Goldie’s heart soared as she heard her firstborn child’s voice.

Mama, the tiny voice said once more.

It was a little, weak, but clearly male voice.

A small one, she thought, but clearly smart. He already knows his mama.

She felt proud of him already, and only slightly silly for being proud. He had to genuinely be something special. As far as she knew, he was the only spider besides herself that she had ever encountered who had anything approaching language.

There was a sudden noise of cracking, and Goldie turned her head slightly. All of the other eggs were opening up at once, following the first hatchling’s example. As she moved, she sensed the first spider moving in her peripheral vision. Then she felt him. Her firstborn was climbing onto her body.

Why…?

She wondered no more. The other five children came out of their shells and immediately began fighting among themselves, trying to bite and tear.

Stop that! Goldie sent immediately. A shudder rippled through the babies as her voice struck them. No fighting, she added. Be good. Be nice to each other. There is no need to fight. We have plenty of food.

She reached out with one of her long limbs and shoved over a big clump of food, then watched the little ones crawl over it, eating like savage beasts. It would have been frightening if they were not so small.

Newborns…

Though Goldie had almost forgotten about it over her long months of life, as she watched her babies, she remembered how her own birth had been. Violent, with hundreds of her siblings tearing each other limb from limb while she tried to hide.

There had not been enough food for all of them, but even so, just like these little ones, the hatchlings had gone after each other before they even looked to see whether there was food nearby.

Is it instinct for us to try to kill each other? she wondered. Eliminating competition or something? She thought back to her own experiences. I am not so different, am I? I killed a few. I told myself I was defending my life, but was that really necessary? Her head started to hurt as she thought about killing her own kind, and she refocused elsewhere.

Her children were here.

Goldie watched them calmly until she felt a barely perceptible prodding at her back. She realized that her first hatchling had not come down and joined the others.

Oh, right, you are still up there?! Goldie sent. She picked up a smaller lump of food and passed it up to her apparently shy firstborn. You can go down and be with your siblings, you know.

I might get eaten, the little one thought back at her, his voice tiny but firm.

Well… Goldie found that she had no counter argument to her newborn son’s point.

I am already losing arguments with my kid on day one of his life, she thought to herself.

Yes, she sent. Yes, you could get eaten. On second thought, perhaps you should stay up there. You and I will help the others learn some manners with time. Like not eating the other spiders with you at dinner.

She focused on the little ones below her. Do any of you want more food? she sent.

They had already almost fully depleted the lump she had given them of nutritional value. The dead bug she had wrapped up was a shriveled husk of its former self.

All they gave her in answer was a collective screech.

Food, she sent, throwing in an image of what they had just eaten. More food? She added an image of a pile of additional protein.

Foo, sent one.

More foo, added another.

Foo, they chorused together.

Goldie slid the group another large, silk-encased lump of protein. She felt confident as she watched them begin to devour it that she had more than enough food for the little ones. But the interaction had raised other questions.

Why are you the only one who can talk? she sent to the little spider quietly consuming the hunk of insect she had passed up to the top of her body.

I don’t know, her firstborn said in a tiny voice.

She waited a few seconds for him to think something more for her to pick up.

When he did not, she replied, I think you do know. You do not have to be shy with me. I am your mama. I will love you no matter what you tell me. Or even if you choose not to tell me the truth.

There was a much longer silence this time, as Goldie simply watched the other little ones and waited for the firstborn to make up his mind whether to say something. It occurred to her that perhaps it should not matter to her if he did or not.

She had meant what she said. She already felt unconditional love for all of her children. Perhaps she should not place this pressure on the relationship so early.

Then again, he was her firstborn, her first-talking child, and probably the smartest and the best conversationalist of her children. It would be a shame to begin their relationship with lies.

I am different from the others. The little one had finally spoken up. I think the talking must be because I remember a time before.

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How do you know the others are not like you? Goldie could not resist asking.

They attacked each other as soon as they got out of the shells, he replied. Like spiders who have never been anything except spiders. And when we were still in the eggs, I tried tapping on the walls to communicate. I never heard anything back.

Goldie found herself more and more impressed with her son. Tell me, little one, do you have a name?

She wanted to have something to call him, and after all he had just said, she sensed that she should be cautious about giving him a name herself. He seemed to be clinging to much of his past identity, as Adon had. If she took this child’s old name from him and replaced it, perhaps he would lose more of his grip on who he had been—become less him and more someone else.

It seemed intuitive to Goldie that no mother should want that for her child.

The placement of Goldie’s eyes allowed her to see up to the top of her back, where the hatchling was sitting. After she asked him for his name, he sat in place, his forelimbs pressed against his head, as if he was trying to think as hard as he could, for what felt to Goldie like a long time. She let him be.

The other hatchlings were done with their meal now. They had left it half-finished, their bellies stuffed, and their activity was winding down. Like most spiders, with their appetites sated, their instinct was to be still.

Raising spiders will be easier than raising humans, Goldie thought. Then she wondered why she had thought of that. For a moment, images of a vague past seemed to outline themselves before her mind’s eye. Under the slightest scrutiny, they vanished like the morning mist.

But it surprised her that anything was there at all.

