Chrysalis,
Chapter One:
-Dr. Philip Boyce, "The Cage"
-----
Evolution.
It is the crucible through which we must walk, the chrysalis in which we grow. The word alone conjures images of a single celled organism crawling from boiling seas of poison onto a volcanic land, changing over the course of uncounted millennia into the dominant species of the planet. Like a moth, we fight, we claw, we scream for release from our cocoon, incapable of comprehending what is happening to us, understanding only the mind-numbing agony of change. But it is the fight to free ourselves that makes us strong, that lets us survive. If someone else were to help us, we would emerge too early, too weak to survive in a Universe which seems to find a perverse pleasure in our pain.
We would die.
Evolution. A word which describes us as a species, embraces us as a whole, from our humble beginnings to our triumphant end. It is a macrocosm.
But so, too, does it describe us as individuals, embracing our growth as people. A microcosm.
For while we evolve as a species, we evolve as ourselves.
-----
Selene grunted as she stretched on the small bed, rubbing her leg as the muscles twitched. Walking over to a nearby chair, she lifted her jacket from it's back, frowning as she examined the multitude of rips and tears in the leather. It had been an old jacket anyway, but it had at least been comfortable, had been worn in over the years. Sighing, she set it aside. She would have to get a new one when they got home.
"So? What's the verdict?"
Nyssa looked up from her monitor, her pronounced Romulan brow raised in surprise. Shrugging, the medic indicated the image on the screen. "Well, I'm just going to start by saying that Carver is definitely not a medic. There's still some damage to your leg that I'll have to work on, but having said that, you're pretty lucky he found you when he did. According to these scans, you had some pretty heavy internal bleeding. If you'd been on your own..."
Selene nodded. "I'd be dead, right?"
"Maybe. At the very least, you wouldn't be as pretty."
Selene laughed, marveling at how good it felt to be back on her ship. After they had escaped from Sol, she had gone to her quarters and collapsed on the bed, falling asleep fully dressed. Once unconscious, she had stayed that way for almost two full days, waking only about an hour ago to Nyssa's insistence that she get up and get into sickbay. A drowsy Selene had agreed on one condition.
Coffee.
Picking her mug up off of Nyssa's small desk, Selene chuckled as she inhaled the bitter smell. It was only her second cup in nearly a week and a half, and frankly, it was about time. "And here I thought you guys followed me for my charm and charisma, not my looks."
Nyssa shrugged, a small grin on her face as she leaned back in her chair. "No offense, Skipper, but you're not my type." Leaning forward, the Romulan's features lit with curiosity. "Carver, on the other hand, is pretty cute, even if his forehead's a little smooth and his ears are a little round."
Selene scowled into her coffee. Had this blend always been this bitter? "Leave it alone, Nyssa."
"Just curious. The two of you, alone, on an abandoned world, being hunted by a vicious enemy..."
Slamming her mug down on the desk, wincing as the hot liquid splashed onto the back of her hand, Selene nearly yelled. "I said leave it alone!"
Nyssa jumped back in surprise, flushing jade to the tips of her ears. "Sorry, Skipper." Her voice was hesitant and small, the voice of a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "I was just..."
Selene sighed and sat back down on the bed. "Sorry, Nyssa. I didn't mean to yell, just... It's complicated, okay? The man just lost everything he ever knew, including his wife and his best friend. That makes things..." Selene struggled to find the right word. "Complicated."
"What about you?"
Looking up in surprise, Selene frowned. "What about me?"
Nyssa shrugged, cradling her own mug of tea. "You talk about what's making it difficult from his end, but what's making things difficult from yours?"
"You becoming a psychiatrist now?" As Nyssa shrugged with a noncommittal noise, Selene stared into the black depths of her coffee. "I don't know. Like you said, he is cute, but it's just..."
"Let me guess. Complicated?"
"Funny. On the one hand, we work well together. You should have seen us fighting to get out of the Gilgamesh. It was like we'd done it a million times."
"Nothing stirs romance like a little bloodshed."
"I was wrong. You're becoming a comedian. You write your own material?" Selene grunted a small laugh. "But on the other hand, I just met him. What do I really know about him?"
"You obviously trust him, or you wouldn't have brought him here. You're a pretty good judge of character, Skipper, Tal notwithstanding, so he's got to be a good guy."
