Chapter Text
The radishes die the evening that Wei Wuxian leaves.
Later, Jiang Cheng will credit this to an awful twist of fate, or when he’s feeling petty, he’ll blame Meng Yao, who’ll just roll his eyes and smile. But right now, on the heels of Wei Wuxian’s departure, Jiang Cheng doesn’t blame anyone but his own shitty luck for the solar flare that has him fighting a set of controllers that refuse to respond. The electromagnetic pulse that follows only makes things worse: it clouds the transponders with static, blows out most of the electrical wiring, and shuts down the flight software.
It’s why the greenhouse is the least of his concerns, not until hours later, when he staggers back towards the central terminal. The bite of the coolant and the sting of bleach, slick along the service corridors, sets him up for what awaits behind the central door: a maze of sludge. The greenhouse is as good as gone. The air stinks of death.
Maybe it hurts because Jiang Cheng has been counting on this greenhouse. It’s the last thing that he has of Wei Wuxian, one of his final harebrained ideas. We should grow something here, don’t you think? Wouldn’t it be nice if we weren’t the only living things in a million-kilometer radius? Ha, I bet we’d even be able to grow our own weed. Wouldn’t that be funny, A-Cheng?
It’s not so funny anymore.
It’s dark -- dark as ever in space -- and the Zidian will take a few more hours to reboot. Jiang Cheng sits by one of the plant beds, where only a few hours ago, the first stems of the radishes had broken through the soil. He thinks of the Zidian , spinning in space. A soft arc of metal, half a set of parentheses. The thrum of her engine, loud in his ears. Amidst the dull roar of his spacecraft fighting space itself, he digs his hands into the dirt. When his fingers find the tiny nubs of radishes, soaked and dripping, he stifles a sob.
He had been looking forward to watching the radishes grow.
###
Reboot : Processing...Starting...
System Alert: Memory usage within parameters. 88 Gigabits remaining.
Sandu Shenghou : Proceed.
System Alert : Updates unavailable. Lotus Pier Network not found.
Sandu Shenghou : Dismiss alert.
System Alert : It has been 8AIXJK1234 hours since the last backup. Backup recommended.
Sandu Shenghou : Dismiss alert.
News Alert : WEN REFUGEES SIGHTED. At the edge of Q.W. 0812, several Wen craft have been sighted prior to a major solar flare. Molecular debris have confirmed the presence of several wanted --
Sandu Shengshou : Archive news alert.
Incoming Message : NEW SECURITY MEASURES. Jinlintai Corporation has issued new security measures and parameters for all spacecraft within Area L.L.J. All spacecraft will now be subject to safety and conformity assessment upon arrival. In-person audits may occur for those spacecraft already within parameters.
Sandu Shengshou: Mark as unread. Archive message.
Incoming Message : ARE YOU ALONE IN SPACE? Do you find yourself in need of companionship? Check out the newest line of Personalized Earth Tetrapods. Save 15% when you order with code JIN15! Shipping and handling free when ordering within Area L.L.J. No coordinates necessary.
Sandu Shengshou : Lacking deliberative information. Move to user workstream.
Saved Voicemail: ONE SAVED VOICEMAIL. Hey, A-Cheng. I know you’re still mad, and I’m not sure if you’ll even end up listening to this, but on the off-chance that you do, you gotta know that even though I need to do this -- and I really do, you know I do -- if I don’t do this, then what’s the point of us even being in space anyways? -- ha , A-Cheng, stop frowning, please, I know you’re still frowning -- just, know that -- please, please know that it’s not you. You can do so much, and you don’t need me the way that the Wen do right now. You got this. Take care of Sandu and the radishes for me. I’ll be thinking of you.
Sandu Shenghou : Archive message. Mark as read.
###
Sandu Shengshou shakes off the static and hums as she runs the last of the diagnostic tests.
