HYPERSPACE – HALF A CYCLE AFTER AZURYN
Hyperspace streaked around the Fogrunner in long violet ribbons, rippling like curtains blown by some celestial wind. The hum of the drive pulsed through the hull, through the floors, through Julian Fog’s bare feet as he stood in front of the cockpit mirror adjusting a shimmering cloak that absolutely did not want to be adjusted.
The cloak was purple. Very purple. A formal diplomatic hue used exclusively by high-ranking ministers who attended peace summits, negotiated interplanetary treaties, and generally did not do the sorts of things Julian Fog was well-known for.
It also kept sliding off his left shoulder as if it was personally offended by him.
JULIAN (grumbling): “C’mon, work with me. I need you to make me look vaguely legitimate for at least thirty seconds.”
Nikara leaned against the console across from him, arms crossed, expression wearing the familiar blend of amusement and exasperation reserved solely for Julian Fog. Her armored jacket was unzipped halfway, her hair pulled back into a practical braid, blaster strapped to her thigh. Even on their best day, she looked ready to kill someone. On a day like this? She looked ready to kill him.
NIKARA: “This is a terrible idea.”
Julian gave her a smug look in the mirror.
JULIAN: “Correction: this is an excellent idea attempted by someone with terrible impulse control.”
A hologram shimmered to life on the console beside her, Z1N, glowing blue, mechanical face stern as always. Z1N tilted his head wisely, which would’ve been impressive if Julian hadn’t known the droid’s “wise tilt” setting had been accidentally locked on two years ago.
Z1N: “For legal clarity, Captain: impersonating a deceased Galactic Minister is punishable by vaporization on five systems, dissection on two, and etiquette counseling on one.”
Julian paused.
JULIAN: “Etiquette counseling?”
Z1N: “Widely regarded as the worst of the three.”
Julian tugged the cloak forward again.
JULIAN: “Relax. I look exactly like the guy.”
NIKARA: “He had jowls.”
Julian puffed his cheeks with determination.
NIKARA: “Please stop.”
Z1N: “And the late Minister Ardos spoke with a distinctive glottal trill.”
Julian inhaled deeply and attempted:
JULIAN (attempting accent): “Gwee-tingsh, honored de-”
Z1N: “Captain, you sound like a malfunctioning opera droid drowning in soup.”
Julian coughed, reassessed, and tried again. This time, his voice rolled and wobbled like a pompous carousel announcer.
JULIAN (better accent): “Greetingsh, esteemed shummit attendees-”
Nikara blinked.
NIKARA: “…Actually, that wasn’t awful. Deeply unpleasant. But accurate.”
Julian grinned, triumphant.
JULIAN: “Thank you. I’m calling that a win.”
She rubbed her temples.
NIKARA: “Fog… please tell me you know what you’re doing.”
Julian snapped the cloak’s collar into place like a man supremely confident in his bad decisions.
JULIAN: “Nope. But I look fantastic doing it.”
APPROACH TO THE CITADEL OF ACCORDANCE
The Fogrunner fell out of hyperspace with a thunderous ripple of displaced reality. The nebular clouds of the Carthax system swirled in copper and emerald shades, luminescent and stormy. Ahead loomed the Citadel of Accordance, an enormous rotating ring of gold and glass suspended between two gravitational pylons the size of mountains.
It was the kind of breathtaking architectural marvel that inspired peace, unity, and absolute dread for anyone carrying a fraudulent diplomatic badge.
M.O.L.L.I.E.’s voice buzzed alive through the cockpit speakers.
M.O.L.L.I.E.: “Incoming transmission from Citadel traffic control. Would you like me to mute it so you can maintain plausible deniability?”
JULIAN: “Nope. Time to shine.”
The comm crackled, followed by a stern, clipped voice:
CONTROLLER (over comm): “Minister Ardos… we were informed you were recovering from a severe gastric malfunction.”
Nikara choked on a laugh.
Julian put on his best dignified expression, or at least, an expression he imagined dignified people wore, and cleared his throat.
JULIAN (in-character): “My recu- recupearshun wash miraculoush. Pleashe preepshare… embashee… docking. Yesh. Docking.”
A long, painful pause.
CONTROLLER: “…Of course, Minister. Proceed.”
The line clicked off.
NIKARA (whispering through clenched teeth): “Oh my stars, we are absolutely going to die.”
JULIAN: “See? Already convincing.”
M.O.L.L.I.E.:
“I’ve been reviewing holograms of the real Minister Ardos. Statistically, Julian’s impersonation is…
…well…
…a hate crime.”
Julian waved the comment away as the Fogrunner slid into the elegant docking corridor. Golden lights pulsed in a ceremonial rhythm. Holographic banners flickered: UNITY. REMEMBRANCE. DIPLOMACY.
Julian tightened the cloak.
JULIAN: “Okay. We walk out confident. Assertive. Regal. Like someone who definitely isn’t wanted across twelve systems.”
Nikara holstered her blaster.
NIKARA: “I swear, Fog… if this ends with another building on fire...”
Julian grinned.
JULIAN: “No promises.”
