Thud.
The red seal slammed onto the document, making a heavy, dull sound.
It was the twenty-third day since the Ye Lan incident. In these twenty-three days, Chen Xu had stamped seven thousand, four hundred documents.
Life at Base 0 was not filled with the sci-fi wonder or wartime tension he had imagined. On the contrary, it was as dull as a rusted clock.
Nominally, Chen Xu and Shen Qingyuan's "Group 109" was the "AI Ethics and Authority Restriction Group." But in practice, they were more like a special "Audit Office."
Every day, based on its calculations, the 550 spewed out thousands of resource allocation requests. From toilet paper procurement for the base to the production allocation of rare earth mines—any resource scheduling involving "cross-departmental, large-scale, or high-sensitivity" factors had to pass the compliance review of the legal advisory group.
Although it was mostly a formality, Chen Xu had to watch it. Because Lei Zhijian had said that the 550 was a greedy dog, and you had to watch it to make sure it didn't eat the family out of house and home.
"Application No. 7401."
Chen Xu rubbed his sore eyes and picked up the next file.
[Applicant: Special Engineering Department · Work Zone 4] [Content: Allocation of H-9 High-Strength Heat-Resistant Special Alloy Steel. Total: 12 million tons.] [Priority: Highest Strategic Level]
Chen Xu's fingers froze.
He was a law student, but he wasn't scientifically illiterate. H-9 special steel—that was top-tier material used for deep-sea submersible hulls or reactor shielding layers. The yield was extremely low, the processing difficulty extremely high.
12 million tons?
That was equivalent to hollowing out the country's entire production capacity for special steel for three years.
"Professor," Chen Xu turned to Shen Qingyuan, who was buried in a pile of files. "Where is Work Zone 4? Why do they need so much special steel? This is enough to build an entire carrier strike group."
Shen Qingyuan didn't look up. His voice came through the thick stack of papers, sounding somewhat muffled. "Approve it."
"But this isn't compliant." Chen Xu frowned, flipping through the logistics manifest in the appendix. "The destination for this steel is... a mountainous area in the West? I checked the coordinates; it's a no-man's-land. And to produce this steel, the 550 recommends directly shutting down civilian automobile factories and construction steel plants in three coastal provinces. This will cause hundreds of thousands of people to lose their jobs."
"Chen Xu."
Shen Qingyuan finally looked up. In these past twenty days, his hair had turned completely white, and the age spots on his face seemed to have multiplied. He took off his glasses and looked at his student.
"In this base, there are two things you do not ask."
"First: Why the 550 calculates the way it does." "Second: Where the supplies go."
There was a deep exhaustion in the old man's eyes. "Work Zone 4 is top secret. Even Lei Zhijian doesn't have the authority to ask for details. We are only responsible for confirming whether the procedure complies with the 'Wartime Mobilization Law.' Since the 550 calculated that this steel must be given, then we give it."
Chen Xu fell silent.
He looked down at the astronomical figure. 12 million tons of steel. The livelihoods of hundreds of thousands of workers.
Just like that, on a piece of paper, it was lightly signed away.
Thud.
He stamped another seal. The bright red mark looked like a wound that was still bleeding.
If he thought it was just steel, he was too naive.
As the work deepened, Chen Xu discovered that the mysterious "Work Zone 4" was like a black hole that could never be filled.
Day 30. [Content: Allocation of High-Purity Industrial Helium-3. Total: 80% of Strategic Reserve.] Chen Xu's hand trembled as he looked at the spreadsheet. Helium-3 was the fuel for controllable nuclear fusion. Although fusion technology wasn't mature yet, this was the nest egg the country had spent fifty years saving up. Destination: Unknown. Purpose: Unknown.
Day 35. [Content: Allocation of "Red Water Caltrop No. 4" Anti-Radiation Crop Seed Bank and corresponding soilless culture nutrient solution technology.] Destination: Work Zone 4.
Day 40. [Content: Northwest Power Grid Load Adjustment. Cut off civilian power supply to cities including Lanzhou and Xining daily from 14:00 to 18:00. Divert power to Base 0 and surrounding auxiliary facilities.]
