Chen Hao stared at the two words on the screen—**tracking**.
He paused on the paper for a few seconds, then looked up at Nana: "Is there a pattern to the timing of the heat source's appearance over the past seven times?"
“The intervals are not fixed,” Nana replied. “The shortest interval is eight hours, and the longest is twenty hours. But the deviation of the movement path each time does not exceed 3.2 degrees.”
“It’s not just wandering around,” Carl said. “It’s observing.”
Susan frowned: "If they are truly intelligent life, our current discussion of rules might already be being overheard."
The air suddenly felt heavy.
Chen Hao slammed his pen on the table: "Then we need to clarify the rules first. Whether they're watching us or not is their business; whether we cause chaos or not is our own business."
He opened his notebook, where the articles were densely marked with red pen. The projection of Draft V1.0 was still hanging on the wall, with its seventeen provisions clearly displayed.
"This version needs to be finalized today," he said. "We can't delay any longer."
Susan nodded: "Let's start with the first one—the implementation standards for the ecological protection red line. I suggest that whenever an alarm is triggered, access should be locked for 48 hours without exception."
“No way,” Karl immediately objected. “Last time I said moving equipment would damage the mycelium, and the system still alarmed. If we use your standards, who would dare to move anything? Exploration itself is a risk.”
“But rules can’t always be based on ‘what ifs’,” Susan said, her tone becoming more serious. “Without hard penalties, people will think it doesn’t matter. Today they’ll trample a little, tomorrow they’ll trample a whole area, and the day after tomorrow the entire ecosystem will be ruined.”
“Then you’re using fear to manage people,” Carl sneered. “Not building a sense of responsibility.”
“Fear is better than indulgence.” Susan stared at him. “Do you really think everyone is as self-disciplined as you are?”
Chen Hao interjected, "That's why I say rules need teeth, but they also need eyes."
Both of them looked at him at the same time.
“What I mean is,” he sat up straight, “that after a violation, we first consider whether it was intentional. If someone deliberately vandalizes the property, they will be punished without exception. But if it was accidentally caused while working, the panel can reduce or even waive the penalty.”
"Subjective judgment?" Susan frowned. "Doesn't that turn it into a society based on personal connections?"
“Humans are the ones doing the work,” Chen Hao said, shrugging. “Robots record the data, and humans evaluate the motives. We’re not a machine empire, so we can’t just take a one-size-fits-all approach.”
Nana explained: "According to database records, historical data from multiple closed-base management systems show that while fully rigid enforcement improves efficiency in the first six months, the willingness to cooperate decreases by 63% after six months."
Carl raised an eyebrow: "You see, even machines support flexible processing."
“But she didn’t say she was going to cancel the punishment either,” Susan immediately added. “She just suggested adding an evaluation mechanism. I have no problem with that, but it must be clear—the evaluation cannot be conducted by the person involved themselves.”
“Of course.” Chen Hao nodded. “The three rotating administrators discussed it together and randomly drew lots to determine the team for the month. I was no exception.”
“What if you lead the way in breaking the rules?” Susan asked.
"Follow the procedure." Chen Hao laughed. "Whoever reports me will be the presiding judge. The harsher the better, to establish authority."
Susan didn't laugh, but the corners of her mouth relaxed slightly.
"Next." Chen Hao turned the page. "The briefing for the Day of Freedom of Exploration."
Susan immediately said, "It must be paid."
"Here we go again," Chen Hao sighed. "I've told you so many times, inspiration isn't a daily task."
“The system isn’t something you can play with,” Susan replied bluntly.
Carl interjected, "I think the point isn't whether you submit it or not, but how you determine its effectiveness. Can writing a hundred-word account of events be considered the same as drawing a map?"
“The system can’t score it,” Nana said, “but it can be archived, and the research team will evaluate its research value later.”
“Then let’s not force everyone to write.” Chen Hao seized the opportunity. “Let’s make it voluntary submission, with no restrictions on the format, text, images, or voice messages are all acceptable. Nana will be responsible for archiving, and there will be no scoring or ranking.”
“Still avoiding feedback.” Susan shook her head.
“I’m not running away,” Chen Hao raised his voice. “I’m against formalism! That day I went to the East District to collect samples, my mind was full of images, and I just wanted some peace and quiet when I got back. Do you expect me to add a ‘Today’s takeaway: I looked at flowers for a while’ now? Is that meaningful?”
“At least it proves you went,” she said.
"Can I record a voice message?" Chen Hao took out his terminal. "Hey, I went to the East District today and saw the flowers were in bloom, they were quite beautiful, but they're gone now."
