Page 35 of The Space Traveller's Lover

INVASION

I want to get rid of whatever it is that’s invading my mind.

“Reijen” (Perfect)! All is proceeding as expected. Almost too easy,” Kuzhma-Or boasts as he glances at the UniverseScope’s bustling scenes with a furtive smile of satisfaction.

As they planned from the very beginning, magnificent sleek cities rise from under the rubble, transforming planet Earth into one of their permanent bases in this galactic zone.

New buildings, interconnected by wide roads and high bridges, sprout under the soldier robots’ never-ending toil, effortlessly lifting giant pieces of granite, marble, and precious metals and fitting them like a pre-planned giant 3D puzzle.

The robots’ pace is unrelenting, like a finely tuned, unstoppable machine.

Awe-inspiring, capriciously shaped structures keep mounting on under their persistent advance.

In some buildings, the robots waste no time setting up more machinery production lines and robotics workshops.

The robots wander busily in and out of the rising constructions like rows of leafcutter ants.

Every building site is buzzing with giant flying cranes, laying and securing every block in the precise position as heaps of material arrive in never-stopping conveyor belts running from the bottom of the ocean and open-air quarries.

The heavy rain and flash floods wash away what remains of the dust and the rubble, leaving behind immaculate marble and gold skyscrapers rising amid beautifully crafted green parks.

They build a magnificent gleaming pyramid at the centre of each city, its edges lined in gold.

On each of its smooth sides, a message in bold, bright letters can be read along the bottom—“Welcome to the New World”—in both the local and the Rom-Ghenshar languages.

“I must say I have somehow enjoyed controlling this planet’s weather and inhabitants,” Kuzhma-Or sneers, basking in his majestic throne while keeping an eye on the never-ending constructions. “Let the atmosphere recover first. Let the remaining animals thrive. Then we can bring out the humans.

“By the way, Athguer, how are the humans doing?” Kuzhma-Or asks in a dismissive tone.

Immediately, the bustling construction scenes change to the underground passages where people have managed to take refuge before the devastating, earth-shattering explosion.

They sing their prayers out loud, huddling together and begging for a way out of their dark, filthy shelters.

Soon they are surrounded by soldier robots, digging underground to make ample rooms for families to gather.

Helpless crowds anxiously watch as their surrounding are made roomier, healthier, and more liveable and as provisions are brought and equally distributed by the guardian robots.

All the while, humans give thanks to the robots.

“How are the people from our island base doing?” Rothwen asks.

Athguer complies with Rothwen’s request by zooming inside Tinian’s cave system, where the soldier robots have already finished their reconstruction. Here, life seems to be thriving.

“It appears that they are doing quite well,” Athguer notes in an indifferent tone.

“Yes, I see Shaillah even saved her friend’s life. Pretty impressive, eh?” Kuzhma-Or remarks.

“She wanted to. I let her go,” Rothwen mutters, letting them know with a scathing look that his volatile temper is simmering at the edge.

“She seems to be taking much of your attention.” Kuzhma-Or keeps riling Rothwen nevertheless. “We’ve got to keep her under tighter control until we finish the reconstruction everywhere. She will cause nothing but trouble up there.”

Anticipating a flare-up, Athguer intervenes with an appeasing gaze at Rothwen. “Yes, Shaillah has gone through a dramatic transformation, and she is still unsure of herself. We must keep her out of this.”

Rothwen bottles up his anger while nodding reluctantly at Kuzhma-Or.

“You’re right, Yei Boishen. We must keep her out of this,” Rothwen relents; he knows he cannot do anything other than obey now.

“Shewe!” Kuzhma-Or stands up while sternly looking at his master navigator.

“Come with me, Rothwen. We must start setting up the hyperspace coordinates—ready for our destroyer-crafts,” Kuzhma-Or orders as he regally walks down the glistening steps.

He strides along the side corridor, his tall, dark figure disappearing through the vaulted walls.

Rothwen watches in silence as he senses from the mounting tension in the air that his supreme commander’s temper is near breaking point.

“I’ll be right there, My Commander,” Rothwen finally says before turning to look at Athguer, his face set in a riled but resolute expression.

“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 sa ying 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.