A different plane from the multiverse manifests in the Kirinal Pit every day. Nevertheless, life and trade thrive around this 30-mile hole in reality.
At dawn on the Day of Prime, I knew that I'd be working. The new plane, the Manifest, broke into our world with a burst of cold, salty air. A winter ocean had arrived, tempering the summer heat over the Kirinal Pit.
Outside the hangars of the Kirinal Salvage Society, I paused to look northeast. The Divers arced over the Pit, leaving distinctive energy trails, as they surveyed the brand new ocean that had appeared. I could tell from the pattern that they were on a simple survey. They weren't accounting for hostiles, probably no sapients to negotiate with.
I rushed into the enormous building and threw the switch. The towering hangar doors opened with a rumble. My crew of dozens represented a slice of the mortal races living on the Pit. They were gorging themselves from the guild's breakfast tables, fuel for a hard day's work, or a free meal at the company expense if we didn't win the Quota for the Manifest.
"Look alive boys and girls, we're fishermen today!", I shouted, "Fire up the zeppelins and finish up the prep on the boats." I sniffed the air again, "Second Squad, get the kelp harvesters going!" The crew dispersed among the vehicles. Some putting away harvesting and mining equipment while the goliaths pulled the boats forward to the waiting zeppelins.
"Helm! Did our crystals get enough charge?"
"Aye, Captain Agaric." responded my helmsmage Ebrie, a tough genasi woman. "The Manifest snapped in nice and hard. We're crackling today." She made a hand movement, muttering under her breath as she bound the energy crystal to my command vessel, the Ready. With a grunt, it slid into place. "If the bidders bugger it again and waste our time, I know exactly where to put this extra power." she looked at me and let lightning dance on her fingertips.
I smirked and responded, "Keep it in your pants, helm. The Surveyor hasn't even called it yet. We might have to negotiate with merfolk or, gods-forbid, some chirpy dolphin bastards."
I returned to check the prep on the trawlers before they went on the zeppelins. As I pulled on lines to check the knots, a goblin clerk from upstairs approached with a young blonde human in tow. "Captain, the bosses want this one to shadow you today."
Without looking over I commented, "Sure, give him to the second squad."
The clerk grunted and held up an order with the Seal of the Board on it. "My apologies Captain, they insisted that he shadow you. Respectfully, could you please answer all his questions."
I snatched the parchment, gave it a cursory glance, and stuffed it in my pocket. "Fine. You may leave."
As the goblin scurried off, I looked more closely at the golden interloper. He was young, pale, in his early twenties, and thin but sinewy. His clothes were appropriate for a salvage, plain but well made and his hands had the calluses of a swordsman. His gaze was direct as he looked me in the eyes.
"Do you have a name?"
He answered dryly, "Dylan, Captain. Dylan Herren."
"You can ask me your questions, Master Herren, but get in my way and I'll throw you off my ship."
"But of course, Captain. Please tell me about yourself."
"Is this an inspection by the Zone Authority or are you a newspaper..."
He responded with a pointed look, "I'm under the Seal of the Board, Captain."
I began with my familiar patter, "I am Captain Bentley Agaric of the Kirinal Salvage Society. I'm in command of the Ready Hangar here in Garrison City, which is also the Zone headquarters of the Society. On harvest days, we bid for the right to enter the Manifest and responsibly collect natural resources."
"Harvest day?"
"When a new plane manifests in the Pit without sophonts to claim the resources. The Concordance declares a harvest day and we get to work."
"How often does the Manifest have inhabitants?"
"When we get a mortal world that's safe to enter? About one in nine or ten."
At that moment, the ident-a-hedron on my wrist buzzed. We all checked our hedrons for the Surveyor's call: "Horn 1 Prime Unknown Ocean Animal Population 6". One enormous horn blast pealed out over the entire city.
"That's the Call, team! Finalize prep! We launch in 5 minutes!"
As I turned towards my command vessel, The Ready, the golden interloper said, "Captain, could you please explain that? I'm newly arrived here in the Concordant Zone, and I don't understand your jargon."
"Master Herren, I told you..."
"You can call me Dylan, Captain."
"Master Herren," I continued, "I don't have time to babysit."
"I'm sorry Captain, but I must insist. I won't get in your way, but you've been directed to answer my questions."
"Then keep up Master Herren." I continued through the hangar, inspecting the ships as they were winched into place on the zeppelins.
"So what's this message that I got on my hedron crystal device? Please explain as if I had just arrived." he held up a brand new octahedron on a fresh, unmarked wristband.
I went back to my reliable patter, "That's the Call of the Surveyor of Worlds. Every morning as soon as it appears, the Kirinal Divers fly over it. Sometimes the Manifest is a scheduled world, but once or twice a week, we get a random world. A little randomness is a price we pay for order for the rest of the week. They double-check that the correct world has appeared, or they survey a new world."
"Once he's done, he makes his call and everyone in the Zone gets the result on their ident-a-hedron." I hold my left hand up, my hedron is on a strap turned towards the inside of my wrist. "So the message means..."
"Please explain the device as if I just arrived here, Captain."
"Buggering inspectors," I mutter under my breath. "Hedrons are soul crystals that serve as identification and communication. Some folks use it for money and other things, but I don't trust gold unless I can hold it in my hand."
"So anyone can say anything to anyone with one of these?"
Captain Herren doing preparation things.
"No, you have to be com-synced and you only get 25 words. But the officials and the Authority are synced to everybody. The Surveyor works for the biggest of the big boys and he talks to everyone in the Zone once he's surveyed the Manifest with the Call."
"So, the Call?"
Captain Herren doing preparation things.
"That's the Diver's Cypher. First, he gives us the Horns. One horn for peace, two for war, and three means flee. We got "Horn 1" today, for us salvagers, that means profits. "Prime Unknown" means that we have another mortal world, but one that's never been the Manifest. "Ocean" means what you think it does. "Animal" means we have relatively normal creatures, no undead, elementals, demons, or anything exotic like that. Population 6 means that on a scale of 1 to 10, we're looking at a massive haul if we win the Quota!"
"What's the Quota?"
"The Zone is split into eight units, we call them cantons, north, northeast, east, southeast, etcetera. Each of those cantons sells their pie section of the Pit's resources to the highest bidder every morning after the Surveyor makes his call."
"So you have the Quota?"
"Not yet. Our bidders have to do their job. Our guild surveyors are out on the Wall now. They're sending information to the bidder and..."
"And the information comes over these ideen... ident..."
"Hee-drons, Master Herren. And yes, if you and I were to touch our hedrons together and make a com-sync, we could send each other 25-word messages all day long."
"Interesting."
"That's the magic of the Zone."
My hedron dinged and I announced to the crew, "That's five minutes! Positions! We're going to the Wall! Helms, take us out!"
I turned to Ebrie, standing at her station just behind mine. "Nice and smooth, Ebrie."
