A handful of other humans have likely made it to the lesser Ark. These then are all we have of natural, physical human specimens. The once-teeming populations of humans are now down to at most three or four species. Without that many healthy, natural templates it will be much more difficult, if not impossible, to use the genetic patterns I’ve stored.

Over and over again in my experiments I have confronted a stubborn streak in all vital systems, an almost perverse delicacy, as if, beyond or within their physicality lies a field or over-spirit, which supplies a living population with amazing strength, but at a certain point, under overwhelming loss and pressure, can suffer and grow weak beyond saving, like a candle flame in a high wind, where once there was a roaring furnace.

Humanity may be at that point.

The burden placed upon Lifeworkers is extreme. Without us, the galaxy will be a mutilated waste, and whatever rises from the remnants—depending on how effective the Halos are —may take hundreds of millennia to revive the glory we have seen in all our explorations.

“Lifeshaper, we have to leave now!”

My ancilla agrees. Both the keyship and the research vessel have detected star roads forming around the system, a small presence to be sure, but harbingers of more to come. The Flood has taken the bait.

“I am staying,” I say. “You will take our humans back to the Ark—you’ve served the Mantle brilliantly, and for that, I confer my title upon you.”

She is astonished. “Lifeshaper … I cannot accept. You are still—”

“No longer. Our ancillas will confirm the transfer. You are Lifeshaper. No arguing. It’s time to save our humans.”

“I am confused, Lifeshaper—what about you?” She paces around me in desperate uncertainty and agitation. She knows me well enough to see that I have a plan, but for the life of her, she cannot reason what it might be.

“There is another vessel on its way here as we speak,” I tell her. “Large enough to deploy assemblers and to create a portal. If I succeed, then those who are re-seeded here will have a hope they should have been granted long ago. They will have access to our history. Our legacy. The Ark.”

Chant-to-Green—the new Lifeshaper—stands very still. A long, low sigh of wind blows around us, wistful and beautiful; I have always loved this world, for all its changeful ways and harshness. There is great beauty here.

“All is said. This keyship is the last that will be allowed to leave and soon even that will be risky. Hurry. Take our humans to the new Ark. Watch over them; watch over him. If I join you again, I will serve you, I hope as well as you have served me.”

She refuses to accept. “Lifeshaper, you’ve lost your reason!”