In this next chapter we learn even more regarding the events leading up to Ozzie's arrival at his brother's house in Katy, Texas ... following Praxido's discovery of a mysterious Email sent by, of all places, SPACE PROGRAMME.
In this next chapter we learn even more regarding the events leading up to Ozzie's arrival at his brother's house in Katy, Texas ... following Praxido's discovery of a mysterious Email sent by, of all places, SPACE PROGRAMME.
Hello and welcome back to Season Two of Twin Paradox. I'm King Everett Medlin and what you're listening to is a SciFi trilogy I wrote four years ago under the pen name Purple Hazel. Twin Paradox follows my first podcast series entitled Deathwalker Colony, which is now a full length novel available for purchase on Amazon, along with the first two books in the Rijel 12 Series, the Rise of New Australia and Return of Anarchy. Go online and check 'em out!
Once again, we continue with Part 6 of the Twin Paradox trilogy, Legends and Impostors. In this next chapter we learn even more regarding the events leading up to Ozzie's arrival at his brother's house in Katy, Texas ... following Praxido's discovery of a mysterious Email sent by, of all places, SPACE PROGRAMME.
Twin Paradox is a SciFi series encompassing three full length novels, all of which can be found on Amazon.com. You can go online and purchase them, or, if you prefer, listen to me read them to you. So let's continue. Ladies and Gentlemen, Part 6: Legends and Impostors. Chapter 30: Glad to be Back.
It’d caught his eye immediately as he’d sorted messages from his Inbox. Even had the “URGENT: Open Promptly” tag on it to try and get his attention. Only official government notifications could use those and Praxido knew that. In fact the last time he’d seen one it was a reply to one of his many requests for information regarding his biological mother’s whereabouts.
Yet ironically enough, he’d soon found out that someone else from years ago; someone else from his long, storied past, was reaching out to him - like some ghost from another realm. When he read it, his jaw dropped wide open … nearly dropped his beer. This is what it had to say:
Dear Mr. Guerrero:
Greetings from Space Programme. My name is Monika Steckel and I’m currently in charge of crewmember reorientation. My function is to handle ship personnel returning from extended missions and help them readjust to modern society, as well as locate next of kin.
It is with profound joy and deepest satisfaction that we inform you of the return of your brother Ensign Oswaldo Guerrero to planet Earth. He is alive and well and will be returning to you shortly! He asked me to contact you personally and let you know he is traveling toward Houston and should be arriving at your home this coming Saturday.
On a more personal note, please accept my most heartfelt congratulations on your recent retirement and outstanding career in Megaball. Some of us over here in Germany (especially my 11 year old) have been following you and cheering for your Dallas Wranglers for many years.
We hope you and your brother Oswaldo fully enjoy your time together. Best of luck to you both.
Mit freundlichem Gruβ,
Ens. Monika Steckel,
Personnel Vertreter
Space Programme Operations
Robert-Bosch-Straße 5, 64293 Darmstadt, Germany
“HO … LEE … SHIT!” exclaimed Ranger. “HE’S ALIVE?”
Amazingly enough, after 24 years, this. A simple, brief, electronic communiqué from halfway around the globe letting him know - without even so much as an apology or half-assed acknowledgment of what he’d been through all these years.
“What the hell? They knew where he was all this time … ‘n never told me? Now that’s fucked up.”
All the more frustrating too! Needless to say, once Ranger Guerrero had located his mom several years earlier his next order of business was to search for his brother Ozzie. It had been devastating. No one - not anywhere - seemed to know a single thing about him. It was like he’d vanished into thin air. Private Investigator he hired got absolutely nowhere either. No records. No files on him online. What’s more it seemed as though he’d “never existed,” the woman told him.
Yet now, the truth was revealed. For the past 24 years he’d been serving onboard a space exploration vessel. Additionally, it was the most infamous ship to have ever plied the darkest reaches of space - embroiled in controversy for at least the past five years if not longer. Práxedis had grown up all through high school, gone onto college, then graduated … occasionally hearing about the famous “lost ship” throughout that time in the news. Never had the slightest inkling Oswaldo was on it.
