Cosmic Dash: The Swarm – Chapter 1. “Playing With Power”

Welcome to the first chapter of the Cosmic Dash novel, The Swarm. This novel is released in serialized chapters and serves as the continuation of the webcomic.

If you want to learn more about the novel and see the full listing of chapters, check out the project hub for The Swarm. If you want to learn more about Cosmic Dash in general, please check out the series hub.

Previously on Cosmic Dash, Dash Kameku strove to liberate his crew from a pirate raid on the planet Vumba, but took a thrashing in the process. He’s since recovered, and the crew is about ready to leave the planet.

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Chapter 1. “Playing With Power”

The Fields of Battle, Romance of the Three Factions

Ragna, the Storm Queen, the Pillar of the Empire, resplendent in rare hides and shining armor plates, surveyed the battlefield. Her massive, bejeweled cudgel, Krakoom, rested over her tremendous Blassnaught shoulder. At seven feet tall and 700 pounds of muscle wrapped over a rhino-lizardesque frame, tremendous was an entirely fitting word. Ragna was a tremendous presence, down to the dual horns on her snout that became an icon of the later Blassnaught Empire.

Motion caught her attention, and over a small crest of badland, a Terran figure emerged. Known as “humans” back on their homeworld of Terra, they eventually joined the naming conventions of the rest of the galaxy to which they had emigrated, memorializing their origin. The figure was tall, wearing a strange blue uniform that had a series of buttons, complemented by white trousers. He carried a severe, weathered face rimmed by a short beard, upon which sat what appeared to be some kind of white wig, on which also sat an oversized, pipe-like hat with a brim. The two large axes the man carried meant only one thing: this was the legendary Terran chieftain Abraham van Washington, the Truth Speaker, and the Commander-of-Chiefs.

This would be a battle for the ages: the Storm Queen versus the Truth Speaker.

What a fun way to learn a little bit about galactic history.

Lucky Strike II; Farrow’s Hope, Planet Vumba

Dash knew that he was a smart guy, but he wasn’t arrogant about it. He fully recognized the different view he would have informed by his intelligence and his creativity, and he knew this carried a privilege that he was uncomfortable with, too, which is why Dash Kameku poured all of his money into ways to aid people. But right now, on his turn, he felt like he knew nothing, and he kind of liked it. Challenge, that is.

Just a couple of months ago, after accepting the position of a field researcher agent, of sorts, for Walter Kimney, Dash had made contact with another Romance of the Three Factions player, and they had been playing several simultaneous games, most of which ended up with Dash thoroughly mollywhopped. The “Terran Legends” expansion had introduced new characters from Terran culture as part of an outreach and education program, though from what Dash had heard, the developer of the game had decided to go in a different direction and take some liberties with the figures.

Dash had even heard that Abraham van Washington was a composite of two different Terran chieftains. That was hard to believe. Two chieftains who used axes and were known for extreme honesty? That was hard to believe. But then again, Terran history still was a bit of a niche subject that he hadn’t chosen for an elective.

He stood up and stretched; his wrist was still hurting from the sword strike a week ago. Oh, yes, a sword strike. He thought about how a sword, of all things, had easily smashed his tech, but it also cushioned the blow, breaking his wrist rather than losing it entirely. He wiped a couple of bits of crud from his eyes, as it was pretty late now, and scratched at an itchy part of his snout. The only light within his darkened room came from his gaming tablet.

Before settling in, he took a swig of his Pom Supercharged and glanced over at his shell that rested on his bunk. He could detach the thing easily for comfort, but he always felt vulnerable without it. Of course, over fifteen years of threats and violence aimed squarely at him explained a lot of that. His people, the Terrekin, were born with their symbiotic shells, quite a genetic feat that was lost to ancient history, and grew up with them their entire lives. Quite literally attached to them, but removable as needed.

That actually was one of the ways Dash spent his “genius money,” as his friend Kracker has put it. Dash’s new role came with a sizable credit bonus, and Dash was never much for wealth and decided to see how he might spend off what he didn’t need. He bought a communication array, Federation surplus, for his home village. Then there was a chance opportunity in the form of a start-up on Teslovia that was developing artificial shells for Terrekin, who had been separated from their birth shells – a kind of trauma that few in the galaxy could really understand. Dash took a portion of his pay and poured it into that small start-up that handled just that sort of trauma. He’d even weighed in on some of the designs.

But, speaking of trauma, Dash crushed his can of Pom, slid into his chair, and started planning his tactics for the current game against “Calibanx4237” on Romance of the Three Factions. No Terran tricks stood a chance against his new Ragna build.

He hoped.

…

Dash had maintained his current advantage over Calibanx4237, his game partner over the last few weeks. As much as Calibanx4237 threw Abraham van Washington’s impressive artillery skills toward Dash’s Ragna, Dash was chipping away at him while maintaining plenty of defense. Yet as soon as Dash grew confident in his success, the tide turned, and Calibanx4237 hit him with an entirely new move Dash had not seen before, called “Secret Service,” launching six black-suited men out of the tall hat of Abraham van Washington and overwhelming Ragna’s defense through continual chip damage.

