“You steal it?”
“No, officer. It’s mine.”
“You better not be lying to me. Stealing such a thing is a capital crime.”
“I know that. But I’m telling you, this medallion is mine.”
K is completely calm in his insistence. The officer gives his face a long, hard stare.
“Tell me, boy, what’s your name?”
K tells him his name. This is all it takes for the officer’s attitude to take a sharp turn.
“So, you’re that kid? The youngest ever to pass the exam? Please do accept my sincerest apologies. If you wish, it would be my pleasure to personally show you the way to Clara Hall.”
It appears that K is in luck, as the officer has heard about the exam results from the prior day.
“Follow me, sir,” he says as they make their way past the small gaggle that has formed around them, curious about the commotion. So this is the power of this silver medallion. This is K’s power.
Clara Hall turns out to be a rather nondescript building hidden on a side street off the main thoroughfare. On their arrival, the officer stands at attention, then bows to K once, before finally leaving the scene. For an instant, it looks like K might waver. But the moment passes. K proceeds to step through the gates.
Perfectly manicured shrubbery lines both sides of the path past the gates. In contrast to the unadorned exteriors, the interiors display an elegant refinement. As K walks down the pathway, a rickshaw passes right next to him, suddenly skidding to a halt just a few steps from him.
The man inside calls out to K.
“Hey, you there! You’re not supposed to be in here!”
Not this again. K presents his silver medallion.
“Well, what do we have here,” the old man says, eyes widening as a smile forms on his lips. “So you’re the one. Youngest ever to pass the Sacred Exam, eh.”
“Yes,” K says to the man in the rickshaw.
“So is this your first time here?”
K nods.
“Well, you should follow me, then,” the old man says.
“Thank you, sir. There’s one thing I should tell you though. I don’t really have much money on me right now.”
“Money?” The man starts to giggle.
“Um. Did I say something wrong?” There really is no hiding K’s confusion.
“You know nothing, do you? Well, you and me both. I was just like you when I came here for the first time. Let me show you around.”
“Thank you,” K says with just the hint of a stutter.
Clara Hall is an exclusive social club for Sacred Service officers, K finds. And it doesn’t take long for K to finally learn what exactly these so-called privileges of holding a silver medallion are all about. The man from the rickshaw—an expert in the field of Sacred Astrometrics who goes by the name of Erasmus—tells him all about it.
Erasmus and K find their way to the cafeteria of Clara Hall, where once again K faces a wide selection of fine foods, none of which he’s ever laid eyes on before, none of which have names he’s ever heard before.
“Please don’t hesitate to go for seconds, young man,” Erasmus tells him. “I told you—money does not matter here.”
But K declines to do so. To eat any more than he already has done entails violating the papal edicts on one’s diet. Such an act cannot but become a stain on his conscience. So they finish their meal with a yogurt dessert. The professor eats only half of it before rolling up a cigar, which he then dangles on his lips.
“How was your meal? Satisfied?”
“Yes. I’m quite stuffed, actually.”
Amused by K’s words, Erasmus chuckles like a cooing pigeon.
“Shall we head over to the library, then? There are quite a few books there that I think you’ll find interesting. Or you can have something to drink there. Or play cards or Stellar Chess. And of course, the other kinds of games too, if you know what I mean.”
The professor gives K a knowing look.
The two arrive at an unusually quiet library. A black-tinged red carpet is spread out over the floor. Meticulously arranged around the room are elegant antique furniture and fixtures, each piece looking like it was taken right out of a museum. While the lighting in the room is on the dim side, each seat is also equipped with its own light to accommodate the preferences of every reader.
“The bookshelves are over there,” Erasmus tells K.
K walks over to the other side of the room. Books line every inch of the wall. A stack of magazines sits in one corner. His eyes are drawn to the color-printed pages, the first time he’s ever seen such a thing. But K does not recognize the archaic language of the words printed in them.
