Welcome to the third chapter of the Cosmic Dash novel, The Swarm. This novel is released in serialized chapters and serves as the continuation of the webcomic. Click here to read the previous chapter.
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, Spril Lazeleaf was on the run from a mysterious Hauke who exhibited unusual fiery abilities. Following this incident, Spril set out to reunite with Guugel.
Chapter 3. “Want to See a Magic Trick?”
Farrow’s Hope, Planet Vumba
Vumba’s strange weather pattern had been a nightmare for pest control. Frequent cold snaps of sudden snow sent all manner of critters seeking shelter from a nightly freeze, only for the snap to be over within a day or two. While the weather cycled, the pests lingered.
The worst of them were the crattlers: small, rodent-like, beaked menaces who over centuries seemed almost biologically drawn to starships, as though they understood what they were. Wild crattlers would skitter into a ship during the cold and nest within the mechanical components. This is how it had been for centuries of space travel, and they had found their way into virtually any colonized planet there was.
And the scary part was that if a new planetoid was discovered, there was a chance the crattlers were already there, waiting to spread further out on any passing ship. Maybe travelers long forgotten found those worlds – and yet the crattlers remained.
And the nudricks were worse. Oily trashbirds just as likely to spread disease as they were to burst into flame. Some colonies made a game of taking potshots at them, setting them aflame – “tindricks.” They were awful-tasting to boot – it was the cosmos’ joke – infinitely adaptable species, and they made for awful food.
The problem for Bernell Marken, given he was an Astro-Mole, was that he was a very small being himself. He was pushing 0.76 meters, but that was maybe a half or a third the size of many of the other sentient species in the Silver Spiral Galaxy. Accounting for median height in design often left him at a disadvantage, such as now, where he found himself trying to blast a crattler nest out of the well of one of the Lucky Strike II’s landing legs. He’d given up on the broom. There was no way he would reach. Instead, he used a pressure gun attached to the ship’s single Helperbot, who served as the pressurizing mechanism for a tank of water. The Helperbot beeped and chirped after every blast, as though it were judging Marken’s aim. Every time Marken hit one of the pests, they plummeted to the ground, bounced off the packed-dirt surface of the landing yard, and skittered off into the grasses. When that happened, the Helperbot rattled slightly and let out a satisfied coo.
Robots were strange. It seemed that, despite the limitations placed on most of them starting decades ago, the envelope was always pushed, or they seemingly developed quirks that made them act almost like living things. The Helperbot, by all accounts, was very limited, especially compared to Bucketbot and Blu, the two other robots on the ship. Bucketbot was now, technically, the AI that helped run the Lucky Strike II, and had been a gift to the crew from Walter Kimney – a genius roboticist. Blu was on the first Lucky Strike when Marken had purchased it and remained through the restoration and overhaul, eventually moving with the crew to the new ship. He knew little about Blu otherwise.
The Helperbot beeped, seemingly impatient, gently pushing pet-like against Marken, who had paused his crattler hunt. Marken sighed and continued to search for crattlers, and the robot clanked after him.
…
Ideally, the crattlers, nudriks, and whatever sneaky species were Vumba residents had been cleared from the underside of the ship. A more thorough pest removal would need to be done later, and best handled by Dash and the robots. The Helperbot, untethered, ascended the ramp into the cargo hold to attend to whatever pre-set duties occupied his stack. Marken, however, didn’t have much to do. They were still a day away from resuming their flight plan. He’d already prepped dozens of meals to the point where he wouldn’t be able to fit more into the refrigerator, and his other duties did not amount to much of anything essential. In a lot of ways, he felt he’d been put into early retirement. Lucky Strike Transport was his company, sure, and he was the boss, yes, but GalactiCorp had seen to it that they had a representative to handle a lot of tasks that would have normally fallen to him in most cases.
It is not that Marken did not like Alix; far from it. She was a bit self-serious, but she fit in well among the crew. What she represented to him was an early retirement. The acquisition of Lucky Strike Transport by GalactiCorp had made him wealthier than he’d ever considered possible; wealthier than his parents would have ever imagined.
But Bernell Marken was a worker – he needed purpose – hence his serving as the ship’s cook, with some janitorial duties and maintenance operations where he could. So, as far as his current purpose went, it became hospitality. He made sure his crew was compensated, that he brought forth concerns to Alix and the larger corporation, and advocated for what was best for them.
But most importantly, he cared for them through cooking. Only now, with a surplus of meal prep, he couldn’t exactly do that, either. He had been so bored that he considered putting together some sort of pop-up and cooking for the locals who had been very kind to them, given everything involving the space pirates.
