The journey had been long, but the Courier of the Heavens at last touched down at her first stop. Striding forward, she was soon awash with sunlight. “Greetings, your majesties,” she bowed reverently. “I bring a message from the Ones Above.”

  “Greetings, courier. What news have you to deliver?” replied Palladial, the brighter of the two queens. Although her companion, Rosarael, was a mere speck of red beside her, she was held in equal reverence by the people of their system. What she lacked in strength, she more than made up for in age and wisdom.

  The Courier straightened and began to recite. “A threat is arising in our galaxy. A group of lesser beings has unlocked the secrets of traveling through the heavens, and have already conquered their home system. They call themselves the Starkillers, and have proven themselves worthy of that name on at least one occasion thus far. The Ones Above bid you to remain vigilant in the face of this threat.”

  Rosarael’s glow flickered. “How was this allowed to happen?” she asked quietly.

  “Their star was…inattentive. He saw the civilization on his system advancing, but did not care to check its growth. He has paid the price for his negligence.” She averted her gaze in discomfort.

  Palladial glanced at her wife with alarm, but Rosarael seemed less concerned. Her impassive gaze was focused on their planets and the life flourishing within them. While most stars saw such life as little more than possessions or snacks, she had seen it as untapped potential. She and Palladial had spent millennia cultivating a religion around themselves that influenced every institution of society and recognized the importance of their life-giving light. They cared for their people, and their people adored their kindly goddesses in return. While the stars themselves were bound to their specific system, their people loyally did their bidding in places far past the reach of Palladial’s light.

  “We thank you for your message,” proclaimed Rosarael. “More grievous times have passed us before, and I am thankful that this threat has been noticed while it is still small. We shall ensure that the usurpers find no welcome here.”

  “Praise the vigilance of the Ones Above!” agreed Palladial, her glow flaring brilliantly. The Courier bowed once more and then took off, her tail streaming out behind her. She knew that by the time their planets had completed a single revolution, every preacher on the queens’ system would be warning against the threat of the Starkillers.

  Her second message would, unpleasantly, be delivered to a star colloquially known as the Tyrant Sun. She found him on his throne, lording over his domain in uncontested majesty. “Salutations, bright lord,” said the Courier. “I bring news from the Ones Above.”

  “What message have thee? Speak quickly,” the Tyrant Sun demanded.

  Unfazed, the Courier gave a slight bow. “A threat is approaching this sector of the galaxy. An army of lesser beings has taken control of their home system and plans to continue their conquest,” she said, relaying her message.

  “What outrage is this?” exclaimed the Tyrant. One of his planets plodded by on its appointed path, and he lashed out at it with a brilliant flare. A small stream of souls drifted from the planet to his mouth. “You have my support in full for this endeavor. The mortals must be reminded of their place, and these upstarts will enter this system at their own peril!”

  “The Ones Above will be grateful for your enthusiasm,” she bowed. She did not, of course, comment on the Tyrant’s obviously wrong implication that he was any less mortal than the star-killing upstarts. Even his considerable lifespan would eventually come to an end, the same as any lesser being’s.

  Then again, the Tyrant had no intention of letting any lesser beings in his domain outlive him, so perhaps he was right, at least as far as his system was concerned.

  The next message would be to a star that was, if it was possible, even more unpleasant than the Tyrant Sun. At first glance, there was nothing particularly strange about Lucifriel. Plenty of stars were collectors. A great deal of them kept lesser beings, sapient or otherwise, to add value to their hoards or to provide amusement. The Courier even knew of one star who kept dragons, allowing them to take delight in their small piles of treasure while she took delight in owning them.

  Lucifriel seemed like one such star, but after a first glance it became clear that he was more than just fanatic about his collection. He considered himself an artistic soul, and encouraged his subjects and servants to embrace creativity. He had mingled with them in the hopes of giving or gaining some inspiration, and this over-familiarity had become disastrous. Scandalously, he had fallen in love with one of his celestial servants, and worse still, some of their children had been similarly deviant in their choice of mates and had intermarried with the lesser beings on his system. Now a considerable number of his subjects shared his divine blood, and rather than destroying the hybrid abominations, he had claimed them as kin. It was a lesson in why mixing levels of the Great Hierarchy was a mistake: even mingling with servants of slightly lower stature could spiral into this.

  She entered the system, where Lucifriel and his partner were waiting. “Hail, your majesty. I bring tidings from the Ones Above,” she proclaimed.

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  If Lucifriel had noticed that the Courier had only addressed him and not his partner, he did not mention it. “Greetings, courier. What do the Ones Above ask of us?”

  “Your majesty, I have come to inform you of a threat—”

  She paused, momentarily distracted. In the corner, a human girl with eyes as golden as Lucifriel’s rays was playing a harp. Evidently the few extra centuries her divine ancestry had afforded her had not been enough time to hone her skills in music, as the Courier had heard better performances at the courts of even the dimmest stars. Of course, no minstrel with a shred of self-respect would play in this court, so perhaps this girl was the best Lucifriel could afford.

