Julian Fog stared at the flashing nav screen, espresso bulb in one hand and a death wish in the other.
“Okay, Mollie,” he said, propping his boots on the console and pointing at the strange swirling mass of colorful gases and crackling bolts of light on the forward display, “how unstable is it really?”
M.O.L.L.I.E. replied with her usual dry bite. “The wormhole’s gravitational corridor is fluctuating by twenty-two percent and collapsing every 48 seconds. Entering it would be equivalent to trying to backstroke through the Sanovian Swamp in a lizard suit during the crocosaur mating season.”
Julian sipped. “So… not a no.”
In the corner, Z1N the robot samurai was tightening the straps on a crash harness made from old seatbelts and a kind of silvery tape.
Z1N: “Captain, I have consulted the prophecies in my core memory. They say: ‘The path to victory must traverse swamps of great peril.’ I recommend we proceed immediately."
Julian: “Zin, those aren’t prophecies. Those are your corrupted startup logs.”
Z1N (nodding): “Wisdom is wisdom wherever it is found, Captain.”
Julian: "And what's with all the swamp references? We're passing through the Kraven-13 wormhole, not the swamp bogs of Sanovia"
M.O.L.L.I.E. chimed in again. “Julian, you’re being tracked by three bounty ships, closing in fast. I recommend evasive maneuvers, NOT suicidal stunts into swirling space swamps.”
Julian pointed at the swirling mass of chaos on the screen. “This isn’t a stunt. This is a shortcut. A bold, handsome, wildly adventurous shortcut...through a WOOOOORMHOOOOOLE," Julian dragged the word out dramatically. "NOT A SWAMP!" he clipped. "This will drop us right into the Astoria 4 Sector where all the lucrative contracts are."
The ship shuddered as incoming fire raked across the shields.
Julian: “And that sounded like the signal to get the frazz out of here and that wormhole looks like the best option.”
M.O.L.L.I.E.: “Fine. Initiating Wormhole Roulette Protocol. May I suggest updating your will?”
Julian (grinning): “I leave all my debts to Larkon.” Julian smashed the big red button and jammed the throttle lever forward. "Hang on to your space cookies, boys and girls!"
The ship lunged toward the swirling death trap and then began to sprial toward the center in a looping arc. A loud POP! Everything went pitch black for a moment. A Crackling, Buzzing...then FLASH! CRACK! A blinding white light enveloped them.
Moments Later: Inside the Wormhole
The ship was tumbling.
Sideways. Then backwards. Then sideways backwards. Which shouldn’t be possible.
Julian was laughing like a madman.
Z1N was screaming “BONZAI!” every eight seconds like a malfunctioning gong.
Julian (yelling over the roar): “WOOOO! This is either the best idea I’ve ever had—”
M.O.L.L.I.E.: “—or the last. I’m logging this as ‘User Error: Level 10 Idiocy.’”
Julian: "Remind me to check your attitude settings."
A spinning loop of temporal foam lashed across the hull. The shipped shuttered violently. Alarms blared. The main power flickered. For a moment what looked like a large lizard with 8 rows of massive teeth and flaming red eyes drifted across the screen.
Julian (voice rattling from the turbulence): "Is anyone else seeing this?
Suddenly, the ship spat itself out into calm space with a squelch.
Everything went quiet.
Julian (panting): “What did I tell you? Smooth as silk. Consider the swamp crossed.”
Z1N (dangling upside down): “Victory is ours! I shall mark this day with a ceremonial tea.”
M.O.L.L.I.E. (deadpan): “Congratulations, Captain. Against all odds, you’ve landed in orbit of Planet Tressix-9. Known for: unstable climates, illegal racing circuits, and cannibal nudist communes.”
Julian blinked. “Wait… did you say racing circuits?”
M.O.L.L.I.E.: “And cannibal nudist communes.”
Julian (grinning): “But… racing circuits.”
He cracked his neck and pulled up the ship’s cash reserves. Not good. Not even bad. Embarrassing. He needed credits fast—and if there was one thing Julian Fog knew how to do, it was fly like a lunatic.
Julian: “Mollie, scan for the sleaziest race promoter in the system. Preferably one who accepts reckless bets and fake IDs.”
M.O.L.L.I.E.: “I’ve found six. Sorting by number of criminal complaints…”
Z1N leaned forward, eyes glowing. “Shall we race with honor?”