Beyond that was the other major hurdle. Even though so many Kem passengers had been taken in under a scheme concocted by the scientists Fyean and Kasso, there wasn’t much opportunity to cook for them. The passengers had their diets intensely regulated for a broader cryogenic study that they were now conducting with Dorian’s assistance, and thus Marken didn’t really have an opportunity to do much for them, either. He was happy to help the Kems out. They’d taken a major risk trying to smuggle passengers to a colony – the crew’s next stop – by cryogenically hiding passengers with cargo crates. He understood why they took the risk, and to the credit of his crew, everyone agreed to keep it secret – even Alix. That’s when Marken knew he could trust her.
Service was his purpose, and he really needed to be purposeful right now.
He sat on the end of the loading ramp and took a sip from his canteen. The sound of an approaching ship caught his attention, and he walked out into the landing field, seeking out the ship in the sky.
Greensleeves, Farrow’s Hope, Planet Vumba
Spril Lazeleaf recognized the Lucky Strike Transport logo on the side of their ship immediately and set the Greensleeves down a few meters from it, enough to be sure each ship had flight clearance should it be needed in an emergency. As Greensleeves touched down, he set the ship to low-power mode to maintain the hydroponics systems inside to maintain his numerous gardening projects.
Given that he intended to sell the ship, he wondered, for a moment, why he bothered with that. At first he considered his love of plants of all kinds. But that gave way to the sour reality – if he was found, he needed to be able to escape as soon as possible. Low power mode was a faster cycle than a cold boot. He expected no danger from such a remote colony, but he hadn’t expected any danger last time, and he’d been found.
But maybe he would be lucky here and find someone to continue the work of spreading plant-life throughout the galaxy. Maybe someone would have an unexpected passion manifesting itself at the right time here on Vumba. That was enough. That would make for a happy end to this ship as Spril moved on.
He rubbed at his stem-like arm. It had been wrapped in a damp cloth, soaked in a medicinal gel. His arm still burned, and he winced at the pressure of his root-like fingers on the bandage. He’d escaped, but not unscathed. And he was tired, too. Tired of running from the Order. His scheme was risky, but felt feasible through Guugel and his friends.
Guugel’s curious messages had also created a sense of urgency in this plan of action – small, psychic pulses of Help over the past week. Spril had already been on his way, but the periodic Help had put a strange note on the tasks ahead.
As Spril prepped the ship for a rest, he glanced out the viewshield toward the large, flattened lot that made up this colony’s flight hub and was delighted to see the small, friendly Astro-Mole, Bernell Marken. He waved a greeting toward the Greensleeves’ cockpit.
Farrow’s Hope, Planet Vumba
Spril emerged from the loading ramp of his galactic greenhouse, and Marken approached him excitedly, if not a bit curious about the arrival of the Floraran. April looked unchanged, his skin green, a mop of leaves on top of his head, and a small patch of leaves jutting just off his chin. His eyes were still wide pools the color of a forest. He was wearing a poncho over compression clothes meant to counter the lack of gravity in space. Marken too wore those on occasion.
Marken held up a tiny, furry fist toward the much taller Spril. “What brought you all the way here?”
Spril leaned down and fist-bumped Marken. “I actually was looking for you all. Guugel and I have been keeping in touch and…”
Marken felt his face drop into a worried frown, and Spril paused, looking at him. Marken glanced away nervously, but wasn’t sure if Spril could tell through Marken’s heavy, dark goggles.
“What’s wrong?”
“Guugel isn’t well; we can’t explain it. I think it might be better we talk about this with the others. Come with?”
Spril nodded, but held up a knotty, root-like finger. It was as though his arms were shoots with woody digits.
“I will meet you at the ship; I just need to take care of something here, alright? I’ll be right along.”
The Astro-Mole nodded solemnly and made his way back toward the Lucky-Strike II, but as he glanced back, he saw Spril kneeling and patting the hard-packed dirt, seemingly mouthing something quietly.
Marken thought little of it and continued back to the Strike.
…
“Spril! It’s so good to see you!” Mara swooped in for a hug, picking up the Floraran and lifting him into the air. Her hug sounded like someone squeezing a bundle of produce. Spril was taller than her, but lighter by far. His legs kicked a bit, and she set him down.
“Oh no, your arm! Are you okay?”
Spril took a step back and threw a broad hand over his bandage to obscure it. “I’m fine, no worries, just a slight burn.”
Mara had made her way down to the cargo bay to join Spril and Marken. There were two others here that he was not familiar with – two Kemezeckians. Spril had asked about them before Mara had made her way down, but Marken seemed to sigh, exhausted.
“It’s a long story. That is Forsey and Tua. They’re, uh, guests.”
