We continue with Young-Min Jo's arrival at Min-Pharma world headquarters in Toronto. Having avoided confrontation with security guards at the front gate, he is next to encounter his twin brother's head of security Xi Jiu Xiu, aka Zero. Though forewarned they are identical and that the effects of time dilation will mean Kwang-Min's brother might in all likelihood look much younger and perhaps more appealing than the boss himself, Zero is nevertheless taken by surprise. Not only that, she's instantly smitten. For Young-Min it's the same.
We then flash back to Zero's origins and the events which led to her eventually coming to work for Kwang-Min Jo. The harsh existence she had to endure as a child, a teenager, and even a young woman, is described in graphic detail.
We continue with Young-Min Jo's arrival at Min-Pharma world headquarters in Toronto. Having avoided confrontation with security guards at the front gate, he is next to encounter his twin brother's head of security Xi Jiu Xiu, aka Zero. Though forewarned they are identical and that the effects of time dilation will mean Kwang-Min's brother might in all likelihood look much younger and perhaps more appealing than the boss himself, Zero is nevertheless taken by surprise. Not only that, she's instantly smitten. For Young-Min it's the same.
We then flash back to Zero's origins and the events which led to her eventually coming to work for Kwang-Min Jo. The harsh existence she had to endure as a child, a teenager, and even a young woman, is described in graphic detail.
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 arrival at Min-Pharma world headquarters in Toronto. Having avoided confrontation with security guards at the front gate, he is next to encounter his twin brother's head of security Xi Jiu Xiu, aka Zero. Though forewarned they are identical and that the effects of time dilation will mean Kwang-Min's brother might in all likelihood look much younger and perhaps more appealing than the boss himself, Zero is nevertheless taken by surprise. Not only that, she's instantly smitten. For Young-Min it's the same. We then flash back to Zero's origins and the events which led to her eventually coming to work for Kwang-Min Jo. The harsh existence she had to endure as a child, a teenager, and even a young woman, is described in graphic detail.
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-Nine, The Tuhao ....
Back on that lonely driveway, his colleagues now gone, and with six gargantuan security guards plus their commander glaring down at him in utter amazement, Young-Min assessed his situation.
The Lieutenant had indeed been courageous, if not foolhardy. He'd stared down those big monsters in that brief standoff only minutes earlier when Young-Min's military escort - four scrawny recruits from the local GU military base - had hopped out of that van with weapons drawn. It had apparently been quite enough in forcing the behemoths to stand down. Reality was something far different. Those big security guards were not the least bit intimidated; nor was their leader. What’s more the Lieutenant from Space Programme had placed his entire squad in grave danger; for (truth be told) he'd almost gotten his men - and himself - killed.
Indeed, Min-Pharma’s highly trained security personnel carried much the same weapons as those four GU soldiers: a hand-held electrical impulse cannon – not the combat version which sported a magazine containing 1,000 rounds of metallic projectiles - but a much smaller/compact version. These weapons when fully loaded contained cartridges filled with only 100 rounds. They were designed to be fired in short bursts, during street battles or when engaged in house-to-house fighting. In typical GU combat training, recruits would be taught to fire their weapon (whenever in close quarters) at the torso of the enemy. Police officers were instructed in much the same way: spray the assailant with projectiles starting around the sternum area, then the kick would force the barrel upward causing the attacker to be thrown back and their faces peppered with ten to twenty direct hits. Projectiles would damage the neck and face as well, rendering the enemy neutralized.
By way of comparison, Min-Pharma’s security guards were trained in modern counter-terrorism tactics in addition to close-proximity weapons usage. This, their Chief of Security had insisted upon. Despite their size, these men had been taught to crouch and lunge forward – all the while spraying projectiles at the legs of their opponent. Closing with an enemy they would then drive the stock of their EIC into the person’s chin. Thus, had the GU soldiers foolishly discharged their weapons, they might (might) have taken out two (maybe three) of those giants at best. Those remaining would have made short work of the young, largely inexperienced volunteers. The four soldiers from the nearby military base were trained to a level of battle-readiness comparable to that of an old National Guard unit. No match for the big Samoans and Tongans.