And with that, the match was over. Dash had lost again.

“Damn. That was a good one,” Dash said, his audio output pitch-shifted and anonymized through the playertag Tydespearx0210 over the gaming chat – just as the incoming reply from Calibanx4237 was.

“That was a good game. Your Ragna build was quite impressive.”

“I appreciate that, you have a good one, Cal. I might be hard to reach in real-time for a bit, so we’ll just take it turn-by-turn, sorry. Gotta go.”

“Of course, you take it easy, Tydespear.“

DraCo Offices, Galactic Hub Serreven; Kordash System

Drakar Vadis, the Dragon, one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy, had just again thoroughly defeated the object of his curiosity, Dash Kameku, yet again. But it was closer this time, and that piqued his interest.

Drakar managed a multibillion-credit company and also bankrolled one of the greatest criminal networks in the Silver Spiral Galaxy. He managed massive public works projects that could radically alter lives across whole solar systems, while also having access to the most important leaders in the galaxy. But he also served as the head of a criminal operation so organizationally complex that there was no untangling it in his long, long lifetime.

And yet, he spent increasing hours locked into turn-based combat with the young engineer who had rebuffed his job offer for business rival GalactiCorp, specifically as the apparent understudy to Walter Kimney, in all but title. The recent gaming diversion did not necessarily interfere with the management of his two empires – he’d built a hierarchy to minimize the work he would have to do. But he was aware enough to realize he was spending more time than he probably should be gaming with the Terrekin, and that his personal assistant and bodyguard, Ms. Mayden, was growing irritated.

As she entered his office, he was relieved that he had already closed out the game to spare himself an earful from her. Though she was smaller than he was, about the average height of a Terran female, with millions of credits of cybernetic augmentations and defensive grafts that had turned her into an effective killing machine, one would be hard-pressed to notice. She was devoted to him, but her demeanor was icy, generally, and downright frightening when annoyed with him. She was one of the only beings in the galaxy who was able to boss him around, and that was by design. Her priority was his safety, and he made sure she had the means and authority to ensure it. The more complicated, intimate nature of their relationship had been more challenging to navigate, and he deferred to her often to keep the peace.

“Am I to assume you’re done with your ‘research’ today, Sir?” There was a sarcastic tone that would only be apparent to him in her voice. “May I update you on current operations?”

Drakar rose from his lounger and began to walk to his desk, his long tail dragging behind him, shifting his long neck, which had grown cramped, as he craned over his tablet.

“You scoff, but I’ve read the Terrekin’s research. I also know that GalactiCorp has him on special assignment. He may not work for me willingly, but he’s working for my company, whether he knows it or not.”

“Forgive me, Sir, but it feels more like you are enjoying his company than anything useful. You seem to like him.”

Drakar sat at his desk, folding his clawed hands on the pure wood surface. He refused any synthetic materials, no matter the expense. He watched as Mayden slid another tablet in front of him, as he continued to speak.

“I’ve told you about my past, and you know how important my read on people has been to my survival and my success. I read something important about him, and I do believe it will continue to pay off.”

A beeping came from within the desk, and a terminal screen rose from a surface hatch. It was an incoming call from Drakar’s personal cybersecurity operative, Grinlin.

“Ah, speaking of which.” Drakar hit the button on the screen, greeted by the face of Grinlin, a teal, acne-scarred Slauve, his piglike jowls hanging next to a broad, flattened nose, resting over a mouth with two sizeable buck-teeth.

“Mr. Vadis, I finished running the data pulled from the Terrekin’s ship during the game connection. I have their itinerary, and I can confirm their next stop is the planet Cosaya. It’s a little murky due to some code I haven’t quite cracked yet, but GalactiCorp seems to be sending them there to update some mining hardware.”

“And what are they mining?”

“Well, based on what I have found so far, it looks like the Federation netted itself a nice little source of formacyte. They’ve contracted this crew and the engineer to provide some sort of upgrades.”

“I see.” Drakar leaned toward the camera to emphasize his commands. “Continue to comb through their data and report any additional findings to my personal contact line, understood?”

Grinlin was no longer even looking at his boss, having turned to one of many terminals he used for his hacking. He nodded and closed out the communication. Drakar looked over to Ms. Mayden, who had stood there, unimpressed. Drakar frowned, diminished by her lack of enthusiasm. It was so easy for her to undercut him with a look. Though it was kind of exciting for someone as long-lived as he was, when he thought about it.

“See? It’s not just a game; it is research,” he said.

“Forgive me, Sir, but DraCo is not exactly in the energy industry beyond some token investments, and we are not invested heavily in Formacyte mining either.”

