105: Chapter 104 The Shattered Timetable and the Sleepless Sentinels
3 Days After the Ruling
Chu Yunshen stood in the main workspace of the "Civilization Roadmap" project team. Before him were seven surrounding holographic screens, each divided into dozens of sub-windows. Data streams, graphs, technical terms, social models, ethical paradoxes... it was like a storm of information, and he stood at the center of the eye, attempting to comb order out of the chaos.
"The biggest problem isn't 'what to do,'" he said to Chen Qiming, who had just walked in, his voice raspy after thirty consecutive hours of work. "It's 'what to do first.' We only have three years—no, after accounting for audit preparation and responding to sudden threats, the actual effective time might only be two and a half years. Yet leaping from a Level 0.7 civilization to Level 1.5, according to the standard development model published by the Galactic Council, takes an average of four thousand eight hundred years."
Chen Qiming handed him a cup of concentrated nutrient solution. "That's why the roadmap can't be linear. We must find 'leverage points' for jumping—key technologies that, once broken through, can drive a chain of upgrades across multiple fields."
"For example?" Chu Yunshen gulped down the nutrient solution, its bitter taste jolting his spirit.
"For example, 'Consciousness Upload and Backup Technology.'" Chen Qiming pulled up one of the screens, showing relevant schematics parsed from the sowers legacy. "This isn't for digital immortality, but for time compression. Imagine accelerating the consciousness of top scientists, allowing them to complete a hundred years of thought iterations within a single year in a virtual environment. The theoretical framework Dr. Lin unlocked from the technology tree system is sufficient; what we lack is a safe and stable implementation plan."
"The Ethics Committee will go insane."
"Then let them go insane," Chen Qiming said with rare firmness. "The Pruning Faction's fleet won't wait for us to finish ethics hearings. I've already had Zhou Zhe's team secretly launch the 'Mind Acceleration Prototype' project, using that silicon-based sample transferred from the ice abyss as a testing platform—its consciousness structure is simpler, with a higher tolerance for error."
Chu Yunshen stared at the timeline model on the screen. Two and a half years, divided into six quarters, with each quarter needing to reach a 'milestone.' He had already marked the first quarter's goal in red: complete the real-time monitoring and early warning network within the Solar System. Without this, everything else is just a target.
"How is progress on Zhao Yan's side?"
"One-third of the Lunar Fortress phase two foundation is complete." Chen Qiming pulled up engineering footage—on the far side of the moon, tens of thousands of AI engineering robots were as busy as a swarm of ants, smelting, shaping, and joining metals collected from the asteroid belt. In the central area, a giant energy shield generator five kilometers in diameter was having its framework assembled. "But he's hit a material bottleneck. The shield core requires a high-purity 'Element Zero Crystal,' and our current extraction efficiency is too low; our inventory only covers one-tenth of the design area."
"When does the technology trading market open?"
"In seven days. Zhou Zhe is organizing the list of exchangeable resources." Chen Qiming paused. "He's encountered... unexpected problems."
Meanwhile, at Deep Space Technology's underground analysis center, Zhou Zhe was facing a frustrating assessment report.
"This is what the Council calls a 'Level 1 Technology Trading Network'?" His deputy, Li Wei, pointed at the scrolling directory on the screen. "Basic FTL communication principles—requires us to start verifying from mathematical derivations ourselves, estimated to take three years; primary force field manipulation theory—comes with seventeen key equations 'omitted for security reasons'; general terraforming plans—applicable only if 'atmospheric composition and gravity deviate from the standard template by no more than 5%,' but Earth's atmospheric oxygen content deviation is 8.3%."
Zhou Zhe rubbed his temples. "They're setting barriers. On the surface, they've given us access, but in reality, most entries are either incomplete or have conditions too harsh to be usable."
"And the resources we can offer for exchange?" Li Wei flipped to another list.
"Worse." Zhou Zhe pulled up the analysis results. "In terms of rare elements, our largest stockpile, Californium-252, has a pitifully low exchange rate on the Council's standard price list—because at least twelve Level 1 or higher civilizations have mastered synthetic technology. Dark matter stable aggregates? We have only three grams in total, accidentally collected years ago from the lunar ruins; it's not even enough for a single transaction."
He zoomed in on the last item: "Non-core sower technology blueprints. This is the only thing we have that might pique interest, but it requires prior Council audit. I've submitted seventeen relatively marginal technologies—like 'low-power ecological recycling systems' and 'high-efficiency light conversion films'—and all were rejected. The reasons were either 'involves basic matter reorganization principles and could be abused' or 'overlaps with patented technology of a Council member civilization.'"