I had thought that those memories were nearly all lost…

Samson. The voice of her precocious little one chimed in through her still active Telepathy channel. I’m pretty sure that was my name. As his words rang through her mind, Goldie detected a greater confidence and firmness in her son’s tone.

Samson, a wonderful name, she sent. I am so glad you have started to remember something of who you were!

A part of her was a little afraid of what that might mean. How much would it change the nature of her relationship with her son, if he remembered his past life? But she felt that she owed it to him to try to connect him—or keep him connected—with his whole self. Something her own mother could not give.

She listened on with slight nervous trepidation as he began to tell her about himself.

He nodded. I have started to remember. To begin with, I know that I lived a long life, mother. Very long. I was an old man. I don’t feel old now, but my memory is telling me I was so old that that was what killed me! My body failing of natural causes… It’s strange. I only have a haze of images and memories to sift through, but I remember enough to have a sort of tie to my former self. I don’t know how much it means.

Much more than me, she replied. When I reincarnated, I think almost all of my memories were lost. Probably partly because I did not have anyone to talk to for over a year.

That must have been terrible! Thank you for saving me from that, mother—I mean mama. Um, I know I just said that I was an old man before—but is it all right if I continue to call you that? Even though I had another life where I was probably older than you are now? I just feel like a kid. I don’t feel like an old man. I barely remember him. I feel like I’m different. Separate, while still having a connection? I feel like you’re where I’m supposed to be. My strong connection is with you—not with my past. I don’t know if I’m making any sense.

Goldie was relieved to hear the same filial affection in Samson’s voice that she had hoped she might receive from her children in general.

I was worried that you might not feel that way, she admitted. You don’t need to worry about making sense. Not for my sake, anyway. I love you, son. That’s enough.

I—I love you too, mama. Samson approached Goldie’s head and tried to wrap his forelimbs around it. His reach was not extensive enough, but his feelings came through in the gesture.

After the hug was over, Samson added, almost as an afterthought, I’m glad that you found someone to talk to. Someone to keep you sane. It sounds like I owe this person a lot. Or this spider?

Actually, he was a caterpillar, Goldie sent. Soon he will finish his metamorphosis, and you will be able to meet the butterfly Adon is becoming.

Adon? Samson’s inner voice rose in pitch. She detected surprise.

Yes.

Not Aidan or Adam? he asked.

No, definitely Adon, Goldie replied. He made a bit of a joke about it once. Why? Is the name familiar or something?

Yes. No… No, it’s definitely a yes. Definitely familiar! I don’t know why. I need to sift through the memories more. But I think someone with that name, or a name like that, was very important to me, once. Maybe I’m remembering wrong. I’ll think about it.

We have plenty of time, she sent. Relax and take it slowly, all right? He will be in his chrysalis for days before you even get to meet him.

Yes, mama.

The two of them allowed their dialogue to lapse into silence, then. All of the spiders in Goldie’s web gradually stilled, until all was at peace.

Thus began the happiest period of Goldie’s time in the secret room. Perhaps the happiest period in her life, though she felt guilty at occasionally thinking that way, with Red dead and Adon gone from around her.

Over the next few days, she finally got her wish to be a mother and act as a mother. She taught her children how to hunt and use the web to snare prey. She showed them some of the advanced techniques of web manipulation that she had spent an entire lifetime learning. She mediated disputes between the children—mainly trying to get her children not to try to eat each other.

Gradually, even Samson grew brave enough to dwell in the web with the rest of his siblings.

Goldie taught the spiders as much as she could of the Claustrian language. Her method was limited by the need to use audiovisual cues to communicate what each word meant. She could not make the children stay still long enough to learn letters if she transcribed them into her web, although Samson proved very interested in learning about writing.

Eventually, she was satisfied that the rest of her brood was making progress, though. They seemed to acquire enough words to be somewhat capable of acting in a socially acceptable way, at least in Goldie’s optimistic line of thinking. The children learned words like “spider,” “web,” “caterpillar,” “butterfly,” “insect,” “bug,” “friend,” and “family” within the span of a day, with positive steps reinforced with food. It took them a little longer to pick up verbs, but she was pleased that they were learning more rapidly than she might have imagined possible.

Goldie thought that feeding them a great quantity of the best food she could find from an early age was key to giving them the capacity to learn, so she continued hunting as frequently as she could for the largest and most dangerous prey that she could find in the hidden room. She went from centipedes up to mice and later rats.

During these expeditions, she would instruct the children to stay put, leaving Samson in charge with instructions to send out a loud thought if the others tried to leave.

And her conversations with Samson grew deeper. His inner voice seemed to become more distinct and mature the longer she spoke with him, though it never sounded to Goldie like an old man’s voice.

I think I discovered what Adon’s relationship to me is, he confided in her one afternoon.

But as he was beginning to explain, they heard a loud commotion from upstairs.

I think that noise is coming from the room where Adon is transforming, Goldie sent.

Goldie and Samson corralled all the other hatchlings onto Goldie’s back—Samson brought up the rear to keep them all in the saddle—and they began the complex, winding descent from the secret room through the ventilation system, to see what had become of Adon.