The following Cosmic Dash story, Signing Bonus, is a brief novella that follows the crew just after the events of Cosmic Dash Volume 3, issue 2 and the assassination attempt of Walter Kimney.
Successive novella segments will be linked in this header and at the bottom of each post.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
Altogether, it was the largest sum of money Dash had ever received in one go. Growing up in Movari village, on the moon of Ocia, he had never even entertained so many antecedent zeroes addressed to him and him alone. The rate of 50,000 credits per professional engineering contract was very much above standard, sure, but nothing too out of the ordinary. The additional 50,000 from signing the contractual agreement for Kimney, however, brought the total up to a solid 100,000 credits. It was more than double the collective net worth of his old village, even today.
He was technically worth more than his whole village’s worth of fishers, spears, boats, and homes. It was an odd and uncomfortable realization.
Dash hunched over the workbench of the engineering bay, elbows on the table, chin resting on his palms, studying his bank account on his mobile. It was too much. He pored over the options he had, and boy, did he have options. 100,000 credits could buy him a lot of information.
Maybe he could finally track down his father? No. That was a bad idea.
After Vark, after the incident… he put his father to rest. It was for the best. Life was too short and now too full of opportunities to dwell on the past; too full to dwell on the non-existent figure that had already screwed up most of his life, to begin with. The signing bonus was Kimney’s reward for Dash’s hard work. His hard work. Kimney had said as much himself. Dash had earned this, and no, he wouldn’t let the specter of his father taint this for him, like it had virtually everything else.
His thoughts drifted to his days at the University, and how much time he spent tracking down his father, and how much of life he’d missed. He thought about how he had treated Mara and how that’d nearly ruined their friendship.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The tangle in his chest loosened.
But this was still a lot of money. Too much. Dash continued to stare at the numbers – weighing options.
What use did he have for so much money, really?
…
“50,000 credits could swing one hell of a party, couldn’t it?”
Dorian stared at Kracker, dumbfounded.
“You’re joking.”
“I’d never joke about a good time.”
Dorian took a bite out of a moist but bland sponge cake and went back to cleaning out and reorganizing his medical bag in the common room. There was so much space in the med-bay that he did not know how to organize it, yet. For now, he kept his bag full of his most-used supplies and instruments. Organizing the larger workspace was going to take a lot more concentration; concentration that would be impossible to reach with Kracker hanging about.
“I bet you’re just gonna shove your share of the credits in some savings account,” Kracker chuckled. “Or are you gonna invest?”
Dorian leaned back. “I wish,” he said as he turned to Kracker. “I still have my student loans to pay off. This will cover it, of course, but I’ll have maybe a couple hundred credits left over.”
“Ouch.”
“Aren’t you still paying off your loans?”
Kracker took a cursory bite of the sponge cake, grimaced, and set the half-eaten piece back on the table. “The University covered a lot of my costs. Disability aid.”
Dorian interrupted, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Right…the whole wing thing-“
He noticed Kracker glaring at him. His eyes narrowed before he shifted away from Dorian.
“Yeah, the ‘wing thing.’ I also had a computer programming scholarship as well, but nobody thinks about that.”
Kracker stood up to stretch. He ran some fingertips against the grain of his feathers on his wing, enjoying the cool air flowing over the bits of skin that were seldom exposed.
“It’s not a big deal, though. I just do my flying in a cockpit. I figure that I fly more than anyone back home does. Even with Skyhaven being laid out the way it is.”
Dorian smiled before returning to his bag. Kracker continued his stretching.
“I gotta say, this place is growing on me,” the Parrack said as he peered around. “I thought this common room was a bit big at first, but there’s a lot of airflow. It feels nice.”
Kracker turned to look at the small hydroponic gardening station placed next to the stairwell down to the lower deck. “The garden is really cool, too.”
Dorian grunted in response. He was focused on an old-looking diagnostic probe. It made a rattling sound as he rolled it between his fingers. Kracker noticed the sound along with Dorian’s souring expression.
“What the heck is that thing anyway?” Kracker asked.
Dorian grabbed a small multi-tool and began to disassemble the probe.
