The King was halfway to his destination, measured not by distance, but by the King’s own satisfaction. This satisfaction was dependent on the number of boundaries through which he had broken.
This had all started a long time ago now, back on his home planet, within the palace, within the throne-room that stood within the palace.
Peace reigned across the kingdom, because he was a wise and fair-minded king, and because everyone from his wife, the Queen, to the lowliest kitchen hand, was recognised as a source of counsel.
The King had spent three decades strengthening the demesne which was his by divine right. His mechanics and engineers had erected forcefields which repelled all enemies, yet despite his strength the King refused to make war, and this helped keep the peace.
He had his scientists build probes that were launched into space, and which took the lie of the land further and in more detail than his ancestors could ever have dreamed.
The King’s subjects thrived within the citadel, within the kingdom that stretched beyond it.
But the King grew uneasy. He had done great works and yet he felt isolated from his people. He felt cocooned in this throne-room, within this palace, within this citadel, within this city, within this kingdom.
And so, in frustration, he ordered his scientists to build a vessel to take him out of his sphere. The day came when the King piloted a new machine, which broke free of each layer within which the King had resided, and which took him up, up out of the throne-room, palace, citadel, city, kingdom, planet, solar system.
Yet he was only half way, half way between his throne and the edge of the universe. Five layers he had left behind, and five layers he imagined still remained. And the King wondered whether, when he reached that final layer, the onion-skin edge of the universe, he would be satisfied, and he suspected not.