Chen and Yan Qing, accompanied by a cadre of ten scientists, made their way west, the convoy winding through the sun-bleached valleys toward the California base where the power machine waited. The air was tense with anticipation and the low hum of engines, each mile drawing them closer to the unknown.

  At the base, Lieutenant Lanice was already waiting—back straight, broad-uniform crisp, eyes sharp with the fatigue of command. But it was the other figure beside him who drew the eye: Lan, the Teleopean, looked impossibly young, his face small and luminous beneath a shock of golden hair, eyes wide and bright as new coins. He was in the midst of a heated exchange with Lanice, his voice pitched high with indignation, arms crossed in a posture of wounded pride.

  As the team approached, Lan’s pout deepened, his lower lip jutting out in theatrical misery, as if the entire universe had conspired to wrong him. For a moment, the seriousness of the mission seemed to pause, suspended in the tableau of a childlike alien sulking beneath the California sun, his golden eyes flashing with every accusation hurled at the unflappable lieutenant.

  Yan Qing paused at the edge of the clearing, his breath catching as sunlight spilled over the scene before him. For a heartbeat, he felt a jolt—recognition, or something like it—rising from somewhere deep and unnameable. It was as if a half-remembered dream had stepped into daylight, as if he’d known this face once, long ago, and forgotten until now.

  Lan, catching Yan Qing’s stare, let out a dramatic huff and ducked behind Lanice, small hands clutching at the lieutenant’s sleeve. “Please stop staring at me—Chen’s getting jealous!” he called, voice pitched high with mock outrage, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

  Only then did Yan Qing realize he’d been staring, unblinking, at a child. Heat crept up his neck. “S-sorry,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his head, the gesture awkward and boyish. He risked a glance at Chen, who stood a few paces away, arms folded tightly across his chest, his expression dark and sour. The air between them seemed to thicken, sharp as vinegar.

  Chen’s eyes narrowed, and he raised an eyebrow, the gesture edged with irritation. “Chen… are you okay?” Yan Qing asked, genuinely puzzled by the Teleopean’s sudden mood. He’s just a kid, Yan Qing thought. Is this really necessary?

  Chen shook his head, and the storm passed as quickly as it had come. A faint smile slipped back onto his lips, smoothing the tension from his features. “I’m fine,” he said, voice light. “I was just thinking—this power engine might be suspicious.”

  “Suspicious how?” Yan Qing asked, grateful for the change of subject.

  Chen rested his hand against his chin, thoughtful. “Such a small engine—why would the Fenreiga build it?”

  A shadow fell over the group as one of the scientists stepped forward, sunlight flashing off his glasses as he jabbed a finger in the air. “If you ask me—” His voice, sharp with outrage, seemed to dissolve in the thick, sun-baked air, lost among the scents of sweat, dust, and the faint metallic tang drifting from the machine in the distance. The heat pressed in, making every breath taste of iron and ozone.

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  “Either way, we need a way to shut it down. And it’s your fault we have no test samples—if you hadn’t destroyed the earlier engines, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” His accusation hung brittle in the air.

  Lan’s cherubic face dropped its mask of innocence. His features sharpened, almost feral, and a flash of predatory teeth glinted in the sunlight. “Insolent!”

  “Lan.” Chen’s voice cracked through the moment, sharp as a whip. The single word froze Lan in place.

  “But, Chen—” Lan’s golden eyes still burned, his fists clenched at his sides.

  “Lan.” Chen’s eyes narrowed, his tone a warning that vibrated in the heavy air.

  “…Yes.” Lan swallowed his rage, posture collapsing into the aggrieved look of an ordinary child. He retreated behind Lanice, the earlier bravado dissolving as quickly as it had come.

  Lanice watched, realization settling in: Lan might act familiar with Chen—calling him by name, pouting and bickering—but beneath it all, he was absolutely afraid of him.

  Yan Qing’s voice cut through the tension, suddenly hard as flint. “Professor Angelo, Chen is here to help us. Do not disrespect our guest.” He turned, his gaze cold. “And personally, I still believe destroying the engines is far more effective than ‘shutting them down.’”

  “But as scientists, aren’t power engines far more valuable scientifically?” Angelo shot back, defensive. “This could be a breakthrough in new energy!”

  Yan Qing’s patience snapped. “That matters only if we still have a planet,” he said, his words slicing through the heat and tension. “If Earth collapses, what’s the point of any research?”

  Angelo’s mouth snapped shut. He looked away, shoulders hunched, the heat of the afternoon suddenly too much for him. Behind Lanice’s leg, Lan peeked out, stuck his tongue out at the scientist, and then vanished again, a flash of gold and mischief.

  Yan Qing’s breath caught—sharp, tight. He forced it out slowly, jaw clenched, the taste of dust and frustration thick on his tongue. The government would do what it wanted, no matter how he argued. He could feel it: the futility, the weight of every compromise. But he couldn’t walk away. Not from this planet, not from the only home he’d ever known. Even with all its scars, Earth was still alive and full of lives —beautiful and worth saving.

  “It’s getting late,” one of the soldiers called, voice echoing off the trees. “We need to return before dark.”

  Yan Qing glanced at the sky—already bruising toward dusk. “All right,” he said. “Let’s move.”

  The group began to gather their things, boots scraping over gravel, the metallic clatter of gear punctuating the uneasy silence. Just as they were about to set out, Chen’s voice cut through the noise, quiet but insistent.

  “Do you really have to go in person?” Chen’s eyes were unreadable, arms folded tight. “Can’t someone else do it? You’re here. The team can relay questions remotely.”

  Yan Qing paused, frowning. “The procedure’s complicated. It’s safer if I input the commands myself.” He hesitated, searching Chen’s face. “Why? Do you sense something wrong?”

  Chen didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked to one of the soldiers, then back to Yan Qing. “Then I’ll go with you,” he said, voice flat.

  Yan Qing shook his head. “No need. We have military protection. There are troops at the site. It should be fine.”

  “No. I’ll go.” Chen’s tone was iron. “A few more people don’t hurt. And Lan will follow—he found the engine. With two Teleopeans, the chance of anyone getting lost drops significantly.”

  Yan Qing hesitated, the tension between them humming like a live wire. He finally nodded, reluctant. “Fine.”

  Chen’s gaze snapped to Lan, a silent command. Lan straightened, eyes bright, and snapped a salute. “Yes, boss!”

  Before they set out, Yan Qing caught a glimpse of Chen murmuring into his wrist-communicator, the words in Teleopean sharp and quick. Xiao’s reply crackled back, unintelligible. Yan Qing watched, uneasy, the sense of foreboding crawling up his spine. Why was Chen so cautious over this machine?

  But then again, outside his narrow field, Yan Qing knew he was always the last to see the storm coming.