Selene sighed. "There's something else, Nyssa. Something pretty big."
"What could be bigger than the whole 'Hi, I'm from another Universe' thing?"
A long moment passed as Selene stared into her coffee, drinking the last of it in a single swallow. Gulping down the burning liquid, she placed the mug down on the desk. "In his reality, I was his wife."
Nyssa's jaw dropped, and the Romulan stared at Selene, wide-eyed. "Okay.
"That is complicated."
-----
Change is necessary for our very existence. Without it, we stagnate and collapse in on ourselves, confident and comfortable in our mediocrity. Without change, everything remains the same. And though, to some, that may sound comforting, even ideal, it is anything but.
Without change, there is no challenge, no excellence. Change is the cocoon that binds us, forcing us to grow stronger through our constant fight against it. Without change to fight against, we would never grow strong, never leave childhood behind to become adults.
We would never evolve.
Evolution is change, forced upon us by a Universe which knows that pain is necessary for growth. For is it not the death of the parents that forces a child to face life alone, on their own two feet, without recourse, without the comforting support of a mother or father? Alone, we must face the world, confident in our own ability to adapt to whatever the Universe hands us.
Evolve or die.
-----
Alex sat alone in the Engine room of the Icarus, staring at the smiling hologram in front of him. The golden locket was lying face up on the control panel of the warp core, Selene, his Selene, spinning around in the air before his eyes.
This was his past.
Around him lay the half-exposed parts of the warp core, a chaotic jumble of machines and technology, all of them centuries out of date to his mind.
This was his present.
As he watched himself enter the holofield, picking Selene up and dancing around like lunatics, he found himself wondering what had happened to the Rose Garden. Was it still there, on Earth? Was the University still there? Or were they gone now, reduced to rubble and ash like San Francisco? He didn't know. For all he was sure of, British Columbia itself may be gone, the province carved from orbit by Khanate weapons fire. Or, alternatively, it was possible that it was nothing more than a giant forest now, nature having reclaimed what Humanity had taken to build it's cities, the Rose Garden overgrown, but alive and thriving.
He would like to believe the latter, but found the former to be much more likely.
Angrily, he snapped the locket off of the console, deactivating the hologram just as it prepared to repeat the recording. He had watched it at least three dozen times already, in the hopes of finding comfort in the familiar image. It didn't work. It just constantly reminded him of the empty space in his heart where Selene used to be, which, in turn, reminded him of the emptiness where Jason had lived.
Which simply reminded him that everyone he had ever known was dead.
Prying an access panel off the wall, he took a look at the confused group of isolinear chips sticking out of their slots. Half of them were burnt out and overloaded, completely useless. Pulling one out, he held it up to a light source and examined it. A fine coating of dust covered it, silkily collecting on his finger tips. Useless. Throwing it over his shoulder, the dead chip joined the quickly growing pile of refuse on the deck, followed by eight other isolinear chips he pulled out of the panel. They were all dead, and had been for a while. His respect for Selene and her crew seemed to grow with every damaged system he found. It was a miracle that they had managed to keep this ship flying with all the shortcuts and lousy patch jobs her last mechanic had done. Right now, while he worked, it was amazing that he was able to keep Icarus steady at warp two.
Soon after they had made the jump to transwarp, Nyssa had dragged him into the sickbay, patched his cuts and bruises, but claimed that his mild fever and aches were mostly due to exhaustion. Allowing her to guide him to a set of quarters, he had sat on the edge of the bunk for two or three hours before he had succumbed to sleep, passing out and waking again less than eight hours later. His sleep had been, as usual, fitful, filled with dark dreams of being hunted by a being with clear blue eyes.
When he'd woken, he had found a small pile of clothes next to the bunk with a note explaining that Icarus' last mechanic had been about his size and that the crew had thought he might want a change of clothes. Looking down at the torn uniform he had been wearing, he'd chuckled. Might be a good idea.
The clothes were a little large, hanging off him awkwardly as he had made his way back to the engine room, where he had stayed ever since. There was a lot of work to do here, and while he was working, he could pretend that he wasn't thinking.