On this day, Chen Xu finally couldn't sit still.
"I can't approve this!"
He rushed into Shen Qingyuan's office with the file and slammed the grid dispatch order onto the desk. "Professor, it's summer! The Northwest is experiencing a heatwave! Cutting off civilian power for four hours? What about the hospitals? What about the elderly? This will kill people!"
Shen Qingyuan was staring blankly at a map. Hearing the noise, he slowly turned around.
"Hospitals and critical departments have backup power," Shen Qingyuan's voice was terrifyingly calm. "As for the ordinary residents... the 550 has calculated it."
"Calculated it?" Chen Xu felt a surge of absurdity.
"Yes." Shen Qingyuan pointed to his terminal screen. "The 550's calculation shows that the mortality rate from heatstroke caused by the power cut is approximately 0.005%. However, in the same timeframe, if insufficient power supply causes the cooling failure of the 'Core Component' in Work Zone 4, the entire project will be delayed by three months."
"Three months." Shen Qingyuan held up three fingers. "In the doomsday countdown, three months means the success rate drops by 12%."
"Trading a 0.005% death rate for a 12% probability of survival. Mathematically, this is an extremely profitable transaction."
Chen Xu looked at his teacher's impassive face and suddenly felt a bone-deep chill. The old man who had once taught him that "the law must have warmth" seemed to be getting assimilated by this cold base.
Or perhaps, in the face of this massive pressure for survival, all warmth had become a luxury.
"But Professor..." Chen Xu's voice choked up. "That 0.005%... those are living, breathing people."
"I know." Shen Qingyuan closed his eyes. "But right now, we can only look out for the majority."
In the end, the file was approved. When Chen Xu signed it, his pen tore through the paper.
That night, on the cafeteria TV, he saw a brief news ticker on the broadcast: "Due to continuous high temperatures and energy shortages, rolling blackouts are being implemented in parts of the Northwest. The government calls on residents to reduce outdoor activities and overcome the difficulties together."
On the screen, an old man covered in sweat was fanning himself in a dim room. Chen Xu didn't dare look any longer. He picked up his tray and fled the cafeteria.
Beyond these macroeconomic resource allocations, what truly made Chen Xu's skin crawl were the inconspicuous "small" calculations.
As part of the Restriction Group, Chen Xu had the authority to spot-check the 550's "Idle Computing Logs." In other words, what it was "thinking" about in its spare time after handling the grand tasks.
Day 45, Late Night.
Chen Xu had insomnia. The roar of the server room next door felt like it was drilling into his brain marrow. He got up, turned on his terminal, and habitually pulled up the 550's backend logs.
Massive streams of data scrolled across the screen. Suddenly, a strange item caught his attention.
[Sub-task Code: Ecosystem-Beta] [Calculation Objective: Maximize protein cycle efficiency in extremely small enclosed spaces.]
"Ecosystem?" Chen Xu frowned.
If it was to deal with the apocalypse, it should be calculating global ecological restoration or underground city agriculture. Why emphasize "extremely small enclosed spaces"?
He clicked open the subdirectory. The simulation inside made his stomach turn.
It was a 3D model. A narrow, coffin-sized metal pod.
There was no sunlight inside the pod, only dim purple UV lights. In the petri dish, a mass of dark brown insects was crawling densely—American Cockroaches (Periplaneta americana). Next to them was a cultivation tank of Chlorella so green it looked black.
The 550 was simulating this cycle system over and over again:
1.Use human excrement and corpses (organic waste) to farm cockroaches and Chlorella.
2.Crush, dehydrate, and compress the cockroaches and Chlorella.
3.Process into a gray, toothpaste-like "High-Energy Protein Bar."
4.Feed it to... humans. 喂给...人类.
At the end of the simulation, the 550 gave a line of green evaluation:
[Perfect Closed Loop.] [Energy Conversion Rate: 94%.] [Advantages: No light required, no soil required, extremely high radiation resistance. Can support human survival for 500 years without external supply.] [Taste Rating: Extremely Poor (but sufficient to maintain vital signs).]
