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Landing is always the most exhilarating part of exploring; there is no feeling more incredible than being somewhere completely unfamiliar. And now that Dejun has finally landed in Delta Ceron, he shivers from the adrenaline—shifting his shuttle into park.
Ceron is a planet of innovation, glass edifices, chemical science, and Dejun is surrounded by technology he couldn’t have dreamed of on his home planet, Devons. It’s a fantastic contrast from the rolling red mountains and space wrecks that he’s used to. His father’s old ship has seen better days, he’ll admit, but in Ceron, the other shuttles in the lot reduce his own to junk. Dejun’s attention is on one in particular, a matte black octagonal machine, and even in a halted position, it hovers above the ground as it omits a bluish steam from beneath—from the regenerative engine he was searching for.
“It’s real,” he says, awestruck.
A data breach from a month ago led him to come into contact with this “perpetual engine enhancer”, when he was floating aimlessly in a nearby orbit.
Would you like to open this file?
A woman’s voice came over the intercom of his ship—crackly and unused for years. He jumped up from his chair that he was snoring in, disoriented. There was an option of ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on his control screen. Of course, being curious, he hesitated. Normally, one would say no—who knows if this is someone trying to target him?
But it’s not long before he remembers… he’s basically a space nomad. So who would target somebody like him?
“Oh, what the hell.” Dejun bit his lip as he pressed ‘yes’ on the touchpad, concluding that a possible escapade could actually be fun. There was a short loading screen, and with a start, a siren-like alarm burst through his speakers, detonating his eardrums and blowing dust-bunnies around.
“Shit!” he yelled, going into a frenzy and pressing random buttons to make it stop; eventually muting every signal within a 400 mile radius—but the information of the file had already been uploaded into his archive. Blueprints—pages and pages of blueprints, all describing an engine that would create its own energy—a concept completely deserted by the basic laws of thermodynamics. The diagram was fascinating, and it’s easy to say that Dejun was shaken enough to set out and find the source of the breach.
He had to see for himself if it was real. And if it was, he had to have it.
It took weeks of navigating, using a set of coordinates on the print and a single name: “Delta Ceron Institution of Chemical Studies” to find his way, but he made it to the landing port. And now he’s finally here.
As if Dejun is blessed by some sort of space deity, he finds the perfect sized landing spot on a stretch of white pavement. A humongous glass dome towers over the lot, casting a shadow over his ship. Dejun tries to see inside, but the windows are tinted. The air is crisp and clear and warm, gravity is steady. Usually planets deep in the interstellar sector are freezing, close to absolute zero like the rest of the galactic “backroads”. But his adaptive gear would protect him from harsh conditions anyway.
Dejun’s boots thump against the road as he walks toward the building, and it’s quiet out here—where the lot stretches for yards and yards, and houses guard the horizon. He’s going in the opposite direction though, towards the city. An exuberant kind energy buzzes in each of his trillions of cells, and he tries to keep his chest steady. Once his gloves are on the door handle, he clicks it and pushes, immediately met with a view that can only be described as… new.
White linoleum, rounded ceilings with boundless natural lighting. And people. Lots of people.
“Hi there. Welcome to Delta Ceron City HQ! How may I help you?”
Dejun whips his head around, scuffing his shoes on the floor… and he may or may not have left a mark. A woman with a tight bun and a tweed pantsuit smiles at him.
“Oh! Uh—actually, I was wondering where the…” he peeks at a post-it from the pocket of his jacket. “Delta Ceron Institution of Chemical Studies was?”
The lady’s expression falters, looking him up and down, clearly judging the dark outfit he’s wearing. She clears her throat nonetheless. “Of course. Right this way.”
Pacing through geometric hallways and weaving around people, Dejun sticks out like a sore thumb. Everyone wears silver, white, or lab uniforms; everyone has a busy aura, some people give him strange looks. But no one seems to question his existence or stop him as he goes forward. All he can do is keep his eyes trained on the back of the woman’s head.
He follows her down a ramp in a more deserted area, the click of the guide’s high heels in cadence with the jangle of her keys. The whole layout of this place is reminiscent of an airport he saw on his occasional scroll through interweb forums. Apparently they existed on a planet called “Earth”, which is said to be a wasteland just like Devons. It’s interesting, but Dejun would be damned to go there—it’s some absurd amount of lightyears away.
“Go down this elevator and take a left through the subway channels. And if you go straight from there, the elevator on the opposite side should take you right up to the first floor of the alchemy base.”
Dejun halts when she does, raising his eyebrows. “So I don’t need to go outside or anything?”
“No, sir! Every institution in Ceron is connected by a series of underpasses to maximize the efficiency at which our workers move and innovate!” her lips move at a million miles per hour, enthusiasm startling Dejun. He just purses his lips, nods slowly, pretends he understands what she just said.
“Right. Thanks for the help!” he waves, pulling his gloves off. Who knew they made elevators touch-activated?