He had known Jason almost his entire life, they had grown up together, and it had always been Jason who had protected him, from the moment that they had met. Jason had been the strong one, the leader, the one that people followed without question because, well, it was Jason. Alex had been the one in the shadows, the one who had needed protecting, the one who had enough brains and talent to get by, but not nearly enough leadership ability to step out of Jason's shadow and become his own person. He had always been the second string, the sidekick.
Until Selene had come along and changed it all.
For the first time, someone had seen him, and not Jason's friend. She had nurtured him, believed in him, forced him to become someone separate from Jason Madden. And, without even seeing it himself, he had changed. Become a leader, stepped into the light and created his own identity all because of her.
And now, they were both gone.
Without them, the identity he had created was shattered by grief, the world he had relied on vanished without a trace. For the first time in his life, he was truly alone, left without guidance. All he had left was his knowledge, his talent for machines.
Was that enough?
A sudden knock at the hatch made him jump in surprise, banging his knee on the edge of a console. Spinning around, he watched as the Bajoran... Tal... opened the door and peeked inside. "Carver?"
"Yeah?"
"Oh. You are here. Hey." The young pilot stepped inside, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his dirty flightsuit. "Thought I'd let you know. Skipper got up about an hour ago, and dinner'll be on the table in about twenty minutes or so. If you're interested."
Selene, this Universe's Selene, was awake. On the one hand, he was glad to hear it, was anxious to see her again, but on the other, she was the last person he wanted to see right now. A confused jumble of emotions rose in him, each one fighting for dominance. He was quiet for a long moment before he realized that Tal was still in the room, waiting for an answer to his unspoken question. "Thanks."
Tal shrugged and walked out. It wasn't an answer. Alex would either show up to dinner or he wouldn't. And as Alex turned back to the pile of isolinear chips, he realized that he wasn't even sure whether he would or not.
-----
To grow, we suffer. It is the way of things. The deaths of loved ones, the loss of a home, these things push us, forcing us to deal with them in our own way. By dealing with the change, we grow, we evolve. The person at the end of the journey is not the same person who started the journey, not in any way that truly matters. The journey may be long and arduous, and even the flesh may change, but the identity of the traveler undergoes the most growth.
Self-discovery is a difficult path, but it is through facing the challenges before us that we learn who and what we are at our core. It is our fate, our destiny, to suffer.
No one said that evolution was easy.
-----
Alone in his quarters, Kordath stared at the carved image of Kahless the Unforgettable, the legendary warrior's face shadowed in the flickering red light cast by the candles on the floor. Silence filled the small room, waves of heat rising from the deckplates to shimmer in the air. Kordath had knelt before the statue for hours, meditating, healing both body and mind. Absently, he could feel the pain of his chest wound fading away, becoming nothing more than one more constant ache among millions, nothing more than another scar.
Standing, he turned and took a step towards the closet, the only piece of furniture in the room besides the small altar to Kahless. Even his bed was little more than a thin mattress on the floor, rolled into the corner when not in use. Facing the small closet, he opened the wooden doors and gazed inside, noting the glistening metal robe within, devoid of any symbols whatsoever. No medals adorned the fabric, no symbol of his House declared itself to the Universe.
He had earned no medals.
He had no House.
Silently, he stripped the heavy leather armour from his body, placing it carefully before him. The shoulderguards were removed first, followed by the large leather belt that encircled his waist. Without a sound, he shrugged off the chestplate, folding it and laying it gently above the rest of his armour. For a long moment, he stood there, unarmoured, clad only in trousers and the light chain mail that he wore beneath as he stared at the robe. Gently, with a single fluid motion, he removed the robe from the closet and pulled it on, laying the heavy fabric over his shoulders before closing the closet, shutting the armour away within.
Turning back to the small altar, he knelt before it once more, placing his hands over the bat'leth that lay on the floor. Gently, he lifted the ancient blade, examining the blood the marred it's smooth surface. A great deal of ivory blood ran in gentle patterns across the crescent shaped blade, crowned with a single streak of red at it's tip. In ancient times, it would have been mistaken for the shattered moon of Praxis, it's blood-drenched form hanging high among the stars above the surface of Qo'noS. Perhaps, he thought to himself, the blood moon had been the inspiration for the blade's design. Perhaps, Kahless had wished to reach into the sky and claim the moon itself as a weapon to slay his enemies.