  The Courier felt Lucifriel’s fiery gaze upon her and realized that she had been caught staring. Quickly she amended her mistake and finished relaying the message.

  Lucifriel’s corona flared uneasily. “These tidings are most troubling. My wife and I shall discuss this further, but rest assured that the Ones Above will have our full support in this matter.”

  “Your assistance is most appreciated,” the Courier bowed, and then turned away before she became sick. It was against her programming to be impolite, but even she could not watch bestiality paraded in front of her and remain unfazed.

  Her final stop would be at the court of a far more practical star. As she sped past the planets in this system, she could not help but notice how barren they were compared to the others she’d seen. Azuriel was more inclined towards science than society, and rather than allow life to flourish on the worlds in his domain, he had instead used his planets as vessels for his scientific endeavors. He had no desire to rule or be worshipped, and preferred to leave politicking to other stars.

  “Well met, Courier!” boomed a voice that caused the Courier to nearly jump. At the center of the system was a giant of a star. Adorned in cerulean and positively glowing, Azuriel looked every inch the brilliant mind that he was.

  “Salutations, esteemed one,” the Courier replied, giving a reverent bow. “I congratulate you on your upcoming ascension. The honor is well deserved.”

  He beamed a grin that was almost too bright to look upon. “Your well wishes are most appreciated! To be candid, I have been anxious about the coming change, but I must remind myself that others have endured it so I shall as well. Your words of encouragement will comfort me during the process.”

  The Courier bowed graciously, although she doubted that Azuriel would actually remember her praise while he was ascending. It would be difficult to focus on anything while he was blasting away all the matter in his system and then collapsing in on himself.

  Deciding it best to keep things simple, she replied, “It is an honor to be of service, my lord.”

  “You are too kind to humor an old fellow like me,” Azuriel chuffed merrily. “I do hope you visit after this whole ascension business is over with—I’ll surely have more work to show you once my notes are back in order!”

  She smiled ingratiatingly. The Courier had no doubt that Azuriel’s work would progress splendidly once he ascended. After all, he would have all the time in the universe to contemplate things, outlasting even long-lived red dwarves like Rosarael. It was just a matter of moving his notes to a safe place while he exploded, and then getting them back in order.

  But as much as she respected Azuriel, she dreaded visiting him in the future. Ascension did strange things to a star, and although those who accomplished it were considered fortunate, they seldom remained unchanged. Azuriel would soon be beyond the concerns of living stars.

  Avoiding the star’s gaze with yet another bow, the Courier responded, “I shall visit if I can, but my routes are chosen at the bidding of my masters.”

  “Understood, understood,” Azuriel said with a touch of sadness. “And speaking of our glorious leaders, what message do you bring from the Ones Above?”

  She passed on her message, and the great blue star enthusiastically agreed to trounce the Starkillers if they dared come near his research. The Courier thanked him, although she figured that if the Starkillers came near Azuriel while he was going supernova, they would be dead regardless of whether the star wished to help or hinder them.

  The last of the Courier’s messages was delivered, and she was almost ready to rest. With no small degree of trepidation (for it never got easier, no matter how many times she did it) she sped to the center of the galaxy to report that she had completed her task. Hovering as close as she dared to her primary master, she called, “Lady Astarial, your word her been proclaimed! This sector of the galaxy will be safeguarded against the threat of the Starkillers.”

  There was no audible answer, but she felt Astarial’s gaze focus on her. The Courier felt her master’s will tugging at her hungrily, as it hungrily tugged at anything and anyone that came close. She had been acknowledged.

  “My Lady, I am yours to command. Is there anything more that you would ask of me, or may I take my leave?” The Courier averted her gaze uneasily. Addressing another star by a royal title was easy, as they were all monarchs and gods in their respective systems. Astarial was different. She had come into being when the universe was still young, and such was her power that she had begun to ascend while still alive. In the process, the once-brilliant star had devoured all her planets, the burgeoning life dwelling within them, and even her beloved stellar partner. Whether she regretted it was a moot point, for she had risen past the need to express such emotions. Astarial had secured her place in the ranks of the Ones Above, the only beings higher in the Great Hierarchy than the godlike stars.

  When no answer was forthcoming, the Courier bowed hastily and moved to retreat. Astarial’s will held her in place, however, as the ancient star finally deigned to speak with her servant. Her orders were given swiftly, and were expected to be carried out with equal promptness. This time they were simple—Astarial merely wanted her to tell the stars around the galactic core to rearrange themselves in a more pleasing pattern—but they were orders nonetheless. The will of the Ones Above was inescapable, and if Astarial had ordered the Courier to throw herself into her gaping maw, the Courier would not have been able to refuse.

  As the Courier sped off, she was struck by the sudden realization that perhaps the Starkillers’ thoughts were not so different from her own. The stars were as far below the Ones Above as lesser beings like the Starkillers were below the stars, and neither wanted to serve another. Of course, she would never share such thoughts with her fellow stars, except maybe the few she fully trusted. And perhaps the Starkillers would survive long enough to find a sympathetic star and be able to spread their ideas to other systems. Rebellion, the Courier mused, could be infectious.