Spire Warden Kong puts down his binoculars, fully taking in the vistas of open sea stretching towards infinity from his command station. The tower holding him and his staff juts above the wave swept fjords, which are merely facades for the arcology of Tenorite Spire.
Clear skies, mild temperatures, calm seas. Nearly ideal conditions for both sea and sky vessels. “Maybe we’ll have a quiet day for once.” Kong thinks to himself as he idly fiddles with the small armillary sphere in his hands, taking his time to tweak its rings and arms to match the current solar cycle.
A pulsing blue light draws his attention back to the hive of activity that was the traffic control center. He twitches as one of the operators almost jumps from their station, the bulky headset around their head barely staying affixed as they turn towards his console at the center of the room.
“Warden, We've received a distress call. You’re going to want to hear this.”
“Play it for the room. Everyone stand by.”
Chairs swivel as Kong‘s steady voice reverberates off the viewing windows and across the cramped confines of the traffic control center. With the flick of a few switches, the tower’s PA system crackles to life, the voice on the other end fuzzy and distorted:
“Pan-pan, Pan-pan, Pan-pan, All Stations. This is ICS Hermod. Our position is three AU out, plus zero point two, minus zero point seven, sixteen degrees above, and forty three degrees left. Current velocity is twenty four kilometers per second. We have suffered primary drive failure, and are requesting assistance for repairs and towing. ”
The room was already in motion even before the distress call had finished playing. Disks containing atlases and vessel registries fly off shelves as surprise fades and training takes over. One operator digs up a thick metal-bound tome from a dusty corner cabinet; procedures by Ironcrown’s Applied Physics Institute for dealing with reactor emergencies while underway.
Warden Kong dons his headset for the first time today, and dials into the emergency broadcast frequency:
“This is Tenorite Spire Control of the Cumulus League, we read you ICS Hermod. We are unable to assist without further confirmation of your position and heading.”
No response.
“Repeat, This is Tenorite Spire Control, requesting confirmation of position and heading.”
Still nothing.
Seconds pass, then minutes. More attempts, greeted by more silence.
As more questions are exchanged between operators, training falters and confusion begins to reign. By far, the most haggard and befuddled were those assigned to identifying the Hermod's location; Instead of the standard position, speed, and heading coordinates, they’ve been given utter nonsense to work with.
Nobody else was having much better luck, and further digging just on the stricken vessel just lead to more questions: Searches for an ICS Hermod in the registries come up empty, and there’s no matching transponder in the log books. Even the nature of their distress call came into question: if the transmission was this badly scrambled by (presumably) radiation, why not send a Mayday call?
Three minutes later, the furious deliberations are interrupted by sound streaming from the loudspeakers once again. The room stops to listen, but hope is swiftly replaced with exasperation as the exact same message as before is replayed.
Another attempt to reach out is made, but falls on deaf ears, like all the others made and that will be made. A third identical distress call is received.
It was becoming increasingly clear that their inquiry is either being ignored, or it is going unheard. The latter was nigh unthinkable to most in the room; Tenorite Spire is home to the largest single antenna assembly in the world. If anyone on the same hemisphere was broadcasting, they’d hear it and almost certainly be able to send a reply. The former all but implies unlawful or hostile intent.
With options like these, Kong’s next decision was obvious. He turns and nods to his second in command before standing to address the room.
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“I’m heading down to confer with Emergency Response. Deputy Zakari is in command now. Keep attempting to contact ICS Hermod, and maintain normal operations capacity to the best of your abilities.”
A series of affirmatives ripple from the cramped control room as operators leap into action. Some send messages to people and organizations who may be able to verify the signal, while others remain at their consoles and carry on as before. Satisfied, Kong gives a terse nod of acknowledgement to his second-in-command, before slipping out of the control center and into a waiting elevator.
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Though the Emergency Response Center took up a much larger volume, it is no less a picture of controlled chaos than the room Kong had just left. Spire Warden Rasulova stands at the center of it all, a still beacon amongst the currents of people and information. She waves to Kong as he approaches with a writing pad in his hand.
“Greetings, Warden Kong. I’ve gotten several requests for external involvement in the past hour. I presume you’re here to discuss that. ”
“Likewise, Warden Rasulova, I see you’re on top of things as usual.” His head nods towards the expansive windows at the back of the room, overlooking the upper hangar enclosure and the rescue team assembling below.
Despite the whirlwind of activity surrounding them, Rasulova leans towards him and lowers her voice. “Does anyone else know about this?”
