Tonight we continue with Young-Min Jo's dramatic return to Toronto after 24 years in space. We left off with a white solar-powered van arriving at the gate of Min-Pharma Corporation's worldwide headquarters, security personnel swarming around it. A tense scene unfolds as the military escorts sent along with the young officer fear a potential confrontation with the beefy giants. Perhaps a firefight.
We then flash back to several hours earlier when Ensign Jo was traveling via airship from Frankfurt, enduring all the depredations of an international flight. Bored out of his mind and unable to sleep; he passes the time by reading magazine articles about his brother. A little help from a kindly flight attendant; along with some liquid refreshment, and he eventually drifts off. Only not before seeing photographs of a beautiful woman accompanying his identical twin whenever in public. Who could she be? Can't be the man's wife. Can't be his girlfriend. So who is she?
Tonight we continue with Young-Min Jo's dramatic return to Toronto after 24 years in space. We left off with a white solar-powered van arriving at the gate of Min-Pharma Corporation's worldwide headquarters, security personnel swarming around it. A tense scene unfolds as the military escorts sent along with the young officer fear a potential confrontation with the beefy giants. Perhaps a firefight.
We then flash back to several hours earlier when Ensign Jo was traveling via airship from Frankfurt, enduring all the depredations of an international flight. Bored out of his mind and unable to sleep; he passes the time by reading magazine articles about his brother. A little help from a kindly flight attendant; along with some liquid refreshment, and he eventually drifts off. Only not before seeing photographs of a beautiful woman accompanying his identical twin whenever in public. Who could she be? Can't be the man's wife. Can't be his girlfriend. So who is she?
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 Young-Min Jo's return to Toronto after 24 years in space. We left off with a white solar-powered van arriving at the gate of Min-Pharma Corporation's worldwide headquarters, security personnel swarming around it. A tense scene unfolds as the military escorts sent along with the young officer fear a potential confrontation with the beefy giants. Perhaps a firefight. We then flash back to several hours earlier when Ensign Jo was traveling via airship from Frankfurt, enduring all the depredations of an international flight. Bored out of his mind and unable to sleep; he passes the time by reading magazine articles about his brother. A little help from a kindly flight attendant; along with some liquid refreshment, and he eventually drifts off. Only not before seeing photographs of a beautiful woman typically accompanying his identical twin whenever in public. Who could she be? Can't be the man's wife. Can't be his girlfriend. So who is she?
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, Chapter Thirty-Eight, Different Strokes ....
Prior to his arrival at the front gate to Min-Pharma’s corporate headquarters, Young-Min Jo first had to endure the perils and ordeals of modern international air travel. It had been nearly as challenging as surviving on the surface of Kapteyn B!
He’d spent the better part of 8 hours traveling that day – six of which while in the friendly skies between Frankfurt and Toronto. Luckily Monika Steckel had booked him on a non-stop flight, but even with such modern accommodations onboard a Galactic Age commercial airship, it was still terribly boring to have to sit there … and wait. And for that matter, who could blame him for feeling that way? He’d been anticipating this day for so many years – being able to reunite with his twin brother at last.
“Brother … it’s been a long time,” he’d muttered to himself as he’d swiped through pages of the electronic magazine he was reading six hours earlier. Public conveyances often had these on the backs of seats or on flip-open panels. To advance pages one merely needed to swipe a finger across the screen surface from right to left. For Young-Min they were a Godsend. Helped keep him from going insane during the flight.
Commercial airships had changed remarkably since the mid twenty-first century. No longer turbine fuel-burning jet airliners like in the old days; these vessels operated on nuclear fusion reactors located in the engine room which activated a force field in order to lift the craft. From there, the massive vessels (some of which could carry a thousand people and stow their assorted luggage below decks) could activate geared turbofans powered by advanced photovoltaic cells. These served to propel the craft at speeds approaching 1,000 kilometers per hour.
