The fuel reading has dropped again.
The reading dropped from 40.8 to 40.3 without any alarm or fault indication, as if someone was quietly draining the energy from behind. Chen Hao stared at the screen, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the flesh on the outside of his thigh, which was a little itchy, probably from the protective suit chafing.
“It’s not leaking.” Nana’s voice was as flat as a straight line. “The pipe seal is normal, the pressure is stable, and the power output is matched. But it’s just not enough.”
Carl, crouching under the terminal, had just screwed the last piece of the communication buffer back on. He looked up and asked, "Could the system have made a mistake?"
“No,” Nana said. “I checked it three times. It consumes an extra 0.05 units per minute. Not much, but it’s been going on for a while.”
Susan stood in the power management area, her hand still resting on the energy-saving mode switch. She didn't move or speak, but blinked twice, as if trying to banish something from her mind.
"So we're leaking oil while driving?" Chen Hao grinned. "And it's the kind of leak that you can't see?"
“To be precise, it’s ‘hidden energy consumption’.” Nana pulled up the list of background processes. “We suspect there’s a hidden program running, consuming basic energy to maintain some kind of connection.”
"Connect to whom?" Susan finally asked.
“Signal source.” Nana pointed to the waveform in the corner of the main screen. The pulses were still beating, as regular as a heartbeat. “It keeps sending, and we keep receiving. Maybe the receiving itself is burning fuel.”
Chen Hao touched his wrist. The redness was still there, and it was a little hotter than before, like he had a heat pack on it. He didn't say anything.
Carl stood up and clapped his hands. "Use it sparingly for now. I have a few ideas."
He walked to the main control panel and opened the navigation simulation interface. "The first method is pulse cruise. Turn off the engine, coast for a while, and then restart it, which can save more than 12%. The second method is to use the gravitational pull of a celestial body to make a slingshot, which saves even more, but you need to find a suitable celestial body. The third method is to adjust the hull angle to reduce space resistance, which is suitable for this low-dust zone."
Nana quickly input the parameters, and the model ran once.
“A gravity slingshot is not feasible,” she said. “The nearest available celestial bodies are too far away, and the cost of yaw would outweigh the savings. Attitude fine-tuning offers limited benefits, saving at most 3%. Only pulse cruise is feasible.”
“Let’s try this one.” Chen Hao slapped the armrest. “Anyway, it’s all dark up ahead and there’s not much scenery to see.”
"The test period is set to ten minutes." Nana started the program, "Preparing to enter the first gliding segment."
The lights went out.
The main light source was switched off, leaving only the backlight of the instrument panel casting a dim glow. The cabin suddenly darkened, making it impossible to see faces clearly. Chen Hao leaned back in his chair, feeling his large body sink even deeper into the seat.
“This doesn’t look like energy conservation,” he said. “It looks like a power outage.”
No one responded.
Ten seconds later, the thrusters shut off, and the ship began to glide. The slight vibration disappeared, and even the sound of airflow subsided.
“It’s saved.” Carl looked at the energy consumption curve. “This section only used 68% of the usual amount of fuel.”
“The problem is,” Susan said softly, “that hidden loss is still there.”
Nana nodded. "Yes. Even when coasting with the power off, the base energy consumption is still 0.05 units higher than the theoretical value."
"So," Chen Hao said, "there's someone collecting rent regardless of whether we work or not?"
“The analogy holds true,” Nana said.
The cabin was quiet for a few seconds.
Then Nana switched the screen and pulled up the signal waveform again. "While it's quiet now, I'll continue decoding."
She activated the offline module, blocking all external interfaces to prevent further interference. The database began comparing against older civilian communication protocols.
The progress bar reached 70%, paused briefly, and then displayed the result.
“Match successful,” she said. “The encoding format belongs to the Level 2 Disaster Warning Response Standard and is commonly used in automatic broadcasts.”
The complete parsed information appears on the screen:
"Energy collapse zone - irreversible at the center - do not enter - those who approach will be registered."
"Registration?" Chen Hao read it aloud. "Who wants to register us? Is it for the household registration office?"
“I don’t know,” Nana said, “but the recurrence of this word is probably the key.”
Susan frowned. "If it was a warning, why not make it clear? Why piece it together from scratch and make us put it back together ourselves?"
“Maybe this is the only way it can transmit,” Carl said. “The signal is severely attenuated, or the transmitter is limited.”