The room was silent for two seconds.
Carl burst out laughing.
Susan glared at him: "You're still laughing?"
“I think this is pretty realistic,” Carl shrugged. “It’s better than writing a fake report.”
Nana added: "The system supports three input methods: voice, image, and text. It automatically marks the time and location, and the anti-counterfeiting verification pass rate is 98%."
“Then it’s settled.” Chen Hao pressed on, “The submission method is open, but it must be completed on the same day. Late submissions will not be counted, and the free exploration day will not be considered complete.”
Susan paused for a few seconds, then nodded: "Okay. But you'll be the first to hand it in, so don't forget again."
"If you forget once, you'll have to clean the toilets for a week." Chen Hao raised his hand and swore, "Okay?"
She didn't say anything, which was taken as tacit agreement.
Chen Hao let out a long sigh and turned to the next page: "Finally, the oversight mechanism."
Carl leaned forward: "I'm still worried about one thing—what if the administrators themselves break the rules? For example, secretly using the centrifuge in the middle of the night, and then colluding to delete the logs."
“It can’t be deleted,” Nana said. “All operations are backed up independently, and the deletion action itself is recorded.”
“That’s theoretically true,” Carl insisted. “But what if someone understands the underlying code? Could they alter the timestamp or forge two-person authentication?”
The meeting room fell silent.
Chen Hao stroked his chin: "You're right. Even the strictest system is vulnerable to internal tampering."
“Then let’s add a physical defense.” He suddenly stood up. “Starting today, print out a paper copy of the operation log for all high-risk equipment every day, post it on the bulletin board at 8 p.m., let it air out for ten minutes, and then take it down.”
The three people inside the room were stunned.
"Paper?" Susan looked at him suspiciously. "You think sticking a piece of paper on something can prevent cheating?"
“It’s not to prevent cheating,” Chen Hao shook his head. “It’s to let everyone know you’re investigating. That’s how people are. Even if they know no one is watching every day, they still feel uneasy when they see the written record hanging there.”
Carl nodded slowly: "Primitive, but effective."
"Does Nana have enough printers?" Susan asked.
“The daily log averages three hundred words,” Nana replied. “The consumables reserves can support five years of continuous printing.”
"Then it's settled." Chen Hao made the final decision. "The written announcement will be made, no questions asked. Anyone who doesn't cooperate will be reported directly to the duty team."
He looked down at his notebook and crossed out the items to be discussed one by one.
Free exploration diary entries – now submitted voluntarily, in any format.
Public maintenance responsibility – included in the basic points list, registered daily.
The temporary access process will be discussed in a separate meeting and is not included in the draft for now.
The draft V1.0 has been updated to a revised version, with all seventeen provisions now complete and all three disputes resolved.
The projection refreshed, and a line of small print appeared below the title: "Basic Operating Rules of the Base (Revised Edition)".
Chen Hao closed his notebook, sweat beading on his forehead. He raised his hand to wipe it, noticing his palm trembling slightly.
"Any more comments?" he asked.
No one spoke.
Susan leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. Carl looked down at his draft flowchart, his pen hovering over the "two-person authentication" section. Nana's optical module blinked steadily, the final document's verification code scrolling across the screen.
The wind outside the window subsided. A crack appeared in the clouds, letting in moonlight that fell on the printed document in the center of the conference table.
The edges of the paper curled up slightly, as if blown by the wind.
Chen Hao reached out and pressed down on one corner.
“Then let’s prepare for the vote tomorrow,” he said. “This time, let’s first establish our own position.”
Susan suddenly spoke up: "Are you really planning to post the paper diary every day?"
"Of course," Chen Hao laughed, "I'm even planning to stand by and keep an eye on things myself."
"Aren't you afraid of trouble?"
“I’m afraid,” he said. “But I’m even more afraid that people will think this thing is just a formality.”
Karl looked up: "You've changed."
"Um?"
“You used to be too lazy to even write down your lab notes,” Carl said. “Now you’ve started putting up paper-based disclosures.”
Chen Hao grinned: "People always have to improve. Otherwise, how can they be qualified to be an administrator?"
Susan looked at him with a complicated expression.
Nana suddenly said, "A heat source has been detected approaching again outside the west fence."
Everyone looked up.
"Distance of 170 meters, slow speed, direction unchanged."
Chen Hao didn't move.
He stared at the printed copy on the table, his right hand still pressing down on the corner that was being blown by the wind.
With his left hand, he slowly picked up the red pen and wrote three small characters in the blank space of the "Supervision Mechanism" column:
**Add video recording**.
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