At 2 a.m., the screen in the control room was still lit up.
Nana's fingers slid across the keyboard, bringing up the pressure resistance parameters of the composite aluminum plate. The system had only loaded halfway when a message suddenly popped up: "[The last calibration time for this model's data was in the standard calendar year 2747. Online verification is recommended.]"
She paused, re-entered the command, and switched to the environmental adaptability module. The result was even worse—the three key indicators, low-temperature toughness, radiation attenuation rate, and microgravity fatigue cycle, were all marked in yellow, with notes stating "data missing" or "version too old".
Her optical module flashed three times, like eyes blinking faster. Her finger froze in mid-air, not continuing to operate.
Chen Hao was awakened by thirst.
He climbed out of the folding bed in the corner of the workshop and groggily made his way to the control panel, looking for the water bottle he had left behind. As he passed by, he saw Nana standing there motionless, the screen flashing red and yellow warning bars.
"Still not asleep?" He unscrewed the bottle cap and took a sip. "You can stand like this all night, the battery won't run out, but I'll be scared."
Nana turned her head. "I'm not sleepy."
“I know.” Chen Hao sat down against the control panel, “but that pause you just made was even rarer than Karl welding a crooked seam.”
She didn't say anything.
"Is there a problem with the data?"
“Some material parameters cannot be confirmed,” she said. “Using old values to set test standards may lead to biased judgments.”
Chen Hao whistled. "So you're stuck now? Even a major database provider can lose internet access?"
“I’m not offline,” Nana corrected. “I’m just… unable to verify the validity of the information.”
"Oh." Chen Hao nodded. "Like that feeling when you find out the textbook is printed wrong during an exam?"
She glanced at him. "Have you taken any exams?"
"Of course I've taken the test," Chen Hao grinned. "I always start with zero, so I'm very calm about it."
Nana's lips twitched slightly; this was a new ability she had developed to mimic human expressions, and she had been practicing it more and more skillfully lately.
“Actually,” Chen Hao put the bottle on the table, “didn’t you say before that the fact that a piece of trash like me could survive this long means that the database isn’t always accurate?”
Nana looked at him.
"You said back then that I shouldn't have been so self-critical," Chen Hao said, scratching his head. "Now it's your turn. The old data isn't accurate, so let's not rely on it. Why don't you just collect a new set yourself?"
“The sensors are not accurate enough,” she said. “Existing equipment cannot capture microscopic deformation processes.”
“Then let’s change it.” Chen Hao stood up. “Anyway, we’re just sitting around doing nothing. You have the brains, I have the hands, let’s give it a shot.”
He opened the tool cabinet and found a vibration feedback motor, and then picked out a section of telemetry line design from the blueprints of an abandoned weather station.
“Look, this thing was originally used to measure wind speed, but now we’re turning it into a stress sensor,” he said as he unwired the device. “It doesn’t need to be very precise, just enough to show the trend.”
Nana took the circuit board, quickly scanned it, and proposed a modification plan. "Adding a secondary filter circuit can reduce background noise interference. In addition, adding buffer pads can prevent resonance from triggering falsely."
“Okay.” Chen Hao wrapped the connector with tape. “You’re in charge of making the machine smarter, and I’ll be in charge of preventing it from exploding.”
The two attached the modified sensor to the surface of the aluminum plate sample and then connected it to the pressure output end of the test tank. Chen Hao fixed the motor to the bracket and adjusted the angle to gradually apply the load.
“We won’t push it all the way down at once,” he said. “We’ll take it one layer at a time, pausing for ten seconds after each layer, and you record the data.”
Nana nodded and started the recording program.
At 3:17 AM, the first set of measured curves appeared on the screen. The values were 12 percent lower than those in the database, but still within the safe range.
"It seems the old data is overly optimistic." Chen Hao stared at the charts. "Maybe they cut corners during the testing back then."
“It could also be due to batch differences in the materials,” Nana said. “The batch we have has not undergone long-term space exposure testing.”
"In short, we can't believe everything." Chen Hao stretched. "How about another round?"
They continued testing the second sample. When the pressure reached level seven, Nana suddenly raised her hand to pause.
“The signal is abnormal,” she said.
"What?"
“There’s a repetitive pulse in the receiver channel.” She pulled up the spectrum. “It doesn’t belong to any known transmission protocol of any equipment at the base.”
