Evan Ross - The Epilogue

[Evan Ross]

We are the sidelines. The second row men. When the wormhole closed, we were the ones who stayed behind. The other side celebrated, heaving our names on a glorious, short-lived pedestal in golden colors. The heroes. The self-sacrifice. 

On this side, everything went quiet.

"Come on", Barbara said. "Let's get moving." 

I wonder whether they engraved our names in the memorial wall of the Black Tower. I like to think they did.

Crewman Maria Batosz and Lieutenant Barbara Hernandez.
Heroically sacrificed their lives so the USS Starling could escape from an unstable mirror dimension on the verge of collapse.
- Remains unknown -

My name would be a little smaller then hers, in plain dark letters. Lower Decks fate. But I don't mind. We are the sidelines. The plot devices. If we didn't like it, we shouldn't have put on that red shirt in the first place. We're the ones left behind, remembered dearly, though nobody ever truly knew us. 

When the last sparks of the closing gate have disappeared, I turn around towards her. Barbara. Stripped of her rank and last name, I can barely remember her stoic and calm demeanor on-duty, so appalling is the image of the breathless and shaky woman in front of me. I can tell she's holding back tears. 
"What now?", I ask, voice barely a whisper. Everything is hauntingly quiet around here. It will take only days until the mirror dimension disintegrates, maybe hours. Countless scans and calls into the void have proven: this world may look like ours, but it is completely and hauntingly empty. Empty, except for two lonely bio signatures: no hierarchy, no ranks, just Maria and Barb. We are the sidelines. The leftovers. What does it matter? We're not alone. 
"Let's go", she says. She forces her voice into a hollow tone that barely resembles composure. "I want to see it from above." 

We walk an empty forest. No birds, no sounds except for our steps on the rocky path, steadily upwards, unwinding through an impossible ecosystem. Soon, all this will be gone, a cosmic error - erased. But we're still here and for now, this world belongs to us. 
We are out of breath when we reach the mountain top. A small canopy unveils an astonishing view over the valley. Greens and brown mix into a tinted sky: the sun is setting beyond the rocky hills and Barbara sinks to the ground as if the sun took with her all her willingness to stand upright. She unzips her backpack, containing the last gifts of our crew: a bottle of wine (replicated), some snacks (original terran, the last ones from our ship's stash) and a loaded phaser gun, whose horrendous meaning we both poignantly ignore.
"I love those", Barb remarks while ripping open a bag of crisps. "No wonder Rich was holding them back." 
Rich, our first officer, grumpy, but always in possession of snacks to cheer you up. The realisation that I will never see the deep wrinkle of worry on his forehead again is so heart-wrenching that for a moment I want to cry. Barbara uncorks the wine. "Let's drink." 

"You know, you shouldn't have stayed behind with me."
I was already waiting for her to say it. The bottle still sits between us. It took nearly all of its content to put her sorrowful glance into words.
"It was a two men job", I say dismissively. 
"You mean the subspace diversion? I'm sure I could have managed to open that portal on my own." She is proud. A starfleet science career of many years, excelling in every mission - a promising young woman. Once I was scared of her, now I admire the glance of determination in her dark eyes. 
"I mean all of this", I say. "Staying behind. No one should do that on their own."
I appreciate that she doesn't try to argue.
"They will miss you", she says after a while and I correct her swiftly. "Us", I say. She chuckles softly.
"I'm pretty sure Lieutenant Andrews won't cry over me tonight."
I blush. "Paul?" I shake my head. "No. I don't think he'll get emotional, he's way too professional." And stiff, I add silently.
"Actually, I always thought he's kinda cute. Especially when you were around." Barb grins and takes a sip before offering me the bottle. I decline and settle back.
"He's alright I guess."
"...but?"
I shrug. "I don't know. Have you ever dated a colleague?"
Now she laughs. "I tried. But you're right, it's complicated." 
"See." I manage a smile. "I just try to stay out of trouble." 
"Smart girl." Silence stretches between us. The night is quiet - no birds, no animals, just us. "It's kinda beautiful, isn't it?"
"Yeah. But actually I prefer the sea", I smile. There's warmth spreading through my chest, due to memories, not the wine. "My mom taught me how to sail, you know."
"Really?" Barb straightens up a little. "It's strange, but I've never been."
My eyes widen a little. "Never? Not even at the shore?"
"Nah. Never had the time." She leans forward a little. "Tell me about it."
I hesitate.
"Please." She smiles. "I never wanted to go, but right now I feel like I regret everything I've never done."
And so I tell her. I tell her about the shoreline that morphs into the glowing sky at dawn, the massive rumble of the waves that wakes you up at night. The feeling of turning to any direction and not seeing anything but deep, magnifying shades of blue. I tell her that it's about the closest feeling to being in space. The vastness. Its emptiness. And when her gaze turns a little too regretful, I tell her that it's actually not that special, even though it's a lie. 

The fire crackles when we fall asleep. When we wake up I am surprised to see the embers still glowing. The mountains have disappeared, being eaten by a thick, pulsating blackness - a wall of fog is coming, erasing what isn't allowed to be. It's nearing, but it's not there yet. We use the postponement and begin to walk.

The disintegration process takes longer than anticipated. The days go by and we're still there. Swimming through the empty rivers, dosing off in the midday sun. The air is hot and humid. To our surprise we find an empty city when we descend the mountains - without many words we move into one of the terraced houses, sharing a kitchen and a bed.
Barbara tells me about her family. She cries a little when she realises that she will miss her son's graduation - she says she never wanted him to become part of the fleet. "But now I'm certain he will join the Academy. How else will he ever feel close to me again?", she sniffs. That night I hold her tightly until she falls asleep.

We're the sidelines. The second row men. When we sit at breakfast one morning, the black fog has eaten away our favourite tree out in the backyard. There's nowhere else to run.
"Ain't it funny", Barbara says and stares outside the window. "That they will never know how long we were still here?"
"You think so?" An amused smirk twitches around my lips. My hair has grown since we arrived - Barb had to cut it yesterday. To return the favour, I have made her coffee this morning. Black, two sugars, how she likes it.
"For them, our story ended back when they left us behind." She cups the mug in her fingers. "For them, we're just numbers by now. A conclusion. There's no afterlife. But it isn't over. Not yet."
Tears verge my eyes when I fail to sustain my smile. "It's not a very long afterlife", I whisper.
"But it's a life." She says it without contempt. And then once more. Like a mantra, over and over again, she echoes: "It's a life."
"Yeah." I manage a teary grin and try not to stare at the black fog behind her, slowly gnawing away our windows, our wall, the mug in her hand. We are the sidelines. The lonely kings and queens of epilogues untold.
"It's a good life."