Spril noticed Mara eyeing him warily after setting him down, like she wasn’t so sure of what she should and shouldn’t say. She kept staring at his bandage. One of Guugel’s pulses of Help echoed in his head and had grown louder and clearer.
Spril chose to push forward. “What’s going on with Guugel?”
Mara glanced down at Marken, who shrugged, seemingly not quite sure what to say either. There was a heavy tension clouding him and Mara, and Spril was growing frustrated until Mara finally said something.
“Guugel seems to be in a coma. We don’t know what it is, but Dorian would have the most answers. Maybe he can look at your arm too?”
Spril felt the world drop from under him. How could Guugel be in a coma when he had summoned him here? That made no sense. Even now, he felt Guugel’s psychic voice pulling him closer, louder and louder.
Mara led the trio toward the back of the cargo bay where a large lab door sat – this clearly had to be the space of the other Terrekin, Dash. Spril was still a bit apprehensive about seeing him again after nearly getting him killed months ago. Dash had insisted it had been okay, and he bore no grudge against Spril, but all Spril knew was others’ grudges, and he had no trust that Dash still wasn’t angry.
Spril was not at fault – he knew this. He’d been suckered by a psychopath who had used him to get close to this group. Spril had been the medium, but that violation opened a whole lot of complicated feelings. Feelings made all the worse by a life on the run and having few he could trust. Feelings made more complicated by him falling for Guugel.
Mara led them past the two Kems and briefly asked if they needed anything. The creamy-yellow-bodied one, Forsey, with the green shell headdress, informed her that they were fine, just preparing to use the micro-manufacturing device to prep some tools of some sort. Tua, the blue one with the magenta shell, broad and wavy, seemed particularly excited for the prospect. She had a gun over her shoulder, and despite the juxtaposition of heavy weaponry on such a slight body, Spril said nothing. Her demeanor said a lot about some recent experience that put her on the defensive. As Mara directed Spril to the stairwell, she and Marken waved goodbye as the Kems entered the lab.
While this was not the first time Spril had been on this ship, this was the first time he’d really paid attention to the layout. If he was going to plead his case and beg for sanctuary, it paid to know the potential. The cage by the stairwell, for example, seemed a place where he might be able to rig together a hydroponics station. Not that it would be entirely necessary, as he knew about the garden space in the common room upstairs – he’d been quite impressed with it last time he was here. He could do wonders with that if this all worked out.
All this thinking, however, was an attempt at a distraction from the emergent crisis of what had happened to Guugel. Spril knew that. They had only really taken the first steps into a relationship, or as much of one as they could have, separated by the stars. Now the refuge Guugel represented seemed so speculative and intangible.
As the three emerged from the stairwell, they continued right along the walkway toward the medbay, emblazoned with the green diamond symbol of healers. By now, Guugel’s voice was like a storm echoing in Spril’s mind – as if Guugel knew he was approaching. Help. Help. Help. Mara and Marken were the first to step into the medbay.
As Spril entered, he locked eyes with Dash. They were knowing, sympathetic, and agonized eyes. He heard it, too; he had to have. Dash redirected his gaze downward to the medibed where Dorian stood, hunched over a purple pod.
Guugel.
With that, the frantic pounding of psychic screeching softened, and Spril understood.
…
Dorian was surprised to see Guugel’s strange, pulsing vital signs suddenly relax – the beacon-like pulse he’d focused on so heavily was still there, but less urgent and less intense. He didn’t even realize the Floraran, Spril, was in the room until he locked eyes with him.
“Oh, Spril? What? How are you? I, uh… what?”
Spril leaned over the bed, over Guugel, and looked the flummoxed Dorian directly in the eyes.
“Tell me everything.”
Medbay, Lucky Strike II, Planet Vumba
Laying out everything had taken everyone present to chime in and map out the timeline of events that led to Guugel’s current comatose state. Dorian, ever pragmatic, had laid out everything said into a mental list to be dictated later into his notes. There was a lot of new data to consider, and he’d need to spend a couple of hours dictating things in full.
Guugel had a particularly strong psychic connection with Dash, but also Spril. But Dorian did not dwell on that for now; it just made some important things obvious. First of all, Dash and Guugel had been in constant psychic contact as they fought to free the rest of the crew from the space pirates who had captured them and held them hostage. That much had been clear based on his working theories on their connection. Secondly, the contact Guugel shared with Dash was something very immediate and burned out his system, especially when, as Dorian had witnessed himself, Guugel took control of a dozen weapons and used them telekinetically. Thirdly, the beacon-like pulse Dorian had been observing was another form of psychic communication on a biological level with Spril, entirely separate from his connection with Dash and having something to do with a form of physiological link between Guugel’s species, the Wot, and Spril’s nature as a Floraran. As Dorian understood it, there had been some sort of intimate genetic swap (fascinating) that had somehow intertwined their states akin to quantum entanglement, but not quite.