“No, we’re not, but this isn’t about the mining. It’s about messaging.” Drakar leaned back in his chair, a custom piece built to accommodate his tail and his bulk – few things had been mass-produced in this galaxy for someone as large as him, and he ensured that whenever something was custom-ordered, it was of the best quality money could buy. “What current assets do we have on planet Vumba?”

“If by ‘assets’ you mean the ‘space pirates,’ I should note that most of them were taken into custody.”

“Yes, but there happened to be one in particular-”

“Captain Crayd, Sir. Betrothed to their ‘Queen,’ ‘Black Coat’ Mab Sang.”

“Yes, exactly. I think I want to try something…”

Ms. Mayden sighed.

“I have my reasons, Andrea.”

“At work, it is Ms. Mayden,” she said in a hushed tone.

Darkar smiled with dagger-like teeth.

Toranji Base, Pirate’s Guild Headquarters

Calls with the “money” were not Mab’s favorite thing about her role as the Pirate Queen. The role was not one established in true royalty and was just an ironic term for an elected leader within the quasi-confederated union that was the Space Pirate Guild. She had been elected to this position of authority fifteen years ago, and it had been nothing but annoying since she had accepted.

Captains and crews constantly sought to undermine one another and curry influence among the guild for the role of King or Queen, likely unaware of the nightmare that was administration. She had held off half a dozen challenges to her authority in her time, and one of those was through a marriage of convenience to Captain Thedric Crayd. He was popular among the membership because he spent freely – irresponsibly so – and curried favor through bribery, which endeared him to many leaders. He paid them off so those captains could pay their crew, fulfilling their respective charters, and remain in power for little work.

The thing is, and this is something Mab had been aware of even when she was a shitkicker under a lesser captain, is that pirates are ultimately eager for the easiest solution to get what they want. Part of the Guild’s concept, established by the founders, was that the Guild would leverage the fear of all piracy so as to reduce the risk of costly raids. If merchants and cargo ships were likely to surrender because they believed in the danger, then that was better for business overall. Hence, marrying Thedric Crayd was the right move to pull in his supporters under his token “King” role as he continued doing what he did, under Mab’s watchful eye. All the power with little of the responsibility.

 While it had ultimately been a calculated political move, she did eventually grow to love the son of a bitch, which made his current incarceration all the worse. He was fun, and by fun, it meant he would do stupid things. This time, he and several other crews got pinched on Vumba in some sort of botched raid. He’d held one of the colonies there for weeks, but somehow a raid on a cargo ship, of all things, ruined everything.

What she had now was a crisis to respond to. She could not simply let her idiot husband be carted off to Marmal Fey for a stint in Hypermax. Nor could she lead a large operation to jailbreak him, as the Federation and IFGP were probably prepared for that, well aware of who Crayd was. So that left Mab in the middle of two shit paths, which meant that the Money would come knocking.

And knocking they did.

Mab stared at the obscured figure on her communications screen in her chamber. The individual was enshadowed, but from what Mab had gathered, they were a Terran of some sort. They were not the Money, rather the go-between to the actual Money, whom Mab knew to be The Dragon. As for who The Dragon was, that was still unknown, as he did not communicate with her directly. He was cautious, and she respected that.

Mab’s assistant, Jilm, hovered off to the side, out of view of the caller, taking note of everything. The liaison for The Dragon spoke.

“My client has offered to provide funding and resources to aid your rescue plans for Captain Crayd.”

“And what does The Dragon want from me in exchange for this offer?” Mab asked. There was no sense beating around the bush.

“There is a time-sensitive issue that will require a single crew from your fleet. It is a raid on a formacyte mine. Your crew would, of course, be able to take all the formacye their holds can carry, as a bonus.”

“Disrupting a mining operation doesn’t seem like it is a lot of work.”

“Then this should be a quick ‘yes,’ pirate.”

The disdain in ‘pirate’ was clear, and Mab knew where she stood with the representative of her benefactor – and likely the benefactor as well. Mab, and by extension, the whole hardscrabble nation of freebooters she led, were simply tools. It was a mortifying position, but it was all working toward a purpose. Her purpose. A dream of a century. A planet that belonged to her pirate nation. Until then, she would eat dirt, swallow pride, and bend the knee to the Money, as the Money would ultimately deliver the means toward that dream. Things came close before she was born. History called it “the Orusal Orbital Crisis,” but Mab called it the roadmap.

“We do this, and your boss transmits the funds immediately?”

“That is correct. To be spent on your rescue operation, or to be hoarded. I do understand that the marriage was political, was it not? One could lose some dead weight and turn a profit, it seems.”

Mab said nothing and just thought of the roadmap. She exhaled and glanced slightly to the right to read Jilm’s expression. The tiny Zoomer hovered silently and finished scribbling his notes to look at Mab. He nodded. Jilm’s approval was always essential to her decisions.

“I’ll select the crew personally and lead the operation.”

“Then I will send you the operation details. See to it as quickly as you can.”

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