Anarchy: Revolution

Remnant

Darkness swirled inside her head as she struggled to wake, thick and heavy as oil spreading through water. She fought to push through the fog covering her mind, but something held her in place with a pressure she couldn’t see. There was no floor beneath her, no wall at her back, no sense of up or down. She felt as if she were floating in the void, suspended in silence so complete it pressed against her ears and made her own heartbeat sound distant.

Forcing her fingers to move took all the strength she had. They twitched weakly at her sides, numb and slow, as if they belonged to someone else. Somewhere nearby, muffled by the haze, someone was speaking. The words bent and blurred before they reached her, breaking into fragments of voices she recognized and voices she didn’t.

Breathing became a chore. Each inhale dragged through her burning lungs, too thin and too sharp, while every exhale left her weaker than before. Heat crawled behind her eyes. Images of historic battles raged through her mind in violent, broken flashes, like badly budgeted movies with the sound turned too loud and the colours bleeding into one another.

What was happening? Nothing like this had ever happened before, so why now? Why, after she had finally begun to feel safe for the first time since the raiders stole her from her colony, was this happening?

The images changed, dragging her deeper. Wars unfolded in impossible succession, one battlefield collapsing into the next. She saw people running through smoke-choked streets toward escape pods waiting under emergency lights, their metal doors yawning open like last chances. Children were pushed inside and sent far, far from home while invaders burned and brutalized their planet behind them. Mothers sobbed until their voices broke. Fathers cried silently, hands pressed to the sealed pod doors, staring at the little ones they didn’t know would make it.

Then the silence broke.

Not shattered. Broke like thousands of ice cracks forming over glass, spreading in thin white fractures through the dark until the void around her seemed ready to split apart.

Something reached out, touching her hand with hands that seemed too small to be a threat. A noise like something dragging caught her attention, then a slight pressure against her side as a bulbous lower body pressed into her.

Tiny, short-haired limbs touched her tentatively, as if checking for threats.

Azrael’s eyes snapped open, her hand moving fast to catch hold of whatever was now inside the room with her. The body beside her twitched with what sounded like laughter as she sat up, glancing around before she cautiously let her eyes drop to the bed beside her.

Staring at her with wide, curious eyes was a Weaver. The spine ridge was flat down, meaning the creature was not here to attack. Its mandibles clicked in a pattern that seemed to mimic laughter as it sat down on the floor of the containment room.

“How did you get in here?”

“When Talis opened the door to check on you. I wanted to see the pretty girl.” It answered in broken standard. Tiny, three-fingered hands reached out, smoothing a blanket that was not there before Azrael fell asleep. “You dreamed bad?”

“Yeah,” the older girl said. “A bad dream.”

“Talis will fix!” The Weaver lifted her bandaged leg. “He fixed me, but it still hurts to walk.”

Dropping her eyes to the blanket, Azrael realized it was a silky material that shimmered in the low light. “This is… Is this webbing?”

“I made it. You shaking, cold. So, I make blanket to warm,” the creature replied earnestly.

‘Trust.’ A voice in her head said softly.

Pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, Azrael groaned. The voice was not hers, but it was familiar. Strong and soft at the same time. ‘Who and what are you and why are you in my head?’

‘It took time, but your resistance allowed the subconscious living in the DNA to bind. I am as much a part of you as you are of me.’

‘The Andromedan?’

‘Yes, Child. And now, we start over.’

‘This should not be possible.’

Laughter bounced off the inside of her skull as warmth spread through her body from her toes to the crown of her head. ‘Possible was left behind many cycles ago. You are now the last known member of an extinct race of psychic beings. I’ve no strength left to remain with you. Just time to tell you who’s essence pulses through your body. I am Even Frost, High Arbiter of the Andromedan people. I was not killed in the Kingfall battle. I was harvested by the same people who stole your life.’

‘Harvested? Like, they tore you apart or whatever?’

‘Yes, Child. They drew my blood, my spinal fluid, and my brain matter to study it until I was no longer of any use. Many came before you, but only you were strong enough to thrive. You inherited my power, my capacity for knowledge, and my courage. Use them well, and carry on.’