DOCKING BAY ENTRY
The Fogrunner settled down with a magnetic thunk. The ramp extended. Warm amber light flooded the cargo bay as the hatch opened to the Citadel’s immaculate docking bay, a breathtaking expanse of polished stone, floating holo-fountains, and robed attendants drifting across the floor like walking incense burners.
Julian stepped forward with ceremonial gravitas.
The security drones scanned him, lights flickering across his face.
A holographic text flashed in shimmering blue:
IDENTITY VERIFIED, MINISTER ARDOS
Julian shot Nikara a wink.
JULIAN (quietly): “See? Easy.”
A deafening explosion shook the entire docking bay.
BOOOOOOOOM.
Delegates screamed. Lights flickered violently. A shrill alarm blared.
Overhead speakers thundered:
ALERT VOICE: “HOSTILE SHIP ON APPROACH. SECURITY TEAMS TO POSITIONS.”
Nikara turned to Julian like a woman resigned to fate.
NIKARA: “…Tell me that’s not Larkon.”
Z1N crackled over the comm in a whisper-tone rarely used.
Z1N (through earpiece): “Captain… incoming signature belongs to Galactic Council Special Detachment Delta.”
Julian stiffened.
JULIAN: “Oh no. Worse.”
NIKARA: “Worse than Larkon?!”
JULIAN: “These guys don’t negotiate. They don’t chat. They don’t blink. They vaporize, file a report, and vaporize again for good measure.”
Another explosion rocked the Citadel, showering the bay in sparks.
Nikara shoved Julian.
NIKARA: “Time to move!”
Julian nodded.
JULIAN: “Follow me. And stay diplomatic.”
She pulled her blaster.
NIKARA: “Screw diplomacy.”
GRAND ATRIUM – CHAOS UNLEASHED
The Grand Atrium of the Citadel was a marvel of crystalline architecture, towering spires of translucent stone, floating platforms, hovering archivists, and a massive central holo-map that displayed the alliance borders of seventy-seven star systems.
All of that beauty was now covered in panicked diplomats and shrapnel.
Julian pushed through a cluster of robed ambassadors shrieking in seventeen languages. Nikara followed at his heels, shoving aside anyone too slow.
Security guards herded crowds toward sealed blast doors. The scent of ozone and stress sweat hung in the air.
JULIAN: “We find Chancellor Vorrick, clear my name, and leave before the kill squad levels this place.”
NIKARA: “That is the stupidest plan I’ve heard in at least three episodes.”
JULIAN: “Thank you.”
Blaster fire erupted behind them.
A sleek, obsidian-black gunship smashed through the exterior wall in a shower of fire and debris. A hatch detonated off its hinges.
Five armored figures stepped out, matte-black suits, glowing red visors, weapons crackling like lightning held in mortal hands. Their movement was synchronous, mechanical, terrifying.
Council Kill-Team.
The lead soldier raised his rifle.
KILL-TEAM LEAD: “Target Fog identified. Terminate.”
Julian flung himself sideways as a plasma bolt scorched the floor where he’d been standing.
NIKARA: “I TOLD YOU THIS WAS A BAD PLAN!”
JULIAN: “RUN!”
BANQUET CHAMBER – IMPROVISED MAYHEM
The two sprinted through an ornate corridor and burst into a banquet chamber arranged for some diplomatic luncheon. Floating trays held shimmering delicacies from across the galaxy, crystalline fruits, hovering bowls of neon noodles, steaming platters of creatures still arguing about their fate.
Julian skidded to a halt, grabbed a glowing silver platter, and hurled it like a discus.
It slammed into the visor of a pursuing soldier, staggering him.
NIKARA (shouting): “Why did that WORK?”
JULIAN: “I once got detention for a food fight at Marine Academy!”
He upended an entire anti-grav buffet table. The table floated into the path of the kill-team, blocking their shots temporarily.
Z1N’s voice crackled in their earpieces.
Z1N: “Captain, statistically, your continued survival defies probability. You should purchase a lottery ticket.”
JULIAN: “Zin, buy me ten of them!”
The table suddenly split in half, under a barrage of plasma fire.
Nikara shoved Julian forward as the kill-team advanced.
NIKARA: “MOVE!”
THE DIPLOMATIC CHAMBER
The main council chamber was enormous, a circular hall with tiered seating, floating holo-banners, and a central levitating table shaped like a radiant starburst. Delegates cowered behind glowing barriers, clutching their ceremonial tablets like shields.
Julian leapt onto the floating table.
JULIAN (shouting): “Honored delegates! I propose a motion!”
Everyone froze.
Even the kill-team hesitated, momentarily confused.
KILL-TEAM LEAD: “Fog. Do not move.”
Julian raised his hand dramatically, cloak fluttering behind him.
JULIAN: “I invoke the Ancient Clause of the Summit of Accordance!”
Delegates gasped. Audible gasps. Real fear.
A Zelthan representative clutched his pearls.
The kill-team lead stiffened.
KILL-TEAM LEAD: “That clause is obsolete.”
JULIAN: “Obsolete… but binding.”