And yet, thankfully, it never came to that. These very same security team members were literally dumbfounded the moment Young-Min Jo stepped out of the van. Couldn’t believe their eyes. Sure, they’d been informed there was a “special guest” arriving that night. What’s more they knew it was some VIP known personally to their company’s CEO (his brother, rumor had it). Therefore, this was certainly not something which caught them by surprise when the van pulled up. Their extensive training would have dictated they treat any such situation as a perfect scenario for assassins attempting to breach the compound. All of that changed when they looked upon the young man’s face and jaws dropped when they saw the resemblance. It was uncanny.
That’s basically how Zero found them when she arrived a few minutes later ….
“Has our man arrived?” she queried, approaching the scene from several meters. She’d crossed the compound on foot; too excited to think of grabbing an electric cart to use in case the boss’s brother had baggage, and in so doing she’d gotten roughly 20 meters before realizing everyone was likely waiting on her to show up. This was a violation of her own rules regarding her presence being required whenever receiving important guests. When she got there, all she saw were large figures dressed in black and one slender male in a tan military uniform with a service cap on and duffel bag lying next to his feet. The nervous squad commander hollered back to her in response to her rather obvious question.
“Yes Chief. This’z gotta be him,” said the big man, pivoting to face her with his hands at his side. He looked unnerved as though he’d just done something he shouldn’t have; hesitant regarding what to do next until someone with proper authority arrived. Zero couldn’t help wondering why he phrased his answer that way.
“You mean you don’t know?” she thought to herself, “Then why the hell haven’t you ID’d him by now?” She almost thought to chastise her hulking subordinate for not being thorough enough to make sure by the time she got there. After all, it wasn’t like their job was so terribly complicated, was it? In fact, she probably would have addressed the matter immediately had it been normal circumstances – that is, if it wasn’t for what she now beheld smiling back at her as though the young man recognized her. That’s when it struck her – left her dumbfounded as well. There he was: an exact duplicate of Min-Pharma’s maverick CEO. Head to toe, the comparatively fit fellow was nevertheless a dead ringer for her boss. For the next few seconds, everything seemed to move in slow motion.
Blood rushed to her cheeks. She felt a hot flash of adrenaline when she made eye-contact with Young-Min Jo. It felt like a teenage-style crush for the normally hard-boiled Xi Ju Xiu (aka Zero) looking upon Ensign Jo out there on that brightly-lit driveway. It was one of those moments when time stops; where the body continues to function and life goes on without interruption, yet we notice little to nothing besides the object of our affection.
If it was affection, that is. It certainly was something, that was for sure. Sort of like a magical spell consuming her, causing her body to tingle. She’d never felt this way before.
Young-Min seemed to be in the same state of euphoria. And that wasn’t all. It was as if he knew her – which was of course impossible. He’d been in space for 24 years! But the young man was clearly attracted to her, no doubting that, and above all else, sincerely glad to see her. She could tell by the way he looked at her. But why? That’s when a deep connection occurred between the two: that instant when both sensed mutual desire and more than anything else joy. That was the key. A period of mere seconds when two people can block out everything else in the world but each other; and develop an emotional bond which might draw them together someday as lovers.
To Zero, Young-Min was all she could have ever dreamed of only seven years ago. Here was a person she could immediately find desirable. Asian like herself. Similar in height. Physically fit. Military uniform. Confident. Healthy. Young. Virile. True, if it had only been seven years earlier, Young-Min would have been the answer to all her prayers. Finding just the right guy had always been so elusive for a woman like Zero. To be fair, it had been a difficult life for the lovely but hardened Security Chief. She’d been through quite a lot over the years.
********
Once upon a time, Zero had been an orphan. Endured struggle and desperation living among all the human refuse of society: the washed-up rejects from the veritable ocean of children born into poverty within the major cities of North America.
Six years toiling away in a workhouse where she served various functions as she grew into a teenager, Zero eventually found herself out on the streets – right after her 13th birthday - and compelled to accept a lowly position in a dingy, poorly ventilated manufacturing plant. She then spent the next five years living the life of a factory worker, getting up at 06:00 in a small, dimly-lit dormitory room the size of an office cubicle and working nine hour shifts six days a week. No regulations imposed on her employer. No laws to protect youngsters still in their early to late teens with no families or parents to speak of. No one to object to their treatment in other words. Officials would regularly visit to investigate shady labor practices but most would simply be bribed to look the other way. There was no one to complain to, even if they tried. No one to stand up for her and all the others being exploited in this way. To Zero, it was nothing but society’s way of enslaving her … and she never forgot the degradation.