Li Wei was silent for a moment. "They are... blockading us. Using rules."
"A smart man's blockade." Zhou Zhe closed the screen. "It doesn't violate the 'Basic Law of Mutual Assistance' they set themselves, yet it ensures we don't get what we truly need in the trade. We need to find a breakthrough."
"What breakthrough?"
Zhou Zhe walked to a corner of the room where an independent sealed container stood. Inside floated a small secondary fragment of the ice abyss sample—it had naturally sloughed off during the transfer, only the size of a fingernail, but it still maintained the microscopic structure of a silicon-crystal symbiont.
"They don't want our technology, and they don't want our resources." Zhou Zhe stared at the slowly rotating fragment in the container. "But they might want... something unique."
Lunar orbit, Cradle space station, Biological Containment Zone, Unit s-07.
Zhao Yan looked through the triple-layered isolation windows at the entity known as sample 89. It no longer appeared ore-like as it had in Antarctica; instead, it had unfurled into a cluster of slowly pulsating crystal growths, each tip of the crystal branches flickering with a faint, rhythmic fluorescence. It had no obvious sensory organs, but monitoring data showed it was "perceiving" its environment in some way—whenever an engineering robot passed through the outer corridor, its fluorescence frequency would speed up by 0.3 Hz.
"It's adapting faster than expected." The voice of biologist Wu Qing came through the communicator. "Environmental parameters have been adjusted to simulate its home planet: temperature minus 110 degrees, pressure 0.3 standard atmospheres, and a mist rich in silicon microparticles. Its metabolic rate has increased fourfold in the past 48 hours, and it has begun... building things."
"Building?" Zhao Yan frowned.
The surveillance footage shifted angles. At the base of the crystal cluster, some fine silicon debris was being manipulated by an invisible force field, slowly assembling into a tiny, polyhedral structure. It wasn't random; the structure showed clear geometric patterns.
"Analysis shows those are basic architectural modules of its native civilization—similar to our bricks." Wu Qing's voice carried excitement. "In an unconscious state, it is reproducing instinctive memories. If we can establish communication, perhaps we can..."
A siren interrupted her.
It wasn't an alarm from the containment unit, but from the station's outer defense system. A holographic tactical map popped up, showing an unidentified object gradually appearing from a cloaked state near the lunar orbit's L2 point. It was small, roughly the size of a ground vehicle, sleek and streamlined, with no visible thrusters or sensor arrays on its surface.
"Identify the signal." Zhao Yan immediately entered command mode. "What are they sending?"
The communications officer parsed it quickly. "It's a standard Galactic Council identification code... with an attached text message: 'By order of the Council, here to fulfill observer duties. Requesting docking permission.' Signed... 'Listening Wind'."
An observer from the Star Speaker civilization. Seven days earlier than expected.
Zhao Yan glanced at sample 89 in Unit s-07. "Suspend all sensitive research and switch to basic monitoring mode. Dr. Wu, you're in charge of the reception. I'm going to the docking bay."
"General," the adjutant reminded him in a low voice, "according to the protocol, observers have the right to access all areas except 'core military secrets.' The biological containment zone..."
"There's no need to show it unless they ask." Zhao Yan straightened his uniform. "But don't deliberately hide it either. Be natural—we have nothing to feel guilty about, unless we start acting like we do."
The docking process was eerily calm. The visitor—if it could be called a "person"—floated in the center of the docking bay without any visible support. Its form resembled a soft cloud of silver-white light mist, with fine starlight flowing inside, occasionally condensing into contours resembling facial features, only to vanish instantly. It wore no equipment and carried no obvious tools.
"I am Listening Wind." The voice resonated directly in Zhao Yan's mind, gentle, neutral, and carrying a strange sense of resonance. "Thank you for receiving me. During this investigation mission, I will serve as the Eye of the Council, to observe, record, and provide suggestions when necessary. I will not interfere with your decisions or actions unless I discover a clear violation of the ruling's terms."
"Welcome," Zhao Yan responded with standard diplomatic phrasing. "We have prepared the Silent Outpost investigation team and are ready to depart at any time. Do you require time to adapt to the environment or to receive a mission briefing?"
"Adaptation complete." Listening Wind's light mist rippled slightly. "Upon entering your atmosphere, I scanned global surface information. As for the briefing... I prefer to directly contact the surface layers of the team members' consciousness to obtain a more complete situational awareness. With consent, of course."