“Don’t that beat all?” he’d said, shaking his head. Ozzie around that same time, was only an hour away over in Houston getting drunk in a hotel bar.
Nevertheless Ranger knew he had to pull himself together and face facts. This certainly wasn’t his brother’s fault. Of course not! Oswaldo was only ten when they’d taken him away. He’d apparently served the GU bravely enough and was now being allowed to come back to Texas to see him. That’s all there was to it. That’s what really mattered. This was a moment for rejoicing – not one for recriminations or bitterness toward the government. There was no time for that even if he wanted to.
“Hell … I guess they had their reasons one way ‘r another,” mumbled Ranger to himself. “Ain’t no use in worryin’ about it. Besides, I got even bigger problems; looks like. I gotta get ready ‘n host my twin brother for the weekend.”
He then paused and nervously observed, “On top o’ that … maid don’t come ‘til next Tuesday. How da’ ya’ like that?” He’d looked around the den and especially a few nearby window sills to see just how dusty the place looked. “Shit,” he muttered, “Looks like I’m gonna hafta clean this place up all by m’self.”
An empty beer bottle could be seen poking out from between a couple of cushions on the couch across the room – something his cute little Mexican housemaid had missed on her last visit. That was where Dusty had slept off his most recent beer bender the Friday before, he recalled shaking his head.
“Ole Dusty ain’t much for cleanin’ up after himself is he?”
But that’s also when he began to think about his now happily-retired little league coach - and just what Dustin Kenefick knew or didn’t know about all this. That’s how Ranger's mind worked. He was quick to deduce; quick to assess. Had instincts much like his brother did – helped him pick apart defenses and react to crisis situations (even if he wasn’t able to equal his twin brother in the classroom, as it once became revealed). Nevertheless, he began connecting some of the dots. Started putting pieces together.
“Hey … now wait just a goddam minute. I wonder if Coach Dusty and them folks ov’r at Katy Boys Farm actually knew somethin’ about it all this time … ‘n wouldn’t tell me fer some reason,” he grumbled. It was not the first time such a thought had occurred to him. Difference was, he did not possess Ozzie’s broader intelligence; thus never felt bold enough to pursue it. “Maybe so … and the government told ‘em to keep quiet.” He then fell silent for a few moments.
“Hmmmph. Bet they did, come to think of it. Guess I can’t blame ‘em if that’s the case.” Valid point. No one defied the government; not if they knew what was good for them. Praxedis Guerrero shook it off and refocused his thoughts. None of that mattered anymore anyway. “Fuck it. Don’t mean nothin’,” he snorted. “’Ole Ozzie’s comin’ home. Finally comin’ home. Ain’t that sumpin’?”
Ranger sat there for a long while, once again trying to remember all the good times he could from those days when he and his brother were together. Sat frozen in his chair for nearly an hour that way. Had assumed for years Ozzie was dead. Had tried accepting it as fact, just so it wouldn’t drive him to drink. It was basically all he could do since no one would (or could) tell him anything about his brother’s fate.
But now? Now it didn’t mean a hill of beans to the former superstar. All he had to focus on was readying himself emotionally for the inevitable reunion the next day. His twin brother was finally coming home to Texas! Once again, he gazed around his den and contemplated what that might be like.
About the time Ozzie Guerrero was choking down his third beer back in Houston, Ranger Guerrero was 30 minutes up the road in Katy looking up at the walls of his den. Pictures of him with famous Megaball players he’d met over the years adorned practically every little nook and cranny. A few photos of him in action during pivotal moments in his career could be seen. Posing with celebrities at parties or charity events. A picture with teammates hoisting the league championship trophy occupied dead center. Nearly every wall was covered. The den was the “Wrangler Room”, filled with memorabilia, pictures, souvenirs, and news headlines from his professional career. The study, where he conducted his daily video conference with Beaux Brandt was by comparison all dedicated to his college days at Oklahoma. Same concept: pictures, trophies, his graduation diploma which he cherished so much. He often planted memories in his mother Lupé’s mind that she was at the cap and gown ceremony years before.
