Chapter 4: Precedent
785 Words
When a “proper procedure” decision kills for the first time.
The precedent is not declared.
It just happens.
The incident begins at the lowest level on the scale: Level Two – Local Resource Imbalance.
A heat pipe in the south maintenance area cracks. Not serious. Not immediately dangerous. But if not resolved within six hours, pressure will spread to the auxiliary oxygen storage area.
Three options are presented.
Option A: shut down the maintenance area for four hours for repairs.
Effect: twenty-three people temporarily lose heating.
Option B: reduce the main living area's power to concentrate heat.
Effect: the entire base's temperature drops below standard levels.
Option C: keep the system running, accepting the risk.
Effect: undetermined.
The procedure requires eliminating options with unquantifiable risks.
Option C is crossed out.
The Interim Council convened at 2:10.
Five people. Five votes.
No one argued much. The facts were clear. The impact comparison table was displayed right in front of them.
“Option A,” the logistics representative said. “Twenty-three people, but for a short time.”
“Among them are two elderly people and one lung patient,” the medical officer reminded.
“But it doesn't exceed the danger threshold,” the chief engineer replied. “According to procedures.”
I sat at the end of the table, listening.
No one asked me what I should choose.
“Vote,” the chief engineer said.
The results appeared on the screen:
A: 3 votes
B: 2 votes
No final decision was needed.
“Note,” I said. “Implement Option A.”
The order was sent.
The southern maintenance area lost heating at 2:27.
Initially, nothing happened.
The temperature dropped slowly, just as simulated. The warning system didn't activate. The indicators were within acceptable limits.
Everything… was functioning correctly.
At 03:04, a low alert appeared on the sub-control panel.
Biological Indicators Unstable – Subject: LE QUANG MINH.
Male. 68 years old. Former mechanics. Three months out of work due to weak lungs.
“It could be a sensor malfunction,” Linh said as I entered the control room. “The indicators aren’t exceeding the threshold.”
“Does intervention need to be done?” I asked.
She shook her head. “According to procedure, not yet.”
I looked at my watch.
03:11.
The indicators increased by one unit. Still not reached the red threshold.
03:18.
Another unit.
“Do you want to activate emergency support?” Linh asked, her voice is neutral.
“If we activate it,” I said, “we’ll be violating procedure.”
“Right.”
“And if we don't?”
“Then… we're doing it right.”
03:22.
The system signals red.
Too late to reverse the thermal line without affecting the oxygen storage area.
Medical personnel dispatched.
03:41.
Le Quang Minh died of respiratory failure.
No sirens. No base-wide alert.
Just a single update in the incident log:
Personnel loss: 1
Cause: Unexpected physiological complications
Procedure applied: Correct
I signed the confirmation at 04:00.
My hands didn't tremble.
The news didn't spread as quickly as before.
No gathering. No questioning.
An old man died of cold in the maintenance area—that was understood in this place.
But by afternoon, a small change appeared.
In the internal procedure update, a new line was added, in small print:
Death due to personal complications during the application of the procedure is classified as: Acceptable loss.
I read that line three times.
No one asked me to edit it.
No one objected.
That evening, I met Mr. Minh's lipstick in the main living quarters hallway.
He was about thirty years old. He worked in the transportation department. I had seen his name on the list many times.
“Commander,” he said. No bowing. No anger.
“I heard,” I replied.
“The procedure says it’s correct,” he continued. “Everyone says so.”
I nodded.
“So,” he asked, “what caused my father’s death?”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
Finally, I said the only thing the system allows:
“Because an incident was handled correctly.”
He looked at me for a few seconds. Then nodded.
“That's fine,” he said. And walked away.
That night, I opened the system log.
Under the Precedent section, a new entry appears:
PL-01: Single death during procedure application does not constitute a system error.
A precedent.
Not because someone was evil.
But because everyone did it right.
I turned off the screen.
For the first time, I understood clearly that:
From now on, death will no longer be a sign that we had failed.
It would simply be proof that the system…
was functioning.
- Writer
