Page 87 of The Space Traveller's Lover
“Ei Reishojenis ready to blast off. All engines on standby,” Kuzhma-Or grumbles while directing a pressing frown towards Rothwen, implying he should hurry up.
“I’ll be ready soon,” Rothwen nods as he veers into the side aisle while Kuzhma-Or keeps a piercing gaze on him, trying to probe what he’s thinking.
Rothwen momentarily stops and turns around to face Kuzhma-Or’s persistent glare. The relentless glow from Rothwen’s pupils plainly shows the unmistakable signal of his ultimate decision. There is no compromise, no backtracking either.I’m going to walk away now,My Commander. Stop me now. Or let me deal with it myself.
Kuzhma-Or grits his teeth but does nothing as Rothwen walks away in fast strides, unimpeded.
Inside the changing cubicle, he carefully lays Shaillah’s body inside his own deep-sleep capsule. He gets into the shower enclosure while keeping an eye on her through the soaked translucent screen. The icy oxygenated liquid jets pierce and reinvigorate his body, but as the scattering droplets blur his vision, it seems that the spray is raining on her rather than on him. He cannot stop imagining that, out of the blue, she will get up and join him.
The whole extent of what he had to do in order to have her here suddenly dawns on him. He seethes inside as every past moment they spent together keeps flashing through his mind, crushing his indomitable ego. He finally comes to grips with the fact that he would have never left her behind, and thisunwelcome weaknessinfuriates him.
He slips into the glossy white-and-gold flying uniform, the sleek badges in the shape ofThe Prestigeglowing on his vest. Then, he stands by Shaillah’s side and caresses her face while sending a message to Zula-Or.
“You were right, Zula. It would never have worked.”
“But it was worth trying. And you gave it your best shot,” Zula-Or replies in a heartening tone.
“I did. I gave it my best shot,” he repeats as if doubting every word.
“She will make a fine space-traveller. I’m looking forward to welcoming her into our beautiful Rom-Enjie,” Zula-Or says enthusiastically.
“Yes. She’ll possibly decide to go straight to see you—as soon as she wakes up.”
“Or join other fleets, meet other space warriors. Who knows?” Zula-Or replies, purposely rubbing on Rothwen’s wounded ego.
“Sure. She’ll be free to choose her own destiny,” Rothwen sneers as he starts walking towards the exit in a daze.
“What am I doing?” he frets while pacing around before returning to Shaillah’s side and calling Athguer.
Rothwen senses Athguer entering the room and standing beside him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Shaillah.
“As you correctly predicted, Athguer, her cells are too weak to … fully withstand this flight,” Rothwen states. Then, exhaling an impatient breath, he asks, “What can we do about it?”
“This will do it,” Athguer proudly announces as he produces a small square pouch from inside his coat and holds it by its top edge in front of Rothwen’s eyes, making him pay attention. “It’s a chain-reaction supercell gel. It will latch onto her cells, protecting them against any break-up.”
Athguer drops the pouch on Rothwen’s extending palm as Rothwen continues to gaze at him intensely.
“It works! I tested it on myself … several times—even under full space-time frame distortion,” Athguer says triumphantly.
“I thought so, Athguer.”
“Whatever you do, don’t let the gel touch your skin,” Athguer warns. “It’s highly reactive, and it will cover you instead. I only have this sample left.”
“Anything else?” Rothwen asks impatiently, rewarding Athguer with an appreciative glare.
“It lasts a short time, so you need to program the flight to reachThe Prestigebefore the gel breaks down.”
“How long do I have?”
“T-600”
“Fine!” Rothwen thunders, abruptly closing his hand and making Athguer jolt in fear that the soft pouch would tear open. But ultimately, Rothwen keeps the pouch’s thin layer safe within his hollowed fist. “Thanks, Athguer. That’ll be all. I’ll be there shortly.”
As he watches Athguer leave and lock the door behind him, Rothwen casts the remnants of his tumultuous temper from his mind and concentrates solely on Shaillah.
With one hand, he slowly unclips her belt and takes off her boots and then unzips and pulls off her bodysuit. As he drops the mangled clothes on the floor, he hears the clink of her necklace and belt hitting the steely surface. He parts her hair away and straightens her arms alongside her gently breathing body.
As he speaks softly to her, he wonders if everything he ever wanted is right in front of him. “Shaillah … your graceful figure, your beautiful face, your enticing eyes—it’s all there to deceive. You may seem delicate … fragile. But you’re not fragile like a crumbling wandering comet. No. You’re fragile like the runaway burst … of a deadly supernova!” he smugly smiles as his fingers roam all over her smooth skin, leaving a shiny trail in their wake.
