Undercurrents at the Asset Registration Agency, Xiao Li Casts a Stone at the Counter
On the third floor of the T-03 Defense Zone Comprehensive Support Building, in the office hall of the Asset Registration Agency, only the sound of cold air coming from the central ventilation ducts could be heard.
At 2:30 p. m., the call number display screen in front of the counter stopped at number 73 and remained motionless for a long time.
Behind the frosted explosion-proof glass sat three registration office clerks in light gray uniforms, with barcode scanners and thermal printers beside them both lit up with green standby lights.
Xiao Li pulled down the collar of his trench coat and strode to the No. 2 "Railway Assets and Field Service Routes" integrated service counter.
On the table was a plastic pen holder full of blue ballpoint pens, next to which lay a well-worn copy of the "Cross-Departmental Fixed Asset Declaration Procedures".
The clerk was a young man in his early thirties, with "Employee Number 1042" printed on his name tag. His eyelids drooped as he checked a depreciation list for a supply barge on the terminal screen.
A slender, steady hand reached into the metal recess beneath the small glass window.
Xiao Li did not hand over any verification letter with an official seal, nor did he remove his identification card from his wrist.
He pulled a neatly trimmed yellow sticky note from his inner pocket and casually took a ballpoint pen from the pen holder.
The metal pen tip made a faint scraping sound as it scratched across the hard surface of the table.
Xiao Li kept his eyes down, his handwriting neat, and he wrote very slowly.
"The Reconnaissance Satellite No. 7's orbit has sunk by 0.3 degrees today, passing over Berth C-9. Please refer to the corresponding reporting approval number."
After finishing the last stroke, Xiao Li released his fingers, and the pen fell back into the pen holder with a soft click.
The small yellow note, barely the size of a palm, was gently pushed by the index finger and slid down the groove to the inside of the explosion-proof glass.
Clerk No. 1042 glanced at the note, frowned, and spoke in a curt, businesslike tone.
"To investigate track changes, we must use the internal network collaboration platform, fill out a four-part inquiry form, have it stamped by the head of your unit, and then submit it. We do not accept personal slips."
Xiao Li stood ramrod straight, his hands in his trench coat pockets.
"The Liaison Office was conducting a routine asset inventory. Director Gwen Stacy gave verbal instructions, only checking the serial numbers and not copying down the data."
"Verbal instructions are not enough; rules are rules."
The clerk verbally refused, but his fingers unconsciously moved to the cursor keys.
Satellite No. 7 is a Class II on-orbit monitoring asset jointly managed by the Asset Registration Agency of the Management Committee and the Defense Zone Command, and its missions are centrally dispatched to the Laigui Dispatch Center.
In the registry's records, track changes have always been considered major operations.
Even a minor adjustment of just one percent requires the propellant loss accounting to be submitted for review within four hours.
The clerk casually typed a string of basic asset codes onto the keyboard, and a row of densely packed operation logs popped up in the search bar.
The blue and white light shone on the clerk's face.
Three seconds later, the sound of typing stopped.
The clerk's gaze was fixed on the middle of the screen, and the index finger of his right hand, which had been resting on the scroll wheel, tightened slightly.
In the latest status bar of the terminal interface, the actual orbit reading of Satellite No. 7 is clearly marked with a red deviation correction value of -0.3 degrees.
In the section for related documents, there were no approval attachments.
There was no order from the Joint Conference of the Management Committee, no approval reply from the Asset Registration Agency, and even the daily duty record number of the Defense Zone Command was blank.
This was a typical maneuver in the dark.
The unauthorized downsizing of strategic reserve assets without prior notification is tantamount to them being removed from the asset supervision network according to regulations.
Clerk No. 1042's breathing faltered, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
He suddenly looked up and stared intently at Xiao Li through the glass.
Who gave you this note?
His voice was a little dry, and his previously slouching back instantly straightened.
Xiao Li remained calm, neither urging the other party nor avoiding their probing gaze.
"The Liaison Office is inventorying the outstanding supplies at Berth C-9. The Defense Zone Dispatch Center just sent a notification this morning saying that Satellite No. 7 is conducting intensive observations."
Xiao Li paused, his tone so calm that there was not a trace of anger in his voice.
"Since there's an observation task, there should be a corresponding work order number. We need to fill in the work order number on the asset inventory receipt to avoid discrepancies between the two sets of accounts."
The glass door on the side of the hall was pushed open a crack, allowing a slight airflow.
The female clerk at the next counter also heard the noise, stopped tapping, and turned her head to look in their direction.
The atmosphere behind the counter froze.
Clerk No. 1042 grabbed the notepad, intending to stuff it back into the metal slot, but stopped halfway up his wrist.
He dared not return the paper, much less sign or stamp it.
As soon as he types in a "no report" system receipt, the entire information chain of the security building will immediately trigger an early warning of asset loss in the defense zone.