Breaking free of this dead-end life became her singular goal. Working every day, limping back to her little closet of a room located in the company dormitory - after dining in the company cafeteria on processed food - she’d have one day off per week to recover, then repeat the entire process. She’d put in long hours on the factory floor under the watchful eye of supervisors who (usually female and often sadistic) considered the most minor of infractions to warrant harsh disciplinary action. Beaten with wooden rods at times – on her bare buttocks until her skin was bright red – she was made an example of to the rest of her coworkers time and time again. Many would be forced to gather ‘round and watch those cruel overseers whip her. Other times she’d be forced to work through her lunch break as punishment for insubordination or for requesting too many bathroom breaks while the assembly line chugged along, hour after hour after hour. It was all too much for the willful, intelligent girl. Thus, by her 18th birthday she sought to make her move. She packed up her few belongings one night and walked right out of that stinking, dilapidated building once and for all, never looking back. At the time it had been the most freeing sensation she’d ever experienced.
Unfortunately, at that point there were but few options available; and she was compelled to accept prostitution as a means of survival. She had little choice besides perhaps a life of crime and thus risking arrest; maybe prison. Of course, by that age she certainly had the looks for becoming a hooker; and that was certainly part of what made her decide to walk off her steady job in the first place. Oddly enough, many of her colleagues had encouraged her. Even older ladies still slaving away on that assembly line had advised her of this – ever since age sixteen when her body began to transform into that of a beautiful young woman.
“This is no place for a pretty girl like you,” they’d tell her.
“Pretty girls can go places,” they’d also say.
“Pretty girls can make it out of here. Most of us can’t. Just go,” many said to her. “Leave this place while you still have a chance … before this job turns you into an old woman.”
Those dark, cynical words haunted her constantly throughout her last two years working at that dimly lit sweat shop - until ultimately she began to see their logic. If there was ever going to be a way out, she’d have to check her morals at the door along with her dignity. Surrender her body willingly and her virtue right along with it – otherwise she’d never escape. And she knew where she needed to go, on that day she finally quit her job at the factory. Everyone had told her so for years. Comfort Houses were the 'way out' for an attractive girl like Zero.
“Comfort House” was a polite term for legal brothels serving the male community within the city. Toronto had between ten and fifteen of them functioning at any given time, usually inside of innocent-looking storefronts that drew little attention from passersby. Regulated (not only that but permitted) by the government, they’d developed into private “gentlemen’s clubs” for Asian businessmen operating out of Toronto; or those visiting from the Far East. For men of means they were a discrete yet inviting destination to go and enjoy a young lady’s favors, safely sequestered from prying eyes. These businesses paid their taxes and enforced strict rules for the health and personal safety of their employees. That being said, for most women willing to degrade themselves within such a seedy world, Comfort Houses merely served as yet another form of subservience in an otherwise male-dominated culture which clung to outdated philosophies regarding a woman’s place in society.
Zero never cottoned to this diminished view of herself though. Quite the contrary, to Zero all those rich businessmen coming to her brothel meant opportunity. And yet as she plodded along for another year or so, taking male clients to her tiny cubicle, which was separated by walls so thin she could hear complete conversations in the room next to her, what she never seemed to be able to achieve was finding just that one “man of means” who could provide deliverance: the one man who could liberate her from that filthy place and bring to an end her lowly existence as a jì nǚ … a maechunbu … a biǎo zi. No, she had absolutely no intention of staying there. It was merely a means to an end. Indeed, right from the very start, all she wanted was to find her “tuhao” as workmates often called them: a well-to-do gentleman who might make her his regular girlfriend. Maybe put her up in an apartment so he could have access to her anytime he wanted. Be his mistress. It was something girls talked about; but no one ever seemed to have achieved it. It was a fantasy that many held onto though most would never see coming to fruition. Sure, there was always some gal who everyone had heard of pulling it off. Some girl who used to work there but was now (supposedly) living in some swank hotel where her rich boyfriend would come visit every week while she relaxed in opulent luxury. After a while Zero started to discount those crazy stories as rubbish. By her nineteenth birthday she’d come to the realization that she might be stuck in that awful existence for good.