Fanciful notions for such a deadly tool.
Holding the blade by one hand, he reached to the side and lifted a small vessel of water, running the liquid down the length of the weapon. As the water dripped off of the end, it's colour turning milky white as it washed the blood away, Kordath stared at his own reflection in the bat'leth. It was distorted, rippled by the water. It was the image of an old man, his grey hair long and unkempt, lines of exhaustion and age circling his eyes. But it was his eyes that captured, eyes as sharp and as deadly as they had been in his youth, but tainted by wisdom and knowledge. Death and dishonour, a desire for revenge that had not yet been met.
Rakiin had been right. He had become old.
Removing a small pin from the handguards, he unwrapped the leather, removing it from the weapon's handles. Laying the two long strips out before him, he cleaned both of them, noting where they had become threadbare and acknowledging that they were no longer adequate. Lifting two new pieces of leather, he cleaned them and laid them out, nodding in satisfaction. Carefully folding the old pieces, he placed them to the side, unwilling to throw them away. They would be placed in the base of the closet, there to join every other set of handguards he had removed from this blade over the years.
Cupping his hand in the small container of water beside him, he poured it over the whetstone, watching as the liquid dripped off and pooled on the floor. He lifted the blade and placed it over the stone, gliding it's edge over the smooth surface. The room was filled with the sound of metal on stone, the scraping noise deafening after the long silence. Kordath remained like this for a long time, each gentle movement filled with intent, cleaning and sharpening the blade. As he watched, small shavings fell to the ground, the bat'leth itself regaining it's edge, the small flaws and chips vanishing as though they had never been.
Raising the blade from the whetstone, he stared into it once again. His reflection stared back, as clear as though he were staring into a flawless mirror. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he lifted the long strips of leather, tying them back around the handguards and pinning them in place. Rising to his feet, he carried it with him to the closet, resting it in it's stand on top. Stepping back, he bowed, content.
The bat'leth was ready to kill again.
Kneeling before the altar, he lifted his dk'tahg and began again.
-----
In reality, we are all of us little more than Lemmings, each of us blindly following the ones before to the cliff's edge. We stand there, unaware of the doom that has befallen our forebears and step forward, realizing in that split-second before we fall what we have done, knowing in that fateful instant that we do not have wings, that we are about to plummet to our deaths, evolution and change laughing at us as we panic.
But still we try, aware of the final outcome or not, to succeed where those before us have failed. Still we leap from the precipice, knowing somehow that what we do is for a greater future, even though we will not be there to see it.
Our suffering drives us to the cliff, our desire to escape it leading us to step off the edge. Some... most... do not survive. But still we leap, confident that we will have the last laugh.
Because someday, a Lemming will change, growing wings and flying away, the painful lessons of evolution learned.
-----
"You talk to Carver yet?"
Tal shrugged as he poured himself a cup of coffee, turning to face Nyssa just as she slumped down into one of the chairs set around the table. Icarus' dining room was small and cramped, like the rest of the ship, but, unlike the Harsesis' sterile mess hall, the dining room had a feeling of home. Sitting down at the table was like sitting down for dinner at a favourite relative's house.
At least, that's what Tal assumed it was like, not having any family beyond this crew.
Sitting down in a chair facing Nyssa, Tal shrugged again. "Have you tried talking to the guy? He's quiet. Doesn't say much. Half the time, I wonder if he's actually listening to me."
"Well, it must be hard on him. I mean, to him, we must practically be stone-age."
"Doesn't give him the right to act like we're beneath him."
Nyssa frowned as she sipped her tea. "I don't think he's acting like we're beneath him. I think it's more that he doesn't know how to act with us. From what the Skipper tells me, his world was a big, happy Federation. Lots of love and hugs kind of place. To go from that to this place..."
Tal nodded, "Yeah, I suppose."
"He's probably just trying to adapt, Tal. Learn how to live in this world, and right now, he needs time to think."
Tal mulled that point over for a second, "And I have to admit. The ship's working a whole lot better in the two days since he came aboard. Did I tell you that we actually made it to 9.6 the other day?"
Nyssa nodded, "Yeah, you did." Sighing, the Romulan glanced at the door. "Think he'll actually show for dinner tonight?"
