Since that time though, the planet has attracted only a minimal interest. It is, after all, just another planet among the countless others recorded in the Astronomical Almanac, warranting only a few lines of description. One important discovery did come about in the year 611, when an astronomer from the Yilan Observatory at the edge of the Loulan Sector transmitted a report advancing the theory that the planet appeared to be organic in composition; that is, that the planet was nothing less than a mass of vegetation floating in space. What prompted this idea was the astronomer’s long struggle to explain the excessive quantities of chlorophyll he detected on the planet. Sadly, not many recognized the epochal nature of this discovery at the time, a consequence of the brutal civil war engulfing much of the Holy Empire since the year 567. Had it not been for this one interstellar trading vessel wandering off course and wrecking in the Aldebaran system some four hundred years later, that might have been the end of any further research on Planet Bosch. It took the development of large spacecraft that could regularly travel all the way to the very edges of the Holy Empire’s sphere of influence in the year 900 to make this event possible.
6
Only one member of the crew—a man named Tinguette—survived the wreck. On his return to Earth following his rescue, he brought back with him astounding new discoveries about Aldebaran 5954.
Tinguette was the man who gave the planet its second name—Planet Katavolos. He was apparently quite the starry-eyed utopian dreamer, a psychological profile not uncommon among those who travel into the deepest reaches of space. Although his official role on the wrecked ship was chief medical officer, as is often the case with the crews of spacefaring vessels, he also had to be knowledgeable in several areas beyond his own field of specialization.
Tinguette took the name “Katavolos” from the name of William Katavolos, an architect and industrial designer from the Twilight Era civilization. Apparently, he saw a striking congruence between the planet’s features and the organic architecture that Katavolos discussed in his work, a fact that so astounded him by its sheer improbability that it practically restored his faith. Indeed, even though he produced only one report of his time on the planet, the sheer number of citations from the work of this architect Katavolos in this one report is remarkable. For example, he references this passage from Katavolos’s manifesto titled “Organics”:
Now this becomes very possible using blow-molded methods of plastics with a double wall, which could be filled with chemicals of various densities, which could allow the outside surface to be structurally ribbed in a beautiful pattern, which would allow the inner shell to flex and to receive the body, a chair which could easily again bring coolness or heat through chemical action, vibration and flex, a chair which could incorporate electronic devices for sounds, and also for creating correct ionic fields. A chair which would be an affirmation of all that has gone before and that which is now necessary. This we can do without mechanics, organically, in much the same manner as similar actions such as respiration, peristalsis, and pulse rhythms occur in many natural forms.
Another passage:
Carrying the principle further from furniture into containers for food, for liquids, we find that again the double wall, structurally ribbed on the outside, smooth on the inside, could eliminate the need for refrigeration by chemically cooling the product within, or when activated or opened such a container might then chemically cook the soup, provide the disposable bowl itself from which to drink, and thereby make the stove, the sinks for cleaning, the areas for storage unnecessary, as we know them.
Thus Tinguette explained what compelled him to name the planet “Katavolos”:
Having spent three years of my life on this giant mass of vegetation, it was only inevitable that I would call it such. The moment I stepped into one of the organic vesicles on the surface of the planet for the first time, I could not deny the fact that Katavolos’s vision of organic architecture from the twentieth century now materialized before me. What else could this green chamber of vegetation be if not the imagination of Katavolos made manifest? This cannot be chalked up to mere cosmic coincidence. No, if anything, this made me believe even more in God’s plan.
Even as Tinguette had become the talk of the town, elsewhere an obscure astronomer by the name of Surim was coming up with his own perspective on Planet Bosch. The Papal Court had sent him to the same Yilan Observatory that had originally discovered the “string” attached to Planet Bosch. Now, an assignment to an observatory in some far-flung star system often involves days upon days of babysitting a giant electronic telescope, an experience that’s not all that different from exile to some far-flung penal colony. Only the ticking off of days in the calendar breaks the monotony of it all. Not having much of a reputation as an astronomer, he did what many before him did to pass the time, devoting himself to the serious study of the Southern Scriptures. This is how he stumbled upon a discovery of an intriguing detail in one of The Holy Igitur’s prophesies.
Because The Holy Igitur is said to be the reincarnation of the author of the “Book of Job,” the Southern Scriptures incorporates many passages from the older text. Surim found one such passage in the chapter called “The Laws of Heaven.”
Can you bind the cluster of the Pleiades,
Or loose the belt of Orion?
Can you bring out Mazzaroth in its season?
Or can you guide the Great Bear with its cubs?
Do you know the ordinances of the heavens?
Can you set their dominion over the earth?
—Job 38:31–33.