Silence again reigned as the last echoes of the voice faded. Pulling her knees up to her chest, the teen glanced around the room. A thought hit her, and she held out her hand to the stylus that had dropped to the floor. It shivered, moving slightly until it turned sideways and flew into her hand.

“Now that’s a cool power. Huh…”

The Weaver gasped, clapping her hands as her mandibles clicked faster. Tapping the side of her own head, the child said, “You are strong here.”

“I guess I am.” Azrael replied, throwing the spun blanket off her legs.

Glancing at the Weaver, she noticed that the corner of the room was filled with the same white webbing, but a stickier version. Backing into the web, the Weaver climbed into the nest of threads and sighed as it started covering her tiny body. It hardened, encasing her in a white-gray pod that attached itself to the corner.

The door of the room opened as Azrael got to her feet, her hand inches from the pod, she was shocked as a crystalline hand stopped her. Her gaze locked onto the violet eyes of the doctor from earlier as he smiled gently.

“So, this is where she disappeared to? Makes sense as its quiet, enclosed, and a safer area than out in the open. You see, Solara is molting,” he explained. “The process can take up to a week before she’s going to crack that shell and come out with a whole new exoskeleton.”

“Solara?”

“The Weaver’s name. She’s only a child,” he told her, pulling out some tools. Taking a sample of the webbing, he nodded as he checked the density and security of the pod. Feeling around for any soft spots, he stepped back and smiled widely. “I healed her leg just in time for it, too. Now the repaired bone will fuse properly and she’ll be able to walk after this week’s end.”

Watching him closely as he stepped back toward the door, she noted the moment he turned and glanced back at her. Scowling, she crossed her arms. “What?”

“I was there,” he whispered. “During the last battle. It was brutal and bloody.”

“His name was Even Frost. The High Arbiter of the Andromedan people. I… I heard his voice, his story… I…”

Azrael broke off, her face twisting into a mask of pain before she relaxed again.

“Residual consciousness left behind in the DNA may have woken now that your subconscious feels safe,” Talis explained. “Andromedans held the power to pass information through their DNA, you see.”

She frowned at him, her eyes still faintly glowing indigo in the dim lighting. “I was talking to a ghost?”

He nodded, then paused. “Not necessarily. You may have spoken with the last of the High Arbiter’s essence before it faded. That’s not technically a ghost, but a remnant of his conscious left behind after the splice.”

“He told me I inherited everything he owned. All he had left,” she murmured, dropping to the bed with a heavy sigh.

Talis nodded. He stepped out, coming back moments later with a covered tray. Removing the dome top, he set it on the table that came out of the wall. A dehydrated meal had been prepared and waited on a metal plate. “Its processed, but its edible. Protein, vegetable, fruit, carbs, and water.”

“So this isn’t another prison? I’m actually safe here?”

“No one here will dare,” a gruff voice said from the shadows before a Concloian appeared in the doorway. Perched on its shoulder was a small bird-like being holding a data pad in its taloned hands while brown feathers covered most of its body.

“Oh, she’s awake?” the Avian chirped. “We had our Terran friend prepare the food because none of us could agree on the method.”

Talis turned back to the pod, sighing before he moved to grab the scanner from the main room of the medical bay. Returning, he ran it over the now solid oval.

Under three inches of hardened webbing, the Weaver was curled into herself, her six arms hugging her legs to her carapace as the cracks started widening. Thin wisps of fluid leaked out of her body as the old exoskeleton started separating from the newer body underneath. Her six eyes were closed and her breathing was relaxed.

Switching screens, he checked the heartrate and fluid density before letting his shoulders drop. “Wonderful. Solara’s resting peacefully inside the pod and should make a complete bodily recovery. The first seventy-two hours after the molt’s end are sensitive, however.”

The Avian ruffled his feathers. “Sensitive how?”

“Her new body will take roughly three days once exposed to atmosphere before the natural armour hardens into a thicker version.” The doctor turned to the girl on the bed. “I don’t suppose you’ve an issue rooming with a sleeping Weaver?”

Gesturing to the blanket on the bed, Azrael shook her head slowly. “Like you said, she’s a child. Unlike the assholes who turned me into a living weapon, she’s innocent.”

Bowing his head to her, Talis said, “Thank you. Now eat and rest so you can also heal.”