Nevertheless, air travel - and for that matter international travel by any means - was still an experience most people loathed, Young-Min Jo now being among them. Yes, even with today’s technology, the rigors of making one’s way through airport security, riding solar-electric trams leading out to launch pads, checking luggage - not to mention stopovers, layovers, weather delays, crying children, drunk passengers, transportation to and from the air terminal, etc. - things like that had never and likely would not ever be remedied. It remained an exhausting task for people making their way across the globe to their destinations.
Because of this Young-Min was both stressed out and frazzled. The air terminal? He hadn’t experienced so many people packed into one place in his entire life! Inside there’d been hundreds of commuters moving about and in every direction he looked. Whether walking briskly, strolling nonchalantly, talking to loved ones or clients on their digital communication devices, or just standing around looking up at video screens showing departing and returning flight information, everyone seemed to be so serious and determined to get where they were going – even if where they were going at the time was the lavatory. Seemed everyone was on a mission of one sort or another, Young-Min had observed.
He’d spent half the flight sleeping – when he could that is – when he wasn’t being awakened by a pack of inebriated Canadians seated a few rows back who’d apparently consumed the contents of the entire drink cart before the craft even made it out over the Atlantic. Or by squealing children allowed to run free in the aisles like wild indians once the captain allowed movement within the cabin. They were even more annoying than the drunks in back of him, he’d discovered.
Air ships were constructed in the shapes of massive disks these days. Old folks had once jokingly nicknamed them “flying saucers” due to their shape. Passengers sat in rows of seats fanned out around the ship center, with exits to the lower level baggage area located in several spots throughout. Flight attendants operated from a central staging area ferrying out drinks and dehydrated meals. Lavatories could be found at the ends of most aisles.
Young-Min Jo simply couldn’t get comfortable though, no matter how hard he tried, and had used the time whenever he’d be startled awake to read up on his brother’s rapid rise to prominence. If there was one good thing about that damned air ship it was those swipe-screen electronic readers they provided. With near-infinite banks of information stored in them, he could look up practically anything he wanted to learn about. So he did.
His favorite topic was Kwang-Min Jo and there were plenty of articles written about the maverick executive. Even typing in his brother’s name, the computer began prefilling the rest by the time he’d gotten through the first few letters. Seemed his sibling was rather well-known as of late. It surprised the young officer from Space Programme noticing how easy it was to find information on the man. What a career he’d had! Rising like a rocket, his little drug firm Min-Pharma blasted into the highly-contested arena of pharmaceutical products sales when it branched out from a few small distributorships focused mainly on antidepressants and energy boosters into pain medications and remedies for aging consumers. After some key acquisitions of a few stale brands from a large competitor who was consolidating operations, Min-Pharma achieved explosive growth utilizing slick, aggressive, multi-media marketing of once-popular drugs used in treating osteoporosis, chronic back pain, arthritis, acid reflux, impotence, and menopause. Within only a few short years they’d become a darling with investors when the company’s stock went public. Kwang-Min was reported to be the major shareholder – and his net worth was estimated in the billions.
There was little to no information about his origins however. No cooked-up story about his youth crafted by publicists in order to please the general public. Young-Min understood the logic behind this. Couldn’t blame him one bit. “Nah, I wouldn’t tell the media about being an orphan growing up in Toronto. Wouldn’t let folks find out. They’d assume I was from a broken home, a thief, a street urchin, a thug, or even worse … a con artist.”
Then he’d chuckled to himself thinking about their years together back at that gloomy orphanage and all the mischief they used to get themselves into. “Uh-uh,” he thought to himself, shaking his head, “Nobody needs to know about that. People ‘d be afraid to buy a product from him if they knew the shit we used to pull.”
And yet now here he was, right out front of that very same individual's elaborate corporate offices just outside downtown Toronto. It was a beautiful building, ten stories tall. Had a helipad located on the roof. Walls enclosed it which rose three meters from the sidewalks out front, and iron bars extended another meter or so just to keep out unwelcome visitors. There were a few outbuildings as well, he could make out in the well-lit courtyard, and as he and his military escort turned into the private driveway leading in; security personnel quickly surrounded his white transport van from all sides. They were like dung flies alighting on a fresh cow patty.
