Page 68 of The Space Traveller's Lover
“I’ll be absent for a while, Athguer. I need to focus all my energy on the tasks ahead. Make sure you look after her.”
“Absolutely!” Athguer solicitously replies. “What shall I tell her about you?”
“Nothing.” Rothwen bluntly says. Then, looking intensely into Athguer’s eyes, he asks, “What are my options?”
“Options for what?” Athguer feigns his response, trying to gain time to gather his thoughts.
“Don’t be acting out, Athguer. What are my options?” Rothwen seethes, his tight muscles twitching on his reddened neck.
“If you allow me, Rothwen, I can fix whatever is troubling your mind.”
The dejected silence tells Athguer that he started with the wrong suggestion. He looks down, trying to avoid Rothwen’s infuriated gaze as he continues. “You could keep her here, in suspended animation, in case you would ever want to return to this planet. Or we could erase all her earthling memories and emotions, making her automatically respond to your every single whim. Or”—Athguer hesitantly clears his throat—“in the unlikely event that … I mean, it’s very unlikely, but I must mention it.” Athguer folds his hands, tapping his fingers on his elbows. He’s now saying the opposite of what he’s thinking, and he knows Rothwen knows it. “In the unlikely event that you would have to take her with you by force, there’s still a small chance that she would not survive intact her first departure flight … if her cells are damaged.”
“How small?”
“Do you want the exact number?” Athguer briefly looks up to find Rothwen’s exasperated stare, waiting for his answer.
“It’s a minimal risk, one in thirty trillion,” Athguer states nonchalantly.
“Oh, that’s too big a risk,” Rothwen counters, looking incisively at Athguer. “Is there anything you can do about it?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Rothwen scowls, holding up Athguer’s chin with his writhing fingers. “Athguer, I may ask you this question again. But next time, I expect a different answer,” he rumbles as he lets go of Athguer and pulls at the lapels of his black jacket, his nostrils flaring.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Athguer’s startled face breaks into a reassuring smile, trying to ease Rothwen’s ill-temper. Much to his relief, Rothwen’s tightened face muscles finally relax, nodding in reluctant acceptance.
Still, as Rothwen steps back, he keeps a warning stare on Athguer until finally turning around and disappearing down the aisle.
Athguer raises his thick eyebrows in sheer astonishment as he watches Rothwen walk away. In all their aeons of space ventures together, he has never seen the headstrong space warrior showing that edgy state before, constantly flipping between anger and anxiety, impatience and concern. This must be something far more serious than any obsession, far more enduring than a simple pastime. This must bring nothing less than an unfathomable upheaval. Then he congratulates himself. He must have done the naenshi transition to perfection if Shaillah is affecting Rothwen so profoundly. He sends a thought-message to Zula-Or:I have no doubts about Shaillah. She is the one to bring far-reaching changes to ourselves.
At the central processor’s inner chamber, Rothwen joins Kuzhma-Or. The supreme commander closely inspects the large three-dimensional images of each planet of the solar system, their striking surfaces slowly rotating and displaying their distinct landscapes in exquisite detail.
“Interesting and diverse, even though it’s a small planetary system compared to ours,” Kuzhma-Or notes.
“Compared to most,” Rothwen adds.
“Yes … yes. It will be a quick but exhaustive invasion. I’ve already started selecting the takeover grid coordinates in the Oort Cloud.”
“I will do my part on-site—on every planet. I need to take a trip out … to clear my head.”
“You have much to do, Rothwen. But this is your speciality. You’re so good at it. You are the undisputed expert of the destroyer-crafts.” Kuzhma-Or stares at his master navigator with a satisfied grin.
“After I finish, I may go to meet our approaching Grand Fleet. I want to go away for a long while, to get rid of whatever it is … that’s invading my mind.”
“I think you worry about her too much, Rothwen. It is not like you at all. You may not be functioning at full capacity, I believe,” Kuzhma-Or grumbles, a warning glare flashing through his dark pupils as his tone turns sullen.
“She’s one of us now, My Commander, like me, like Athguer. What’s wrong with caring about her?” Rothwen contends, trying to play down Kuzhma-Or’s mounting anger.
But Kuzhma-Or lashes out, grabbing Rothwen by the neck, his curled fingers menacingly opening and closing. “She is blurring your mind. That’s what’s wrong!” Kuzhma-Or snarls, his lips almost touching Rothwen’s tightened cheek.
Rothwen keeps still, looking sideways into Kuzhma-Or’s threatening eyes with an equally fierce gaze. “What’s upsetting you?” Rothwen challenges him.
“You know it well. Our mission here is at an end. I won’t allow any more changes, no more deceptions, no more delays. You must comply with my orders!” Kuzhma-Or rages, tightening his grasp around Rothwen’s neck.
“I always do.” Rothwen stands his ground, hardening his neck muscles and stopping Kuzhma-Or from closing his fists any further.
“Shaillah is in the way! She still has human feelings. She’s weak, and she is weakening you!”