The underground is much more well-lit than expected, fluorescent overhangs and rushed scientists bring the atmosphere to life. A pungent smell brings water to Dejun’s eyes as he moves further—chlorine and battery acid would be the best way to describe it. He holds the collar of his jacket to his nose.
Dejun almost loses himself in the curved metal walls and LED’s, but he ultimately reaches a dead end; a lobby of sorts. Four elevators stand side by side, and this wing of the building is more calm than the main underground intersection. He takes a moment to breathe, but then stops—the chemical scent burns every orifice. He can’t believe anyone could work here all day, let alone as a full time job. Whatever they’re making here, it can’t be the engine he’s looking for. But he presses his palm into the sensor and an elevator opens to his left.
From his own experience, being alone quite often, it’s safe to say Dejun hasn’t been put in many awkward situations. So when he steps into the elevator and there’s one more person in there, he’s not exactly psyched to stand in silence.
Said ‘person’ is a young man, balancing three beakers in his arms, stains of God-knows-what on his lab coat, and goggles strapped to his face. They’re much too big for the guy’s head, and Dejun is glad he’s covering his face. Otherwise, he would have been caught cracking a smile. When the scientist fumbles with a container with suspicious silver fluid inside, he swears under his breath.
“Hey, you—would you mind helping me with this? Are you going down, too?” he asks. He’s already shoving a beaker into Dejun’s hands before he can answer. The smell fills his nose again—he’ll just have to get used to it.
“Sure…”
Dejun actually had no idea that there were floors further down, but he realizes he didn’t even think through a plan. This whole trip was based off of a single whim. In hindsight, what he’s doing is also probably dangerous... but he’s already gotten this far. Who would he be to back down on a chance like this? If he uses this chemist to his advantage, he can actually end up succeeding in obtaining the enhancer.
“Thanks. I’m going to the laboratory on Floor 2 because Dr. Kun wants to examine another large-scale mercury-gold reaction. Like, everyone knows he can’t fabricate an exact gold replica but he's set on it. And then he’s surprised when the mercury doesn’t react properly! But rumor has it it’s because rogues from Area C5 trade him truth serum for gold. Not sure what he needs truth serum for, but…”
Dejun had been feeling adventurous about five seconds ago, but when the guy next to him speaks in terms that sound like a foreign language, his mind immediately checks out. His eyes droop as the elevator sinks further down, beeping at the stop. It opens, revealing a dim hallway, and Dejun clutches the bottle tighter when a crackle comes from a room beside him.
“…either way, I just wanna finish my project, because that way I can just up and leave Ceron without a trace!” he slows down in front of a door and turns before opening it. “What’s your name, by the way? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”
Soles of his shoes squeaking on the tile, Dejun stops, gulping down the heart in his throat. Does he need special identification to be here? Is he going to get kicked out before he can even try to get the engine?
Actually scratch that, this guy doesn’t even want to be here. He deems revealing his name safe.
“Uh… Xiao Dejun. Nice to meet you.” He flashes a quick smile, trying not to show his distress.
The chemist nods, smiling back. “I’m Yangyang. It’s crazy, I’ve never seen one of the military corps in person before. Your uniform is so… intense.” He stares up and down.
“I... guess you could say that.”
For some reason, Yangyang’s stare burns worse than the chemical smell, and Dejun crosses his arms in front himself. A moment later, though, Yangyang stops and motions him into the lab.
“You can put the beaker here,” he stands in front of a huge table, and pulls a string from above to switch on a lightbulb. It’s much less intimidating down here, and Dejun almost feels nostalgic. The orangey light reminds him of his home in Devons, where the fireplace would always be aflame and his dad would be working on his shuttle in the tent outside. It's comforting for some reason.
When all of the supplies are safe on the tabletop, Dejun hops up into a stool and watches—watches as Yangyang zips over to a blackboard and flips it, revealing a very detailed diagram. There are red Xs everywhere, crossouts, blue circles, and it’s messy. Deciphering would be a force to be reckoned with, so Dejun doesn't even try.
“I need your input on something.”
Dejun quirks an eyebrow, and Yangyang drags the board closer to the table, also taking a seat.
“On what?”
“Okay… I know this sounds crazy, but I created a model for a regenerative engine. And I really have a vision for it but Dr. Kun and the higher-ups said—”
“You what?!” Dejun must have yelled too harshly, because Yangyang jumps a bit, pulling his goggles off.
This is the guy? The one man who could barely hold a few beakers without dropping them? This guy?
Yangyang laughs awkwardly. “Yeah, I get it… I know it’s stupid, but I already have a beta version up and running smoothly! I tested it on one of the military ships, hopefully they don’t notice.”
A few moments pass in stunned silence, and Dejun clears his throat, sitting up straight.
“Listen, I… lied to you. I’m not part of the military corps. I—I’m not even from this planet.”
It’s now Yangyang’s turn to have a slack jaw.
“Then why are you here? There’s nothing to do in Ceron. Not if you enjoy having fun.”
