LOREBOOK: The Travels of Gongo Oberstein

MULTIVERSAL SECURITY FORCE - ARCHIVES DIVISION

“Η ΓΝΩΣΗ ΕΙΝΑΙ Η ΑΡΧΗ ΤΗΣ ΑΣΦΑΛΕΙΑΣ | KNOWLEDGE BEGETS SECURITY”

TODAY’S DATE: 9/18/0014 A/CO

DOCUMENT CODICIES

CODEX #51-Λ “SHATTERED REALMS, PERSONAL ACCOUNTS FROM”

FILE #2532

COLLECTED 7/17/0002 A/CO

ACCESSING...

The Journals of Zoralei Montregal, Volume III

Stardate 2525.7

Today is the third day we’ve spent in the shiver, and that awful yellow color outside the ship’s windows hasn’t gotten any less ugly. I haven’t gotten quite used to the taste of synthesized eggs yet either, even after being on ships like this dozens of times. I’m anxious to see if there’s chickens in this newly converged universe I’m headed to, because I’d love a real omelette right about now.

Another thing I’m missing is cyberspace. “Only mandatory systems ago when we’re in shiver,” the ship captains always say. “Can’t risk a stray signal taking us to some hell dimension.” The odds of that seem astronomical to me, but I’m loathe to anger these sailors, who are burly enough snap me in half with a look.

Having gotten bored of reading and watching the transmissions I’d pre-downloaded from our destination universe(their ‘television’ indicates a primitive level of development), I decided to chat with those very sailors, and took the lift to the main deck. While a few were calculating equations on panels, fixing loose ends, or checking the trade goods, most were relaxing. Some read physical magazines(a sailors’ favorite, for whatever reason) featuring images of aliens in revealing positions, while others were arm wrestling each other. The most interesting group was one that was having a lively conversation around a game of cards. I walked up to them and said hello.

“You’re the diplomat, right?” asked one of them, with tattoos running along both arms.

“Yes, I’m coming to this newly converged universe to establish formal relations. The name’s Zoralei Montregal, plenipotentiary and envoy of the Intersoliary Council.”

“What little of it there is, you mean.”

I had gotten used to receiving insults from citizens about the near-nonexistence of the government I worked for. They weren’t wrong, but it always stung at least a little.

“Real funny, how life is. A few years back, I was running contraband with Flint’s boys in the Betelgeuse sector. Now I’m on a fucking trade dingy, with our main cargo being you.” This elicited a laugh from the other men.

“Well, I’m glad a former friend of one of the galaxy’s most wanted can set aside his past to help a lady such as myself.” I sat down next to him, and offered a hand.

He shook it. “Ephraim Dockson. Nice to meet you. You know how to play three-card Crabscratch?”

“I might be a government official, Ephraim, but I don’t live under a rock. Deal me in.”

The game was relatively uneventful, save for when Ephraim’s friend Quelth played a full Crabscratch. What really interested me about this meeting, and why I write so much about it, is the story Ephraim told me as we played.

As he dealt me in, he asked, “You ever hear stories from sailors, miss?”

“A few.”

“You ever heard about Gongo Oberstein?”

A couple of Ephraim’s friends rolled their eyes. He must have told the story before at length.

“I’ve heard the name before. A ghost story, told by sailors who stay in the shiver so long they go crazy. Like you.”

Ephraim laughed. “Maybe so, miss, maybe so. But crazy people tell the best stories.”

“Then I’ll be happy to hear this story.”

Here is my best retelling of what Ephraim Dockson told me. I will use footnotes to record what Epharim’s flourishes in his storytelling were.

Roughly five hundred years ago, there was an explorer and envoy of the Intersoliary League from Earth by the name of Gongo Oberstein. The era of exploration was in full swing, and Gongo spent a great amount of his time in the shiver, going into all manner of different universes and speaking to the inhabitants. He was well known for his meticulous note-taking. When he went to a new universe, he would record his interactions with every single person, write down information on all forms of life, and put it all into his files. A not-insignificant number of the notes in the intersoliary files are from Oberstein.

