Cosmic Dash: The Swarm – Chapter 2. “The Great Game”

Welcome to the second 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, Mara Senten completed a dangerous mission under the orders of Ij Far, the Federation’s spymaster, known as the Hand of the High Commander. This mission was undertaken with the space pirate Illyana Mordon, and Mara has had to keep this secret from her boyfriend Dash, given the animosity between Illyana’s crew and the crew of the Lucky Strike II.

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Chapter 2. “The Great Game”

Lucky Strike II; Farrow’s Hope, Planet Vumba

Mara Senten felt it odd to be alone, especially lately. Being lonely was suddenly uncomfortable where it had once been a necessary survival instinct. The isolation had come in two forms: the first was that since reestablishing her relationship with Dash, his new state of manic energy had spun him off into his old sleepless habits and obsession. Most of the time it was him being lost in some project, but since his recovery from the pirate attack, he’d fallen heavily into the game he’d introduced her to. 

She’d have played it with him had he asked, but something about his distant opponent had spurred him into his obsessive tendencies. He was lost to her until the mania wore off. But the unknown genesis of it all was what had worried her. She remembered coming back from her secretive task and seeing him in the medbay, his final night there under Dorian’s watchful eye. She’d curled into the bed with him, and they had barely spoken after that. He’d been lost in thought, and her guilt weighed on her.

The guilt had been from the task, and her overall arrangement with Ij Far, the Kemezeckin spymaster of the Federation, known as the Hand of the High Commander. Their meeting had been a coincidence, but since then, she had been pulled into a secretive world of clandestine missions, all while maintaining secrecy around her friends, and Dash most of all.

She knew the work she was doing had been important. She could claim that she had a hand in bringing down two weapons smugglers. The most recent had been especially strange, as she had learned that Illyana Mordon, a spice pirate she’d had run-ins with, had been under Ij Far’s service the entire time. The two had made an amicable exit after the success of their mission, and Illyana promised to keep her husband, Vid, off the case of Mara and her crew.

And that very evening Mara lay down next to Dash in the disinfectant-scented medbay and could say nothing. It ate at her. He didn’t ask what she’d been up to, and she had not been forced to lie. But she felt bad about being prepared to.

But the work was important. Wasn’t it?

Now she was in her cabin, editing her field report for Ij Far, waiting for his after-action interview. She hadn’t even received her first operational disbursement, as a backchannel had yet to be established for wiring funds. She hadn’t been compensated for her work thus far beyond feeling like she did something that mattered. This was for the good of the galaxy, Ij Far had told her.

And that was important. Wasn’t it?

Before the Lucky Strike II had sped off from Teslovia, Ij Far had seen to it that Mara received two things. The first was a “quantum transceiver” that the spymaster ensured would not be detectable by anyone on the ship. It was so cutting-edge that it was being kept secret on the authority of the High Commander of the Federation herself, at Ij Far’s urging.

Dash would have been fascinated by this. When she was living in his village, she would find broken things and leave them outside his window, in secret, because she loved the joy tinkering gave him. She always kept her role secret in his projects over their childhood. She’d bartered with sailors and fishers for their broken goods because it was a way to make him happy.

The other thing Ij Far had given her was a strange card that could slip into her mobile’s case. The card was seemingly featureless and made of brushed copper colored metal. As she understood it, it was a transceiver that broadcast a simple signal so his agents and upper-level Federation military personnel would be trained to recognize. It had been one of the ways that Mara had been able to confirm Illyana’s identity as an agent.

Supposedly, operational funds could be wirelessly transmitted to the card from certain access points. This would be how she would receive what she needed for future missions, whenever those might occur.

She supposed that the expected transmission from the spymaster might even include a new mission. It would be another secret to bear, surely. 

But the secrecy meant it was important. Wasn’t it?

…

Ij Far’s transmission was virtually real-time, which had been surprising. This was the effect of the quantum transponder. She didn’t quite understand the science, but she knew who would, and it sucked that she couldn’t delight in his excitement. 

