Page 69 of The Space Traveller's Lover
“And?” Rothwen tests Kuzhma-Or’s patience by turning his body rock solid until the supreme commander’s grasp starts to slip.
“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Kuzhma-Or seethes, waving his arm through the air and discharging a bolt of electricity in front of Rothwen’s face, making him jump back.
“Are you fighting me?” Rothwen frowns at Kuzhma-Or, warning him to back off.
But Kuzhma-Or’s response is to throw a barrage of even more powerful bolts at him in quick succession. In no time, Rothwen swiftly jumps out of the way, avoiding every single one of them while Kuzhma-Or laughs out loud in contempt.
“You think you’re fast. Think again! I’m missing you on purpose,” Kuzhma-Or growls as he runs towards Rothwen and grabs him by his uniform’s collar, scrunching up its golden badges. “If I don’t paralyse you completely now and send you and her”—Kuzhma-Or twists Rothwen’s uniform even further around his neck—“to the bottom of Rom-Enjie’s doldrums until I happen to remember it, it’s because of who you are!”
He pushes Rothwen away dismissively, surrounding him with a ringed column of discharging lightning bolts and trapping him inside. All the while, Rothwen keeps glaring back at Kuzhma-Or in defiance through the burning wall of crackling flames and incandescent arcs.
“Tell me, Rothwen, what is your plan on the last day of our departure when we finish our mission here?” Kuzhma-Or dares him, walking around Rothwen, pursing his lips in disdain.
“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet, My Commander,” Rothwen states, confronting Kuzhma-Or with an even more rebellious glare.
“Well, think about it now!” Kuzhma-Or roars. “Tell me now before I lose my reasoning beyond repair!”
Rothwen straightens his body and holds his head high, feeling his skin scorching as Kuzhma-Or makes the ring of discharging bolts thicker and even more intense.
“I will forget her. That’s always been my plan anyway,” Rothwen sneers.
“Will you?” Kuzhma-Or glowers sceptically at Rothwen.
“I’ll leave now and don’t intend to come back. After the takeover, you can deal with the humans, send Shaillah straight to Rom-Enjie, and then join me with Athguer in the Grand Fleet.”
“Who do you think you’re fooling?” Kuzhma-Or snaps, walking inside the incandescent wall and threatening Rothwen with his raised fist. “You and I know perfectly well that you’ll be back! Willpower alone won’t work. You have to delete it!”
Rothwen crosses his arms over his face in time to stop Kuzhma-Or’s heavy blow, resisting the commander’s thrust and holding his ground steadfastly.
“Deleting is for the weak, isn’t it?” Rothwen grumbles through his clenched jaws while staying put with all his might until Kuzhma-Or relents and steps aside, making the ringed wall of discharging bolts so thick that Rothwen cannot even move.
“I’ll do it on willpower alone!” Rothwen boldly stares at Kuzhma-Or, placing half of his body inside the powerful discharge, letting his uniform melt on his skin, blue sparks flying off everywhere.
The supreme commander has no choice but to stop the discharges instantly, lest he disable his master navigator for a long while. He knows Rothwen is so stubborn he won’t get out of harm’s way. He also knows his implacable threat has gone as far as it can.
Kuzhma-Or keeps staring at Rothwen, his eyes menacingly flaring, but he can’t stop a glint of admiration flashing underneath his raging glare.
“I’ll do it on willpower alone,” Rothwen single-mindedly repeats. “But if I fail … and if she fails, then all I can say to you, My Commander, is this: If you want to take our Invincible Grand Fleet, the most powerful mothership fleet in Rom-Ghenshar history, to Ankjeshur” (Omega Centauri), “then you will have to let Shaillah and I be together … whatever happens.” Rothwen keeps his defiant gaze at Kuzhma-Or for a few more tense seconds so as to leave no doubt that he is dead serious.
“Sheban lai” (It’s high time) “I’ll be setting off. I’ll go right now!” Rothwen soars through the antechamber cloud on his way out as a fuming Kuzhma-Or realises there is no choice but to let him go. The veteran supreme commander knows full well that no one can navigate the Grand Fleet as skilfully as Rothwen does.
As Rothwen walks towards the rocky ocean shore, the departure spaceship slides nose-first out of the water, its bullet-shaped smooth metallic body reflecting all the sunset’s hues. The long, sleek fuselagesplashes down onto the swirling waters, drenching Rothwen’s body as he flies into the cockpit.
“I need a big shake-up,” he mutters, staring at the dashboards as he sends his thought-commands to set up his route on the automatic flight sequence.
The spaceship jets off at an angle, breaking through the thick expandable walls of the central high dome and the insulating pressure-levelling shield, accelerating like a darting spear through the outer ocean and in between the rows of encircling towers. As it reaches one of the exit portals, the craft gets into a vertical position directly under the opening interlocking gate. It shoots up through the dark tunnel as if sucked in by a powerful force, suddenly decelerating as it meets the rushing currents of an underground river, a river of boiling magma.
The aircraft pushes through the churning fast-moving mass, fully shielded by the magnetic halo of its all-surround armour, hurling the molten rocks away and against the crumbling inner walls. As the craft nears the sucking edge of the volcano’s vent, Rothwen turns off the positron jet engines, allowing the violent eruption to fully take hold.
The pure force of the unstoppable up-currents churns up the thick and sticky magma, twisting and turning the aircraft inside the incandescent mushy pulp. Rothwen lets his body take all the hits while ripping off the melted uniform from his skin. His back and head crack open in gushing wounds that his quick regenerating cells promptly heal, while all the craft’s indestructible assembly withstands the relentless battering unscathed.
At the edge of the billowing volcano’s throat, Rothwen turns on the engines. The sleek aircraft shoots upwards, breaking through the spewing ash cloud and jetting into space in a blinding luminous plume. Rothwen leans back into his seat, a wry smile flaring up on his simmering face. Through the transparent cabin, he stares at the whirl of turbulent trails, his mind blank. Still, sooner than he could have ever predicted, he finds himself wishing that Shaillah is there with him, sitting by his side.
CHAPTER 29
GUILT
It’s your memories that make you who you are!