These must be old materials from the Twilight Era. Preserved in their pages must be pictures of unfamiliar landscapes, stories of unfamiliar cultures. Overcome by his curiosity, K picks up a magazine and flips through its pages.
The photograph of a woman from the Twilight Era takes K’s breath away. Her body is exposed. Only her slim midriff and the swell of her breasts remain covered. K’s eyes dart around the room. No one appears to be watching. Still, his fingers tremble as they leaf through the pages, as each image becomes increasingly more explicit. One picture stands out. The woman wears not a lick of clothing. She is as naked as a newborn. His eyes fix on the space between her legs, on the dark patch of pubic hair exposed there.
K returns from the reading room overflowing with the shame of his sinful ways. He finds Erasmus, who invites him to sit next to him as he casually lounges in a chair with a pipe in his hand.
“Find any interesting books?” His voice is a gentle whisper.
“Ah, yes, I suppose so,” K says, stammering and stumbling over his words.
“Well, the archive does contain quite a few stimulating materials from the Twilight Era. There’s nothing to it though. You’ll get used to it in time.”
Even this simple offhanded remark makes K wonder if Erasmus can read his mind.
Not knowing how to respond, K simply remains silent. But the silence does not last. All of a sudden, Erasmus asks him a question.
“So, K, copulation—how about it?”
“Huh?” It’s not a word K is accustomed to hearing. Still, it conjures an image of crossbreeding flowers in his mind, which gives him a good idea of what the word means.
“Have you or haven’t you?”
“Of course not.”
“Would you like to give it a try?”
K finds himself at a loss. Erasmus’s casual composure thoroughly bewilders him.
“If it is your desire, it is quite possible to facilitate this experience for you in this club.”
“No, Professor, it is not my desire. Not at the moment,” K says, his voice trembling with the unsettling of his soul.
“Another time, perhaps. See that door over there? There’s a staircase leading upstairs to the anteroom behind it. The females are waiting for you there. Simply select your preference among them.”
K can offer only a piercing blank stare in response.
“These females, they are very well versed in the techniques of the rituals. If you let them do their work, there’s no need for you to say a word at all.”
K keeps his disapproval unspoken. Erasmus must see through his silence though. Not that he lets his own amusement show in his eyes. Such an amicable expression, such a steady composure is possible only in a man who knows his way around the world.
“These females are Sacred Courtesans. They are the chosen few tasked with taking care of our pleasures. If you seek them out, they will welcome your company. Regardless, you are still a virgin, still quite young. Once you’ve had a chance to acquaint yourself with this place, it will be good for you to go pay them a visit.
Later that night, K accepts Erasmus’s invitation to play a match of Stellar Chess with him. K wins the first three straight games they play. Only when K agrees to a handicap does it become a real intellectual challenge. Onlookers flock around them
, no doubt impressed by K’s impressive talent.
In this game, differences in age or social rank lose all meaning. The only thing that matters is your skill at the game.
Now, it is their final match, and K makes a show of his inspired flashes of brilliance. He jumps his Moon into the sacred fifth dimension, dislodging his opponent’s Jupiter and its cluster of orbiting blue satellites. When Jupiter collides with Saturn, their impact creates a small opening to the Sun. Seeing this opening, K immediately sends in his comet on a suicide run to break through and set up a direct attack on Earth.
Erasmus has no choice but to concede now. Recognizing his untenable position, he surrenders his pieces with a bow in acknowledgment of K’s victory.
“The positioning of your Home Planet could have been better,” K whispers.
5
Right after their match, the conversation in the group unexpectedly turns to the subject of Planet Bosch. While K and Erasmus review their last match, a simple joke from one of the spectators prompts a discussion that leads to K finally learning some of the secrets of Planet Bosch.
“Looks like we’ll need to revise the rules of Stellar Chess, what with the discovery of Planet Bosch,” the spectator says.
“Indeed,” Erasmus replies. “Once upon a time, the planet was apparently linked to our solar system, until some unknown force moved it to its present position some one thousand light-years away in the Aldebaran system.”