< Sandu Shengshou is now operable .>
The announcement, fed through the speakers in the back engine room, startles Jiang Cheng awake and leaves him momentarily gasping as his sleep-chamber slides open. Tapping the ring on his right index finger, he waits for the Zidian attachment to sizzle to life.
It’s good to be back online. There’s a ghost of a grin in Sandu’s voice as she crackles in his ear, and Jiang Cheng snorts as he swings upright and stretches. The back engine room is dark; the nodes and fuse boxes blink orange in the gray-blue light. He yawns, then flicks open a screen that begins to flash with numbers.
“You don’t sound surprised for a system that was convinced we were done for.”
Do you want me to sound surprised?
“You’re lucky I didn’t reconfigure your settings while you were down.”
Low blow there, Jiang Cheng. Sandu sounds aggrieved, but Jiang Cheng can still hear the grin as he shrugs and continues scrolling through the analytics. It’s better news than he expected, really. The Zidian appears to be back in near-working condition: the main control room seems to be operating just fine; the transponders are alive --
You’ll notice that the GPS is off but that’s never bothered you before. Clocks are off too. I’ll be a bit shaky on time. No new messages. Check your news alerts.
Jiang Cheng raises his eyebrows at the screen, then rubs his forehead. “Guess I should be happy it’s not worse,” he says.
Yes, you should be. You’re lucky I held on. There’s a pause, and Sandu sounds hesitant. Will you be resetting the temperature? With the state of the greenhouse, it’s no longer necessary to keep Zones 1224-1225 warmer than the rest of the craft.
Jiang Cheng sighs and flicks the screen closed, watching the lines of code fade until he’s sitting in the dark once more. “It’s okay,” he says, “we’re still within the range of survivability. You used up the last of our reserve batteries so it’s not like we have much to burn right now.”
The ship won’t survive if you don’t, Captain.
“Goddammit, Sandu. You don’t need to call me that.”
You know Wei Wuxian would’ve said the same thing.
“Don’t. Just don’t.”
Alright. I’ll continue running background diagnostics. Get some rest. The chambers are only meant for the occasional night shift work.
Jiang Cheng nods absentmindedly as he maps out the repairs that’ll require attention. He’ll have to mop up the coolant; figure out a way to salvage what he can from the burst circuit boards; make sure that the thermal subsystem is still intact -- the list is endless and his body still aches. If only he could sleep a few more hours --
I can’t have you piloting the Zidian if you’re half-delirious. Return to your cabin. Sandu sounds like she has more to say but seemingly decides against it and shuts off the comms line.
The passageway back is still damp with industrial lubricant, and the siren call of a nap rings strong. At the sight of the twin bunk beds though, one neatly stacked on top of the other, Jiang Cheng swallows down the queasiness that roils in his gut. Tries not to look too closely at the unmade top bunk. Tries not to flinch at the sight of a loose red ribbon. Wei Wuxian’s absence is still so new, and it hurts the way breathing in space does sometimes. It’s as if his lungs are trying to punch out of his ribs but can’t. It hurts.
These days, the Zidian is so battered that even the smallest flares cause her to lose time and direction. As Jiang Cheng chases the burn of subpar baijiu with a session in the VR sim, he wonders whether he’s careening as well. It used to be so easy to stay on course, he thinks. Not anymore.
In the sim, the pixelated waters of Lotus Pier sparkle under an artificial sun and Jiang Cheng clenches his fists. He smiles grimly into his headset and slings back another shot.
###
Incoming Message : THANK YOU FOR YOUR ORDER. We are pleased that you have selected JLT as the trusted provider for the Personalized Earth Tetrapod (PET) of your dreams! Unfortunately, your selected PET is currently out of stock due to resource constraints. Please don’t fear; we will be sending along an alternative PET based on the results of your personality assessment. Thank you for your patronage! If you have any issues, please --
Sandu Shengshou : Mark as read. Move to trash.