As the shell-headed Kemezeckian explained, each transceiver had an “entangled” particle that allowed them near, instantaneous connection no matter their distance from one another. The further from the Federation’s core network one traveled, the more time standard transmissions would take, having to be bounced by GIN relays to Jumpgates. The middle span of transmission through the wormholes was pretty quick, but the distances transmissions were sent and received from those wormholes were what made messages take longer and longer. But that was moot thanks to this transceiver.

Of course, she began to gloss over the technical specifications when she saw his new shell-headress.

“You changed your shell. I kind of miss that plate. It gave you character,” she said.

Ij’s new shell was identical to his previous one, but without the plate that had sealed up a crack that had been made on their first meeting. Like all Kems, he wore it upon his head. Apparently there was a whole language associated with shell designs, coloration, and any myriad of things she didn’t understand. But even she could tell the muted brown tones and spiral construction were meant to be unassuming. His three tentacles were still hanging downward, not bound like some of the Kem’s she’d gotten to know over the two weeks in the ship’s current and likely highly illegal transportation scheme. As for Ij, he hadn’t changed that much, honestly.

“I had to make a public appearance,” he said absentmindedly. He wasn’t really paying attention, though on screen, his focus was elsewhere. “Were there any issues with Agent Ransom?”

“I was surprised to see it was Illyana. Did you know that she and her crew had run-ins with us a few times?”

“I know everything,” he said, flatly. “She was in the area; I needed two hands on this, and I assumed you both could be professional.”

“Did you consider maybe why she was in the area-”

“Yes, that was her husband’s intent, but she’s quite an effective agent and curtailed him. Your crew’s actions certainly did enough to hold them off. I have the headache of figuring out a transportation plan for Captain Crayd, a half-dozen other pirate captains, and their crews. So thank you.”

Mara’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t capturing space pirates a good thing?”

“They’re better pointed in a direction. They are agents of chaos I can use. That took a lot of pieces off the board.”

Mara leaned forward, staring at the Kem who was now looking at her. 

“They came after us.”

Ij sighed, his features softening. He was weirdly stern-looking for a creature without a single bone in his body. “I am not criticizing the survival actions of your crew. It was an impressive feat and had the pirates been on a capture list I’d have been celebrating the success. You have to understand that these unaccounted variables put myself and my…”

Ij went silent, catching himself from saying something he hadn’t meant to reveal. Mara suddenly noticed how tired her looked, like he’d been running non-stop for a week. He looked like he wasn’t as moisturized as he should have been. He continued.

“This work I do, the work you are helping me with; It’s delicate, and anything unaccounted for has a chain effect on any number of operations I have going on.” 

He smiled a stiffened smile, apparently unused to the expression.

“Really, you and your crew did an amazing thing, but I just have to make it work. I’ll figure it out.”

“You seem tired,” Mara said, concerned.

Ij’s face suddenly went sour and his mouth puckered, unsure of how to respond. He finally replied with “I suppose I am. I generally am not prone to letting my agents  be so familiar, so we’ll just leave it at that.”

Mara knew not to press further.

“Now, before you relay your after-action report to me, I want to let you know I have secured your operational funding. You are free to keep this first disbursement of funding as a bonus for your work, as the money was earmarked for this recently completed operation. Securing funding won’t take so long going forward. I can’t speak on what happened, but it has been dealt with.”

Ij paused, seemingly waiting for Mara to say or do something. All she did was nod an affirmative. He continued to speak.

“For now, please send your report, and we’ll begin the debrief.”’

…

Ij was still reading after Mara had recounted her view of the events. This took a while, and she sat in silence the whole time. When he was done, Ij finally spoke.

“The events line up between both of your reports. Good. Now let’s move on to your next mission.”

Mara stiffened, not expecting a new mission already. She must have done well.