“Do you happen to know when this migration took place, Professor Erasmus?” asks another one of the spectators.
“Yes, I do. If my understanding of the new data that my division just recently discovered is correct, we can surmise that the migration of Planet Bosch must have occurred around fifteen hundred years ago.”
A loud gasp ripples like a wave over the group gathered inside the library.
“If that’s true, then there can be no doubting the truth of the prophecy of The Holy Igitur!” says one of the gray-robed Sacred Service officers. “Look it up—there’s a verse in chapter 56 of the ‘Book of the Seed.’”
“This is amazing! It is the proof of the existence of the Sacred Era from The Holy Igitur’s teachings that we’ve been searching for!”
“Right. It means that sacred beings did exist in our solar system at one time,” came the interjection of another man, a scholar of the ontology of sacred beings. “What we have here is powerful physical evidence that proves the existence of God.”
Evidently, Planet Bosch has a mass about half that of Earth’s moon.
“In fact, all indications suggest that Planet Bosch was once a subsidiary satellite in Earth’s system a long time ago,” Erasmus says. “In other words, it was a satellite of the moon. Now, research into Planet Bosch is still in its infancy at the moment, so our understanding of all its mysteries is nowhere near complete. But what we can conclusively say is this: from the artifacts we’ve excavated, it is clear that the sacred planet was very much connected to Earth somehow at one time, long ago.”
“So, does the planet have any inhabitants?” another man inquired.
“Oh, yes. Naked nymphs live there. Lots of them.”
More gasps disturb the air in the room.
Something about the story of the sacred planet of Bosch seems oddly familiar to K, something about it feels connected to a memory that he’s had for a long time. Bosch. K has heard that name somewhere before. Bosch.
Bosch. Bosch. That’s it! Hieronymus Bosch! It’s a man’s name!
Bosch was a painter from the Twilight Era. K still remembers the first time that wondrous painting of Bosch’s caught his eye. It was in the personal chambers of his master Hypocras. Was it mere accident that he stumbled upon that four-hundred-year-old book of collected paintings splayed open on his master’s desk? K can only wonder. At the time, K was not aware of the long-standing ban on the publication and circulation of the book. Only later did his master mention something about the launching of an inquisition concerning the proper interpretation of Bosch’s painting, The Garden of Earthly Delights. That went all the way back to the year 567 of the Igituran Era.
A planet named Bosch and a painting by a man named Bosch. Are they linked somehow?
K’s memory of the painting remains as vivid as the day he first saw it. A pond sits in the center of everything, around which scores of naked bodies frolic. Men and women dance around strawberries and pomegranates the size of people. A woman with a blueberry for a head lies flat on her belly as a man chats her up. A man and a woman with grotesque pig snouts whisper secrets to one another while they push their faces into flowers shaped like bells. And don’t forget the winged beings dancing in the sky.
The solution to the riddle dawns on K while he listens in on the discussion in the library. This has to be the key. This mysterious planet, this Planet Bosch, is precisely what the painting is all about.
K waits for things to settle down in the library before he approaches Erasmus.
“Professor Erasmus? Do you know where I should go to learn more about this Planet Bosch? You see, I’ve actually been assigned to the Planet Bosch Research Center.”
Erasmus laughs.
“Well, that certainly explains things,” he says.
Erasmus brings K back to the stacks on the other side. He scans the shelves until he locates a slim volume among the rows and rows of books. He hands the book to K.
“Here, you should read this.”
K examines the book in his hands. Its title reads A Brief Account of the Discovery of Planet Bosch. A whispered word of thanks later, K makes himself comfortable on one of the lounging chairs. His fingers peel open the cover of the book.
The book dedicates its first few pages to the customary biographical notes about the author and the prescribed acknowledgment of the papal curia. K skips these and jumps right to the beginning of the book proper.