Yet one picture in the Wrangler Room had caught his attention that night. One in particular really stood out from among the others: a photo taken of him crossing the goal line against division rival Mexico City years before. This game-breaking play had been a pivotal moment in his career. Established him permanently as a star player on an already star-studded team.
When taken, the photographer had shot the picture from behind the back of the “Try Zone” and at that exact moment, young Ranger Guerrero appeared to be looking right into the camera lens. The stadium could be seen erupting in excitement. Fans were hanging over the walls screaming with joy, pumping their fists. Players could be seen rejoicing in the background. People along the sidelines were jumping up and down tossing towels, water bottles, and anything else they possessed, up into the air like confetti.
Ranger looked into the eyes of the slightly younger version of himself in the picture, eyeballs wide open with excitement, apparently not sure if defenders in pursuit of him were still hot on his tail. They weren’t of course … at least ten meters behind, most of them were. He would go on to score easily and win the match for Dallas.
And yet … for the first time in many years … he began to cry. Really cry too - not just tearing up like when one hears a sad song; or when hearing a stirring halftime pep talk in the locker room during a close match. No, this was more like when he’d first found out his mom was alive (though in poor health) living in a Catholic Halfway House for Houston’s many drug addicts.
His face grimaced. His eyes welled up. His breathing increased and turned to blubbering sobs. That man looking back at him in the picture … it no longer seemed to Ranger like his younger self when he gazed into the fellow’s eyes. For the first time ever he instead saw the eyes of his twin brother Oswaldo glaring intensely from that remarkable photo taken years ago. Running for his life. Running for glory. Scoring a try. Putting his team ahead for good as time was expiring.
He regained his composure quickly though. Tough men often do, when reduced to weeping pathetically. They shake it off and get control of themselves. Never lasts for long – for men of courage like Práxedis Guerrero. He swiped the backs of his big brown hands across his face and pressed the tears out of his eyes, then returned to staring up at the now-famous picture which had been circulated around the macronet for days and even weeks after that highly-contested match. It was now an iconic image that most every sports fan had seen hundreds of times – one generally associated with the Dallas Wranglers’ glory days.
When he’d gotten himself together finally, he once again spoke out loud. This time directly toward the picture as though it were Ozzie himself looking out at him through that sky-blue helmet lens.
“Well pussy. I guess I’ll be seein’ you sometime in the mornin’, won’t I?”
He then set his half-full beer down on a nearby lamp table. Now he was all business.
“Better get me some sleep ‘fore too much longer. Big day tomorrow. Yep … gonna be a big day.”
********
The next morning, Ozzie Guerrero had no trouble hailing a cab. No problem finding a driver who would take him to Katy either. The only issue was the distance.
“Katy?” asked the taxi cab driver with a thick accent. “You’re going to Katy, Texas? You realize how far that is, Señor, don’t you?” But when the driver looked back and saw Ozzie’s face, he immediately recoiled in surprise.
“Ranger Guerrero? Hay Dios Mio! Is it really you? Wow. Well then, welcome back to Houston sir. Heading back home, eh?” Ozzie didn’t know just how to react, so once again he went along with things.
“Yep. You know the way there I guess, right?” asked Ozzie with a polite chuckle. He sincerely hoped the man could take him there because frankly … he had no earthly idea how to find it! Hoped by the way the man had reacted at first that it was a good long drive too. Hoped and prayed the man wasn’t going to talk the whole way either. To be honest he was kind of looking forward to a peaceful nap; still a bit hungover from all the beer the night before.
“I can find it Señor, sure,” replied the cabbie. “You’re probably tired from your flight anyway. Just let ‘ole Jorge take care of you. Did you have a meeting today or sum-teeng?”
Ozzie snickered, “Heh-heh … nah. I stayed at the hotel last night and now I’m headin’ home that’s all. ‘N yeah, I shore am tuckered out. Had me one too many at the hotel bar last night. Crazy Wrangler fans you know? Buyin’ me drinks ‘n keepin’ me up ‘til way past ma’ bedtime.”
