The Chrysalis of Eternity

The inaudible and noiseless foot of time

- Shakespeare

He stared forlornly at the shell of his compatriot. His sole remaining friend and companion had succumbed to the inherent defect from which his race suffered. Their best brains had tried over the millennia to rectify the flawed gene, but it resurfaced time and again to decimate the population on Goran. The original home world of his species was no longer known – they had assimilated so many species and moved to so many different planets that he wondered if his present form bore any resemblance to his remote ancestors.

Now he was alone. The voyage had begun with hundreds of his compatriots, living their lives and reproducing, teaching the next generation their history, aims and survival requirements for close on ninety thousand generations – longer than the species had inhabited their last home world, in fact. Selective breeding ensured a good balance of genes in order to survive the voyage, but something had gone wrong and now, after the population of this travelling city had slowly been whittled away, he was the sole survivor.

He walked, alone for the first time in his life, to the control area up forward. It took him many hours, and once in the bow of the mighty vessel, he studied the star configurations on a chart glowing from the biggest screen on the navigation console.

There was nothing familiar here – the ship had entered a new galaxy thirteen generations ago and the computers had identified at least eleven thousand planets with life forms suitable for symbiosis, but only about three hundred with exactly the right climatic and vegetation conditions for him to survive long enough to obtain DNA from a new host. Reaching one of these would enable him to perpetuate the species.

As he stood there, gazing sadly at the myriad stars ahead, a low, pulsing alarm began to flicker and he moved to the console and studied it. With a cry of joy, he recognised the identifying call of the first ship to leave their home world – its cargo of fertilised eggs had found a home and its homing beacon was now in range. He punched in a series of commands and the ship began a slow, turning deceleration that would last for six sleep periods.

He moved slowly back to the living quarters, gathering courage to dispose of his partner’s dead shell-encased body. The shining form drifted out of the ejection hatch, matching the ship’s speed but slowly edging out into the blackness of space. He watched it for a long time, and finally moved back to the living quarters to prepare mentally for the momentous events of the near future.

His species would survive; he would make sure of it if he had to die in the process. Goranians would flourish once more.