“Based on the itinerary set for your ship by GalactiCorp, you appear to be heading to the planet Cosaya. This is good because I need a set of eyes on the mining colony on the surface. There have been a few missed shipments, and no word back from a security detachment that was sent out to investigate. We are pulled thin on the frontier, and I can’t afford to pull another investigatory force from any of the fleet admirals in the area, nor are they concerned about the colony as the Empire is pushing closer to our borders.” Ij Far gripped a tendril at his jawn and tugged it slightly as he was actively processing operations in his head. He continued, “As GalactiCorp is already contracted for maintenance of the formacye mining equipment used on the colony, you are arriving for a scheduled inspection, or more to the point, your engineer is due to inspect the equipment. This is good cover for you to investigate and see what is causing the delay.”

Mara noted that, with the distraction of mining maintenance, she’d have room to do what she had to do.

“If this is merely technical, I am sure your crew can handle it. If it is sabotage, you’ll need Kameku to confirm hostile action, so be sure to stay in the loop of his findings.”

“Sabotage?”

Ij Far ignored the question. 

“Whatever Kameku uncovers, whatever your pilot, the hacker uncovers, find out and note it. That’s your mission. I am not expecting hostility, but be aware and be present. This planet is essential for defense.”

Mara was curious. “If it’s a foramcyte mine, sir, why aren’t forces being sent there to secure it and investigate further?”

Ij shook his head. ‘We’ve not officially made the information about the mine public. We have a shoestring colonial operation there and have yet to reinforce it in full. The temptation of formacyte might pressure the Empire to secure the colony through any number of means. Reliable starship refueling is essential for colonizing further out from our central systems. This is a major priority.”

“You can’t trust the information to fleet commanders?”

“You can’t trust anyone, Mara.” Ij’s voice sounded almost disappointed. He continued, “Information is compartmentalized for a reason. This colony is small, and we’ve done everything we can to make it seem larger than it is. We can’t risk information slipping out about such a large supply of formacyte.”

“I think I understand, but how is it so dire that we can’t afford proper colonies?”

“That’s all politics, I’m afraid. And that is beyond me, as the work I do should be above them. We’ve had to leverage seized assets for our black budget, as it is becoming harder to access funds from the Federation without scrutiny. But beyond the scope of what we are doing, imagine the public pressure of colonization and the funding of those colonies. This is all the result of the ‘Landfall Protocol.’”

Mara remembered studying this in galactic civics during her first year of university. A couple of decades after The Dividing War, pressure was on the Federation, Empire, and Neutrality to expand their respective reach without triggering armed conflict. The compromise was the “Landfall Protocol,” which established the rule that the first government to establish a self-sufficient colony on a planet would have claim over it, and could then license territory to whomever, as long as that initial colony existed and had been consistently maintained by an active population. Recalling this, she understood why things had turned out the way they had on Cosaya.

Colonization had become a landgrab. A tangle of governments rushing to any habitable rock on the frontier and working to establish a colonial holding first. Industries boomed that revolved around “start-up” colony devices and the expansion of the GalactInfoNet to link far-flung holdings to the larger concentration of the central worlds. The idea of understaffed, undersupplied bootstrap colonies to get a toehold made her sick. She’d mostly heard it in the context of the Empire or Neutrality. The Empire had hardy citizens who could stand isolation and limited resources, while still maintaining the proportional population required of a colony. Meanwhile, Neutrality mercenaries would claim territory until a planet or moon was either integrated into the larger compact or sold to the Federation or Empire based on a brief, intense bidding war.

Something about the Federation engaging in such activity made her feel a little sick. That the lives of colonists were being risked for a race to collect planetoids in some galactic game had rubbed her the wrong way. It wasn’t that this was new to her, but rather that deep down she understood and had expected that the whole time. It was like, thanks to the work she was now doing for Ij Far, she was at the table, behind him, observing the game, realizing the scope – realizing the stakes.

It was uncomfortable, and she couldn’t talk about it with the person she trusted the most.

“As for you, Agent Senten, I have authorized your quantum transceiver to transmit to my network at will. The AI will field the transmission to the appropriate parties, so you are not guaranteed to contact me directly. Rest assured you will be able to contact someone who can provide you the information, assistance, or possible rescue that you require.”

