A-66 was tremendously frustrated.

“So, to paraphrase,” they muttered, “my people have been saved from extinction and are entering an interstellar alliance with the worms, my best friend has been transformed into a mechanical being similar to Sveta, and they are all going on grand galactic adventures together.”

“War is no adventure,” I cautioned, before relenting a bit. “The rest, however, is accurate.”

“Sure,” A-66 mumbled, frustration metastasizing. “And I’m going to miss all of it.”

The root of the problem at last. It was time to pull some soul-weeds; we couldn’t have any lingering regrets turning this poor crab into a ghost, after all. “Yes. I’m sorry. I know it was your dream to travel among the stars.”

“My dr-” A-66 said, frustration building pressure. “It wasn’t just my DREAM, Goddex! It was my EVERYTHING! Ever since I first crawled onto the ice as a pouchling and saw the heavens, I knew that was where I belonged! I watched the stars OBSESSIVELY! I pored over EVERYTHING! And now… to be denied them on the cusp of my species’ ascendance… it’s…”

“Frustrating?” I offered, trying to draw forth more catharsis. “Infuriating? Rage-inducing? Patently unfair?”

“YES!” they spat back. “WHY IS IT SO UNFAIR? YOU’RE A GODDEX! TELL ME WHY!”

I darkened my carapace-shade sadly. “I’m afraid I can’t offer a convenient explanation. The universe has no inherent meaning, only that which we ascribe to it. The fate that befell you is nothing more than ill fortune.”

“That’s NOT very reassuring. If there’s no meaning to it all, why bother living?” A-66 growled.

“To create your own meaning,” I explained, the words coming easily as they had a trillion times before. “While you’re alive, you learn and grow. You love and lose. You cultivate knowledge and develop wisdom. You form connections with those around you, carve out a place of comfort, and do what you think is right. You learn how to endure hardship, become a better person, maybe even try to change the world. And when your time comes, those memories and experiences all merge into your soul, causing it to evolve fractionally further towards divinity. For all the richness of your existence, you become a higher being and carry that forward with you into your next incarnation.”

A-66 still wasn’t convinced. “But my memories will still be gone.”

“Only temporarily. One day, a thousand lifetimes into your future, you will finally attain apotheosis and become a goddex like me. When that time comes, you will be reunited with all your past lifetimes, all the old memories, the lives you had forgotten. All those friends and loves who you lost will be there too, having followed their own paths to goddexhood. Rest assured when I say that you will see E-59 again, and Sveta too. It may be a hundred lifetimes from now, or a thousand… but I assure you, that day will come.”

Hope got its claws in. “You know this for sure?” A-66 asked, still uncertain.

I puffed up, and let just a bit of my cosmic power shine through into the crab-soul’s perception. “I exist outside of linear time, A-66. I can look into your future as easily as I can look out a window. From my perspective, you have already reunited with them, and many more friends you don’t even know you’ve lost. It has happened, it’s going to happen, and it’s happening right now. Not even the Ruin can deny your fate.”

Acceptance blossomed, yet hesitancy remained. “Will my next life be better than this one?”

I grinned orange. “That’s entirely up to me. When a promising young crab like you dies tragically young, I typically give them a few choices. As a kind of apology, you see, for the Pantheon’s inability to wholly safeguard creation from the Ruin and their spawn. Many opt for a pastoral reincarnation, something relaxing like farming in an alpine village, or harvesting dark matter in the star-splines. You can take the next life off if you want, shy away from adventure and horror until you’re ready again.”

This option was more often taken by the burnt and traumatized, and A-66’s refusal was easy to sense. “I don’t know if I’d enjoy that.”

“I suspected as much, which is why I have a second choice for you. There’s a universe two stops over, very similar laws of physics to your old one. Stars, planets, FTL travel, all that. On a world named Althuzzan, a crustacean species has recently attained their Space Age, and are preparing to set forth upon a wave of peaceful scientific exploration in their galaxy.”

I could already sense A-66’s interest building keenly. “Interstellar travel?! …A-Are there any Enemies?”

I indicated negative. “Ruinspawn? No, although other kinds of enemies exist. Nothing so dire, though. The species is also slightly dissimilar… more lobster than crab, and they use photovoltaics for linguistic communication instead of sound. Same phylum, though, and same color-based emotional reckoning. I think you’ll fit in quite nicely.”

To the poor soul, it almost seemed too good to be true. “I’ll… get to explore this galaxy? Like I’ve always dreamed of?”

“Of course. I’ll arrange for your birth to be about thirty-five cycles before their first wave of FTL exploration ships depart. That will time the expansion wave with your young adulthood, in that species’ timekeeping.”

A-66’s soul was now vibrating with visible excitement. “That sounds great! I’d love that. I can’t wait to…” A spasm, ego shuddering. “What’s happening? I feel… light…”

I blossomed my carapace in the most comforting shade of light blue that I could, and reached my claws around the little soul to embrace them; as a sentimentalist, I could be a bit of a hugger at this stage. “You have accepted your passing and found peace. Your memories are beginning to evolve your being. Very soon, you will be reborn.”