"Wait a moment."
The clerk said a few words, pulled out a chair, stood up, and strode towards the confidential cubicle behind the counter.
Xiao Li watched as the heavy wooden door marked "Supervisor's Office" closed.
He glanced at the wall clock.
Two minutes and fifteen seconds passed between when he handed over the note and when the clerk left.
The task assigned by Gwen Stacy has been completed; Mars has landed in the dry fuel depot.
Xiao Li didn't linger there for even a second longer.
He turned and strode forward, his leather shoes clicking on the terrazzo floor of the lobby. Without the slightest hesitation, he walked straight through two security checkpoints and into the fast lane leading to the outer parking lot.
Just as Xiao Li pushed open the door to leave the lobby, the door to the supervisor's office at the back was pulled open forcefully.
A middle-aged man wearing gold-rimmed glasses and with his hair neatly combed walked out quickly, clutching the yellow note in his hand.
Where is the person who just handed me the note?
The supervisor's voice was low, tinged with barely concealed urgency.
Clerk number 1042 pointed to the empty space outside the counter, looking somewhat flustered.
"He just left, without asking for a receipt, and just said that."
The supervisor walked to the counter, bent down, and stared intently at the glaring red negative deviation value on the screen.
The authority over Satellite No. 7 has always been in the hands of Commander Monk, but the Asset Registration Agency is the sole guarantor of the property rights.
If the Liaison Office follows this undocumented path and escalates the matter, the first to be held accountable will be the Asset Registration Agency's Regional Office for its oversight.
"Extract all the uplink control command streams from Satellite No. 7 today."
The supervisor slammed the note on the table, his knuckles turning white.
"Which rail-locking order did Monk's Command follow? Why didn't the dispatch center synchronize a mirror backup to our system?"
The clerk's hands flew across the keyboard, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
"Found it. It's using the encrypted internal communication link of the T-03 Defense Zone Dispatch Division Two, bypassing the external document network."
"Absurd!"
The supervisor gritted his teeth, his gaze behind his glasses shifting between light and shadow.
Smuggling tracks and concealing assets are internal practices that could normally be covered up with a simple supplementary explanation.
But now it's Gwen Stacy from the Liaison Office who's personally putting the knife to her throat.
Even worse, the Liaison Office only sent a copy of the note to the Department of Technology's mailroom this morning.
If the Department of Technology, the Liaison Office, and the Defense Zone Command were to tear each other apart over a satellite without a registered address, the Asset Registration Agency, caught in the middle, would be the perfect scapegoat.
The air in the hall was so heavy it was suffocating.
The clerks at counters number one and three stopped what they were doing and fell silent.
"Supervisor, should we call the command duty room and ask Commander Monk to prepare an emergency duty log?"
The clerk suggested in a low voice.
"Re-register?"
The supervisor gave a cold laugh.
"Gwen Stacy's men just left, and you immediately went to headquarters to complete the formalities. Isn't that blatantly telling Monk that our registration office leaked information and we're cleaning up his mess?"
If Monk knew that the secret had been leaked, he would not be grateful at all; he would only turn around and accuse the Registry of treason.
In officialdom, life and death often hinge on a single, decisive move.
The supervisor grabbed the notepad from the table, folded it into quarters, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
"All query records related to Satellite No. 7 this afternoon are immediately archived in the Level 3 cache. No one is allowed to export them or inquire with headquarters without authorization."
"Clear."
The clerk quickly responded and pressed the lock screen button.
The supervisor turned around, his face grim, and walked back to his office, locking the door behind him and lowering the privacy blinds.
The room was dimly lit.
A black, dedicated Encrypted Communicator sits in the center of the desk.
This Communicator bypassed the main switchboard at the Defense Zone Command and was directly connected to the redundant channels of the underground air defense network.
The supervisor stood in front of the desk, his chest heaving a few times.
He didn't touch the red and green button to access Commander Monk's office.
His right hand moved rapidly across the metal dial, inputting a seven-digit military high-density frequency band.
The line was connected, but there was no ringback tone, only two very short buzzing sounds from the electrical circuit.
A deep, cold male voice came from the other end of the receiver, with the faint sound of firing pins snapping shut during live ammunition loading in the background.
That was the Black Crow Guard's direct barracks, located far from the headquarters' jurisdiction and situated in an abandoned factory in the Seventh Industrial Zone.
"I'm Lao Xu from the Asset Registration Agency."
The supervisor lowered his voice, his jaw clenched.
"Gwen Stacy's people just messed with Satellite No. 7's plan; Monk's secret orbital maneuvering has been exposed."
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, followed by a cessation of the metallic clanging sound.
"Knew."
A cold male voice replied with three words, then hung up.
The sound of silence echoed in the closed room.
Supervisor Xu stood there, holding the receiver, a small patch of his shirt soaked with cold sweat.