I Am The Swarm

“Have you ever considered offering this technology to the Ji race? I’m sure it would fetch a great price. Oh, my mistake—since we’re now all part of the Ji race, shouldn’t you consider donating this technology to the collective instead?” The hulking muscle-bound figure raised his head as he spoke.

Although he appeared honest and simple, his words carried a cunning undertone, not only aiming to take advantage but also sow discord.

To some extent, what he said was true.

The Swarm member shook his head. “This parasitic armor is issued exclusively by the Swarm, and its technology is strictly confidential.”

He gestured in a wide arc with his hand. “None of us here—none of the Swarm members in this place—know the specifics of this technology.”

“Tch!” The muscle-bound figure clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Alright, that’s beyond my clearance. I’ll leave it to the higher-ups to handle.” He muttered, his voice trailing off, though it was faintly audible, “At least reporting this information itself can earn me some benefits—it’s not a wasted trip.”

Unwilling to give up entirely, he added, “We’re all going to be on the same team from now on, so if you have any good stuff, consider bringing it out early to exchange for points.”

Without waiting for the Swarm members to ask what points were for, he continued as though answering his own question: “What’s the use of points, you ask? They’re great! With enough points, you can live a more comfortable life, gain access to more resources, apply for advanced laboratories, and even browse higher-level knowledge. In short, the more points, the better.”

Unfortunately, despite his lengthy sales pitch, none of the Swarm members responded. He felt slightly embarrassed, though his dark skin conveniently hid any blush.

It turned out these inspection personnel weren’t just responsible for escorting foreign researchers; they also had the job of extracting valuable technologies—a program colloquially referred to as the “keep it in the family” initiative.

For example, if a foreign researcher possessed a technology that the Ji race did not have, and this technology could be exchanged for five points, the receiving personnel and the researcher would split half of the points. Then, the two would divide that half equally between them.

This meant that when the researcher’s civilization later attempted to exchange the same technology for points, it would show as already stored in the Ji database and thus ineligible for further exchange.

This clever system not only restricted the acquisition of points by foreign researchers but also sowed discord between them and their original civilizations. It was a win-win for the Ji. However, as the number of foreign civilizations grew—and most had already been influenced by Ji technological pathways—the pool of unique technologies to extract had dwindled.

The Swarm, however, was one of the few civilizations in the Confederation that primarily pursued biotechnology. It undoubtedly possessed many unique technologies, making this assignment a coveted opportunity for individuals like the “muscle-bound figure” and the “blue-haired monkey.”

Yet despite discovering something promising at the outset, they now felt as if they were leaving a treasure trove empty-handed, which deeply frustrated them.

In addition to personnel inspections, all luggage and personal items brought aboard had to undergo rigorous checks in another room before being allowed on the ship. The Ji race maintained a relatively humane policy for incoming members; every researcher who passed the screening process was permitted to carry up to 50 kilograms of non-living items onto the ship.

However, the inspections here were much stricter. Unlike personnel checks, which rarely resulted in incidents, luggage checks were notorious for mishaps.

Who were these researchers? They were specialists in all sorts of fields, and the most common items they brought were electronic storage devices and printed books. Next came clothing and personal mementos, and finally, their favorite experimental materials.

These materials were wildly diverse—radioactive items were considered normal, unstable explosive substances were not uncommon, and some even brought bacteria or toxins.

While the pre-boarding guidelines explicitly prohibited such items, violations were still rampant. After all, what malicious intent could these researchers possibly have? They simply wanted to bring some experimental materials aboard.

“What’s this?” a Ji inspection officer asked his colleague.

In his hand was a pendant discovered in the luggage of a Riken researcher. The pendant appeared ordinary, resembling amber formed from some kind of plant secretion and strung on a simple woven cord.

The pendant was particularly striking because it contained a small golden insect encased in pale blue transparent amber. The insect, no larger than a fingernail, was impeccably preserved—its limbs and even its delicate antennae remained intact, gleaming brilliantly in gold.

“It looks like some sort of bug, but I’ve never seen this specific kind before. Perhaps it’s a local specialty from their home planet,” the colleague glanced at it briefly and lost interest.

“Hey, don’t dismiss it so casually—it could be dangerous!” the inspection officer exclaimed with exaggerated alarm. While his reaction seemed theatrical, it wasn’t without reason. There was a precedent in Ji history involving a foreigner boarding with a specimen of a native lifeform.

In that historical incident, the Ji inspectors had noticed the specimen but had regarded it as a harmless memento. After the ship launched, however, over twenty Ji members began dying mysteriously, with no discernible cause.

Panic spread throughout the vessel, and it wasn’t until the death toll surpassed one hundred that the true culprit was discovered. The specimen emitted a faint neurotoxin that wasn’t cataloged in the Ji’s database and thus had gone undetected during the initial inspection.

This toxin, harmless to the native people and even mildly invigorating for them, acted as a slow poison for many other species. It caused progressive respiratory distress, eventually leading to suffocation.

Following that disaster, Ji personnel tasked with escorting foreigners became particularly vigilant about unusual biological specimens in luggage. While such items were not outright banned, they were subject to stringent scrutiny.

“Alright, let’s figure out what this little thing actually is,” the colleague said, pulling out a scanning device. He waved it over the amber several times, allowing the data to upload to their computer for analysis.

The results came back quickly.

“According to the information, this insect is a common species native to the Zanga Forest near the equator of the Riken homeworld. It’s called… well, the name’s in their native language, and I can’t pronounce it. The locals often encase these bugs in resin from blue pine trees to create pendants, which they believe bring good luck…”

Noticing that his colleague was about to continue with a lengthy explanation, the inspection officer quickly interrupted, “Stop, stop. You know what I care about. Don’t waste time.”

“Fine,” the colleague relented, summarizing, “The notes from the information department indicate that it’s a safe species and can be carried onboard.”

Hearing this, the inspection officer shrugged, tossed the pendant back into the luggage, and marked it as cleared for transport.

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