“Diagnostic probe,” he said in his clipped, concentrating monotone. “It measures electromagnetic energy emanating from key anatomical points. Variations from standard readings compiled from established baselines can serve for quick diagnosis. It’s mostly a triage tool.”
Kracker scratched his head.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” he asked.
Dorian smirked. “If you were a medical student, you would.”
“Yeah, okay. So, that thing’s pretty important…right?”
Dorian was now reassembling the probe with practiced fluidity. “It’s a big help.”
Kracker grabbed his hat from the seat cushion and pulled it over his head.
“Whatever. While you’re busy being a nerd, I’m gonna set up a party.”
Dorian looked up at Kracker. “Jerk.”
However, Kracker was making his way down the stairs and was just out of earshot.
Dorian shook the probe. Somehow, the rattling had gotten worse.
…
“So you’re telling me even the robots got paid?”
Mara stood there in disbelief as Marken nodded.
He then shrugged, “Well, more like a stipend in the budget to ensure proper maintenance for our robot friends. Bucketbot… well… I guess it’s ‘Ship’ now-“
A tinny, robotic voice crackled over the speaker in Marken’s office, “You can still call me Bucketbot, sir. The name is familiar to me, and it should make it easier for you all to interface with me as the ship’s artificial intelligence. Mr. Kameku was quite kind in easing this transition for me. I assure you I will also continue to perform my duties as a bucket as well.”
Marken looked slightly alarmed, still not used to Bucketbot’s ability to communicate from anywhere on the ship. It was like a home haunted by the ghost of a mop bucket.
“Uh, right, thank you, Bucketbot…” Marken shuddered slightly and then continued, “Well, Bucketbot and Blu each have some money set aside in the general fund. I asked to put Dash and Alix in charge of those funds.”
Mara laughed a bit. “That’s pretty progressive. But it makes sense given what happened on Orlindia.”
“Well, it is Kimney we’re talking about. I was under the impression that he was quite rattled by that whole thing.”
Mara slid into the chair across from Marken’s desk as he continued to sort through datachips. He’d pop one into the terminal, verify its contents, pop it out, and toss it into a drawer for later organization.
“So, how are you planning on spending your 70k, Marken?” she asked.
Marken continued sorting through datachips as he considered his options.
“Honestly, I don’t want for much. We’re in such good shape now. I suppose I’ll just buy some nice food-tech and then hoard the rest. Maybe invest in a restaurant one day.”
“Actually, I had an idea I thought might appeal to you.”
Marken paused his sorting and looked up at Mara. In the darkness of his room, his eyes glowed eerily.
Mara continued, “Well, I’ve been talking with Spril after the whole unpleasantness with Vark. Just to make sure he was okay.”
“How is he?”
“He’s doing great, actually. He really bounced back; it’s kind of incredible how fast that was. We’ve been messaging back and forth since then.”
She leaned forward.
“Anyway, I’ve been looking into his business, and I was thinking about investing. The guy knows his plants, and his ship is perfect for that sort of thing. Do you know that some of his plants sell to colonies for thousands of credits?”
“They do?”
“Yeah, they’re hardy, fully-grown plants already in bloom, so colonists love them. He’s thinking about trading in the Greensleeves for a new ship. Something that would allow him to grow more plants and hire a couple more hands.”
“So you think we should invest?”
“Yeah, I figure at the volume he is looking at, a percentage would net us a very tidy profit over time. I’m looking to pool together a 30% stake in the ship, but I’d rather not go in alone.”
Marken paused his sorting and scratched at his chin for a few moments. He then smiled and looked at Mara.
“I’m in, but on one condition…”
…
“Big party tonight, Alix!”
Alix saw the Parrack leaning into her room. He smiled cheekily, which had become somewhat endearing to her over the past few days she had known him.
“Is it now? I assume this isn’t an excuse to get me alone?”
“I have you alone now, technically.”
“Well, I am busy at the moment, but I will make sure I finish up in time for the party. Frankly, I thought you’d had enough after the hangover from the other night.”
“I’m not so sure it was a hangover. I think maybe that assassin clocked me in the head as I was trying to pin him down…”
“Yes, you were very brave.”
Alix stood up and made her way to the door. Kracker backed out as she threw on her jacket that was hanging on a wall hook.
He looked puzzled. “Where are you heading off to?”