###
It had been a drunken idea; something that Jiang Cheng had pursued on a whim once he had toggled onto his workstream. The advertisement had fluttered across his screen, the baijiu was just the right amount of scorching, and suddenly he was clicking through an invasive personality assessment ( How would you rate your temperament on a scale from 0-10? 5. Is it more reckless to go without food for three days or to forego the bathroom for three days ? Choose not to respond. Do you prefer to punish or reward? Both. Neither.), and selecting a PET. Sandu had an uncanny way of leaving him to his worst devices.
This, though. Jiang Cheng stares at the creature before him in confusion.
“Sandu?”
Present and waiting.
“What is a cat doing in our intake deck?”
It’s a CAAT. Caring and Attentive Tetrapod. She’s your new PET.
Jiang Cheng shakes his head. No. He had been sure that he had ordered a PUP. He remembers the lineup of potential companions that the personality assessment had spat out; remembers the lick of excitement when he had been matched with a PUP; remembers the sinking feeling that had followed. If Wei Wuxian had been here, a PUP would have been out of the question. The way Jiang Cheng’s guilt had squirmed at the prospect of a PUP had been too vivid for it to have all been imagined.
“Sandu, I ordered a Personality Universal Pet.” Jiang Cheng stares at the CAAT before him. Her tail swishes, and her eyes glow a flat green. Jade. Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng thinks. Then thinks darkly, Lan Wangji.
He shakes his head. “Sandu,” he says, sounding a little more frantic than he would like. “It looks like they may have confused my order.”
This is what JLT has sent us. I can pull up the receipt, but there’s no return address. I would advise against returning regardless. Our coordinates are too unstable, and it’s a wonder they were able to deliver her to us to begin with.
The CAAT returns Jiang Cheng’s stare with her own unblinking one. There’s a splotch on her nose -- a small kiss of black -- and the rest of her is so gray that she could almost be purple. In the clarity of the daytime-adjusted light, the different ways that this could all go wrong suddenly leaves Jiang Cheng spinning. He’s never had a CAAT before, never known anyone who had. Sandu isn’t programmed with CAAT care in mind either. The prospect of -- of killing a creature, not from maliciousness but from neglect --
You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to care for something other than the Zidian.
Jiang Cheng laughs weakly. “That’s what I have you here for though. You’re good enough.”
There’s a splash of static that sounds like a sniff. I’m more than enough, Jiang Cheng. I contain multitudes. She pauses, as if to give Jiang Cheng time to agree, and he supposes he does. He rolls his eyes instead though, knowing that the Zidian’s cameras will track the movement and convey it back to her.
Really, Jiang Cheng. I may be more than enough, but I’m still not a living creature. How are you ever going to rebuild Lotus Pier if you can’t even --
The CAAT mewls, and Jiang Cheng quickly concludes that, though Sandu may have awful timing, the CAAT might -- just might be useful. At least helpful, maybe, when Sandu tries to poke at thoughts he’d rather bury away.
“I think she needs to be fed,” he says dumbly.
Good thing JLT sent over a year’s worth of CAAT food. Jiang Cheng feels a twinge of gratitude at the deft change in subject. It’s all in the delivery pod. I’ll have the contents shuttled to your cabin.
Jiang Cheng nods and kneels. The CAAT blinks at him, then warily pads over, her nose nudging his hand in an apparent gesture for --
“Oh, you want pets, don’t you?” Jiang Cheng says. He tries to pitch his voice so that it’s smoother, lower than usual, and he carefully brushes his fingers along her head. She leans in, angling her head slightly so that his fingers catch an ear, and reflexively, he scratches softly. When she closes her eyes and emits a faint rumble, he can feel the vibrations from her tiny corded throat.
“You like that, don’t you?”
The CAAT says nothing, just purrs.
See? You’re a natural.