The thing that stood out most to him, though, was that Dorian’s treatment of his patient had been emphasizing life as he knew it when Guugel’s system was in many ways more derived from fungal and plant characteristics that he could not quite understand, at least as well as Spril could.
After catching Spril up with all that had happened, Dorian was left with a single question. “Spril. Can you treat Guugel?”
“It will take time, but it can be done. I… might need to stay with him to see to it.”
Dash had been largely quiet beyond relaying the mechanics of what he and Guugel had done as matter-of-factly as possible. Dorian noted there was some tension in his jaw, and he was searching very carefully for words during his recounting of events. Outside of that, he had said very little and mostly spent his time looking back and forth between Spril and Guugel. Dash’s words caught everyone off guard.
“Spril, are you running from something?”
The medbay was silent. Dorian wondered what had inspired Dash to ask the question and if he’d missed something. Spril’s eyes had widened significantly, the dark green pools expanding upon some sort of realization.
Spril was silent for a moment and looked at Dash. Mara, sitting next to Dash on a medibed, looked him over as well. Dorian could hear Marken shift in the stool near the lab station.
“Guugel told you?”
Dash shook his head. “No, I caught a glimpse of something just now, from you. Fire.” He paused, staring directly at Spril, unrelenting. He continued, “But also, as a runner, the signs are pretty apparent.”
Dorian kept silent, but filed that away.
Spril sighed. “I am not fully aware of how this works, but we seem to be entangled. I suppose it can’t be helped. You’re connected to Guugel, and he is connected to me, and I am connected to the Great Root. I should have realized.”
Dorian could not help himself. “The Great Root?”
“Less science and more magic, I’m afraid. It’s a bit hard to explain. I promise I’ll explain it, but right now-”
Dash rose to his feet and approached Spril, who had stopped speaking at once. Spril stood more than a head taller than the Terrekin, and Dash had to look up at him, but it didn’t feel like it, either, as though in that moment they were equal in the exchange on a cosmic level. Dorian wouldn’t really know how to explain that – it was just an immutable truth of the moment.
“Spril.”
“I… I came here to see Guugel, yes. But I also came to you all for help. I am on the run, and you need me to help restore our loved one. Fate.”
Dash shook his head, the tousle of purple hair above his dark-ringed eyes wobbling. “Coincidence. But that isn’t a bad thing. Just like the coincidence that led us all to meet.”
Spril tensed, and the roughage that crowned his head shook a bit in kind. It was like he had come to a sudden stop, but he was still sitting on the medibed where Guugel’s pod rested.
Dash smiled sadly.
“You need to let the thing with Vark go, Spril. I don’t blame you. I never did. We’re both victims here.” Dash looked toward Guugel, pointing at the pod. “I need you to help Guugel – our friend. What are you running from? How can I help? He’d expect me to. I want to help.”
“How can we help?” Mara added.
Dorian heard Marken’s feet hit the floor as he pattered over to Spril and gently punched the Floraran at the top of his knee, smiling up at him. “Maybe we should get everyone together to talk this over, yeah? Just so we are all on the same page.”
Spril nodded.
Dorian couldn’t help but smile. He liked Spril, and he was excited about having a chance to break Guugel from this coma. But he also could learn so much more about the biology of two of the more reclusive species in the galaxy. It would be great for his internship – it would make him a better healer for them all.
Common Room, Lucky Strike II, Planet Vumba
Marken was a little exhausted now. Round two of explaining everything had taken longer as more questions emerged, more context was conveyed, and Kracker derailed the conversation with Krackerisms. Eventually, though, everyone was up to speed, more or less, with everyone including Spril, Dash, Mara, Kracker, Alix, Dorian, and of course Marken himself. For good measure, Fyean and Kasso, the lead scientists of the Kems’ secret stealth colonization scheme, were also brought into the loop, given the sensitive and illegal nature of what Marken’s crew had opted to aid them with. The Kems needed to know what was going on to make their choice on whether they wished to depart or come at their plan from another angle.
Marken could swear that he’d even seen Blu, behind one of the ship’s air vents, listening in.