However, over the roughly 15 months she worked giving massages and blowjobs to smelly, drunken, occasionally abusive men … letting them mount her savagely only to either pass out or expend themselves within only a few minutes … she also found the time to befriend some young people working in the area and from time to time visiting her brothel to sell illicit drugs. They reported to some person or group of persons they didn’t seem to know the real names of and that was the turning point; what changed the course of her young life.
“The Organization” they called it. That was the name of their “employer” so to speak, and their function was to deliver contraband substances to Comfort Houses for both customers as well as prostitutes. Drugs that relieved pain, drugs that stimulated erections, drugs that created a pleasant mood, or induced sleep whenever that was desired. These youngsters had it all. Most were otherwise normal-looking Asian kids in their teens and early twenties just like Zero, and they seemed to be quite happy in their roles as “drug mules” working for bosses whom they never knew anything about besides a flashy alias. Zero struck up a relationship with one or two of them and eventually they recruited her to join.
Leaving the brothel was quite difficult to do without a regular source of income of course, so Zero eased into it gradually, making the transition to full-time “mule” over the course of a few months. But when she saw how lucrative this ‘side-hustle’ quickly became; she left the brothel for good. There was far more money to be made, she discovered. Being an attractive woman, she could perform deliveries for “the organization” throughout metropolitan Toronto, and stroll right into the finest restaurants, fanciest hotels, exclusive resorts, swank nightclubs, or even private parties in the richest neighborhoods. No one bothered her. Quite the contrary, bouncers sent her right on in! If she went to a private home she’d mingle with the guests, work her way into the crowd, work her way into conversations – it was incredibly easy to do! Even with her accent, which dissipated only slightly over the years, she could nevertheless speak English perfectly. Line workers at her factory spoke a mixture of Mandarin and Burmese (just like her biological mother) and only used English occasionally. That said, her accent, along with her striking looks, only made her seem all the more exotic to members of high society.
Even better, when “the organization” started sending her to upscale establishments and black-tie affairs, her “bosses” (who changed from time to time) would regularly shove wads of cash into the palm of her hand telling her to go buy nice outfits to wear. These were the first new clothes she’d ever owned and from day one she embraced the new life she had. She started to feel like she’d “made it”. Wasn’t long before she was able to cross yet another major accomplishment off her to-do list when a wealthy businessman she met took a shine to her and made her an amazing offer. It was something she’d been hoping for all her life. He asked her to be his “girlfriend” and to accompany him on a business trip to Thailand as his “personal guest”. She jumped at the chance. It was the first time she’d been outside Canada since she’d been a baby.
Her mother was from Myanmar, she’d once been told, and her father (it could only be assumed) was Chinese. This she had deduced years before when people began telling her that her family name Xi (pronounced Shee) was as common a surname in China as Smith or Johnson in North America. Up until then, she’d never known. Her given name Ju Xiu translated roughly into Charming Daisy Flower – and using that as a chat-up line at parties when she’d show up delivering drugs was a regular hit with horny, lustful men - as well as their high-class wives.
Hauling drug packets – in an oversized purse with a false bottom - became a regular thing with her. She got good at it. Because of this “the organization” repeatedly gave her special assignments once they saw how well she performed. In fact, for Zero it often turned into yet another money-making enterprise. She’d sleep with clients if the offer was generous enough and it just so happened, many times it was. They’d offer to “sweeten the deal” if she’d “hang around a while” (or however they might propose having her whore herself out like a common floozy). It wasn’t just the men. On occasion the wives joined in. On even rarer occasions it was the wives who specifically sought her out. She hardly ever refused. It was nothing worse than she’d been doing at that Comfort House after all. And what’s more, as the years passed by running drugs for “the organization”, it only got easier, while the men got better looking, cleaner, and richer.
That’s basically why, when the tuhao asked her to run off to Bangkok for a week, she readily agreed. Thought it would be delightful. Broaden her horizons. Allow her to live the life of the privileged few. Stay in a nice hotel. Give the man sex whenever he desired it. Soak her body in a fancy bathtub with a glass of wine or two to while away the hours before he returned from doing business in the city.