Surim focused on the opening verses: “Can you bind the cluster of the Pleiades / Or loose the belt of Orion?” Most theologians concur in their allegorical interpretation of these verses as illustrations of the extent of God’s power over the heavens. But lacking in any formal theological training, Surim took the meaning of these verses quite literally. Noting that Aldebaran follows Pleiades in the night sky, he saw an intriguing correspondence between the “string” that guided the movements of Katavolos in the Aldebaran system with the image of binding Pleiades. So taken was he by this idea that he even wrote his own commentary on the infamous “Book of the Seed” in the Southern Scriptures.
A little-known edict once issued by Pope Algol IV imposed a standing requirement to report the findings of any scholarly work done on the Southern Scriptures. Few actually still remembered this order, despite the fact that it was never officially rescinded. Surim was not, however, one of those who had forgotten. He wrote up a report summarizing his findings and sent it over to the Papal Court. Normally, such a report would have simply languished in a pile of other reports and documents. This time, though, it attracted the attention of the pope’s private secretary, who singled out this piece of correspondence from the farthest reaches of the empire.
Famous for his journalistic eye for detail and a finely honed sense for public relations, this man realized the power of a report from the frontiers of the empire should it be incorporated into the pope’s memorial speech for the birthday celebrations of The Holy Igitur. That is how the report of an obscure astronomer somehow managed to make its way into the hands of the pope himself. There is no way to tell how the young and progressive Pope Job Kerim II reacted to this report, but telling enough is the fact that in that year of 975, “Planet Bosch Research” was elevated to the list of officially sanctioned Holy Disciplines.
7
K returns the book to its proper place on the bookshelves. Looking around, he finds no one else remaining in the lounge. Only the dim illumination of K’s lamp cuts through the dull silence and dark shadows of the room.
K reclines on a sofa. What now? Maybe head back to the old spot under the banyan tree? Or maybe—
This is the moment it happens. A pair of girls—each one a dead ringer for the other—pass through the lounge to find K all by himself.
“Oh!” says one of the girls.
“May I ask what you are still doing here?” asks the other.<
br />
Both girls are close to K’s age and endowed with an elegant beauty that so dazzles him they might as well have been a blinding light by the way K averts his eyes.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Of course we are. Do you see anyone else here? But first things first. Who are you, exactly?”
Her words bear a glint of an edge.
Too overwhelming are their half-exposed bodies. K displays the silver medallion hanging from his neck as he desperately searches for a place to plant his gaze.
“I just passed the exam.”
“Oh, so you are the famous one! The youngest ever to pass the Sacred Service Exam!”
One girl studies K’s face. In turn, the other girl—her sister? her colleague?—turns to her.
“Remember? Everyone was talking about him earlier. This is him in the flesh,” she says.
K straightens up.
“I guess I’m not supposed to be here. I better get going then.”
“What? Leaving already? But you’re always welcome to stay over if that’s what you so desire. That is why we are here, after all.”
“Really? Sorry about all this. I guess I got carried away reading this book from the library and lost track of—”
The girls do not wait for K to finish his apology before taking his hands in theirs.
“Come now, please follow me,” one of them whispers to him. Her voice is at once gentle and commanding.
Wrapping their hands around his wrists, the two girls snatch K away from the lounge. They lead him to a spiral staircase in the center of a round chamber. Ascending to the second floor, they emerge in a red-carpeted hallway where rows upon rows of doors line both walls. The girls push K into the dark room behind one of these doors. But this darkness does not last long. A lamp lights up as soon as they step inside, setting the room ablaze in a vibrant green glow.
K gasps in awe. Mirrors cover every inch of the walls and the ceiling of the room, giving the room an almost magical quality. A large four-poster bed draped in curtains sits at the center of the room. Everything in the room—the walls, the curtains, and the bed itself—is painted in a vibrant emerald green that glimmers in the light reflecting on the mirrors all around them.
“This is amazing,” K says. “Is this your room?”
“That’s right. Now don’t just stand there. Come over here and take off your clothes.”
“Oh, no. That’s all right. I’ll sleep with my clothes on. That’s what I always do.”
The girls laugh.
“You know nothing,” they say in unison.
One of the twin girls surprises K when she starts peeling off K’s soiled black robes without a word of warning.
“No, I shouldn’t.”
But K’s protests and attempts to free himself from her hands fall on deaf ears.
“No, stay,” the other girl whispers as she leans in close before pressing her lips on K’s.
K loses his balance as one of the girls pushes him down onto the bed. His breaths quicken. The other girl’s glistening lips continue to press against his lips. Her perfumed hair gently flutters over his face. He breaks into a cold sweat.
Holy Igitur!
But K’s silent scream cannot overcome his intoxication at the soft sensuous bodies pressing against him. The girl does not stop undressing K. At first, he makes a point of kicking his legs in resistance. But even K has to admit that this is just perfunctory, just a matter of simply going through the motions. He drowns in the girls’ all-too-sweet fragrance as he lets this pair of seductive fiends completely undress him.
“You really do know nothing, do you, Mister Prodigy,” they say to the now fully exposed K. “Look at how he glares at us. Do you not like us?”
K grabs hold of the sheets and scrambles to cover himself.