As it stood, the Lucky Strike II was set to travel to the planet Cosaya as part of a maintenance duty for GalactiCorp, which provided machinery for a colony there. Somehow, Fyean and Kasso, along with six of their peers, had gotten word of this mission (Alix had never been able to find out how they learned of it) and concocted a scheme to smuggle themselves to Cosaya to establish a small Kem outpost to do water studies for a larger colonization push. This was highly illegal because of the tight queue on colonial operations with the Federation, and Dorian’s discovery of several frozen Kems meant that now Lucky Strike Transport was an accessory to this crime.
Thankfully, the crew had decided to keep the secret, and now everyone was on board with the scheme.
That was all well and good until the ship had set down here on the planet Vumba, in range of a colony that had been held hostage by a fleet of space pirates. Those same space pirates captured the Lucky Strike II and held most of the crew hostage except for Dash, who had rescued Guugel, and two of the Kems, Kasso and Abscon. Dash and Guugel worked together to free the rest of the crew, who then fought off additional approaching pirates as Dash took care of those that remained within the ship. Since then, Guugel had been in a coma after exhausting his body through the use of his psychic abilities.
There were, of course, many questions about that. After those were mostly answered, the conversation turned to Spril and what brought him to them. From here, whatever was next came down to the crew and how they wished to handle it.
Marken was confident they would do the right thing… whatever it was. All of that in less than a month. No wonder Marken felt tired. Everyone seemed on edge, truthfully.
As the conversation turned to the nature of Spril’s arrival, the Floraran spoke.
“I am on the run from, I guess, for lack of a better term, my ‘family.’”
The common room was silent for a moment, then Kracker chimed in. “How much do you owe them?”
Dash punched Kracker in the arm.
“Ack!”
“I owe them my life, it seems. I need to establish something right now before I continue: magic exists.”
Dash scoffed but quickly recovered. Marken would admit this was something hard to believe. At least it would have been had they not so recently established that psychic abilities were quite real and present – he’d seen the reality for himself.
“The Florara, my people, have a strange connection to plant life all over the galaxy – something that goes beyond some kind of genetic ancestry. We call it the ‘Great Root,’ and it’s why we’ve been able to adapt to any world so easily. We have an insight into what lives and thrives, and we can take in the genetics of native plants with no illness or injury and express those genes as needed. It’s a biological process, yes, but the scale and inherent understanding might as well be magic. We see it as such – the Rootmother’s gift.”
“I had a Floraran dealer in college who grew ‘mushrooms on his back. Can you all do that?”
Groans echoed in the common room.
Spril did not miss a beat. “Yes, Kracker. That is very possible.”
Marken saw Alix, who sat nearby, slap a palm over her eyes. She glanced at Marken, gesturing in silence at the Parrack. Marken just shrugged.
Spril stepped over to the garden space of the common room and picked a pepper from a vine, splitting it open and holding up one of the dozens of tiny seeds between his rootlike finger and thumb. With a quick pinch, the seed vanished and Spril’s eyes shut tight. Within moments, he held aloft a finger where a small pepper began to form and grow. He plucked it and tossed it to Kracker.
“Care to try it?”
Kracker shrugged, popped it into his beak, and coughed a bit as he chewed it.
“Oh yeah, that’s spicy.”
Spril continued. “That is just an aspect of my people, and we tend not to share much about this. I think the reasons why are pretty obvious. Just as Guugel’s psychic abilities are a part of his people.” He turned to Dorian, adding, “That’s why the medical records are so sparse. Florara, the Wot, we’re quick to recover remains and are quick to guard against autopsies and in-depth medical studies… We go to die among our own or in ways where we cannot be studied”
“Hence why I couldn’t fully treat Guugel. I never stood a chance,” Dorian said glumly.
“You were amazing, and we’re in this together,” Spril replied.
Elements of this made sense, but other parts did not. As Marken thought it through, he couldn’t see what familial slight would send Spril to seek help from them. As someone who had lost his parents, Marken didn’t quite understand it.
“But none of this explains why you have family after you,” Marken noted.
“You’re right. Because when I say my family, I do not mean my people, or people with whom I share genetics.”
Spril turned to face everyone who was spread out in the common room. He looked over to the stairwell on the other side of the garden space. A familiar voice sounded from within the stairwell, continuing Spril’s point.
“There are far older and more powerful magics in this galaxy,” the voice echoed. Spril stood, perfectly still, staring at the stairwell.
Spril looked back toward everyone and spoke again. “Magics that are controlled and studied by an Order, who seek those who can tap into these mysteries.”
Just as Spril finished his point, a second Spril finished ascending the stairs and stepped into the common room.
“I am on the run from that very Order,” said the Spril double.
At that moment, the Spril who Marken had been talking to since meeting him at the Greensleeves burst into a shower of petals.
Thank you for reading Cosmic Dash: The Swarm. Click here to read the next chapter when it is available.
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