Mara felt like she was being pawned off, but she tried not to let the disappointment show on her face.

“I also have authorized you some additional autonomy. You’ll be able to decide on your operational development as it occurs in the field, but you’re still encouraged to use the quantum transceiver for suggestions or resource allocation. Is that understood?”

Mara nodded.

“Additionally, while you have your identification card, you will also need to memorize this code phrase in case further identification is requested by a fleet commander or those who may be field agents. The phrase is ‘I see you have things well in hand.’ Any fleet commander, when relayed this information, knows to take you aside and listen to your message.”

The spymaster was silent for a moment, and then smiled at Mara, genuinely.

“You know, it took Agent Mordon about three years to be given operational autonomy. You’ve managed it in a matter of months.”

Mara said nothing. Ij Far nodded curtly and switched off his transmission.

When the transmission ended, Mara slumped in her chair, exhaling. She felt herself shaking. This was huge. She’d been fascinated by the Federation Marines and had considered applying so many times -every missed opportunity embittering her. But this was even better; she was an operative, a spy like in the vids she watched growing up.

But the fact remained that she could not tell a single soul about this.

What she was doing now… it was important, wasn’t it?

Lucky Strike II; Farrow’s Hope, Planet Vumba

The medbay had been pretty active for a few days, but now the space had emptied, only occupied by Dorian D’lazmuh, the ship’s medic-in-training, and the comatose body of the strange Wot, Guugel. Here in the silence, observing his patient, Dorian missed the noise of Dash arguing with him about his role as a bedridden patient, and the occasional crash of Kracker toying with various pieces of equipment.

All that was here was Guugel, still silent. The Wot was alive, as Dorian could understand it physiologically; the diminutive security officer’s status was so alien to him that Dorian had been agonizing over how to treat him. On the one hand, this was a major boon, clinically speaking. Knowledge of Wot physiology was very secretive, as their species were intensely private and isolationist. The literature on them was thin, at best, and there had been nothing about this strange coma Guugel had fallen into. No records or guidance on a treatment, and the ship was light-years from any major medical facility. All Guugel had was Dorian, and Dorian took it seriously.

Dorian, the Oonooan, the Grey, dictated into his medical scanner, “Subject A continues to remain in this coma, and the chrysalis continues to respirate while enclosing the patient. Digital imaging of all forms has yet to reveal what process the subject is undergoing.”

Dorian paused. “Subject A” felt so impersonal. He liked Guugel. Not that the Wot gave him much to work with beyond signing and written languages, which even then felt sparse, but the Wot was good at keeping an eye out for the rest of the crew, and not just because his body was nearly entirely an eye. Wots were curious, a squat, monocular species without any perceivable orifices who had arms and legs. Even digital imaging before the coma provided few answers to what the species was.

Dorian continued his dictation. “It has been observed that before the coma, Subject A had been able to contact and communicate with Subject B through some form of extra-sensory perception. While this was a one-way connection from Subject A to Subject B, the two could carry out rudimentary conversations, albeit with one party conversing entirely through apparent psychic messaging to the other, who would respond verbally in most cases. Though details are hard to confirm, I believe that Subject B was able to converse with Subject A through thinking that was ‘read’ by Subject A. Attempts to make contact with the comatose Subject A through Subject B had not yielded any results.”

This had been the strange nature of Guugel’s communications with Dash, as apparently Dash was able to hear and communicate with Guugel. Dash said it was a melody with an undercurrent of static. Something pleasant but invasive. Dash had not consented to deep brain imaging, and Dorian could not force the issue due to the Medic’s Code. It would take time, and he’d make his case. Finishing his degree would help.

The dictation was part of Dorian’s medical archives he’d been collecting on his internship with the Lucky Strike Delivery Company, before it had been swallowed up by GalactiCorp, in a flurry of sudden transactions that Dorian had failed to fully understand. It had something to do with their recovery of a certain experimental device that had been stolen from GalactiCorp. Dorian and the rest of the crew had lost the original Lucky Strike in the process of discovering this. Dash was the one who had figured it out. Before they had even reached Teslovia, a new ship was being manufactured for them on GalactiCorp’s credit chit with a tentative acquisition agreement.