“There’s one more problem.” Chen Hao pointed to the last sentence, “It says ‘those who approach.’ This means that as long as you get close, it counts, regardless of whether you enter the center or not.”
“We’re getting close,” Nana said. “At the current speed, we’ll be in the warning zone in seven minutes.”
"Can't we stop?" Susan asked.
“We can stop,” Nana said, “but stopping doesn’t mean we’re out of the approach range. And once we stop, the hidden losses are still there, and the fuel will run out faster.”
"Then we can only move forward?" Carl said.
"Or we could change direction," Chen Hao said. "How about we try another route?"
Nana operates the terminal and inputs a set of hypothetical paths that deviate from the flight path.
Ten seconds later, the system popped up a notification:
"Path deviation. Correction recommended."
"That line again," Chen Hao sneered. "I saw it in the last simulation."
“It’s different.” Nana zoomed in on the log. “That request just now triggered the generation of an internal instruction template. If a redirect is actually executed, the forced callback mechanism will be activated immediately.”
“You mean,” Carl said, “that if we dare to turn, it will attack?”
"Probability: 91.3%"
"Damn it." Chen Hao leaned back. "They won't let us go back, they won't let us hide, they won't let us stop, and they won't let us take a detour. They're forcing us to clock in for work."
No one laughed.
Susan turned and walked to her personal terminal, then shut it down. "To save power," she said. "We won't find anything anyway."
Carl looked down at his notebook, wrote a few words, then crossed them out. He looked up at Nana and asked, "That registration...could it be recording data? Like identity, location, or time?"
“Yes,” Nana said. “In the old-fashioned rescue protocols, ‘registration’ usually meant automatic filing for subsequent tracking or statistics.”
“What if we get registered?” Carl asked. “What will happen?”
"unknown."
"Could it be..." Chen Hao paused, "...related to that hidden cost we just heard about? Like the registration fee?"
Nana paused for a second. "We can't rule out that possibility."
The cabin became even quieter.
Chen Hao looked down at his wrist. The red spot was not only hot, but also had an oily sheen, as if something had seeped under his skin. He put his hand in his pocket so no one could see it.
“Continue pulse cruise,” he said. “At least it will allow us to survive a few more jumps.”
"Next cycle in twenty minutes." Nana set up the program, "Keep the lighting at the lowest level, and keep the temperature control only on the core compartment."
The lights went out again.
This darkness lasted even longer. The thrusters fired only once every three minutes, and the ship chugged forward like an iron box floating in deep water.
Carl suddenly sat up straight. "Wait."
He flipped through his handwritten notes. "I noted down the time of each fuel drop. It matches the signal pulses... somewhat."
Nana immediately brought up the hyperbola comparison chart.
One is the fuel consumption rate, and the other is the signal transmission frequency.
The fluctuation rhythms of the two are highly overlapping.
“It’s not perfectly synchronized,” Carl said, “but fuel consumption jumps after each strong signal peak.”
“Energy consumption increases when receiving signals,” Nana analyzed. “It’s probably because the decoding process requires additional computing power.”
"So," Chen Hao said, "it's sending us messages while simultaneously charging for electricity?"
“The logic holds true,” Nana said.
"Then don't accept it," Chen Hao said. "Can you turn off the receiver?"
“Okay,” Nana said, “but you’ll miss subsequent information. And… the data just showed that even after disconnecting, the residual program is still running. Turning off reception might not work.”
“Then we’ll just have to let it broadcast,” Susan said. “Should we keep burning money to listen to the radio?”
“There’s no better option right now,” Nana said.
Chen Hao leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. His large body creaked as he pressed against the seat. He opened his eyes and looked at the main screen.
The flight path is straight ahead.
Fuel remaining is 40.1%.
The distance to the signal source is 7.3 optical divisions.
It is expected to enter the warning boundary in 6 minutes and 48 seconds.
“Tell me,” he suddenly asked Nana, “if we do nothing and just float here, will it stop on its own?”
Nana operates the terminal to simulate a static state.
Five seconds later, the system prompted an update:
"Path deviation. Correction recommended."
Meanwhile, the fuel consumption rate increased by 0.1 units.
“It doesn’t like to wait,” Carl said.
“I don’t like to hesitate either,” Susan added.
Chen Hao smiled but didn't say anything.
He took his hand out of his pocket and glanced at it.
The erythema has gotten bigger.
The edges started to shine slightly, like they were coated with fluorescent powder.
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