Chen Hao leaned closer to take a look. "It doesn't look like noise. It's too orderly, like someone is knocking on the door."
“I have isolated this frequency band.” Nana saved the signal as an encrypted file, “marked as an unknown source, and will not trigger an alarm for now.”
Why didn't you call someone?
"The current priority is to complete the data update," she said. "And the signal strength is weak, which may be from reflections from distant debris or electromagnetic disturbances coupled with geological activity."
Chen Hao stared at the waveform for a few seconds. "You don't think it's a natural phenomenon."
“I have no evidence,” she said, “but its repetition cycle is accurate to the millisecond level, making it more likely to be man-made.”
The room fell silent.
Chen Hao picked up a pen and drew a few lines on the paper. "Could it be another survivor? Or... an automated beacon left behind by a previous expedition?"
“Theoretically, it’s possible,” Nana said. “But according to the flight logs, no registered spacecraft have passed through this star system in the past 120 years.”
“Those are undocumented immigrants,” Chen Hao laughed. “Unlucky souls like us, illegally staying in the country?”
"This speculation cannot be ruled out."
"So what do you plan to do?"
"Finish the task at hand first," she said. "We'll arrange directional reconnaissance after daybreak."
Chen Hao leaned back in his chair. "Okay, whatever you say. But isn't this strange? We were just about to fix something when someone started banging on the wall outside."
Nana did not respond.
She was importing newly collected data into the database, preparing to overwrite old entries. The system prompted her for administrator privileges; she entered her password and began synchronization.
When the progress bar reaches 80%, a small window pops up in the lower right corner of the screen: [Intermittent external signal access detected. Enable deep tracing mode?]
Nana clicked no.
“Tracing it now is too risky,” she said. “If we actively send out probes, we might expose our location.”
"What if that's a distress signal?"
“If it’s a distress call, it will keep getting stronger,” she said. “But this is just a one-way transmission with fixed content; it’s more like some kind of… loop broadcast.”
Chen Hao stroked his chin. "Like a cassette tape, endlessly repeating the same sentence?"
"The analogy is appropriate."
He chuckled again. "Do you think we should reply to it? Like, 'I heard you, stop reading'?"
“Communication is not possible,” she said, “and we cannot be sure of the other party’s ability to receive the signal.”
"What a pity," Chen Hao yawned, "otherwise I could have made an alien friend."
His eyelids started to droop, and his head bobbed up and down. Nana glanced at him and said softly, "You can go and rest."
"It's okay." He propped his eyelids open. "I'll help you get through this. Otherwise, you'll have to shoulder the burden alone again."
"I am not alone."
Chen Hao was taken aback for a moment, then laughed. "You're quite good with words."
Data update complete; three parameters have been corrected. System notification: [Local database has been synchronized; further multi-environment verification is recommended.]
Nana closed the pop-up window and instead brought up the signal monitoring backend. The pulse was still there, with a stable interval, appearing once every thirty-seven seconds and lasting for 0.6 seconds.
She slowed down the playback speed and analyzed the waveform frame by frame. On the third repetition, she noticed a detail: there was a slight distortion in the rising edge of the pulse, as if it had been obscured by something.
“This signal…” she whispered, “is not propagating in a straight line.”
Chen Hao sat bolt upright. "What do you mean?"
“It was refracted or diffracted,” she said. “The source of the emission wasn’t directly in front of us, but behind some obstacle.”
"For example, the mountainside? Or underground?"
"It's impossible to determine at this time," she said, "but one thing is certain—"
Before he could finish speaking, the signal on the screen suddenly cut off.
Both of them were staring at the monitor.
One second.
Two seconds.
Thirty-seven seconds passed, and there was no recovery.
Nana immediately switched to full-band scanning mode and re-locked onto the target frequency. The signal still did not appear.
“It’s gone,” Chen Hao said.
“Or it was cut off.” She quickly retrieved the cache. “Before the last transmission ended, the pulse amplitude briefly increased, which may have been the last full-power transmission.”
"And then they disappeared."
She nodded. "This means two possibilities: either the launcher has stopped working, or someone has deliberately shut it down."
Chen Hao stared at the straight wavy line for a long time without saying a word.
After a long silence, he finally spoke: "Do you think... the part we just recorded might be the last time?"
Nana looked at the icon of the encrypted file but did not answer.
Only the soft hum of the machines could be heard in the control room.
It was still pitch black outside the window.
Nana's finger landed on the replay button.
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