Dorian had chosen to intern for a small delivery company because he had figured the job would be mostly uneventful. It would give him time to study as he wrote cursory field reports for publication. But he didn’t realize the kind of people Bernell Marken, the Astro-Mole who had hired him, had surrounded himself with. And before Dorian understood who they were, he’d become pulled into a series of misadventures that challenged him in ways he had never expected.

And it gave him friends he never realized he could have. He hadn’t felt so close to anyone since his brothers.

Dorian glanced sadly at the comatose chrysalis and felt a powerful sadness overtake him.

“C’mon, buddy. Give me something.” His words were met with the steady beeping of scanners and life support systems.

He sighed and returned to his report. He wasn’t sure about including this next bit, but the theory had some merit. He’d had enough genuinely fascinating cases on his current logs; no sense that he couldn’t indulge in something wildly out of pocket. And if he was right…

He spoke into his scanner. 

“Neural signals, as much as they can be understood in Subject A, are a repeating pattern. The pattern isn’t anything I can currently decipher, but they are consistent and repeated with little variation. See imaging folder ‘Subject A Neural Pattern’ for examples. Given the extrasensory perception present in the subject and the consistent pattern, I cannot help but consider the nature of a beacon. As of now, my evidence is limited, but I hypothesize that this pattern, combined with this comatose state, is a communication strategy and that perhaps Subject A is, in effect, broadcasting a message. To whom and to what end I am unsure, but I continue to monitor this and, with luck, speak with Subject A for confirmation upon potential recovery.”

Dorian did not like how “potential” hung over that last sentence.

“Computer, strike ‘potential’ from the transcript of the last ten words.”

The scanner beeped the affirmative. Dorian set it down and then took a seat on the rolling stool at his workstation, spinning it to look at what was once Guugel, the Wot, and a friend. Who would be again. Dorian would see to it, somehow.

Project Dispatch Base; Outside New Nova, Planet Aurin

The array of tunnels carved into the mountains east of New Nova, the Federation capital, were sweltering. Ij Far had already processed the water of three hydration collars in the span of six hours. He now returned to his office for a fourth collar. There was no shortage of water to maintain his moisture level and, more importantly, breathe; yet, the rate at which this heat of the facility caused him to process it had made him take mandatory breaks every couple of hours, and he hated the disruption to his pace.

It did not help that the heat left him disheveled, his uniform wrinkled from constant sweat. Again, there was no shortage of water for rapid laundry of his uniforms, and no limits to access to fresh, clean, and sharp replacements, but he hadn’t needed to redress this much since he was a messy little child. He was no longer a messy child, all present evidence to the contrary.

But all of these discomforts, the amount of water collars and shirts he’d have to swap out, were well worth his exclusive use of the most advanced communication technology ever conceived, run on a black budget, unknown to most beyond the most important leaders in the Federation, and even then mostly among the highest ranking of the Marine and Naval forces.

The Hand of the High Commander was an oft-rumored entity within the public consciousness; once the role had been revealed in a data breach, but Ij Far had seen quickly to muddying the waters and making his office murkier and murkier to the point where it was mostly a story to be passed around the paranoid, which further delegitimized the idea. The problem with conspiracy theorists was they could sometimes be right, but their often being wrong was their biggest asset for his operations. They just had to be cranks once.

Among the Federation’s military hierarchy and the Prime Minister of the Federation itself, he was a shadow with authority that the public could not understand. Among those he reported to, he was able to get his way as needed. He’d encountered some resistance in his early tenure, but he achieved results and effective blackmail – some legitimate, most manufactured. He set the record straight among the hierarchy of the Federation, with authority in emergencies that put him above his own commanding officer, High Commander Ijell Yureh. He was deferential to her, of course, but when they had agreed to this scheme as they had come to power, she recognized a strong hand would be needed in times of crisis. That is where his role had been named, the Hand of the High Commander. Tasked equally with force and manipulation, things a hand could do well. A hand could be firm; it could be gentle; it could rifle through pockets without being noticed.