Julian (smirking): “No, Zin. We’re gonna race with Dacron boosters and my special polyferrous oxide mix.”
M.O.L.L.I.E.: “Let's hope you can stay on the planet long enough to finish the race.”
Former hypernet influencer, Zard Wallace known for his staged fighting matches with senior citizens, famously used Dacron boosters and PfO in his stunt to leap the Grand Tsarken Ravine on Titan. He not only cleared the canyon but broke Titan's gravitational pull and flung himself and his makeshift speedster into Saturn's rings. He was gradually pulverized into oblivion by chunks of ice, all while livestreaming to most of the galaxy.
Julian: (winking): I'm a pilot not a talentless influencer. I'll finsih the race on this planet without launching myself into an ice shredder.
Scene: The Red Dust Circuit – Tressix-9 Racing Arena
The stands were packed with screaming aliens, drunk tourists, and at least three sentient clouds placing bets via telepathy.
The race itself was simple: five laps through a desert canyon known as The Red Dust Maw, complete with molten fissures, sandstorms, and something called a “lizard pit” that the officials insisted had only seen three drivers eaten.
Julian stood beside his ship, the Fogrunner, now outfitted with the infamous PfO boosters, illegal shield mods, and duct tape. Lots of duct tape.
M.O.L.L.I.E.: “Your hull integrity is at 42%. Which, coincidentally, is also the statistical probability of your brain being fully functional.”
Julian: “Yeah, but it’s a confident brain. The rest is just extra”
Z1N (holding a banner): “I made a flag. It says ‘Honor Through Reckless Speed.’”
Julian: “You had me at ‘reckless.’”
The race began with an explosion—part of the starting protocol, part sabotage. Julian banked hard into the first turn, dodged a plasma mine, and immediately cut off a rival ship shaped like a barbed horseshoe crab.
He laughed the whole time.
Midway through the third lap, he activated the Fog-Boosters—a Dacron booster system he modified himself using spare espresso filters and parts of a karaoke machine and a PfO mix he tweeked to be a bit less volatile. He surged ahead but not into orbit.
Final Lap: Lizard Pit and Glory
Julian hit the final turn, ship shaking violently, gauges blinking like panicked toddlers.
M.O.L.L.I.E.: “Warning: transflux coil approaching structural failure. Also, you are about to enter the lizard pit. I would not fly too close to those rocks.”
Julian: “They were probably just making all that up to justify the so-called "reptile indemnity fee. Lawyers and hustlers. What a scam! A tight turn around that outcropping puts me solidly in the lead.”
As the Fogrunner screamed a tight turn around the towering rocks, a four-meter sand lizard launched itself at the cockpit, bounced off the windshield, and landed on the rear thruster.
Julian screamed. So did the lizard.
Julian (swatting with a wrench): “Get off my ship, you scaly little mutant!”
The lizard rammed its snout through the canopy vent and latchted onto Julian's forearm.
Julian: "Ahhhh! I'm being eaten by a lizard! Zin, I need my blaster! Kill it! Kill it!"
Before the robot samurai could respond, the lizard lept off into the canyon taking the sleeve of Julian's flight suit with it.
Z1N: "You have defeated the dragon, Sensei. You screamed most honorably."
Julian crossed the finish line trailing smoke, sparks, and a string of curses involving lizard ancestry.
He won.
Just barely.
Scene: Post-Race Damage Report
The Fogrunner lay smoldering in the hangar.
Julian clutched his bandaged arm while Z1N applied aloe vera and chanted something vaguely poetic.
M.O.L.L.I.E.: “Well. You won 12,000 credits. You also destroyed your transflux coil and half the rear stabilizer. Also… you appear to be mildly infected with lizard venom.”
Julian: “I feel mildly infected.”
M.O.L.L.I.E.: “Recommend immediate repairs and detox. May I suggest… a shopping trip?”
Julian (groaning): “Ugh. The Smuggler’s Mall?”
M.O.L.L.I.E.: “Affirmative. It’s close. It’s cheap. And it sells antivenom in bulk.”
Julian (grinning faintly): “Well then… set course for grease, guilt, and discount spaceship parts.”
Coming Next Week: Episode Three – “The Smuggler’s Mall”
Julian shops for repairs, dodges bounty hunters, and bumps into an ex who throws knives. The food court gets violent.