“Wow … these fuckers are serious,” exclaimed one of the members of his military detail as the rest of the soldiers reacted with similar surprise. He was a skinny drink of water; joined up right when he’d turned seventeen.
“Yeah … all business, ain’t they?” remarked another. He’d been a wrestler in high school; made it all the way to the state tournament. “Wouldn’t wanna face any o’ these dudes in a match, that’s for sure.”
That was a keen observation. All were giant Samoans or Tongans with flowing locks of hair streaming from under their service caps. They looked like heavily-armed rugby players. Dressed in black pressed slacks and poly rayon shirts with built-in body armor, they were as impressive as any elite Special Forces unit. Young-Min could easily see six of them through the windscreen and passenger window of the van. They even had communication devices hooked up to their faces with mouthpieces and earphones.
“Are they gonna let you into this place or what, Ensign Jo?” remarked the Lieutenant from the front passenger seat. He was an officer from Space Programme placed in command of the military detail charged with delivering Ensign Jo to his brother’s residence. “Just what kind of visitors do they usually get around here I wonder? Looks like they’re ready for battle.” Young-Min Jo adjusted his overseas cap and grabbed his duffel bag by the straps in preparation to exit the vehicle. He wisely made sure his military ID badge was draped around his neck ready to prove who he was.
“Not sure, Lieutenant,” answered Young-Min. “Sure seems like they knew we were coming, huh?”
The Lieutenant was first to roll down his window and address the squad of security guards, and as he did so he remarked bravely, “Well … just let me handle this, Ensign. I’ll tell ‘em who you are.” He then spoke formally and professionally, explaining what they were doing and why they were there.
“Good evening, I’m Lt. Kroll from Space Programme. We’re delivering a guest to meet with your CEO. Ensign Young-Min Jo. It’s his brother actually … currently on shore leave from active service.” The Lieutenant then added, “Your people would have been informed of this by now, I assume.”
A silence ensued as the enormous guard he was speaking to nodded coolly and looked away to send a transmission to his superiors that the van containing their billionaire boss’s only brother had finally arrived. After a moment the big Samoan turned back toward the Lieutenant and informed him that their special passenger could now exit the vehicle.
“Very good sir,” the giant replied with a Pacific Islander accent. “Welcome to Min-Pharma. Mr. Jo is very thankful to Space Programme for bringing his brother back to us.” It sounded rehearsed, almost like he was reading off a cue card. “You may have him exit your van now.” He then turned and motioned toward his men to stand ready; and for a moment, Young-Min Jo could hear electrical impulse side-arms being activated; as though the security team were readying themselves for a firefight. Noticing this right along with him were the four soldiers sent as his escort.
“Fuck this,” exclaimed the third member of the escort team. He was from the mean streets of New Los Angeles. “This be like a traffic stop in South Central or somethin’. Y’all sure about this shit?” The Lieutenant was quick to respond.
“Relax. It’s gonna be fine, soldier. Keep calm. I’ll see to it they don’t start any crap with us.” Saying this he opened the passenger door and hopped out of the van to face their enormous hosts.
The reaction from the highly-trained security staff was immediate. Extremely well-orchestrated, too … just like they’d been prepared for in case of an ambush. An unmarked white van with men dressed in military uniforms? Sure. Might be the real thing. Then again, it might also be a diversion. Either way, the guards were trained for any potential threat to the boss.
“Please stay in the van Lieutenant! Just send out your passenger so we can identify him!” exclaimed the leader of the security team. Guards then formed into a semi-circle on the right side of the van, weapons drawn. Min Pharma's Chief of Security had prepared them for just such an event; ordered advanced counter-terrorism training for the lot of them … just in case Kwang-Min’s enemies showed up trying to assassinate him.
The Lieutenant however couldn’t have cared less about this show of force. Wasn’t intimidated in the least. And for that matter why would he be? In his mind he fully believed he could pull rank on these monsters any time he damn-well pleased. He was an officer in Space Programme for God’s sake! Could have radioed in for backup and had the place surrounded in (probably) thirty minutes or less. But he didn’t bother. Not worth his time and effort. Instead he simply snapped his fingers; and when he did so his four fully-armed military escorts spilled out, pointing their weapons right at those big guards' noses.