The driver laughed, “Oh yes, Ranger. Crazy fans down here. Hope they treated you nicely. Any Houston Astronaut fans there too? Big rivalry you know?”
“No idea,” replied Ozzie. “Had a great time though, really I did. Ain’t nobody‘d let me pay for my dinner neither. Good people. Y’all … I mean we … we really know how to have a good time down in ‘ole Houston town. Glad to be back, let me tell ya’.”
“Ah … sí. You’ve been away for a while then, Ranger?” clarified Jorge.
To that Ozzie practically had to bite his tongue. A while? That was an ironic question to ask, wasn’t it now? “Hell yes,” he thought to himself, “I’ve been gone since I was ten years old!” But then he remembered himself. Remembered he was still trying to pose as his twin brother.
“Yep,” he replied with a sardonic laugh. “Seems like years.”
After that, the cabbie spoke only intermittently throughout the long drive out of the city. When he noticed Ozzie had drifted off, he turned on some Tejano music and kept the volume low while his solar taxi cab whisked down the highway to Katy. Due west they were heading. West of the centuries-old city of Houston - abandoned eighty-two years ago during the rioting following the Great Collapse of 2028 - now once again a bustling metropolis - gleaming office buildings poking up from the city skyline. Jorge just let the man sleep. Drove for several kilometers before taking the main exit into the town of Katy. Within minutes they arrived.
“Oye, ponte las pilas Señor! Hahah! We’re here,” announced the cabbie proudly. “Wake up please. I believe this is the place, no?”
Ozzie was fast asleep at the time, exhausted from the flight as well as the heavy partying the night before. Three beers and a shot of whiskey? Too much for his system to handle, but it had been worth it. He came around quickly when he began to realize the vehicle had come to a stop. Solar cars made no sound when idle of course. Thus everything was now eerily silent as he sat and looked around. He looked out the window to one side of the vehicle and saw a big ranch home in the distance. Then he looked back at the more modest log home they were now parked in front of. Not a mansion. But certainly not a shack either! Indeed, this must be it. He was finally at his brother’s house. Jorge broke the silence with “May I get your bag for you, Ranger?” Ensign Guerrero snapped out of his malaise.
“Nah, just pop the trunk, thanks.” answered Ozzie, using an old American expression he used to hear in movies they’d watch at the Virtual Reality Chamber. The cabbie raised his eyebrows as if to question the meaning of the big Texan’s instructions. Trunk?
“Pop the what?” he asked. Ozzie hesitated momentarily. Forgot his assumed identity.
“The trunk, I said. Pop the trunk. Why? Ain’t nobody say that no more?” he queried the man. The poor cabbie looked even more confused, then laughed after a second or two when he recognized the now archaic expression.
“Ah … the trunk. Yes, I get it. Sorry, Ranger. You mean the boot. Yes. I’ll … pop the trunk as you say … let me get that for you, hahah.” And with that he released a lever under the dash causing a loud THUNK sound, coming from right behind Ozzie’s head.
When Ozzie exited the vehicle, he stepped out into a world he’d not seen in many long years. Scorching sunlight. Thick humidity. The sky was partly cloudy and there was a thin warm mist that seemed to float lazily in the air around him. It smelled like grass - and also a bit like horse manure from a distant ranch or stable. He also could smell the asphalt beneath his feet, something he’d not set foot on in literally decades. He stretched and worked out the kinks in his neck from sleeping in the back of that taxi cab. Meanwhile Jorge was talking to him through the open driver’s side window, inquiring politely about payment.
“Cash or credit, Señor?” he was asking. Ozzie had to think long and hard just what that meant. Soon enough, he realized he was being asked for money.
“Uh … do you take military passes at all?” he countered, hoping that would work. When he did so, it was now the cabbie’s turn to be baffled.
“Heh-heh. No, I don’t understand what this means I’m afraid. Pase Militar? What is that?”
