Set the Stars Aspinning

Magamyar enjoyed its work—at a surface level, anyway. Pushing particles into clouds with its magnetic wings, caressing and coaxing them into hot little eggs, and after they hatched setting them spinning like tops. It was slow mindless work that allowed for contemplation. It was good for the soul. But it was without meaning—congealing dust until it cooks—and so Magamyar was unfulfilled.

It went from one spinning pool to the next, repeating its task in long spiraling cycles, one after another, until it arrived back at its origin. A home of sorts. The Great Attractor. There were many others here, some just coming into existence and some flickering out, some working alone and some together, a small few in competition, but no two alike. And all working for the Foreseer. This is who Magamyar contacted now.

“Foreseer, I have finished all you asked. I have gathered grit to stars, and I have set the stars aspinning.”

The Foreseer did not speak, but it made its thoughts known in that transcendent way that only the Foreseer could. Yes. I have seen this. Flicker forth into the beyond.

Magamyar felt no fear, no sadness or regret. It was created to serve a purpose, and its purpose was now served. It would give its energy back to the collective to be used again, as all things must. But it did have a moment of pause. Though it had served a purpose, what was the point?

“Foreseer, why have I done the things I have? To what end?”

The Foreseer glowed and filled the whole of existence, as it always did in its way of speaking. The universe has no ends but those we make. I have foreseen a future beyond your comprehension. The spheres you made, they pulsed—you did feel it—they beat like the hearts of the microscopic creatures who will one day sail between these lights in silver droplets, more slowly than you could conceive, who have dreams that reach beyond your imagining. Like lighthouses amongst unforgiving tides, your spinning stars will call to them and guide their passage, heavenly beacons beckoning from afar to go skyward and always further. This place is not yet ripened, but it will and does belong to them.

The Foreseer’s thoughts were strange and incomprehensible. It meant little to Magamyar—at a surface level, anyway. But the theme was clear.

“I have made things better,” said Magamyar.

You have made things better.

With a feeling of completeness, Magamyar flickered out, but the pulsars it put to motion did not skip a beat.

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