My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 544 Ongoing Orientation (2)

The orientation session proceeded for an additional hour.

Nova methodically guided the staff through the remaining segments: the volunteer intake procedures, the framework for confirming consent, the established communication channels between different departments, and the escalation hierarchy for situations demanding joint judgment.

Each segment seamlessly built upon the last, and the assembled staff listened with the intense focus of individuals who recognized the practical importance of the information being imparted.

The observer framework was the final topic, and Nova dedicated more time to it than any other.

"Ninety-five national delegations," she announced, gesturing towards a facility map displayed before them, where observer zones were clearly delineated in a specific color. "They will be arriving in staggered waves during the initial two weeks of the trial. Their designated access areas are strictly defined and will not intersect with volunteer treatment spaces unless explicit consent has been granted by the individual volunteer. You will encounter them in communal areas, the dining hall, and the designated observation zones located on the medical floor. Their purpose is observation and verification; they are not authorized to direct, advise, or participate in any clinical decisions."

Her gaze swept across the room.

"Should an observer pose a clinical question, respond strictly within the boundaries of your role. If an observer inquires about matters outside your purview or attempts to access information beyond their authorized scope, you are to redirect them to me. You are not to handle such situations independently. This is not a reflection on your capabilities but a protocol designed to safeguard both you and the integrity of the trial."

Several attendees nodded in understanding.

The orientation continued, and approximately twenty minutes later, Nova called for a brief halt.

"Now, we will address the agricultural section," she stated.

She then projected a new holographic image, and its appearance brought a hush over the room.

The display revealed a cross-section of a previously unreveemed area of the base – an expansive enclosed space that, as the image slowly rotated, resolved into something completely unfamiliar to everyone present.

"This is the base's agricultural section," Nova confirmed. "It encompasses twenty-five acres of ground-level cultivation area, with an additional five levels of vertical farming above. The effective cultivated area totals one hundred and twenty-five acres."

A profound silence fell over the room upon absorbing this revelation.

The head chef sat up straighter in his seat, his professional neutrality replaced by an expression of intense scrutiny as he examined the image. His eyes meticulously traced the cross-section, performing a rapid mental calculation.

A kitchen assistant, a young man who had remained largely silent since boarding in Lagos, leaned forward and murmured, almost to himself, "So that's why the food tastes so good."

The head chef overheard the comment. Though he offered no verbal reply, his posture subtly shifted. He had arrived at a similar conclusion independently, raising the question of what his twenty-two years of culinary experience truly signified within a facility that had already overcome the very challenges he had spent a lifetime learning to circumvent.

After another moment of contemplation, he placed his pen down beside his notebook and folded his hands.

A kitchen assistant from Seoul raised her hand. "Will we be assigned duties in that section as part of our roles?"

"The agricultural section operates with its own dedicated staff," Nova replied. "Your responsibilities lie within the kitchen and dining operations. However, you will be granted access to the agricultural section during your orientation, and you are welcome to explore it during your stay. What you witnessed in the food wall originates from this section; it is cultivated here."

The head chef cast one final glance at the image before retrieving his pen and inscribing a single, unshared line in his notebook.

After holding the image for a few more seconds, Nova proceeded to conclude the session. "All information presented during this orientation is classified as confidential until the conclusion of the clinical trial. This includes details regarding the agricultural section, facility layout, monitoring systems, and the observer framework. The non-disclosure agreement you signed prior to departure encompasses all these aspects. Should you have any uncertainties about what is permissible to share, please direct your questions to me personally. The default stance is: not yet."

She surveyed the room one last time.

"That concludes our session for today."

***

The return journey to the residential level was significantly quieter than the initial descent.

The staff moved in hushed silence through the corridors behind the Synths.

Brief exchanges of conversation began and dissolved. Most individuals walked in contemplative silence.

Midway down the main corridor, a nurse named Thomas, from Nairobi, voiced a question, not directed at any specific person.

"The announcement mentioned we'd be able to contact our families from here. How does that system function?"

The lead Synth tilted its head slightly while proceeding. "Each quarter provides a personal internet connection. You can link your personal device via the console within your room. The connection is entirely open and direct."

"And what exactly is this console?" the occupational therapist from Cape Town inquired.

"Within your quarters, you'll discover a panel embedded in the wall next to your door," the lead Synth explained. "Tap it to activate. The interface will be holographic."

A faint wave of recognition swept through the assembled group, and several exchanged glances. Their expressions mirrored those of individuals who had been informed about something and were now on the verge of experiencing it firsthand within moments.

The elevator doors revealed the residential hallway, and they each made their way towards their respective doors.