What followed was something truly amazing. Not a gunfight. In fact no weapons were discharged. Not a one. Seeing that the officer from Space Programme was in no mood to mess around, the leader of the security team quickly ordered his own men to stand down ….
Of course part of the reason the big Samoan backed down so quickly was that he now saw the face of the fifth person climbing out of the vehicle. Truth be told, up to that point he would have figured his men could have made mince-meat of those four scrawny soldiers (and their bold Lieutenant right along with them). Wouldn’t even need weapons. But when the big Samoan got a good long look at an almost exact duplicate of his company’s CEO - glaring back at him - he immediately relented.
“Oka-eh,” mumbled the giant Samoan, “It looks just like the Boss.” He then flipped the safety switch on his weapon and stood with his arms at his side. The others on his team noticed him doing so and promptly deactivated their weapons, causing a symphony of whirring noises as the deadly devices wound down. Assuming he was no longer in any real danger, Young-Min then stepped out onto the concrete driveway. No one spoke.
Dropping his duffel bag to the pavement, Young-Min looked them over for a second, all those beefy security guards. Besides Ozzie Guerrero, these were the largest males he’d ever seen in his life! Yet seeing their eyes wide with surprise (not to mention confusion), he figured the situation was under control. He then turned to the brave officer in command of the military detail and dutifully saluted. No one else moved a muscle. Confrontation averted. There’d be no further trouble that night he could tell.
“Will that be all, sir?” asked Young-Min as he snapped to attention.
The Lieutenant returned his salute and replied, “Yes Ensign, that will be all. Dismissed.” Once he was finished he shook Young-Min’s hand. “Have a great time on shore leave, Jo. And by the way please try stayin’ outa the local papers while you’re in town will you? Last thing we need is another incident. We been in the news enough already, ya’ know?” Young Min laughed.
“No sir, Lieutenant. I promise not to. And by the way, thanks for everything. You guys take care, okay?”
With that the other soldiers were ordered to secure their weapons and return to the van. Several patted Ensign Jo’s shoulder as they passed him by to load up. Young-Min Jo then watched as the van reversed into the street and sped away, the Lieutenant happily waving to him out the window. Young-Min finally turned to face his shocked and dismayed hosts, all seven of them towering over him like ancient Mo’ai staring out over the grassy hillsides of Easter Island. They remained frozen in silence. In fact, no one knew just what to say for several tense moments.
“What a day,” Young-Min mused to himself. A near-battle with armed security staff at Min Pharma world headquarters? That was merely icing on the cake, all things considered. Images of what he’d already gone through to get there now swirled through his mind.
********
Young-Min Jo had endured hours of monotony (as well as constant interruption) as he’d tried to cope with the numerous annoyances associated with an international flight from Frankfurt to Toronto. The longest he’d been on an airship previously was three hours, but back then he’d been a giddy 10-year old, flying first class with delighted Space Programme Staffers keeping him busy the whole time. Back then it had been exciting. Back then it had been wondrous. He was being told he’d soon become an astronaut! Not surprisingly he was thrilled beyond belief. What kid wouldn’t be?
This time had been different however. This time it involved sitting in Coach (his military travel pass only entitled him to basic services), along with all the deprivations one might imagine being packed in like sardines along with 896 other annoyed, exhausted human beings.
Kids running amok. Parents too tired to do anything but try and ignore them while they drank cocktails or read. Drunks talking way too loud - using foul language discussing inappropriate subject matter – all the while either not realizing or simply not caring whether anyone else was offended. That said, small children were the most annoying of all. Young-Min found it hard to believe how much the little brats could get on his nerves. Because of this, he’d been constantly frustrated trying to sleep – what with the racket everyone was making. Luckily for Young-Min Jo, a flamboyant male flight attendant had taken pity on him.