All of his authority – his effort –  resulted in this, his greatest project: a communication system and artificial intelligence that amplified his efforts a million times beyond what he had begun his tenure with. A mountain turned into an intelligence machine

The trek to his office was arduous in this heat, and his single, muscular foot had begun to chafe as he undulated along the corridor. The complex, despite its size, had been very small when it came to space for workers, of which he only had a handful. Most of the complex had been built around the gigantic communication system that ran his operations and the particle accelerator that entangled particles to be split between transmitter boxes. Agents would receive one particle box, while the twin would be installed within the vast bank in the facility, with the AI redirecting transmissions from various particles to specific destinations or to other box owners. The automation was necessary. 1,032 boxes were too much for a lone Kemezeckian to deal with.

Four of the boxes were also grounds for treason if discovered. Two of those boxes were lighting up for him within his office. He did not accept transmission right away, opting to change his shirt and replace his water collar. The office was much cooler, and he could be here for a while if he needed to. He expected that he would be a while because both of these private boxes were blinking. The processing power to have these quantum communication tunnels on hold would be enough to run a dozen colonial outposts for a year.

He activated both boxes, indicating the line was open, and he waited. After a few moments, he was in contact with Jao Faom and Chirrik Zei, his counterparts within the Blassnaught Empire and  Cyclopasian Neutrality, accordingly.

He leaned back in his chair, observing their projections on his incredibly expensive holotable. He chose not to platform himself this time. He found his chair far too comfortable.

“Camera shy, Ij?” asked Jao, the Tentachlid, mockingly.

“Maybe he lost his hat,” Chirrik, the Mantoid, clicked.

“It must be a bad sign when all three of us are on at the same time,” Ij added, ignoring them.

“I never sleep anyway.”

“Jao is more paranoid than you, Ij. You know that,” Chirrik joked.

“I have a lot on my plate here, my friends, so if we can get to the point and skip the pleasantries for the next security conference…”

“We know you’ve lost contact with your formacyte mine on Cosaya,” Jao’s voice, normally gurgling, had turned craggy.

“We both know,” Chirrik added.

“Well… shit. Should I expect movement from your respective militaries?”

Chirrik shook her head. “We’re burying the information for you. Give you time to identify the problem, but we can only do so for so long. Tell me you are moving to secure it immediately.”

Jao was silent for a moment. Ij and Chirrik waited for the Tentchlid to gather his thoughts. He finally spoke, his voice soft and concerned, “We can’t let anyone get wind of the fact the Federation found formacyte on Cosaya with such a small force to hold it. That’s inviting a conflict. We’re the cooler heads here, but if any of this bears fruit for the Empire, they will force the issue and try to occupy the territory. Then the Federation will respond, yes?”

Ij sighed, thinking of Cosaya and the nearest fleet – led by one Commander Scott, whom Ij held no faith in. 

“Yes, unfortunately we have a particularly quick-tempered fleet commander who would be the first to arrive.”

“So you do have someone heading there now, right? We’re not just scrambling here, right?” Chirrik had begun to sound more anxious.

“Yes, I have an agent on dispatch.”

“Is it the Terrakin woman?” Jao’s single eyebrow on his monocular, squidlike body arched.

“And if it is?”

“Considering her close associations with two of the Ten Triggers. Can she be trusted, Ij?”

“Absolutely; besides, we are surveilling Motari and Kameku through this agent.”

Chirrik shook her head. “Does she know that?”

Ij Far said nothing. 

After a few moments, Jao spoke again.

“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing with your agent, Ij.”

The most important games are the most dangerous, Ij had considered saying. But he chose to say nothing.

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Thank you for reading Cosmic Dash: The Swarm. Click here to read the next chapter when it is available.

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