folks had a blast.  The largely female crew were delightful and easy to manage.  Year two of the trip got a little more tedious.  A few minor incidents; but otherwise the crew handled themselves acceptably.  Year three however was proving to be difficult; cracks began to appear.   

Crewmen and women ever so slowly went from happy vacationers to more like exhausted tourists longing for the flight home after a week at some tropical beach resort.  They became like bored children packed into the family station wagon on a cross-country excursion to go visit grandma.  About all they could hope for was “the day”:  the now famous date etched into their mental calendars on which they’d rendezvous with Nautilus and be whisked away to their homelands “in a matter of months”.  The anxiety it caused was undeniable. 

Steinhart knew what was happening to them.  They’d worn themselves out.  There was little or nothing left to experience except for that long trek home.  But what could he say, really?  They were all so adamant about that day, the 1st of September, 2106.  Obsessed with it they were.  Practically the only thing that gave them hope!  He almost couldn’t blame them.  After all that they’d been through during the building of the colony, how they’d been pushed, provoked, and verbally abused by that “little turd” Luigi Cadorna back on Kapteyn B who’d driven them so hard ... they still talked about him too!  And for his part Steinhart had to wonder if the prickly colony commander’s incredible turnaround might have been only temporary … that perhaps, right at this very moment, those colonists back there had gotten fed up.  Maybe he’d gone mad.  Maybe he’d become desperate without B.J. there to console and comfort him.   

He knew he’d be wise in finding a way of tempering their expectations – those of the crew that is.  So much could go wrong with Nautilus’s return mission.  For instance, what if Luigi had gone crazy and Nautilus's crew had had to deal with that potential “shitstorm” upon arrival?  What if the colonists had mutinied, causing a delay in their departure?  Going into year three of their return flight, basically year 18 of the overall mission, he had to assume Nautilus had already landed and began – maybe even completed - all its projects.  Perhaps now, he calculated, Nautilus was preparing to return toward Earth.  Might soon be passing them, arriving at their rendezvous point and just 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?  How could he go back again and again trying to warn them it might not work out as planned?  Why burst their bubble?  “Why fuck it up?” as B.J. might say.  

There was just no way to allay the burnout they all felt; which was rapidly catching up to them as the years passed.  It was like being stuck on some endless transcontinental jet airplane ride where one keeps waking up only to look out the window into endless sky, wondering when the plane's going to land.  They only had a “date” in mind and nothing else.   “And just what the hell does that matter anymore?” Steinhart had to ask himself.  Knowing the arrival time meant nothing to someone wanting the hours and days to go by faster.  It was little better than a prisoner knowing they’d be up for parole in a few years.   

Daily routines were uninteresting and unfulfilling.  Shower, eat, sleep, report to duty, then basically do nothing for six hours before knocking off for the day, then head off to the Virtual Reality Chambers for a few hours.  Maybe hook up with someone (the same person they'd been with twenty or thirty times no doubt) for a naughty tryst.  Even that wasn’t particularly thrilling by then; certainly not by year three. 

As year three ground on, Steinhart noticed the change in crew morale.  Few showed up at the gym to work out.  Most preferred a “quickie” with a fellow crewman then heading off to a sleeping birth for seven hours of sleep.  Meanwhile the gym remained 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; and that was the lone bright spot in all this.  They were practically inseparable those two; and a frequent topic of gossip among the crew ….





This concludes tonight's podcast of Twin Paradox, Chapter Eighteen:  The Virch.  I hope you enjoyed it.  Watch for episode nineteen; 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.  

Go online and check 'em out!

I'm King Everett Medlin.  Thanks for tuning in.

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