###
He isn’t a natural, because the CAAT begins to wail once it’s dark. It starts with little jagged hiccups, and Jiang Cheng originally mistakes it for the sound of food going down the wrong way or the odd gasp of a fuel valve below deck. It’s not until the CAAT makes eye contact, the headlight glow of her eyes swiveling towards him in the artificially dimmed light, that Jiang Cheng realizes the source of the sound.
She holds his gaze as she wails, and it’s a baleful cry from deep in her belly that has her tail twitching and ears flattened against her head. It’s the kind of sound that has Jiang Cheng rutting up against the urge to just walk out of his cabin and hide out somewhere else, somewhere quiet, somewhere without a strange creature suddenly wholly dependent on him. The list of things that he wishes he knew about CAATs pops back into his head: feeding patterns, best practices, PET training -- He’s not used to flying without a plan -- never liked it -- always just shut the door on uncertainty and chose the path with the greater chance for survival, priorities be damned.
The CAAT ignores his discomfort. Instead, she stalks towards the nightstand behind his bed, eyes the height of it, and then leaps neatly onto a stack of old notebooks.
“Come on, girl,” Jiang Cheng says, a little desperately. He tries to walk slowly towards the bed, hands up by his chest in an attempt to convey the lack of apparent threat, but the CAAT throws him a sharp glare and bares her teeth.
“Come on, you can stop crying. It’s just me. It’s okay.” He reaches over to pick her up, but she swipes at the inside of his arm before leaping onto the top bunk bed. She hisses -- an awful sound that cuts through the white noise of the engine — and Jiang Cheng is suddenly filled with such a deep sense of helplessness that he stumbles back, fingers clutching where she’s scratched. He slumps against the cabin door.
They stay like that -- for how long, Jiang Cheng loses track -- he only knows that it feels more of a personal standoff than it should be. The CAAT peers at him from under the folds of the wrinkled duvet, and as Jiang Cheng tries to pull himself into somewhat of a standing position, she backs up further, the broomstick outline of her tail visible underneath the sheets.
“You know,” Jiang Cheng tries conversationally, wincing against the cabin door behind him, “I didn’t even want you.” The CAAT doesn’t respond, just continues glaring, and the words tumble out of his mouth in a rush. “You were an accident. That’s what you are. I only got you because you were the only PET left.”
Saying it out loud doesn’t make him feel any better, just makes him feel idiotic. His mother would have thrown a fit. Her son? Falling apart after the loss of a single crew member? Unbelievable. Jiang Cheng can hardly believe it himself.
The CAAT opens her mouth and Jiang Cheng tenses, expecting another wail, but this time there’s only the dart of a pink tongue before her head emerges. She yawns, face stretching comically as one paw comes up to rub her face. It would have been cute -- he would have smiled, even -- if it weren’t for the unmistakable flash of a red ribbon hooked under a claw.
Wei Wuxian, he thinks, and the thought is immediately accompanied by the sound-memory of laughter, delicate like bubbles bursting in the air. It claws at his stomach, and he slides back onto the ground, hands coming around his knees.
“He’s gone,” he says. The words catch in his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut, digging the flesh of his palms up into his eyebrows as he tries to blink away the inevitable wetness. “He’s gone, and no amount of wailing is going to help.”
The CAAT ignores him. She starts licking at her paws instead, a patchy sound that echoes quietly in the room. If Jiang Cheng sobs, it’s just for him and the CAAT to know.
###
The man arrives a week after the CAAT does. Later, when Jiang Cheng combs through Sandu’s archives, he won’t be able to find records of the arrival. Instead, he’ll spend the afternoon sniping at Sandu, head in his hands as the command terminal blinks uselessly.
Today though -- today the man arrives, his small craft docking by the cargo bay, and it’s unexpected, another one of those moments where Wei Wuxian would have laughed out loud -- can you believe our luck, A-Cheng? We have a visitor! Even so, it feels lucky in a way that has Jiang Cheng instantly wary.
“My name is Meng Yao.”
