Enigma

At the heart of my excursion was the noble purpose of locating answers to the most momentous questions of civilisation. It was imperative to bring our science (provincial and belittled in the Universe) closer to the fast flowing mainstream of cosmic thought. I admit my reasons were slightly sentimental, related to my origins, fueled by the desire to explore the secrets of ancient manuscripts - unresolved and later abandoned riddles of Schrodinger’s cat and the quantum leaps of Mr. Cheshire. I don’t have much in common with my feline ancestors: after all the local apocalypses and the following revolutions, all representatives of our civilisation (humanoids, faunoids, floroids or AI) look similar and have identical rights. Even though, there are still malcontents who do not appreciate our equality with, as they phrase it, chickens, mushrooms and toasters’ descendants, such backwards revisionism is unable to undermine the undoubted achievements of our civilisation. However, in our unified physicality, not devoid of certain individualism, some atavisms managed to survive. For example, I have a strong aversion to bathing in H2O, an unhealthy fascination with descendants of pigeons (I’ve been working on this for years with my therapist) and a penchant for being scratched behind my ear. Unconfirmed suppositions about the existence of an area of extremely concentrated and closely guarded information in a remote corner of the Universe aroused in me the curiosity of a tireless explorer of mystery.

Initially, the flight was quite smooth and even boring, so I devoted myself to studying papers on laser physics, developing a theory on superpositionality whilst cross-eyed, and using my favourite scratching machine. However, somehow after emerging from a busy wormhole, I veered down a less frequented tunnel and found myself in the cosmic wilderness, at the blank edges of the cosmic maps. Navigating in the dark, I accidentally fell into a space-time so terribly folded that the ship started shivering and almost fell apart. As if that was not enough, the nervous paroxysms of the ship threw me into an area of simultaneous attraction with several black holes, which existence in this area I had not suspected. I did not have time to report the blatant and scandalous neglect in the transport safety guidebook (the holes were unmarked, and the probability guides silent), and hence I was forced to lead the ship out of the gravitational slide manually and with quite considerable difficulty… After managing the situation, I realised with some anxiety that during the turbulence, the scratcher’s handle fell off and I could not find it. The machine was completely useless, making me nervous and unable to focus on anything. All the warning lights pulsated, showing numerous defects, and now required an immediate call to a spaceport. Yet there I was, drifting in the cosmic wasteland in some completely unknown space.

The area was wild and unpleasant, full of cosmic trash. I waded through cautiously, looking for traces of any civilisation. During the ensuing hours of horror, it seemed that I was the only living creature in the universe. Slowly, I began to say goodbye to life, meowing in ways that I believe my ancestors might. Then, suddenly, I noticed something that looked like an inhabited planet responding to my ship’s failure signal. Although its answer was somewhat vague and resounded with a twisted tone, after such horror in the cosmic wilderness, I descended to the surface of this civilised globe with inexpressible relief.

It was only at the spaceport, during the usual procedures characteristic for adventures such as these, that I realised that chance had unexpectedly led me to my desire… I was on Enigma, the planet of secrets. It was an area of space with such a thickening of confidential information, where secrets of the highest importance existed around and within white lies and naive misconceptions. The place was so elusive, the inhabitants themselves did not know its exact location. For centuries the planet has been hidden so effectively that over time it has become nothing more than a myth to the rest of the Cosmos.

This whole area of the galaxy collapsed under the weight of hidden information that it looked like a provincial black hole from afar, and for obvious reasons was given a wide berth. Therefore, the place was overgrown with a congestion of petrified camouflage, streams of lost code and layers of veiled information. As I learned from a guide book on my way to the hotel, these secrets had shaped the civilisation populated by the indigenous Secretaries: omniscient holders of all concealed and cryptic knowledge.

Having gone through various metamorphoses and mutations, the undisclosed details accumulated over the centuries have become the planet’s wealth and source of energy. Secrets, seeking an outlet, mixed with the natural matter of the planet poured out of volcanoes in the form of enigmagma, and gnosis eruptions shook the globe with cyclical regularity. The planet’s community was ruled by Secretaries of varying degrees depending on the amount of information their bodies could contain. Secrets were inherited and concealed knowledge equivalents became local currency. The guide warned travelers about the underground services, as the common secrecy policy meant public transport usually took passengers to the unknown. Another problem arising from the multi-level encryption was also the recognition of citizens, as they used so many identities that even family members did not get to know each other—the common practice being to impersonate someone else.