“I have a couple of errands to run, but I’ll be back in time. Don’t worry about it.”
“Do you need some help? I was running out for something and-“
“Maybe another time, this is a bit of a… personal issue.”
“O-oh. Okay.”
Alix smiled at the Parrack. “It’s nothing to worry about. Not blowing you off or anything. I am looking forward to tonight. I just have some things I need to get done.”
Kracker grew a little more chipper.
“Oh, sure, of course. See you tonight!”
…
The small Terrekin district that surrounded the embassy had some of the familiarity of Ocia, albeit simulated at best. The walkways, which were traditionally supposed to be a fusion of metal and concrete, like in most cities, were instead replaced by sandy paths that were heated from excess energy from various power lines and cooling system coils. Additionally, many of the buildings in the block also had painted murals or large screens that projected Ocian landscapes.
The sight of these and the feeling of the sand between his toes made Dash a little wistful, and the feeling only increased as he passed by a small alcove where a vendor was selling fried strips of fatfish on skewers, drizzled in koba sauce. He immediately found himself stuck in place, absorbing the atmosphere and the delicious and pungent odor. He made his way over and ordered two of the skewers, along with a poca-melon juice. He then took his bounty to a wooden bench that was wrapped around a transplanted frond-tree and devoured his snack with a greedy glee.
He observed Terrekin spilling in and out of the embassy, and watching bemused aliens exploring the block, curious about the Terrekin culture and the sandy walkways. He noticed a small party of Grey, huddled together snapping vids and pics. Most of them looked wilted, even though, to Dash at least, the climate controls were actually a little on the cooler side.
He took in a little bit more of the atmosphere as he sucked the koba sauce off the skewers. He chucked the sauce-strained wood into a recycling bin and then proceeded to make his way into the embassy. Inside, he claimed his ticket and sat down in a traditional woven-reed chair, waiting for his turn to talk to one of the ambassador’s few, overworked representatives. He picked up a complimentary magazine and felt the textured plastic between his fingertips. He felt a greasy sensation and was disgusted by it until he realized it was very much the remnants of his snack, still on his fingertips. He peered around, making sure nobody noticed him take the now-greasy plastic mag and tuck it under the pile of mags in the center of the table.
I forgot just how sticky that stuff can be, he thought to himself.
…
Guugel felt various eyes upon him as he wandered the wide boulevards that made up Market Row. His bonus of 30,000 credits was burning a hole in his pockets… that is, if he wore pants. Instead, he had his backpack that carried a few bits and bobs, including some credit chips and some various impulse purchases he had made today. Among them was a small dancing Syrien doll that wiggled on springs. He wasn’t sure why he was compelled to buy it; it just seemed like a curiosity worth keeping with him. How many of the other Wot had dancing Syrien dolls? How many Wot, really, had set foot on Teslovia anyway? These days, they weren’t well-traveled people.
His feet had begun to hurt from the walk, so he decided to go for a rail-ride around the massive super-city to seek some new and interesting location to explore. He stepped onto one of the regular trams as the doors opened, and placed himself at a seat opposite a window so he could see the sights as they flew by. Much to his chagrin, though, a rather obese Gaur took the seat directly opposite him, blocking off the window. Guugel’s brow furrowed in annoyance.
Of course, he thought.
…
The club scene on Teslovia was quite literally on all day at the major clubs. Kracker hit up spot after spot, weaving in and out of the tangles of bodies and soaking up the mood, hoping to find some DJ who, for a reasonable fee, could be coaxed into doing a private show on the Strike. Unfortunately, with the scene the way it was in the city, most DJs were almost entirely booked up or hesitant to give up what little rest time they had. Teslovia was in many ways a party world.
This was frustrating, to say the least. A dinky playlist over the ship’s sound system was not the sort of vibe he was looking for. He wanted a real banger, something that’d get even the super-reserved Dorian up and on the dance floor. It had been a pretty crazy year for everyone, and the last party ended up being pretty reserved and low-key, at least until someone tried to kill Mr. Kimney. Needless to say, it wasn’t that great of a party after all…
Of course, by the time he hit the fifth club, he had begun to reconsider his whole approach. Maybe a banger wasn’t what was needed? Kracker took a sip from his flask and tucked it back into his pocket. He decided that maybe a smaller, more intimate arrangement would be better. He signaled a scooter and hopped on, instructing the driver to take him to a place where some amateurs played.