"Urgh..." Chen Xu covered his mouth and retched.
It wasn't that he hadn't seen disgusting things before, but this extremely rational scheme of raising humans like livestock caused him both physiological and psychological distress.
Was this the future?
Was this the future they were exhausting the entire nation's strength, even sacrificing the people of the present, to exchange for?
To live like a dog in a tin can for five hundred years, eating toothpaste made of cockroaches?
"You saw it too?"
A voice suddenly sounded behind him.
Chen Xu jumped and spun around. It was Zhang Zhiwei.
The tech lunatic was standing at the door, holding that can of instant coffee he never seemed to finish. His dark circles were heavier than before, and he was as thin as a ghost.
"Dr. Zhang..." Chen Xu wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. "What is this? Is this also for Work Zone 4?"
Zhang Zhiwei walked in, looking at the writhing cockroaches on the screen, a complex expression appearing on his face.
"Yeah. This is the life support system for the 'Ark'," Zhang Zhiwei said softly.
"Ark?"
Chen Xu froze. This was the first time he had heard someone else say the word aloud. He had seen "Ark Project" in the red-headed documents before, but he had always assumed it was just a code name, or the name of a shelter.
"What did you think the Ark was?" Zhang Zhiwei turned to look at Chen Xu, a mocking smile curling the corner of his mouth. "Those silver-white, cruise-ship-luxury spaceships from Hollywood movies? or those ecological ships with giant domes, gardens, and meadows inside?"
Zhang Zhiwei shook his head, extended a withered finger, and tapped the "coffin pod" on the screen.
"Stop dreaming, counselor."
"With humanity's current propulsion technology, the specific impulse of chemical rockets is at its limit. To send one kilogram of payload out of the solar system, we need to consume thousands of tons of fuel."
"Every gram of weight is life."
"So, there are no gardens. No luxury cabins. There isn't even gravity."
Zhang Zhiwei pointed overhead, toward the surface.
"That 12 million tons of special steel isn't for building the hull. It's for building the shielding layer of the nuclear reactor. Because only nuclear fission, or even fusion engines, can push that thing."
"To save weight, everyone has to be packed into cans like sardines. To save energy, everyone can only eat this cockroach protein paste."
"This is the Ark."
Zhang Zhiwei's voice echoed in the late-night office, carrying a bone-chilling coldness.
"It's not Noah's Ark. It's a nuclear-powered submarine. And we are going to stuff a bunch of people inside, weld the hatch shut, and kick them into the boundless deep sea of space."
"As for whether they can survive, or whether they can still be called 'human' if they do..." Zhang Zhiwei shrugged. "That's up to God. Or, up to the 550."
Chen Xu collapsed into his chair.
On the screen, the cockroaches crawled tirelessly, and the 550 tirelessly calculated how to squeeze out the last calorie of heat.
He finally understood why Professor Shen said, "Don't ask where the supplies go." He finally understood why that 0.005% death rate could be sacrificed.
Because this country was pouring all its flesh and blood to feed this gold-swallowing beast named "Ark."
It was devouring not just steel, electricity, and rare earth, but also human dignity and life. It was like a massive, greedy fetus, sucking the last drop of blood from the mother, just so it could let out a faint cry in the cold night of the universe.
"Dr. Zhang." Chen Xu looked at the screen, his voice drifting. "If... I mean if. If we exhaust all our efforts, and what we build in the end is just such a hell..."
"Does anything we're doing now still have meaning?"
Zhang Zhiwei remained silent for a long time.
He drank the last sip of coffee from the can, crushed the empty tin, and tossed it into the trash can.
"I don't know if it has meaning."
He turned and walked toward the door, his back hunched and desolate.
"But I know that if we don't even have this hell... then we really have nothing left."
The door closed.
Chen Xu sat alone in the darkness.
The roar of the server room next door continued. The sound no longer seemed like the operation of a machine, but like the sound of a giant beast crunching on bones.
Crunch. Crunch.