“I see… I…” A-66 felt uncertainty, but I countered with waves of warmth and contentment. “Can you pass along something to E-59 for me?”

A common request. “No guarantees, but I will if the opportunity arises.”

“Tell them… I’m sorry, and they don’t have to take my Dream if they don’t want to.”

“I understand,” I replied simply as A-66 fell silent. The cusp was upon us. “Precious mortal soul, I will now shepherd you into the next life. As the Goddess of Death, I promise that no harm will befall you until you are born again. May your new birth be free of strife and Ruin, and filled with warmth and belonging. May you experience all the adventure and discovery you were so cruelly denied during your last go-round. May your path to divinity continue unimpeded, so that one day you may take your rightful place by our side.”

“Thank you…” the soul once known as A-66 said, thought-voice trailing away into nothingness.

“Of course,” I replied, extending my concept-force to open up a spiderline to Althuzzan. “Good luck. I’ll see you next time you die. Try to have some good stories to tell, okay?”

The soul, now insensate, simply throbbed.

******

The birthing-chamber was pitch-silent.

Beget-As-Void shifted her weight uncomfortably, clacking her claws as she radiated alarm. “Are they okay? Can they break the shell? Should we-”

Force-Upon-Night rested a claw upon his wife’s shoulder. “Relax, Beget,” he illuminated, using his most calming of far-violet tones. “The bioneers said it might take a few hours. They’re monitoring everything from outside.”

“I know, it’s just…” Beget’s photovocals fell dark for a moment, much unsaid. They didn’t discuss their last child anymore, the memory of stillbirth still painful. “I just don’t want to lose them,” she said at last.

As if in response to the prismatic strobes of communication illuminating the space, the egg’s shell began to flake away. The parents fell silent again and crowded around, watching tiny claws poke out, followed by antenna, and finally photostalks.

Ultraviolet-cooing illuminated the chamber as the two new parents stared at the newborn, already imprinted beyond all hope. Love abounded, and all felt it keenly in wordless, patterned interplays of kaleidoscopic belonging.

“Congratulations,” came a flash over the intercom. “You two are now the healthy parents of a beautiful baby girl.”

Force flashed a tightbeam at Beget. “Girl? Guess we’re going with your name, then.”

Beget was triumphant. “Ha! That’s no guarantee she will stick with it. We might still wind up with a neuter or boy down the road.”

Force infra-shrugged. “Regardless, it’s a beautiful name.”

“Yeah,” Beget said, smiling as her gaze turned back to their new daughter. “Welcome to the world, our darling Stargaze-Into-Song. Hope you like it here.”

Stargaze looked up at her new parents and blinked.

******

Meanwhile, back in the Soviet Universe and some 30,000 lightyears away from Crabworld…

Twin blue stars burned in the void above. Beneath them was a world, terrestrial and small, and pockmarked with massive impact craters that had not been there a few hours ago. These craters cut through cities and country alike, and dust still choked the world’s atmosphere. Between void and world swirled familiar debris, ghastly teeth and tentacles that had been blasted to bits not long before. The ruins of the Ruinspawn; this had been the attacker that had soiled the virgin world below.

A great golden fleet plied high orbit, its guns cooling. Thousand of gleaming ships, all pointed and bristling with weaponry. They had arrived in time to save the world beneath… although not completely.

Perhaps that’s why Skusea was in such a foul mood.

The insect-humanoid Goddess of War certainly cut an imposing figure. Her brown skin and silver hair seemed human enough, but her eyes had glowing red triangles instead of irises. Forehead antenna and sharpened claws in place of feet or hands further showed her otherworldly nature; complimenting these, a large and thick tail, which resembled a giant mechanical centipede ending in a clawed arm, sprawled out from her tailbone. She was clad in golden armor, and behind her floated eight matching swords, four on each side, which responded to her mental commands like detached limbs.

Normally, an audience with such a mighty warrior-goddess might have been a cause for celebration and enlightenment. Now, however, the mood was far more somber.

An avian representative of the world below bowed and thanked Skusea profusely. “Goddess, we owe you everything. If you had not arrived, the Wagawan would now be facing total extinction.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, Exrix-A,” Skusea apologized dourly, her lower jaw splitting into twin mandibles as she spoke.

Exrix-A protested strongly. “You have the entire Concord to defend, Goddess. We know how badly the Sword Empire is strained. We are thankful you arrived in time to prevent the worst outcome.”

Skusea glowered and looked upon the world below; Wagawagawan had once been a thing of singular beauty, dotted with continent-spanning paintings visible from light-hours away. These mighty works had taken centuries for the Wagawan to forge.

All that beauty, gone in a flash.

“It wasn’t good enough,” Skusea complained, mostly to herself. “I wasn’t fast enough. Every year, the Ruinspawn push us back further. What use is my Empire if I cannot defend all of you?”

Exrix-A’s feathers bristled in sadness. “You cannot blame yourself, Goddess. Were it not for your protection, we would have perished long ago. This attack has served as an object lesson for us as well; no longer can we leave our protection in the hands of others.”