The reason for this note-taking was an insatiable curiosity, which went back to his childhood. Oberstein grew up in New Kinshasa on Tau Ceti F. As a child, he wanted to know about everything around him. This was good in the sense that he was an excellent student, but it also meant that his parents would have to go looking for him at night, only to find him writing down the specifics of a tree he found in the park. Recruiters from the league found him during secondary education and thought he was an excellent candidate. Upon completing tertiary education at the Intersolar Academy on Earth, he swore an oath. “I’ll see every universe,” he said. “Every last one, and I’ll write down everything.”

Years later, Oberstein was a passenger on a Council ship headed to a newly discovered universe. The Shiver drive sputtered as they went through, and they were left hanging in the space between worlds. A sailor put on an EVA suit to go outside and fix the drive, but Gongo stopped her. “Take me with you,” he said. “I’ve never been out in the shiver before. I want to see it through my own eyes, not just through a window.” Not one to disobey the order of an Intersoliary envoy, the woman gave Oberstein an EVA suit and the two went out together. The shiver was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He gawked and stared into the infinite abyss around him. “I need to go!” He yelled, and swam into nothingness. The sailor tried to stop him, but she was too late. The connection tube snapped, and Oberstein started falling. Then he saw things no mortal was meant to see.

He hit the floor of the multiverse, a place made out of clouds with a deep purple sky. He walked across that until he fell even further, into what sailors call “the last land.” Oberstein’s instincts of notation did not stop in this strange place. In fact, they intensified. He voraciously wrote down everything he could about the place and its people. These people did not want to be studied; they frequently tried to scare Oberstein or exile him. Finally, his travels led him to the lords of the last land; glittering beings made out of precious stones.

“Let me write of you,” he asked. “Let me tell your story to my people.”

They acquiesced, letting him into their secretive realm. He wrote about the lords’ customs, their names, and their biology. But with every answer about these people came a million new questions. Oberstein was exhausted by these esoteric people. “Just show me the truth!” He cried out while in their care.

One of the Lords bellowed back. “YOU WISH TO SEE THE TRUTH? THEN GAZE INTO THE SECRET HISTORIES.” He pointed Oberstein to a chamber, which contained tablets with secret information. Oberstein was overjoyed. He thought he had finally found the source of all knowledge. He smiled as he walked inside.

Gongo Oberstein was obliterated the instant he walked inside. The knowledge was too much. Some say that his shattered soul still wanders the shiver, seeking to fulfill that oath he never finished. Sometimes his notes randomly appear in the back compartments of trading ships, beckoning people to make the same mistakes he did.

As I finished the Crabscratch game and returned to my quarters, as I showered, as I continued studying the customs of my destination, I couldn’t stop thinking about the story. I write it down mostly so that I can be done with it, like listening to a song to get it out of your head.

The story sticks with me for two reasons, I think. First, I wonder if there is truth to it. The discovery of this multiversal “floor,” and of this last land they speak of, would be a tremendous advancement in extraplanar astronomy. I am making a note in my calendar to check the archives to see if there really was a Gongo Oberstein, once I get back from this mission.

The other reason, of course, is its moral. Am I like Gongo? Do I pry too far, look too deeply, go where I shouldn’t? As I prepare for my arrival on this alternate earth tomorrow, my resolve is shakened. I am unsure if I am making the right choice.

1. ↑ “This was back when they still, you know, mattered.”
2. ↑ “Kind of like this one.” Ephraim gave a toothy grin as he spoke, trying to scare me.
3. ↑ Quelth spoke up at this. “This is the worst part of your stupid story, Ephraim. How could someone think that piss yellow is beautiful?” Ephraim got a little quiet at this. “You’ve never been in EVA, man. It looks...different when you’re in it.”

END OF ENTRY