Ozzie recoiled and realized he’d almost blown his cover. “Er … Nah. Never mind, let me see what I have.” He reached into his duffel bag and grabbed a large packet of Euros he’d been given back in Germany to use for small purchases. “How much you want?” he asked, then thought this too came out wrong. “Wait … here you go. Will this cover it?” he asked. He then handed the little man a large wad of script (not even knowing the amount he’d grabbed) and smiled nervously. Jorge grinned uncomfortably.
“Oh, no Señor. That is too muh … eh … here let me see. I count,” said the kindly fellow. What he thought was a world-famous athlete was now acting quite strangely. Why did he give him so much money? For a poor cabbie this was quite nearly a month’s pay … including gratuities! “Here, take this back Señor. The fare is not nearly so much. I not cheat you, no. Not Jorge.”
But Ozzie figured it required no further debate. He had no concept of money. Had never used nor possessed it. Never learned how to. When he’d departed Earth years ago he’d been an orphan; never had a penny to his name. When he joined Space Programme, everything was provided for. Even when scientists in charge of him and the other two space twins took them to Disney Universe when they were ten … nothing had to be paid for. Nothing at all. Staffers took care of everything. Bought them soft drinks. Bought them ice cream. Bought them little mouse ear beanie caps to wear with their names electronically displayed on the front just like all the other kids in the park were wearing. That’s why he insisted Jorge keep the money.
“Hey now… don’t you worry about it mister. I got plenty. Keep it,” said Ozzie with a smile; and with that he slung his big duffel bag over his shoulder and turned away. The thankful cab driver was dumbfounded.
“Wow! Thanks Ranger! You have a wonderful day, sir. Go get some rest. Maybe someday you come back and play Megaball again, eh? Who knows? The Wranglers … they’re gonna need you next year, no?”
Ozzie had no answer for this, so he waved goodbye and walked around the back of the cab to head up the long driveway. Meanwhile behind him he heard the little taxi cab speed away down the street, Tejano music blaring full blast from the stereo. Ensign Guerrero wouldn't have known it but that old cabbie had made enough money in that one fare to call it a day. Now he could head home with a wad of cash. Tell his wife how he’d met one of Megaball’s biggest legends - and the guy wasn’t a cheap bastard like a lot of celebrities proved to be. On the contrary, the man he’d mistaken for Ranger Guerrero was generous and kind.
Tonight, he and the missus would be dining out.
Ozzie could feel blood pulsing through his veins as he walked up to the front door. Wondered what was going to happen next. Tried imagining how incredible it was going to be when that door finally opened and he got to set eyes upon his identical twin brother, now pushing 35 years old.
Would he still look the same? Would he still look like him in every way? Big, tall, hulking, muscular body? Enormous hands and feet? Thick, muscled legs? Loping stride when he walked? Not likely. From what he’d read and seen, the man took short, careful steps due to his injuries. Ozzie promised himself he’d pretend not to notice if his brother walked with a discernible limp.
Don't say nothin' if he walks funny, he muttered.
By the time he walked up to the front door, Ranger’s pit bull terriers out back were having fits. Because it was such a quiet neighborhood with large homes on even larger acreages connected to civilization by an old farm road which was badly in need of repaving, the whirring of a solar car pulling away from a house was plenty enough to get those dogs barking. By now he figured if “Práxido” was home, he’d already know someone was on his doorstep. Meantime, the young officer from Space Programme speculated on how rich his brother must be.
“Bet he’s got a maid or two, what with all that damn money he’s been makin’,” mused Ozzie.
Still he had to wait a while when he knocked on the door. Subsequently he found a doorbell and pressed it. Chimes could be heard playing inside the home, which had been activated by the button. The tune sounded oddly familiar. Sounded a lot like the University of Oklahoma fight song “Boomer Sooner”. Then … after nearly a minute … he could hear feet approaching.
Moments later the door opened.
This concludes tonight's podcast of Chapter 30, Glad to be Back. I hope you enjoyed it. Watch for Chapter 31, which I'll be posting very soon.
Also, and don't forget, my latest full length novel, Deathwalker Colony, is available for purchase right now on Amazon, along with the first two books in the Rijel 12 Series: The Rise of New Australia and Return of Anarchy. A link to these is included 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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