Meng Yao -- Jiang Cheng commits the name of his visitor to memory, feels it out with his mouth. Two syllables, elastic, like the curve of his face and the tilt of his head.
Meng Yao is pretty. It’s Jiang Cheng’s first thought, even from across the corridor. Meng Yao cuts a delicate figure: the standard-issue civilian sweater and slacks hang loosely on his frame. The exposed parts of him -- his neck, his wrists, the skin between his socks and the hems of his pants -- are so pale and smooth that they could be mistaken for any one of the raw wires that feed into Sandu ’ s processors. Thin , Jiang Cheng’s mind helplessly provides. Then, electrifying.
“Who are you?” Jiang Cheng finally says, clearing his throat.
Meng Yao tilts his head at the question and Jiang Cheng feels something in him prickle, feels his hackles rise. Something -- something is off about Meng Yao.
“I can tell you if you let me on board,” he says quietly.
He doesn’t tell Jiang Cheng once he’s aboard though, but Jiang Cheng finds himself too intrigued to pry. Not yet, at least. Instead, he humors Meng Yao. He remembers his manners, gives Meng Yao the tour. They circle the loading bay, then make their way towards the intake deck. Meng Yao is polite; he does all the things that Jiang Cheng would expect him to: he cranes his head at the guts of the Zidian ’s propulsion system, hums at the anti-gravity schematics, and makes an approving noise once they reach the command center. He’s so composed that it makes Jiang Cheng’s teeth hurt.
They’re heading back to the intake deck, taking the longer way through one of the new service corridors, when Meng Yao finally offers an explanation. “I’m here to assess your spacecraft,” he says, as they cross a gleaming walkway, their footsteps a metallic ring. His expression doesn’t budge, just stays carefully blank.
Jiang Cheng arches an eyebrow. “And what exactly will you be assessing for?”
“You didn’t get the notice?” There’s a tinge of confusion in his voice, and it feels like the most genuine thing that Meng Yao has let slip so far. When Jiang Cheng shakes his head, a frown settles across Meng Yao’s mouth. “It’s a new Lanling Jin security measure,” he explains, looking pained, “You should have received a message with the decree last week.”
“I --”
I mistakenly archived the message, Jiang Cheng, Sandu murmurs in his ear. I can work with Meng Yao. It appears he’s here to perform a safety audit of the Zidian.
Jiang Cheng glances at Meng Yao, who looks vaguely interested at the internal back-and-forth, and he shakes his head. “Just talking with the OS,” he explains, then cocks his head. “Say hello, Sandu.”
Hello little one. Sandu’s voice bounces off the walls. She sounds sharp, more melodic than usual, and Jiang Cheng wonders if she’s trying to impress Meng Yao.
If she is, she succeeds. The surprise that ripples across Meng Yao’s face shouldn’t be captivating, but it is, and Jiang Cheng feels himself leaning in, just enough to catch Meng Yao’s eyes when they flick up to him. There’s a freckle on his right ear, and his neck --
“I can work with Sandu,” Meng Yao says, pressing his lips together. His forehead is still smooth, but the beginnings of a flush snakes itself high across his cheekbones. He takes a definitive step backwards, and Jiang Cheng is about to ask again -- nearly blurts out another Who are you ? -- but Sandu saves him from the embarrassment.
I’ll take care of him, Captain , she says, her voice breezing through the nearby speakers. Meng Yao, I can show you to the guest quarters if you’ll follow my directions. I’ll have your things brought to your cabin.
Meng Yao throws Jiang Cheng an unreadable glance before Sandu has him crossing the walkway and passing through a set of double-doors that swiftly swallow up his silhouette.
Later, when Jiang Cheng is alone in his cabin, chest heaving and white-knuckled as he dives into the VR sim, he tries not to think about Meng Yao -- Meng Yao and his little slices of skin -- and how the guest cabin is a walk and a lope away. It wouldn’t do, he thinks, as he dives into a pixelated pool of water, the lotus pods bobbing when he surfaces. It wouldn’t do.