…
Spril looked pretty good, and by his attitude, it was impossible to tell that a few months earlier, he had been sharing a ship with a complete maniac who had assaulted him, the same maniac who had been stalking Dash and nearly killed him. Spril sat on a pile of bags at the base of the ramp of the Greensleeves, looking calm and unbothered.
“Thanks so much for coming to see me, friends. I was a little afraid you wouldn’t.”
Mara stepped away toward the underside of the ship, analyzing its condition. Marken stepped toward Spril.
“Nonsense,” the Astro-mole said, “you were in no way at fault regarding the unpleasantness a few months ago. You were just as much a victim. I’m glad to see you’re doing so fine.”
Spril laughed airily, “Well, we’re pretty hardy, us Florarans. Speaking of which, I have a gift.”
Spril plucked a seed out of a pouch on his hip, flicked it into the air, and caught it, weighing it in his closed palm. “Mara told me about your garden on the ship. I’m incredibly happy to hear that you have one. Please, take this.”
He held out his fist, and Marken reached out a tentative palm. Spril dropped the seed into Marken’s paw.
“It’s a pepper I’ve been experimenting with. It takes on characteristics based on the other vegetables it’s cooked with. It’s a good way to stretch your real flavorful veggies.”
“I’m not much of a gardener,” Marken said.
“Me neither,” Mara added.
“Oh, no worries, my plants are guaranteed to grow. Just place it in the soil, and you should be fine. There’s a little bit of me in each one.”
Marken pocketed the seed as Mara returned to the pair.
Marken shrugged, “Thank you, Spril. I wish we had brought something for you.”
“Well, if you are interested in my little venture, then I am positive we can arrange for something!” Spril laughed. It took on a flutey tone.
…
Teslovia’s district of “Wastetown” took every opportunity it could to assert its namesake. Wastetown wasn’t the actual, planned name of that section of the city, which was actually originally known as Oldtown, but to everyone on the planet, it was simply Wastetown. For the most part, the upper reaches of the city that branched off from Old Teslovia and Cityheart were acceptable for most residents. Most visitors were less likely to be anywhere near the area, though, as the lower sections were widely considered to be lawless, dangerous, and were generally sealed off for most residents.
Teslovia had long since given up trying to handle Wastetown and its many problems. Now they simply quarantine the rot, but the rot persisted and would one day spread. By then, Teslovia would expand and build shiny new towers on what were today’s visions of progress. It was all wallpaper over brittle wood.
With that said, if you wanted to get into Wastetown, it was totally possible, but it took some work. Work that Alix had been putting in for the past couple of hours.
Getting down to the second level from the third level was simply a matter of bribing the right security officer to use a private elevator, as the public ones had become too dangerous. It was not unusual for some curious travelers to try to head down to the lower levels using a public elevator, only to be immediately mugged or kidnapped when they stepped out. Using the security elevator eliminated that risk. It was a bit disconcerting to step into the second-level security station and be completely ignored. As long as the right palms were greased, anyone seemed to be able to wander in and out as they pleased.
Getting down to the first level, though… that was the real challenge.
“Hey, there pretty thing…”
Alix didn’t turn toward the voice. She could smell the drugs wafting off the Gomben. The chemical odors were powerful and allowed her to position him through a simple sniff.
“Hey, I’m talkin’ to ya!”
The Gomben reached for her arm, but Alix spun around and drew her knife to his throat. He whimpered as she backed him into an alley.
“Whoa-whoa-whoa!” The Gomben was no match for her and trembled violently as Alix backed him into a darkened nook.
She looked him over. He was definitely a waster, through and through, and was of no real use to her. She hissed and threw him to the side. He stumbled forward and caught himself on a wall. He peered back at her and then wiped some residue from his trunk before he hurriedly stumbled out of the alley.
Alix slipped the knife back into its sheath behind the small of her back. The only way to get to the first level safely was to buy passage. Thankfully, she had a recent cash infusion to get her to where she needed to be.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
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Aaaah, Buckethead, what an extra –