“No, that’s not it at all.” K’s voice comes out as barely a whisper. “But . . . the commandments . . . my sins will be punished by The Holy Igitur.”
The girls giggle like a pair of songbirds humming in unison.
“Is that all? No need to worry about that, officer of the Sacred Service . . .”
This must be it. This must be that special privilege granted only to those who pass the Sacred Service Exam. Finally, it all makes sense to K. Now, he understands what they were talking about. Now, he understands what Erasmus was telling him.
“Now it’s our turn.”
With these words, the girls undo the shoulder straps of their dresses. Their dresses drop to their feet in two neat circular piles.
They too are exposed now. Only their skimpy underwear remains on their bodies. But that does not last long. Those garments are quickly peeled off too, leaving K with the sight of two bodies naked as newborns, just like those pictures he had glimpsed earlier in that ancient Twilight Era magazine.
“You can call us Freesia,” they say in unison.
“Is that your name? Which one of you?”
“No. We are both Freesia.”
“This is confusing,” K says. “Same name. Same face. How am I supposed to tell you two apart?”
Like perfect mirror images, they are exact reflections of one another.
“No need to concern yourself with that—we are chimera.”
“Are you telling me that you’re incubates? Clones?”
“That is correct.”
The girls plant themselves on the edge of each side of the bed. They swing their legs around to face K. From both sides they crawl toward him, wrapping their arms around his body.
“Let us make love to you now.”
K lays eyes on their crotches. Not quite what he once imagined. Until today, all he knew of women’s bodies came from pictures in medical textbooks. He remembers this one book that his master, Hypocras, kept on his bookshelf, a sizable hardcover volume under lock and key. One time, while his master was away, he sneaked out with the book to catch a peek.
Such a strange thing it is. It looks like a clam.
When the girls notice K’s eyes intently fixed on their crotches, they again speak with a single hollow voice.
“You are a very strange boy indeed!”
K turns his flushed face away.
“Go on now.”
The girls take hold of each of K’s hands in unison, inviting him to touch their crotches. He can no longer resist their spell over him. All he can do now is grimace. His fingers feel their wetness. What is all this going through his mind now? A heady mix of an aroused curiosity, a sense of guilt at his sinful acts, and above all else, a nebulous haze beyond any words, beyond any comprehension. Responding to his touch, the girls close their eyes in pleasure. K looks up toward the ceiling. Reflecting back at him on the massive mirror above them is the scene of their three bodies intertwining in some sort of strange sacred ritual.
8
The next morning, the piercing voice of an owl in a cage startles K awake.
“Good morning! Good morning!” it shrieks.
The Freesias are nowhere to be seen. Someone must have thrown open the curtains and the windows to the veranda, letting in the light of the sun as it rises above the hill where City Hall stands watch. K breathes in the fresh morning air.
“I saw it all! I saw it all! You were all enjoying yourselves!”
It is the shrill voice of the owl again.
Stupid bird!
Disgusted, K glares at the strange talking bird. It flaps its wings around its cage as it prattles on about the events of the previous night in surprising detail. This flusters K at first. All he can do is stare back at the bird with his mouth agape. Once he gathers his wits about him, he promptly gives it a tongue lashing.
“Shut up! Or I’ll strangle you to death!” he yells.
Clever bird. It lowers its head, making a show of its drooping face.
Such a strange owl. It must be some kind of magical bird.
“Look at the mirrors! Look at the mirrors!”
Was the damned thing shrieking again? K glances at the mirrors. Wha
t he sees makes him gasp. Every single mirror is replaying the events of last night. Every obscene act atop the bed is replayed from every angle.
Is K still dreaming? No, this is no dream.
Do these mirrors have memories?
K heads downstairs, returning to the lounge. There, he finds Erasmus alongside the other guests from last night. It looks like they all spent the night here at Clara Hall as well.
When Erasmus sees K come in, he flashes him a knowing smile.
“Good morning, K.”
“Yes, good morning, Professor,” K says in return. “Do you mind if I sit with you for a while? I have a few questions I want to ask you.”
“Please, be my guest,” says Erasmus as he adjusts the glasses on his face.
“Thank you.”
With a nod of acknowledgment, K plants himself on the leather seat next to Erasmus. And then, without missing a beat, he explodes, flinging question after question at him.
“—Do you know what I’m saying? Why? Why should I not think that this place is a house of sin? Just what exactly is going on here? No, not just here! With everything! Nothing makes any sense!”
Erasmus maintains a polite silence, nodding along as K goes on and on with his long-winded diatribe. When K finishes, his expression takes a serious turn.
“I’m not surprised that this place confounds you. But K, my boy, what you’re talking about, that’s all intimately intertwined with the deepest mysteries of our universe. Don’t try too hard to untangle it all by yourself. If you keep obsessively picking at the knots, you may very well end up destroying our universe.”
The Sacred Era: A Novel (Parallel Futures) Page 8