Skusea’s mood worsened as she caught the implication, her jaw-mandibles slackening. “You can’t mean what I think you do.”

“I’m afraid so, Goddess. Millions of us are dead. Those who remain are unanimous. We wish to join the Sword Empire, effective immediately. We will defend the Concord with our blood, as you have sworn to do.”

There was a long silence after that, although Skusea’s tail went limp with sadness and her psychic swords seemed to sag. She looked again at the wrecked Wagawagawan, at all those precious and peaceful artisans below who were now preparing for war. This world had been one of the last bastions of peace in the whole Evolutionary Concord, the rare spot of hope in a whirlwind of horror.

No more.

“So even the last great artisans must now take up blades,” Skusea said at last, pain seeping into every word. “We will receive you gladly, of course. My Swordfleet will never be the home you knew, but I will do all I can to ensure your comfort.”

“We require no special treatment,” Exrix-A said, clacking his beak. “We know soldiery is a hard life, and we are prepared to adapt. Moreso, my people have nothing left except revenge. You cannot begrudge us that.”

Skusea took a deep breath and nodded. “No. Though the Wagawan are not versed in warmaking, I can teach you.”

Exrix-A saluted in the traditional manner of the Empire, holding his arms up, parallel to the ground and at shoulder-height, then pressing his fists together. The newly-learned gesture was sloppy, but Skusea didn’t have the hearts to nitpick. “Thank you, almighty Goddess of War. I am sorry it had to come to this, but the Ruin must be stopped, no matter the cost. We see that clearly now.”

Skusea grimaced. “When we are victorious, you can rebuild your world.”

It was a thin promise, and they both knew that. But saving face was important.

“Yes, Goddess. Perhaps we can.”

******

Exrix-A departed not long after, his shuttle streaking down as thousands of others, filled with recruits, streaked up. Skusea watched the whole spectacle with ill humor, and then turned her attention heavensward.

“Are you going to keep spying on me, or come on down and state your business?” the Goddess demanded, her floating blades swirling around angrily. “I’m in no mood for your games, Skellish.”

Ah, she was talking to me. I supposed it was about time to make my entrance.

I opened up a spiderline and incarnated onto the bridge of her ship, a few meters before her command chair. “Hello, Skusea. My condolences on the attack against Wagawagawan.”

She glowered at me, much unspoken. If you feel so bad, why didn’t you get your blue ass down here and help? is what she wanted to say, but usually she had the good sense to be more diplomatic than that. I sensed her probe possibilities, choose her response carefully.

“If you feel so bad, why didn’t you get your blue ass down here and help?” she glowered, picking the timeline I had least expected. Her mood was infamously sour. “You’re usually so above-it-all. Why bother me now?”

Oh well. If she was going to go for it, so was I. “A matter of great import. I believe I’ve found you a potential ally in this galaxy.”

Only one God can truly surprise another, and I relished that fact as I saw her eyes widen. “Seriously? Who? You’re not talking about that mammal pet species of yours, are you? The humans?”

Skusea, being mostly insectoid, tended to look down upon mammals. I had just the thing to rectify her recalcitrance, however.

“Yes, they are mammals, but not herd-based. They’re pack hunters, although they seem to be evolving along eusocial lines as their society militarizes. They successfully beat back the Ruinspawn from their own star system, and recently rescued a neighboring crustacean civilization as well. Their goal is to form an alliance of species against the Ruinspawn.”

“Oho?” Skusea leaned forwards, her interest piqued. “Are they stratocratic? Like the Empire?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. But there’s one detail I think you’ll find interesting. You remember how I requested a change to this universe’s settings seven years ago?”

Skusea nodded. “Yeah. You wanted to permit digital necromancy, right? Some species had bootstrapped themselves to machine singularity. Mainframe raised hell about it, as I recall.”

I snorted. “It’s a bureaucrat; it raises hell about everything. To digress, humanity was that species.”

Skusea sat back, bringing her hands together and tapping her clawtips against each other; her own path to godhood had been similarly bootstrapped, so she always respected those who broke the ostensibly ironclad divine rules. “I see. We might have much in common, despite them being… mammals.” She made a retching face.

“I’d like to introduce you,” I said, continuing to push past her revulsion. “There’s one girl I’d like you to meet in particular; she’s the one responsible for the necro-bootstrapping. She singlehandedly argued me into allowing her species to attain singularity.”

Skusea snorted derisively. “She must be quite a looker. You never could resist the ladies.”

That remark hurt, if only because she was on the mark; true to her moniker, the Goddess of War never missed a barb. I cleared my throat loudly in distraction. “Ah-HEM.”

Skusea flashed a split-jaw grin, her mood entirely lifted. “Fine, you blue bitch. You’ve got me. I’ll take a leap of faith. Who’s this robo-mammalian wunderkind?”

It was nice to see our Goddess of War perk up once again; she was the Pantheon’s best weapon against the Ruin, after all, so it wouldn’t do well to see her lose hope. And there was one font where it sprang eternal, in the form of a forklift driver who went to the stars.

“Don’t worry, you’re going to love her,” I replied, matching Skusea’s grin. “Her name… is Sveta.”