Once inside his quarters, the data analyst reached out and tapped the screen beside the entrance.

The response was instantaneous.

A holographic display shimmered into existence before him, positioned at eye level. It impressively tracked the natural direction of his gaze with a seamlessness far beyond any conventional screen.

He paused briefly, taking in the holographic screen.

The interface presented a clean and meticulously organized layout. It was logically divided into distinct sections, each with a readily understandable purpose, requiring no prior instruction. Room controls were situated at the top—managing lighting, temperature, and the opacity of the transparent wall. A central communications panel displayed contacts and a live signal indicator, showing the connection's status. A separate area was dedicated to internal base messaging, listing the names of all staff members who were already available as contacts. At the bottom, a meal delivery option was available, offering a tap-through to the full selection from the food wall.

His attention shifted to the communications panel, where he found exactly what he was looking for: a fully active internet connection. The signal indicator's strength confirmed that 'unrestricted' was indeed an accurate description, not merely an optimistic claim.

He lingered in the doorway for another second.

Then, stepping inside, he settled at his desk and initiated a video call to his mother in Johannesburg.

She answered on the third ring, clearly having anticipated the call, her phone already in hand. As his face materialized on her screen, she pressed her palm flat over her mouth, her eyes welling up.

Gazing at her expression, he felt a tension he hadn't realized he was holding release within his chest.

"I'm here," he stated.

She lowered her hand from her mouth. "You're there," she replied. "You're truly there."

"I am really here."

She studied him for a moment, verifying that the person before her was indeed the one she had known. Whatever assurance she found seemed to satisfy her, and her shoulders relaxed.

"Show me," she requested. "Show me something."

He slowly rotated his phone, allowing the camera to pan across the room. It captured the desk with the still-active holographic interface beside him, the transparent wall revealing the common space below with its verdant base level, the source-less illumination, and the ceiling, which towered higher than any room she had ever encountered.

She remained silent as he provided the tour, then he turned the camera back towards his face.

"That green," she finally asked. "What is that?"

"Plants," he answered. "They cultivate food here."

She looked at him for another moment. "On the moon."

"On the moon."

His mother's mouth formed a wide circle of astonishment.

***

Further down the corridor, the physical therapist from Toronto sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop open and a video call active with her sister in Vancouver.

Her sister had been awake since three in the morning, having already processed the JFK footage and witnessed the shuttle's landing in real time. She had sent seventeen messages since then, none of which the physical therapist had been able to review until this moment.

She was now reading them while her sister spoke, a multitasking feat they had always managed seamlessly.

Her sister suddenly stopped mid-sentence. "You're not listening."

"I'm reading your messages and listening simultaneously," the physical therapist replied without looking up. "You've said 'I can't believe you actually went' approximately eight times, just phrased differently."

"That's because I genuinely can't believe you actually went."

***

At the far end of the residential hallway, the head chef was not engaged in a call.

He sat at his desk with his notebook open, the holographic interface still active beside him, his thoughts focused on the agricultural section.

One hundred and twenty-five productive acres.

His culinary career spanned twenty-two years. He had worked in kitchens renowned for their dedication to sourcing – establishments that nurtured specific relationships with individual farms, chefs who journeyed for hours to acquire particular ingredients, and entire menus meticulously designed around the weekly availability from suppliers cultivated over decades.

Previously, he had viewed food sourcing as a matter of proximity to the kitchen, the most efficient arrangement given the operational realities of food systems.

However, the current situation presented a stark contrast. The farm was situated *within* the building itself. It wasn't a mere supplier but an integral department of the very institution that had now employed him, located just one floor above the kitchen where he would be working. This arrangement meant the food traveled virtually no distance from cultivation to preparation.

His mind drifted to the jollof rice the data analyst had taken directly from the wall dispenser. Then, the dal tadka, and the injera accompanied by three distinct stews. All the ingredients for these dishes were cultivated right here. They were selected, grown, harvested, and then prepared within the same complex that, on this very morning, housed thirty-six individuals hailing from sixteen different nations.

He turned to a fresh page in his notebook.

With deliberate slowness, he began to jot down his thoughts.

The question he had posed during dinner—why had they hired us?—remained at the apex of the page, its literal answer still elusive.

He recalled the physical therapist's insightful reply. Perhaps the significance lies with the individuals consuming the food.

He transcribed this statement below his initial question.

Then, he leaned back, contemplating both lines of text for an extended period. Eventually, he closed the notebook, connected his phone to the building's network, and initiated a call to his daughter in São Paulo.

She answered without delay.