"Skipper's up. That might make him join us."
Frowning, Nyssa shook her head. "That's a complicated situation, Tal. It might make him come, or it might push him further away."
"You know something, don't you?" Nyssa bowed her head and muttered into her tea. Tal jumped up and danced around in triumph. "I knew it! I knew it! You and the Skipper had some 'girl-time', didn't you? Girly talk!"
"Shut up, Tal."
"You and the Skipper had a girly-girl conversation! Come on, Nyssa, spill it! Was there ice cream? Manicures? Pedicures? Pillow fights?"
"No, but we burned pictures of boys who annoyed us. There were a lot of pictures of you floating around." Nyssa grabbed a plastic cup off the table and lobbed it in Tal's direction. The Bajoran ducked the projectile easily, still grinning from ear to ear. Nyssa threw her hands up in the air, disgusted. "Praetor's Name, I'm seventy-three years old, Tal! I don't have sleep-overs! And if the Skipper heard of you asking if she was getting a pedicure while gossiping about boys..."
"I'd probably shove you out the airlock."
Tal and Nyssa jumped to their feet at the sound of Selene's voice. Spinning around, they saw that the Skipper was leaning against the doorjamb, watching the both of them with a look of wry amusement on her face. "Either of you going to say something, or is one of you going to refill my coffee?" She held her mug out.
Tal recovered first and grabbed the mug out of the Skipper's hand like it was made of gold-pressed latinum, practically running to the coffee pot to refill it. Nyssa gulped, "Uh... How long have you been standing there?"
Selene grinned, "Since I heard the words 'Girly Talk'." Tal almost dropped the mug. "Honestly, Tal, it's the thirty-first century. Women don't have sleepovers with manicures and pedicures anymore." Taking her coffee from Tal's hand, she inhaled, sighing as the first hints of a caffeine rush hit her brain. "We sharpen our weapons and gossip about the best way to kill annoying Bajorans."
Nyssa burst out laughing at Tal's sudden look of terror as his eyes darted back and forth from the Skipper to the door. Behind her coffee, Selene grinned, enjoying Tal's discomfort. Feeling himself to be outnumbered, Tal ran from the room, the sound of both women's chuckles at his back. Glancing over his shoulder, he never even saw the obstacle in his way until he was flat on the floor, staring up at it.
"Hi, Kordath."
The enormous Klingon was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his massive chest. "Tal." Nodding to both Nyssa and Selene, Kordath helped Tal to his feet. "Have you learned nothing of strategy from me, Maynon Tal?"
"What?"
Indicating the other two in the room, Kordath frowned. "You went into battle unprepared and outnumbered."
Nyssa and Selene found that they couldn't stop laughing as Tal looked up at Kordath with an incredulous expression. "Great. Now the Klingon's got a sense of humour."
Stepping into the dining room, Kordath shrugged. "I was once known for my sense of humour."
As the four of them sat down at the table, Tal sighed. "Remind me never to go to the Empire."
Together, the crew of the Icarus sat at the table, waiting for dinner to be ready, laughing and joking. A family reunited. But for a brief instant, while the others were distracted, Selene glanced back at the door.
There was still no sign of Alex.
-----
Evolution is change. Change is suffering. Suffering forces us to evolve. It is an endless circle, one generation becoming the next, the species clawing it's way up the evolutionary ladder. And, in the process, we discover who we are.
-----
Alex could hear the laughter echoing down the corridors, stopping his work as the sound filled the engine room. It was genuine. Real laughter. The laughter of a family.
Sighing, he sat back, pulling the locket out and activating it one more time. Selene danced and laughed before him, a young woman completely in love. As he watched, he began to laugh. He missed her. He missed her with all of his heart, but in a way, she wasn't gone. He remembered her. He remembered everything that she had taught him. How she had taught him to trust himself, to believe in what his heart told him to do. As long as he remembered those lessons, she would never be gone. Her spirit would survive in his.
He thought of Jason. Jason Madden, who could be the most frustratingly single-minded person in the world, but who, when it had come down to the end, had been the most loyal friend Alex had ever had. He had saved Alex from the wreckage of the Albion, had followed him through the Guardian of Forever, and finally, had given up his life to save Alex and this Universe's Selene. Jason was dead, but, like Selene, the lessons remained. Stand up for yourself. Don't let anyone tell you you're wrong if you know that you're right. Trust your friends. Take care of them. Because, in the end, you're never really alone.