“Nobody yet. I need to get the Society’s assistance to deal with the… unusual situation I’ve been facing.” Approval of the Warden responsible for emergency response is required to get any non-League entities involved.
“And that would be?”
“Exactly where to send your people.”
She gestured for him to continue, a knowing look on her face. Kong presents the writing slate he’s been holding; there had been plenty of time to formulate a message during the elevator ride down.
“Deliver this message to our Society delegates. Transmit by tight beam relay only.”
Rasulova’s complexion pales slightly at the request. “Must be serious if you’re going around everyone else and straight to the Society for help.”
“Trust me when I say nobody else can.” He hands her the glass slate containing his message, etched in phosphorescing letters. She looks over it and nods, adding a few annotations with her own laser stylus before flagging down one of the staff members moving about, and dropping the note on top of the stack of disks and slates he is carrying.
As Kong returns to the elevator, he hopes the Circumplanar Society’s functionaries are, for once in their hidebound lives, quick to act.
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He returned just as the now familiar message from the ICS Hermod begins to repeat itself; A writing pad next to one console shows eleven tally marks, the closest operator reaching over to add the fourteenth just as the transmission ends.
This time, however, the voice projecting from the PA system is clear as the purest glass, without a hint of warbling or static. This vast improvement in signal quality meant that the vessel had either fixed its problem, or it was getting closer to the Spire.
Either way, others are now receiving the unusual distress call, and the subsequent storm of speculation and locating attempts over most frequencies ties almost everyone to their stations in their frantic attempts to calm the airwaves. Activity in the control center had reached a fevered pitch. Deputy Zadari is conducting himself well coordinating the response, judging by the sweat dripping from his hair as he scrambles between operators.
Unfortunately, no one can challenge bad news to a race and expect to win.
Kong jumps to action immediately, brandishing his League-given authority like a blunt instrument to quell the chaos. Most relent under the browbeating enhanced by the Warden’s authority and assurances that the Society is working on it. A few direct their inquiries elsewhere, no doubt spreading the news further.
Just before Kong could fully immerse himself in the rhythm of directing the concert of vessels in range and his staff of operators, A voice cuts into his headset through the tower intercom system. Unlike most interruptions today, it is good news.
“Emergency Response is getting back to us, they think they’ve gotten an answer to your problem, courtesy of Society Archives.“ As if on queue, a runner deposits two reels of paper from the tower’s telecopiers, along with a dozen writing slates. Zadari sets them side-by-side on a folding table, and they unravel into an abstract schematic of rings around a stylized sun, surrounded by dense lines of equations.
The two men stare at the unfurled papers. What in the world would star charts have anything to do with tracking down their vessel in distress?
Kong points to the bands of rings. “This looks familiar…” He steps towards his console, picking up the armillary sphere from his desk before swiftly setting it at the center of the paper.
“Write down the Hermod’s transmitted coordinates.” His second in command obliges, scribing glowing numbers on one of the glass slates. The others fill up in short order as both men pour over the chart, Kong occasionally adjusting translucent hoops and dials to verify Zadari’s computed assertions. At one point, a data disk containing the most recent sky maps is consulted, to find the longitudinal frame of reference the Hermod is using in their unusual spherical coordinate system.
The seventeenth tally is added just as Zadari comes to a workable conclusion. “It’s an astronomical coordinate system, used for reporting positions and orbits, like for worlds around stars…” To underscore his explanation, Zadari scorches a line in the papers with his laser stylus, marking the now very familiar position with a diamond.
The implication is undeniable:
The ICS Hermod is not, as they assumed, one of the nuclear powered vessels of Ironcrown.
Because the ICS Hermod is not from this world.
Through the now approved external communications link, Kong types a message to the League’s Society delegates with the deciphered coordinates, asking to verify their extraordinary findings.
Confirmation was quick to arrive and much quicker to display, as text and figures formatted in Circumplanar Digital Standard covers the glass screen of his console. The missive is mercifully short, and Kong has no trouble gleaning what’s relevant.
In summary, “Distance measurements from both Society and Conclave astronomers have been processed. Triangulated location matches the hypothesized position.” The text accompanies an image of their star system, overlaid with an icon and lines representing the ICS Hermod and its current orbit.
Furthermore, the Diplomatic Corps would take over all communications with the now-identified spacecraft. Conducting first contact is under their jurisdiction, per agreements signed with all powers.
This extraordinary sequence of events is now verified, documented, and forever etched in the records.
Things are going way above their rank.