Zhao Yan felt a flash of instinctive wariness. Direct mind reading? "That involves personal privacy and..."
"I understand your concerns," Listening Wind interrupted, its tone still peaceful. "I can limit contact to volunteers and only to surface thoughts directly related to the mission. The gift of the Star Speakers is to listen, not to plunder."
Just then, an emergency call came through the station's main communicator—it was Lin Shen from Bedrock Base.
"General Zhao, bring Observer Listening Wind to Briefing Room 3 immediately. Something has happened."
The situation occurred in Antarctica.
The ice abyss anchor point, which had been quiet for three days after sample 89's transfer, suddenly became active again. It wasn't a temperature fluctuation, but a deeper change: the spacetime curvature monitors in the anchor's core area detected continuous spatial ripples, like someone gently stirring beneath a calm water surface.
And this time, the source of the fluctuations didn't come from the anchor itself.
"We've traced the propagation path of the ripples." Zhou Zhe's hologram quickly displayed data in the briefing room. "It originated in the ice abyss, but traveled along the Gaia Network's energy channels to... here."
On the map, a dashed line started from Antarctica, passed through the mantle, turned in the mid-Atlantic, and finally pointed to a set of coordinates: 35 degrees North latitude, 115 degrees East longitude.
Within the borders of Dragon Country, deep in the Taihang Mountains.
"What's there?" Zhao Yan asked.
"According to geological survey records, nothing." Zhou Zhe pulled up the archives. "Ordinary mountains, some minerals, no abnormal energy signatures, and not on any known list of Gaia anchor coordinates. However..."
He zoomed in on real-time satellite imagery. Somewhere in the mountains, the color of the vegetation was undergoing a subtle change—amidst the original green, an unnatural, metallic cyan-blue was seeping out. The area was small, no more than a hundred meters in diameter, but clearly visible under multi-spectral scanning.
"The change began two hours ago," Zhou Zhe said. "Almost synchronized with the spatial ripples in the ice abyss."
Listening Wind's light mist drifted to the map, the starlight within accelerating its flow. "Interesting. I can perceive... a faint 'echo.' Not energy, but memory. Deep within that land, something ancient is slumbering."
"Is it the Hibernators?" Lin Shen asked.
"Uncertain." Listening Wind turned toward him. "But its awakening is indeed linked to your operations at the ice abyss. The Gaia Network is a whole; touch one node, and ripples spread through the entire network. And some nodes are buried deeper than you imagine."
The briefing room fell into silence. A three-year countdown hung over their heads, while deep beneath their feet, the unknown was waking up.
"The investigation plan needs adjustment," Lin Shen finally said. "General Zhao, before heading to the Silent Outpost, we need to find out what's in the Taihang Mountains. Form a reconnaissance team and pack all necessary gear. Observer Listening Wind, would you..."
"I will accompany you." Listening Wind's light mist diffused softly. "I am very interested in this 'echo.' It sounds... very sad."
Just then, everyone felt a slight wave of dizziness.
It wasn't physical, but mental—as if a distant, collective sigh had brushed across the surface of everyone's thoughts.
Nuwa's notification followed immediately: "Network-wide consciousness disturbance detected. Source: Sarah Chen. Intensity: Level 2. Content: Non-verbal information packet, parsing..."
On the holographic screen, a new consciousness fragment transmitted by Sarah emerged.
This time, it wasn't a star map or a warning.
It was a dynamic image:
In the dark void, a massive, translucent "tree" was slowly growing. Its roots were dug into a shattered nebula, its branches extending into countless glowing veins, and the end of one vein was connected to a familiar blue planet.
Earth.
Within the vein, points of light were moving—starting from Earth, traveling along the branch toward the depths of the tree.
And in the shadows of the canopy, several curled, spike-covered silhouettes were opening their dark red eyes one by one.
The image lasted for five seconds, then shattered into points of light and dissipated.
The parsing results appeared below:
[Metaphorical Imagery. Interpretation (Probability Analysis)]
Tree: Gaia Watcher Network / sowers legacy system.
Light Points: Human exploration and intervention within the network.
Silhouettes in Shadows: Awakened dormant units (Hibernators).
Warning Level: Significantly elevated.
Recommendation: Exploration may accelerate the awakening process.
Lin Shen watched the residual light of the image and slowly exhaled a sentence, marking the end of this long day and night:
"It seems that while we were looking up, staring at enemies in deep space..."
He turned toward the satellite image of the Taihang Mountains, where the cyan-blue area was slowly expanding.
"The guests underground can't wait to stand up and say hello."