And you'll never have to be.
Alex sat alone in the engine room, listening to the sound of laughter, watching the hologram of his wife dance before his eyes.
Turning off the hologram, he laid the final isolinear chip on top of the pile, surveying the work he had done so far. It was true, he thought. To clean a mess, you have to make a mess. The room was a disaster area, parts and tools strewn across the deck, but at least now, Alex knew where he was going, what needed to be fixed.
And he smiled.
-----
We stand on the edge of the cliff, staring down at the crashing waters below, aware for the first time that many have stood here before us, ready take that final leap of faith and step off, trusting that we will not fall. Aware for the first time that none have yet succeeded. Aware for the first time of the price of failure.
And still we jump.
And for the first time, we do not fall.
For the first time, a Lemming has flown away.
-----
Selene laughed as she held the piece of chicken before her, waving it in the air to make a point. The dinner was delicious. They didn't usually use the replicator, it took up too much power, but this was a special occasion. Selene was famished, tearing through her roast chicken as though it was her first meal in nearly a week and a half. Which it was, actually. Beside her, Kordath picked at the gagh in the bowl before him, while Tal nibbled at his hasparat, savouring the spicy dish. Nyssa sipped at her soup, something called chicken and matzoh ball. How Nyssa had learned of it, Selene had no clue, but it had somehow become her favourite dish.
"Okay. Okay. So we're stuck at the bottom of the Mainframe, this skeleton behind us, and something like two dozen Jem'Hadar in front of us. And their leader steps up to me, looks at me and he says," Selene deepened her voice, producing a terrible imitation of Herma'Taklan, "'My men must not have done a good job with you, Human. You barely look beaten.'"
Tal and Nyssa started to laugh while Kordath shook his head. Selene took a second to take a sip of water, desperately trying not to laugh as she drank. "So this Jem'Hadar says this, and I look up to him and I say..."
"She says: 'That was supposed to be a beating? I thought they'd gone into the massage business because I have been so stressed.'"
The four of them stopped and turned to look at the door. Alex stood there, the clothes Nyssa had supplied hanging loosely off of him as the engineer watched them with a sheepish grin on his face. Selene put the chicken back down on her plate. "We weren't sure if you were going to join us."
Alex shrugged, "I was busy with the engines, but I suppose they can wait long enough for dinner." He made to step back, "If that's okay. I mean, I can get back to work..."
Kordath stood from the table, grabbing a chair from the other side of the room and pulling it forward. "Join us, Alexander."
Tal leaned back, waving at the replicator. "Food's over there. We don't use the replicator much, but special occasion and all that."
Nyssa arched an eyebrow. "And how long's it been since you've eaten, anyway? A week? Week and a half? You're no good as an engineer if you pass out from hunger on the floor of the engine room."
Selene glanced at Alex and shrugged, waving him towards the seat Kordath had pulled up. "Guess the crew's spoken. Get some dinner and sit down."
Alex smiled and stepped over to the replicator, returning to the table with a plate of chili and garlic bread. There was a moment of awkward silence as he sat down, adjusting the chair until he was comfortable. The five of them stared at each other for a moment, unsure of what to say.
Then Tal reached over the table and grabbed a piece of garlic bread from Alex's plate, dipping it in the chili and munching down on it. "Oh, that's good."
"Tal!" Selene was aghast.
"What? It's not like he was eating it!"
Alex stared at the piece of bread clutched in Tal's hand, then reached over with his fork and speared a piece of hasparat, pulling it back and popping it into his mouth. "That's good hasparat, Tal. Thanks."
"Hey!"
Beside Selene, Kordath started to laugh at Tal's indignation, which set both Nyssa and Selene chuckling. Within seconds, the five of them were reaching over and picking at each other's plates, stealing food from the others while trying to protect their own dinners. Although, amazingly, no one even made a try for the gagh. Well, maybe it wasn't that surprising.
Amid it all, Selene watched Alex smile and laugh, happy to find that she had been wrong. He would be fine.
That was when Nyssa reached for a drumstick and Selene had a fight on her hands.