Welcome back Daicanna, you have twenty three million unread messages.
Daicanna was vomiting through her lungs, suspended by amniotic gel as she violently convulsed. Everything ached with senses fluxing between nausea and stinging acidic pangs. An attempt to open her eyes resulted in little more than a blurry amalgamation of shapes masked behind an omnipresent orange haze. She knew underdeveloped lungs were no use to her here, however the will to breathe, at first, was hard to ignore. Her heart beat slowed as she regained control. Acute pain mellowed to the dull ache of lactic acid drenched muscles. She could feel her body now, similar to the last time she had been alive with no more or fewer appendages. Although inert, wet-wired nodules felt similar in size and placement. She tentatively grasped her hand, fresh skin pulled against bone. Joints squeaked under the strain of weak muscles and inelastic tendons. 'Oh, this is new' she thought looking at her fingers, feeling the same sensation through to her shoulders. Tattoos from fingernail tip to neck, lit up as her hybrid biology awoke. She also noticed her mind was, more subtly, different. Daicanna felt infinite compartments of nothingness as her consciousness opened doors to find the same void within each. By now her telepathic senses were establishing themselves, first sensing the waking groans and disquiet of the others, before finding global access.
"5000 years? What the fuck is going on!" She thought realising that none of her pet revival conditions had been met. Annoyance soured the onrush of dazed thoughts and fuzzy logic. Flashes of repressed memories made anything other than primordial instincts, difficult to focus on. She had suspicions for why she was alive again, and with little else productive to occupy her thoughts, it wasn't long before her desire to avoid her overgrown inbox gave way to the urge of just needing to know. She customised a news archive side bar spanning the time period she was away.It gave the context needed, to understand contacts as trends or speaking habits changed over millennia. She started to read, thousands at a time; year blogs from friends and family, messages from old Navy contacts, institutions that she had been apart of. There were as always, plenty announcements from unsolicited services, of which she promptly junked. Prominent within the early parts of the stream, was the first contact narrative between Arkaedos and Kacylis. "Okay
big deal but likely to happen. Why wake me up a thousand years later?" As the messages had become more recent, each became dense with sensory and emotional content; entangled dreams and imaginary worlds taking ever longer to read. "There's still a difference between being asleep and dead" she thought as she skipped a growing number of mails with subjective run times of more than a year. She had come to the last century of messages. The joy and confidence that filled the engrams of earlier messages had gone. People had begun to ask if she was returning, and if this was how it was like the last time she was alive. "No." She thought to the latter.
Daicanna was Kacylian, member of a culture whose expanse extended thousands of light years and hundreds of worlds. With a personality that rarely, if ever enjoyed the daily minutia of human societies on any scale, apathy, not conflict committed her into a state once reserved for the dead. Daicanna was a starfighter, warrior of the Kushauwan, a navy unrivalled during her last life. She was one of the quiet heroes that allowed armies to function, subordinate to few, commander to many. Any decision made to restore her, would have been based on timing, not of necessity. However, she scarcely cared for the cause and beyond the threat of extinction, she was never likely to. Mood softeners kicked in as her autonomous responses flooded her brain with cognitive enhancement hormones. "So it's happening, a full rotation?" she thought as the last messages, a flurry of Military notifications and mission countdowns flickered past her minds eye. With improving sight, she pushed against the back of the gestation tank, seeing past the hazy bio-plasmic jelly that surrounded her. In the room beyond were the amber glows of other wombs. Hero's, leaders, legends and myths, born again in there thousands in a way Daicanna had seen only once before during her many lives.
"We really don't fuck around do we?"