A hush fell over the hall.
Nikara stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
NIKARA (whispering): “What clause?! How do you know any clauses?!”
JULIAN (whispering back): “I read it on a bathroom wall in Sector Four!”
NIKARA: “Of course you did.”
Chancellor Vorrick, a crystalline insectoid with shimmering wings, scuttled into the chamber, pale and trembling.
VORRICK: “The clause… exists.”
The kill-team leader cursed softly.
Julian smirked.
JULIAN: “See? This is going great.”
JULIAN’S PLEA
Julian cleared his throat theatrically.
JULIAN: “Esteemed delegates…
I, Julian Fog, am not a threat to the galaxy.
Yes, I delivered explosives to a peace summit.
Yes, I may have accidentally contributed to General Kreel’s… uh… rapid decomposition.
Yes, I sometimes set hotels on fire!
But I am NOT a murderer!”
Delegates murmured.
Julian’s voice cracked with dramatic flair.
JULIAN: “I am guilty only of poor decisions...overconfidence...questionable taste in beverages...and an above-average commitment to chaos.”
Nikara coughed.
NIKARA: “And arson.”
JULIAN: “That too.”
The kill-team leader stepped forward, rifle steady.
KILL-TEAM LEAD: “Request denied. Orders remain active.”
Julian squared his shoulders.
JULIAN: “Then I invoke Clause Two.”
Delegates screamed.
NIKARA: “What’s Clause Two?!”
Julian winced.
JULIAN: “Trial by combat.”
NIKARA: “WHAT?! Why would you DO that?!”
The kill-team leader gestured.
A massive obsidian-plated champion stomped out, seven feet tall, built like a war mech, holding a plasma halberd buzzing with caged lightning.
Julian swallowed hard.
JULIAN: “…I was hoping for something smaller.”
TRIAL BY COMBAT
The chamber’s central platform retracted. A circular arena rose from the floor, encircled by shimmering barriers. Delegates peered over the edges, whispering and placing discreet bets.
Julian stepped into the arena, rolling his shoulders.
JULIAN (to champion): “Any chance you’ll take a bribe?”
The champion roared.
JULIAN: “Not a bribe guy. Got it.”
The fight erupted immediately.
The champion swung the halberd, and Julian dove, rolled, dodged, each strike narrowly missing him by inches. Plasma arcs scorched the floor.
Julian yanked a ceremonial spear off the wall.
JULIAN: “Fog… don’t die in front of your girlfriend. It’s tacky.”
He parried a blow, sparks exploding.
Nikara cupped her hands around her mouth.
NIKARA: “KICK THE KNEE!”
Julian pivoted, slammed the butt of the spear into the champion’s knee joint.
The giant staggered.
Julian spun, leapt, and kicked the visor, cracking it.
JULIAN (shouting mid-air): “YEEEEEEEEAH!”
The champion crashed onto his back, armor cracking.
Silence.
Then applause thundered.
Julian bowed, panting.
JULIAN: “Trial concluded… right?”
RESOLUTION – TEMPORARY ALLIES
The kill-team leader lowered his weapon.
KILL-TEAM LEAD: “As per Accordance law… verdict stands. Fog’s execution order is suspended.”
Julian beamed.
JULIAN: “Much obliged.”
Chancellor Vorrick fluttered forward.
VORRICK: “I cannot erase Larkon’s bounty… but I can grant you temporary diplomatic immunity. Seventy-two hours.”
Julian snapped his fingers.
JULIAN: “Perfect.”
Nikara glared.
NIKARA: “For what?”
Julian grinned innocently.
JULIAN: “To ruin someone else’s day.”
ESCAPE FROM THE CITADEL
Sirens blared. Security teams scrambled. Delegates fled.
Julian grabbed Nikara’s hand.
JULIAN: “Time to go!”
They sprinted through collapsing corridors, dodging falling pillars, through clouds of marble dust and flickering emergency lights.
They dove through the docking bay doors as the Fogrunner powered up.
Z1N stood at the top of the ramp like a proud guardian.
Z1N: “Captain! Reinforcements are arriving. Time is short.”
JULIAN: “Story of my life!”
The ramp sealed shut. The Fogrunner blasted off the pad, engines screaming as plasma shots rained past from Council interceptors. Julian surged into the pilot seat, cloak torn, hair wild. Nikara slid into the co-pilot’s chair, breathing hard.
NIKARA: “You are absolutely insane.”
JULIAN: “Scientifically verified.”
Z1N’s face flickered onto the console.
Z1N: “Captain… Larkon has doubled your bounty.”
Julian groaned.
JULIAN: “…Frazz.”
The Fogrunner punched into hyperspace. Stars stretched out into eternity.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Next Time on Julian Fog:
Julian seeks refuge with an old Marine buddy…
Only to find he’s joined a rogue mercenary fleet waging a private war.
Tanto-3 challenges a starfighter.
Julian steals a mech during a funeral.
And the Hooves of Nebulon-4 return.
Catch Up on Previous Episodes!
The Fortunate Misadventures of Julian Fog