Therefore, with great curiosity, I began to look around and watch the Enigmatians. Seemingly they looked fairly average, but under closer inspection, the terrible impact of carried secrets became clear. Some of them bent double under the weight of carried mysteries so that they had to crawl on the ground using additional legs, as a result of which resembling giant centipedes. Those who held the conspiracies of the highest weight collapsed from their critical mass, changing into their own shadows, which were neither here nor there. Others, obsessed with camouflage disguised themselves so effectively that I kept mistaking them for lanterns, benches or stalls, for which, of course, I apologised effusively. I noticed that the bearers of official confidential information, i.e. heavy and boring, developed long, saggy cheeks that hung down sadly, then scrunched and folded using paper clips. The holders of scientific insincerities suffered from scoliosis and locked jaws, heart Secretaries gasped heavily and had a chronic shortness of breath. The most nasty symptoms, however, hit the carriers of intimate secrets, whose lymphatic nodes swelled in certain unspeakable areas.

I was so curious about the great and terrifying power of secrets, I almost forgot the purpose of my journey. I came to consciousness as a result of a collision with a pole, which revealed itself as an undercover citizen. Once had I apologised to them and explained all the possible reasons for my awkwardness, they generously offered to help. During a very cryptic conversation full of tenuous allusions, nudges, side glances and winks, I revealed to my new friend the purpose of my arrival. In the heady, contagious atmosphere of general conspiracy, I was secretly paranoid of his potential skepticism, or even worse - indignation After all, I was an intruder trying to mine and violate the reserves of local secrets. To my astonishment, the Secretary rearranged his faux moustache and whispered theatrically that they would answer any of my questions with the greatest excitement and eagerness.

— How come? — I stammered surprised — Any question at all? The slender citizen smirked.

— Absolutely everything! Dear newcomer, each of us possesses absolute knowledge of all the secrets. We are able and moreover delighted to disclose, deliver and divulge as the gossiping amendment is our second most important freedom, that is after discretion. Unfortunately, we are afforded too few occasions to utilise it, as no living or communicating clump has visited us for centuries. So please, dear newcomer, ask ask ask!

— “But then, why all these covers and camouflages?”, I wondered in amazement.

— I can see from your eyes you are confused. The confidentiality and security clauses apply only to mysteries valuable to us. Nobody outside our planet can even formulate a question to which an answer is worth protecting. Don’t be offended, newcomer, but your essential question weights as much as a pebble on the side of the road. Notwithstanding, there are plenty of pebbles on the side of most roads. So…

Overwhelmed with the responsibility that fell on me as a representative of the generally less informed beings, I wondered frantically about all manner of questions, thinking off-the-cuff of the numerous benefits I could bestow on our civilisation. I could see myself— a brave, yet modest hero, a philosopher king of the castle, glossed under the glass lights of well deserved glory… During which I managed to miss the last sentence of the Secretary.

— There is only one condition. There can be only one question.

I almost fainted from in the outburst of chaotic thoughts that rolled through my head: What do I choose? What’s inside the black hole? How does one determine the speed and position of a particle at the same time? Does entropy end? How can I… can one become immortal? Did I turn off the tap before departure? What happened to Schrodinger’s cat after all? Where the hell is the scratching machine handle?

The native closed his eyes, smirked mysteriously and handed me a tiny note, looking sideways:

— Here’s your answer.
— Wait! — I shouted in a panic — I haven’t asked the question yet!
— Ahhh, but you did. I chose the thought that moved you most vividly. Goodbye, newcomer!, He said nervously, then jumped in the closest bush and began to camouflage himself. I lowered my eyes to the note and read the laconic inscription: “Your scratching machine handle fell behind the cabinet, into the trickpot.”

I fell to the ground. I was struck by a feeling of tragic loss, overwhelmed by the colossal responsibility of a missed opportunity, burdened by what was an irreversible, predictable mistake. I might have even sobbed, briefly. After a little while however, I got up from my lap and carefully brushed off my clothes. I felt a sudden glimpse of absolute contentedness “Behind the cabinet! Inside a trickpot! Who would have guessed!”

After all, it is well known that nothing disturbs the sense of cosmic harmony more than the sudden disappearance of an object, and, as an ancient poet said, there are no more urgent questions than naive questions.