“Honey, what is it?” the effeminate fellow had queried with a noticeable lisp. “You don’t look too happy … anything I can get you?”
It had been the steward’s second pass with the drink cart and Young-Min had only ordered a bottle of water the first time around (he’d learned from experience to stay hydrated during high altitude flights). This time though the flight attendant was standing at the end of the row, leaning over with forearm resting on the high seat back. The gentleman one seat over was already sound asleep. No one else was paying much attention by that time. It had startled Young-Min at first, not knowing how to react to the steward's outrageous manner and slightly invasive question. That said, Young-Min, having lived with openly homosexual crewmembers onboard Santa Maria for so many years, wasn’t taken aback by the flight attendant’s affectations. He’d merely chuckled sheepishly.
“Yeah, you read me right I guess,” replied Ensign Jo with an embarrassed grin. “Why … is it that obvious?”
To this the steward rolled his eyes; put his hand on his hip and cocked his head slightly to one side. He then stood poised like a spoiled teenage girl throwing a hissy fit; or perhaps like an angry housewife confronting a drunken husband at the front door when he’d returned home late on a Friday night.
Ensign Jo smirked, “I’ll take that as a yes … uh (he then looked at the skinny fellow’s nametag) … Stephan, is it?” He pronounced it STEE-VUNN, but the dandy fellow only sneered in response, shaking his head with blinking eyes.
“I prefer Steff-AHN actually … but you (he lowered his voice into a raised whisper) can call me anything the fuck you want.” He then giggled daintily and smiled with shiny white teeth, placing his other elbow on the seat back and resting his chin on the palm of his hand while adding, “Just don’t call me late for happy hour, that’s all.”
He crinkled up his nose comically, like some middle aged woman might do. Young-Min for his part thought it to be hilarious. Liked him immediately.
“It’s those damn kids," explained Young-Min. "… and those guys a few rows back raising hell. Hate to be a whiny bitch, but between you ‘n me … it's stressing me out. I really need to get me some rack time.” The handsome steward raised his eyebrows inquisitively.
“Rack time?” He hadn’t heard an expression like that before and for a moment wondered if this was some new gay hookup terminology they were using in the military. If that’s a desperate plea to get himself tied up and whipped, thought Stephán ... or get his dick sucked … I just hope he can wait ‘til I’m off duty. I’m horny as hell … ‘n we ain’t even made it over the Atlantic yet. He felt inclined to clarify the young serviceman’s intentions.
“And by rack time we’re meaning …?” asked Stephán leadingly, “Sorry honey, I ain’t been hangin’ out at all the same bars as you soldier types lately. Is that some new thing we’re tryin’ out these days? In the barracks with all our bunk buddies? If so, then please … by all means, fill me in.”
By then he had been leaning over just far enough so that his chest was practically resting on the older man’s head sitting in the aisle seat next to Young-Min Jo. Stephán was oblivious to this. Young-Min had taken notice however and broke up snickering and snorting at the gay fellow's outrageous conduct. He doubled over laughing but covered his mouth, not wanting to wake anyone nearby. Stephán smiled and raised up, keenly aware that the handsome Asian was wearing that same style of service uniform he’d so often seen on international flights. Space Programme personnel were something he saw a lot of whenever flying out of Frankfurt. GU Military traveled pretty regularly on his airline. Coach section was occasionally filled with them. Half were usually gay or at least “bi-curious”. What’s more this dishy fellow he was talking to was clearly an officer! Could tell by his black epaulets which had a single yellow-embroidered golden bar. What was different compared to other military services was the official insignia of the GU (a globe with a ring of stars around it) sewn onto the edge of each. Other services had a star, a loop, or an anchor.
“Nah, it's not that. Anyway, I guess I’ll just keep reading news articles on these electronic information pad thing-ees you got here … hoping I can finally get back to sleep,” sighed Young-Min.
Suddenly realizing “rack time” must in actuality be a reference to taking a nap – and not kinky sex like he’d hoped - Stephán blushed. Rolled his eyes when he began connecting the dots.