Still, when the CAAT wails and he escapes to one of the back engine rooms, his hands shaking and his chest a tangle of emotions he can’t be bothered to face -- not yet, not ever, the dumb little voice in his head says -- Meng Yao’s face lingers in his mind’s eye, lingers lightly, softly, as Jiang Cheng curls up in the sleep chamber and waits for the dark to take him.
###
Neither Jiang Cheng nor Wei Wuxian had expected the homesickness. It crept up on them slowly: Jiang Cheng would be in the middle of a threat assessment and his legs would give out, but only slightly, his quads remembering the shape of a flutter-kick and the cold press of moonwater. Other times, they’d be eating lunch and Wei Wuxian would cut off mid-laugh, the sound of it collapsing in his throat as it morphed into a sob or a choke. It was as if their bodies were rebelling their yearslong training and instead trying to pull them back -- back in space-time to a reality that no longer existed.
And so it made sense that they would try to remind themselves of Lotus Pier and all that they had lost. After all, what was a memorial if not a touchstone to another time? A physical remembrance for something the hand could no longer reach out and touch.
While Jiang Cheng set to work with recreating the entirety of the pier in pixels -- laying out the maze of waterways in an old version of AutoCAD, sketching out the schematics, and rendering the dense, liquid fog, Wei Wuxian, the sentimental bastard, tried to tweak the Zidian itself.
He had started with the lights. The dimming function itself had been a finicky line of code, a thin thread of logic that Wei Wuxian had come up with one day when they were tinkering with a set of propellant lines. I’ve got an idea , he exclaimed, and then he had dashed off, leaving Jiang Cheng to retro-fit a set of extra valves, not appearing again until later that evening, sweaty with excitement.
I gave her a sense of time, A-Cheng! Wei Wuxian had exclaimed. And then -- here’s the kicker -- Jiang Cheng, don’t look at me like that! Come on, it’s a good idea, I swear. I’m sorry I left you to deal with the thrusters by yourself. But you did it! Now, look here --
The code wasn’t a good idea; it was brilliant. Wei Wuxian had built out the back-end of Sandu’s software, then somehow linked the new code to Sandu’s user interface. The bare-bones scaffolding he had designed would allow her to comprehend linear time. That he had done it all in just a few hours -- sketched out an idea, built out a solution, and refactored the entire front-end code once everything was in place? It was --
Extraordinary, isn’t it? Now she can adjust all of the lights to mimic the sun patterns in Yunmeng! We can have Yunmeng sunrises again! Wei Wuxian had laughed, and Jiang Cheng had laughed with him, had counted himself lucky to have a right-hand man who, on days like these, felt more like the actual brains of the place, and yet who, for some reason or other, looked at Jiang Cheng as if they weren’t just crewmates -- not crewmates, but brothers.
It made him think of all the old manhua he used to read as a child -- of men coming together, swearing to protect each other, and having that mean something . His mother used to say that blood ran thicker than water, but what he and Wei Wuxian had felt more than that -- he had never been able to put it in words, but it hadn’t mattered. He knew and Wei Wuxian knew, and for a time, that was enough.
###
Sandu Shengshou : New user detected.
<Unknown User>: System Command . Access arrival logs.
Sandu Shengshou : Please provide administrator key prior to accessing arrival logs.
<Unknown User>: System Command . Override permission settings. Access arrival logs.
Sandu Shengshou : Administrative override denied. Please provide administrator key .
<Unknown User>: System Command . Input <<Jinlintai Command Function>>.
Sandu Shengshou: Software override accepted. Accessing arrival logs.
<Unknown User>: System Command . Erase arrival log entries. Time function: 24 hours.
Sandu Shengshou : Erasing arrival log entries from the past 24 hours.
<Unknown User>: System Command . Close window. Run <<[REDACTED]>>
Sandu Shengshou : Running new program [REDACTED]. Please wait. System processing...