The Nature of Change

Strain Against the Chain (Andy 06)

Waking up as a dragonet out of the egg for the first time is weird.

Especially if you like to toss and turn when you sleep.

I spend probably five minutes, and a good solid half my stored energy, just trying to get my blanket off my back - only to realize that the thing I think is a blanket is actually my wings. It takes a while for my thinky bits to boot up in the morning, and this was no exception.

I lie down, unsure how to enter the myriad conversations as they start up. I'm not cut out for that kind of small-talky interaction; what can I hope to add? Especially as the kid who had the outburst...

After a while, I start to notice that something's... missing. The moment I notice the void, I realize what it is - music. I'm used to listening to music almost all the time, when I'm not doing something that otherwise requires my hearing. Besides, I've always needed something for my brain to do - people think I'm good at sitting still, but I've just converted my physical motion into mental motion. When I have nothing to think about and nothing to physically do, I get fidgety.

And as I start to hum softly, I realize these dragonet vocal cords are heavenly. I have basically no range restrictions. The throbbing hums of my bass notes resonate so strongly that Jeff pricks his ears up, while the soprano range produces an exquisite reedy sound that diminuendos inconceivably close to nothingness - and that never sounds screechy! Curiously, the sounds seem to be coming from my chest rather than my throat. Why didn't I notice that earlier? A vague memory of some cursory research I did on bird biology pops up the word "syrinx", and I file it away for later pondering.

That would explain the birdlike sounds, wouldn't it. Especially if they just remapped my brain wiring.

Before long, I've gotten myself into task inertia, going through a contemporary orchestral album I used to listen to a bunch. Can't very well stop now, not in the middle of it... I vaguely notice that somebody else on the opposite end of my row is humming along with me the whole time, and I get a sense of familiarity - she knows the music too. We manage to stumble our way through the harmonizations, soaring through sweeping joyous highs and brooding laments alike. By the end, there's a sort of unspoken bond, despite knowing nothing else about each other. The soft, lamenting final chords of In Paradisum provide a bittersweet conclusion to our meeting of souls.

I get the impression of a word - no, a name - coming through the mindlink. Aurora.

The idea to reply pops into my head. I hesitate for a moment, then... Ender. But it's laced through with the idea of "Andy" as a sort of backdrop or foundation, as a little concession to the intimacy of what we just shared. A sense of warm acknowledgement of that opening-up comes through, and I give a satisfied nod.

But the moment fades quickly and spontaneously, just like it began.

Once again needing something to do, I venture onto my phone's home button and test to see if it still works. By some miracle, it's got a pretty respectable charge left in it. It's visibly smaller relative to my eyes this time - I must have grown by a lot. It doesn't recognize my fingerprint, obviously, but it brings up the prompt for the passcode. I tap out the passcode and the home screen appears. A wave of relief washes through me.

Then the searching-for-wifi-signal icon appears.

My cybersecurity sense is rusty, but it tingles.

My eyes widen in sudden realization.

No time to elaborate what I've just considered. I frantically slam through the menus into the settings, scrambling to tap the little icon to turn off the internet access. Milliseconds to spare, my hand slams down upon the screen, and the list of local networks disappears.