“Oh … rack time ... I get it, now. Not what I was picturing, apparently. Silly me. I thought you meant something else. But E-mags, yes. Perfect for boring yourself to sleep,” remarked the flight attendant, straightening up and looking down the aisle toward another passenger requesting a drink. The man was calling for a beer for himself and a ginger ale for his wife. Stephán repeated the orders back to them with an index finger raised which he then curled up daintily when he was done.
“Right away,” he replied to them in a raised whisper. And without even skipping a beat he then returned to chatting with his hot prospect from Space Programme. Those were his favorites to hook up with whenever they were on shore leave. Always well-educated. Always horny. Easy on the eyes. Easy to seduce. Too bad this one only wanted to sleep! He’d then looked down toward Ensign Jo who was craning his head back, wishing the jaunty fellow would just stay and talk to him for the remainder of the flight.
“And … as for you, gorgeous, I have something special in mind that'll help you with your current dilemma,” commented Stephán in a rather breathy voice (Young-Min could detect a hint of peppermint on the man's breath, but it also smelled metallic. Actually it was flavored Vodka). “You just need a little something to knock you out for a few hours … so how ‘bout I bring you one of momma’s world-famous martinis? I’ll make it just the way folks like ‘em too. Nice and dry. Have you ever tried one before?”
Young-Min smiled and shook his head.
“Well, you’ll love it. And I do mean they’re world famous too. On flights like this where we cover two continents and a whole goddam ocean … I’ve sold hundreds of ‘em over the years.”
To this Young-Min reacted by shuffling through his shirt pocket to pull out some of the Euros Monika Steckel had provided him for spending money on his journey. Stephán wasn’t having any of that; waived him off immediately.
“No, no, honey. Put that away. Your money’s no good here. This one’s on the house. Just one of my extra dry Martinis ‘ll make you the life of the party, I guarantee it. Two ‘ll get you laid – trust me on that – ‘n three ‘ll pretty much fuck you for a loop. You’ll wake up in Toronto hours from now wondering where the hell you are.”
How could he argue with that? Young-Min laughed then said, “Sounds fantastic … and thanks! I’ll try reading a few more magazine articles, and we’ll see if I can handle one or two of your world-famous concoctions. Mahr-teeny was it? Is that what you said it’s called?”
Stephán scoffed, “Yeah you said it right. Why … you never heard of that type of cocktail before? Never heard of a Martini? The world’s classiest drink? Not even once?” And when he said this he again placed his hand on his hip while he turned to fetch the drink order for the man and his wife down the row. As Stephán turned to his drink cart chuckling mirthfully, he then asked sarcastically, “Jeez, honey, just where have you been all these years? Outer space? Pffft!” And with that he finished filling the couple’s order. He went back to the galley to fetch Young-Min his special order.
“Outer space? Really? If you only knew,” mused Ensign Jo, once Stephán was out of earshot.
For the next hour, Young-Min once more set himself to glancing through articles about his brother. The martinis were delicious - and way too strong. But he made it through two of them and part of a third before he finally had to cut himself off. The Vodka crept up on him like a shadow, but when it eventually overtook him, his eyelids felt like heavy steel doors. Yet as he’d worked his way through those first two glasses of the delightful elixir, Young-Min’s ability to concentrate had become greatly diminished. By that point all he could really focus on were photographs. There were many available. Ten or twelve, among all the articles he found. Pictures taken of his brother in public over the past five years mostly - once he’d become famous that is – thrust into the public spotlight following the initial public offering of his company’s stock and becoming a celebrity as his company gained international fame.
It was uncanny looking at his brother – especially as the effects of the alcohol began to take hold. Seeing his exact duplicate – slightly older – looking back at him – was like looking at photos of himself ten or maybe fifteen years in the future. Unnerving, it was. Unsettling. Uncomfortable at times! Kwang-Min appeared so much older. Was this what he too would look like in only ten or eleven Earth years? That was something he didn’t want to think about.