Under the leadership of a succession of popes, peace and prosperity reign all across the lands of our Holy Empire of Igitur. Like the small circular ripples that race across the surface of a lake following the strike of a small pebble, many events, phenomena, and discoveries mark the continuing spread of Igitur’s Millennium of Prosperity to all the corners of the empire’s one-thousand-light-year span. The devotion of our pope deserves the admiration of all citizens. His leadership has led to the discovery of Planet Bosch as we approach the closing of the final century of the millennium in this year 975. This most recent discovery elevates the glory of our pope, showing us a sign that more good fortune will come our way.
As K continues to read, his eyes periodically glaze over at some of the more stylized language employed in the book. But it does not take too much effort to work through some of the trickier passages, which is why, for the most part, K manages to grasp the gist of the author’s account.
One thing is odd though. If the discovery of Planet Bosch was supposed to have been an occasion for celebration, a sign of promising days to come, why then has this led to keeping every piece of knowledge, every piece of information about it under lock and key today?
Did their study of Planet Bosch uncover something, some new discovery that could not be shared with the public? That would have been terribly inconvenient for the leaders of the Holy Empire.
He isn’t quite able to put it into words, but something bothers K about all this secrecy. The preface of the book reveals that a strange sort of shadowy curse seems to shroud the sacred planet, with several of the researchers linked to the study of the planet all meeting inexplicable and untimely deaths. It doesn’t help that earlier Erasmus mentioned to K that the author of this book himself met a tragic end, stumbling out of a window of his own home without any explanation.
“Be warned,” Erasmus told him. “Reading this book might just bestow the same curse upon you. But don’t let me stop you from reading if that’s really what you insist on doing.”
Erasmus’s face did not betray anything. Whether he was making a joke or completely serious about the matter, K
could not say. But what is certain is that Erasmus himself has never read it, even though its author was once his own colleague.
K does not finish reading the book from beginning to end until well into the night. He pored through its pages, vacillating between a sense of curiosity and a feeling of trepidation with each new page he turned, even as he learned a great deal about the mysteries of Planet Bosch. He did not know beforehand that the existence of the sacred planet was already known several centuries prior to its official date of discovery, with the Papal Court going so far as to record its existence in its official Astronomical Almanac. But because no one understood the planet’s significance, no one paid much attention to it for a long time. The opening act of the history of Planet Bosch—its supposed discovery by the astronomer Surim during the reign of Pope Job Kerim II in the year 975 of the Igituran Era—is really just its rediscovery. Prior to this point in time, the planet had been known by two other designations: Aldebaran 5954 and Planet Katavolos.
The detailed account of the history of the planet in the book gives K much to ponder. He takes his time to make sense of it all in his own mind.
The history of the verdant planet begins with its inclusion for the first time in the Sigmen Astronomical Almanac, the catalog of the territories of the Holy Empire of Igitur, in the wake of the discovery of the Field Theory of Hyperspace Navigation in the year 288 of the Igituran Era. Oddly enough, the book does not disclose the planet’s location. Perhaps this omission is a consequence of the standing publication ban on information about Planet Bosch? What it does reveal though is the distance of Aldebaran 5954 from Earth. It is nine hundred light-years away in the southern celestial hemisphere, thus placing it within the one-thousand-light-year territorial frontier of the Holy Empire, in accordance with the terms of the Treaty of Two Worlds signed in the year 182 following the two-hundred-year North-South War during the reign of The Holy Igitur.
However, observations of the planet did not begin until the turn of the fifth century. In part, this is because the planet’s very existence could not be ascertained for quite some time. It turns out that the orbit of Aldebaran 5954 does not follow any of the known patterns of orbital movements. Only with the construction of the Loulan Sector Observatory in the year 469 by the Astronomy Division of the Papal Court could research on the planet properly advance. At the heart of this research on the planet was the question of how to explain its strange orbital movements. One hypothesis suggested that an almost imperceptible “string” attached the planet to its central star. It took nine years—until the year 478—for any evidence of such a “string” to materialize.
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