“I saw the blueprints! The model of your machine—it suddenly appeared in my shuttle—it was so amazing, I came to see it for myself.”
The scientist shifts in his seat. There’s more silence, save for the crinkle of his lab coat and low buzz of the light.
“You did?” He sounds more sad than anything.
“Yeah…?” Did I say something wrong?
Yangyang huffs, rubbing the bridge of his nose where the goggles indented his skin, “After the data breach happened, I freaked out and shredded every blueprint. This is all I have left,” he gestures to the blackboard.
“No it’s not,” Dejun deadpans, stomach flipping over when Yangyang looks up, hopeful.
“What are you talking about?”
“I have them. All of the blueprints are in my file archive.”
“You’re joking.”
Dejun just shakes his head.
Yangyang immediately perks up. He’s thoughtful now, pursing his lips, but suddenly there’s a glint in his eyes, and he speaks—voice careful, “I have a proposition to make.”
“And?” Dejun can’t deny his curiosity, leaning in closer. The proximity makes his ears burn, but he blames it on his lack of social interaction over the past few months. What else would it be?
“There’s only one adjustment I need to make to the engine, and then it’s perfect,” he speaks with his hands, lowering his voice, “I need a very specific element from Dr. Kun’s lab on the first floor to minimize the steam in the back valve. If anyone tries to touch it without authentication, the alarm will go crazy and everyone in HQ will hear it.”
“So… why are you telling me this if we can’t get it?”
“Who says we can’t?” a dangerous smirk pulls at the corner of Yangyang’s mouth. It puts an uneasy feeling in Dejun’s gut.
“Don’t tell me you want to break in.”
“Anything is possible if we’re fast enough!”
“You know this means that you’re going to be running away with me—on my ship?”
“Yeah, that’s kind of the plan. If you don’t mind, of course,” Yangyang murmurs, picking his goggles up and passing them over. “Put these on, they make good disguise.”
“We’re doing this now? Like right now?” Dejun rubs the nape of his neck, searching the man’s eyes for a hint of bluff, but he seems so genuine that it’s almost scary.
A pair of hands reach up and clutch onto Dejun’s shoulders. “You want that engine, right?”
He hesitates, suddenly very aware of the palms holding him in place. “Yeah?”
“Then let’s do this. I’ll meet you at your ship after I get all my belongings and dismantle the engine from the military ship. You go to the lab and grab the tube of the xen—I mean the blue stuff. Yeah, get the blue stuff and hide it in your jacket and get out of there as fast as you can.”
“But we’re underground. I can’t really run away.”
Wordlessly, Yangyang rushes to a desk in the corner, yanks open the drawer, and pulls something out. When he gets back, the thing is his hand becomes apparent and Dejun wants to quit altogether.
“You want me to use a taser?! Are you insane?”
Yangyang turns sheepish. “Well… I’m just saying in case something happens!”
He ponders for a bit, but Dejun ultimately decides—he’s ready, “Fine. I’ll see you in 10 minutes, tops.” He stands, and the other man follows suit. “My ship is the ugliest one in the lot—you’ll figure it out.”
And with that, the two embark.
Nerves eat at him as he descends in the elevator, as Dejun walks down the hall and reaches Dr. Kun’s lab. The doorknob is icy to the touch as he twists it. The lights are off, no one is there, and the glass box is there as promised, blue vial enclosed inside.
Wasting no time, he charges for it, smashing the glass with one smooth elbow hit, snatching the glass and tucking it inside his coat.
The alarm is deafening, distorting Dejun’s hearing. He silently prays he doesn’t go deaf as he runs out, and soon enough everyone in the bottom floor comes running from their labs.
“It’s him! Catch him!”
Dejun pants, reaching the elevator and slamming his palm on the sensor. “C’mon…” he hisses.
A hand grabs onto him, trying to constrain him. The door slides open, and he’s being yanked back with such brute force that he starts to question whether these are scientists or bodyguards.
“I really didn’t want to do this, but…” Dejun braces himself, raising his hand into the air and presses the button on the taser, static echoing through the hall. Every grip that was on him let go immediately, except for one.
“Call for backup!”
The chemist still grasping onto Dejun’s arm is shaking, staring at the taser as the elevator dings and shuts them inside.
An idea surfaces.
“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. Just give me your lab coat. Please?”
The man looks confused, but obliges in fear. With the lab coat buttoned all the way, the disguise is complete. Dejun retraces his steps, snickering under his breath as bodyguards rush by him.
It’s almost too easy, and for some reason, all he can think about is that frustratingly cute chemist as he escapes at a rather leisurely pace.
“You made it!” Yangyang gasps, giving him a sudden suffocating hug.
“It was actually pretty easy,” Dejun mumbles into his shoulder, trying to keep a blush from spreading on his cheeks—and failing.
The two scuffle onto the ship once it’s disarmed, dragging the engine materials on board. Dejun smiles back at Yangyang from his command seat.
“How about we get out of here?”
“You don’t even need to ask me twice.” He grins right back.