But that wasn’t all he kept noticing about those pictures of his famous brother. No, there was something else that kept capturing his attention. Someone else who repeatedly appeared in the photographs. It seemed this particular individual was right there tagging along behind his brother every time he was in public. It was a woman. A very pretty woman. Asian just like him. Chinese perhaps - maybe Southeast Asian. Beautiful yet tough-looking … brutish almost … and perhaps a bit taller than his brother … which for some reason really, really turned him on and he didn’t know why. She was, for lack of a better term, striking.
Dressed in male clothing usually. Wore dark business suits that matched the rest of Kwang-Min’s security detail. She often appeared outside wearing dark sunglasses in photos he found of his brother. Sometimes she didn’t; and when she was seen without them she looked even more stunning. What’s more she always seemed to have a look on her face like she was just about ready to kick someone’s ass if they gave her half an excuse. That turned him on as well. She looked hard … streetwise … military-trained … focused … and in addition to that she clearly seemed protective of his twin brother, whether walking into a courthouse, exiting a building, or getting into a limousine. She walked and comported herself as though she were his bodyguard essentially.
He studied her posture, whenever in proximity to Kwang-Min. Didn’t seem like they were dating. Body language wasn’t right. Certainly not husband and wife either. She walked behind Kwang-Min and slightly to the flank – never side-by-side like a wife would. But whatever she was and whatever function she served within Kwang-Min’s organization, she was absolutely everywhere Kwang-Min was. That was irrefutable. Only problem was … the news photo captions never once made mention of her name.
“I wonder who she is, goddammit. They won’t fucking say,” slurred Young-Min frustratedly. “Who the hell is she?”
He began drifting off; and by then Stephán had returned to see how his favorite passenger was making progress on that last martini he’d brought him. In reality the kindly flight steward had hardly expected him to finish the third. Hoped he wouldn’t, just so he could schlep it away and chug it down later. However as he approached, he overheard the handsome young officer muttering something about a woman he was looking at on his video screen.
“Who you talkin’ about honey?” Stephán had asked in a breathy voice. The old man sitting in the aisle seat was still fast asleep, and Young-Min had detected Stephán’s presence. He reached up with one hand which swerved as he tried aiming his index finger, then attempted to point out the picture of a fierce-looking female shown in his E-mag article. He’d enlarged it so he could get a better look at her; but when he tried to speak, that’s when he realized just how drunk he was. He couldn’t form the words to answer.
“Fibish,” was all he could muster.
“Oh … the tough Asian bitch … right there next to the old Chinese dude? That the one you mean?” snorted Stephán sardonically. He once again leaned over the seat next to Young-Min to the point where his shirt pocket was laying upon the old man’s head seated in between them.
“K’ree-uhn … not shi-neez,” Young-Min attempted to respond, “Thatsh Kwahmuujoh – my bwuddah.” The poor fellow sounded like a bucket of consonants being spilled out onto a kitchen countertop.
“Hmmmmmm. So that’s what you’re into huh? Bad-ass Asian chicks?” sneered Stephán playfully. “Oh well … too bad for me. But if that’s what you like … hey, I guess I’m shit outa luck.” He then frowned daintily. Nevertheless, the kindly steward took the implied rejection in stride. It had only cost him two Martinis to find out his sexy male prospect was - unfortunately - straight. And besides, what did he care anyway? That third Martini he’d soon be enjoying back in the galley was an acceptable consolation prize for missing out on bedding down the handsome young officer from Space Programme.
“And I do have to admit,” continued Stephán sweetly, “she’s a looker.” He then lowered his voice as he leaned in to taunt Young-Min playfully. “Kinda looks like the type o’ gal who’d wear you out, fuck your legs off, kill you with a chef knife the next morning … and eat you for breakfast.” Young-Min was only half-hearing him at that point. Processed only a part of what he said. The last thing he heard Stephán say before flitting away was, “Different strokes I guess. Different strokes for different folks.”
After that Young-Min had fallen fast asleep … until hours later when the airship intercom system announced they’d be landing soon in Toronto.
This concludes tonight's podcast of Twin Paradox, Chapter 38: Different Strokes. I hope you enjoyed it. Watch for episode 39; 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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