She figured he’d take her into his bed, do whatever he wanted with her, then leave her be. What could be easier? Fall asleep on the couch in their hotel suite while she watched movies on Ultravision and ordered room service? It sounded almost like a fantasy when he first proposed it. One week in an exotic Asian metropolis. A week to live like a rich girl for once, which was something she never could have imagined; not in her wildest dreams.
As anticipated, the middle-aged businessman flew her to Bangkok in style. First Class seating; top-notch service the whole way. “The Organization” sanctioned it too, which she was relieved to hear. In fact they told Zero that all they required was for her to “collect some information” on the man, more specifically to “tail him” one day in particular to see where he was going and whom he met with when he got there. “Take some pictures”, they said. “Otherwise enjoy yourself.” This seemed simple enough so she agreed; and as always her ‘boss’ would tell her nothing else and she knew not to ask. She loyally did what she was told on that first day they were in town.
Though she got lost several times in the confusing streets of the city trying to follow the tuhao, she obtained the information her boss had demanded. Followed the man to a warehouse down by the dockyards and took photos of him with her Digital Communication Device while he was talking to a group of well-dressed individuals out front. Sent it to her boss back in Toronto, then hailed a cab which whisked her back to the hotel. She then spent the balance of the afternoon enjoying a bubble bath and sipping champagne brought in by room service. The bellhop even poured her a glass of it while she sat comfortably beneath the bubbles.
This was better than she could have hoped for! Dirty work done, she could now relax and await the businessman’s return. Sleep with him if he wanted her to. Go back and snooze on the couch until morning. However she was about to get more than she bargained for. Indeed the experience she would have later that night in Bangkok would alter the course of her life. It degenerated into a perverse nightmare shortly after the man arrived back at their hotel room around 22:00 hours.
The tuhao was into some rather kinky fetishes as it would turn out. His first demand was that she let him practice Japanese rope bondage (Shibari as it’s called). This involved using soft cotton rope to restrict her movements - to wrap, suspend, restrain - as part of a bizarre bondage and discipline activity he said he was quite proficient at. Seemed reasonable enough. What she got instead was a night of being tied up in obscene and sometimes uncomfortable positions for lengthy periods of time while he sat and watched, sipping his vodka. After viewing her struggles and occasionally striking her on sensitive areas with a thin wooden dowel, he’d untie her and move her into new positions or suspend her from a beam in the ceiling while he teased and prodded her helpless body. To prevent her from protesting, he gagged her mouth with a handkerchief. That’s what he said he liked; so she went along with it. Afterward they had intercourse.
However it was the next night of their stay that led to a very violent exchange which finally pushed Zero beyond her limits. One that surpassed all the accepted rules; for on that second night, the tuhao told her of yet another bizarre fantasy which he enjoyed acting out with women. It involved a rather strange fetish from Japan called Omorashi, but what he specifically wanted from her was to drink wine until her bladder was full, then tie her naked to a chair and not permit her to go relieve herself while she struggled and squirmed. He promised to free her in an hour or so. Though apprehensive, she agreed.
Now of course by that second evening, she’d pretty much figured out how to stimulate the man. It was the wiggling and trembling that deeply aroused him and that was plain to see. The panting and gasping and whimpering – demonstrating desperation to be freed of her bonds – that’s what excited him. And as she played up her fidgeting and squirming to the point where he appeared pleased, she figured he’d soon release her and let her go sit on the toilet. Then would come the sex. She could go watch a movie and that would be that. Unfortunately by the time she began sensing she was turning him on, she was starting to feel like she couldn’t hold it in much longer. That’s when things got even weirder.
This was precisely what he wanted from her, she knew, but she couldn’t imagine he intended for her to personally wet herself right there on that wooden chair. Maybe he did, she never truly found out, but what he did do was repeatedly leave the hotel room to go down to the bar in the lobby while he left her alone in that room wincing and writhing in agony. In fact, he’d made it all the more terrifying for her by brusquely ordering her (in no uncertain terms) to “hold it in”, no matter what:
“I WANT TO SEE YOU CRYING OUT … PLEADING FOR ME TO SET YOU FREE … BEFORE I UNTIE A SINGLE KNOT!”
Responding to this she tried several times to convince him she couldn’t take it anymore, but the cold-hearted fiend was unmoved. He threatened to thrash her with a cane if she allowed even one drop of pee to leak from her bladder. This only increased her misery and distress. It was only to get worse.
When he returned the third time from the bar, he was quite drunk and quite pitiless regarding her condition. She’d tried everything to hold it in. Tried counting backward from a thousand. Tried remembering songs. Tried humming tunes to herself. Tried quoting lines from films she’d seen while lounging on the couch across the room the previous night. By then she was out of options though. Wasn’t long before a puddle was forming on the floor below her seat. The man became incredulous and threatened her with “dire consequences”.
“You have violated my rules young lady. That is unfortunate,” he slurred. Subsequently he unzipped his fly and undid his pants to expose his fully erect penis. As she struggled to avoid him - eyes widened with fear and excruciating cramps gnawing at her insides - he then shoved his member into her mouth and ordered her to swallow him down until he ejaculated. She fearfully complied, moaning and whining pitifully. Gagging on it and vomiting several times, she could only look up at him with sad, desperate eyes. It dissuaded him not in the least. He continued to thrust in and out of her mouth, drowning out her pleas for mercy, until he finally exploded. He then snarled orders at her to ingest it all, every drop, and not dare allowing any to dribble from her lips.
“Swallow it! Swallow it all!” he growled.
Figuring this would finally satiate the man, she continued to follow his commands, but when the creep went so far as to pinch her nostrils shut with his thumb and index finger, she coughed up a large glob of ejaculate. When he pulled out, it ran down over her chin and dripped into her lap. The tuhao then laughed cruelly as she wept, ashamed of what she’d allowed him to do to her, and yet at the same time begging him between sobs to finally release her. This he did, and she quickly scurried to the bathroom.
She remained there for nearly an hour, fully convinced the man was deranged and if she didn’t find a way to get out of that hotel room; he might just kill her. His own words, spoken to her tauntingly from the other side of the bathroom door, hinted this might be a possibility.
“Now don’t try and hide in there all night. This isn’t North America, little bitch,” he’d said to her with a tormenting sneer. “Isn’t Europe either. We are in Asia now. Here, men are supreme. Women exist only for their pleasure and for that purpose alone. I can dispose of you whenever I wish … and however I choose … any time I want to. There’s not a policeman in this town I can’t pay to look the other way. If I wish, I can dump you in an alley and no one will think twice. So you’d be wise to obey if you know what is good for you. If you do as I say, you might just see Toronto again someday. Do you understand … little bitch?”
That was the moment she realized this might just be her last night on Earth.
Not surprisingly, Zero was exhausted and worn out when she exited the bathroom. That’s when the man made further demands on her body. He wanted to take her again he said; and what’s more he was in no mood to take no for an answer. Zero tried arguing, pleading and begging him to let her rest. Her throat was tired and bruised. Her lips and jaw ached:
“Please sir … let me sleep now. I’m so very tired.”
He wasn’t to be denied. He grasped her by the arm and led her to the bed where he again tied her up; this time pushing her down onto her stomach; tying her ankles together with her wrists. For her insolence in attempting to deny him his pleasure, he then proceeded to whip the poor girl with a leather flail until her body looked like a big peppermint stick. He mounted her ferociously, pressing down until her knees were twisted precariously, and even as she cried out for him to be gentler, he only increased the velocity and depth of his thrusts. It went on for quite a while like that until she ultimately blacked out. She didn’t notice if he came a second time or not. It was doubtful that he did, being as drunk as he was. Either way she was unconscious by the time the beast finally rolled over and went to sleep.
Come the morning she found herself awakening, sore from head to toe, and still tied up in the same manner - now lying on her side; on the floor next to the bed. The brute had callously left her there all night long on the rug below him as he slept in the bed snoring loudly. That was when she knew she had to make a break for it. It might be her only chance at survival. How she’d get back to Toronto she hadn’t the foggiest, but at the time that was the furthest thing from her mind ….
This concludes tonight's podcast of Twin Paradox, Chapter 39: The Tuhao. I hope you enjoyed it. Watch for episode 40; 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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