Crossing Orb: Newtype Commander

Chapter 101 The Tranquility of the Valley of the Wind

Orb Dawn Corporation headquarters, late at night.

The light from the holographic screen cast a cold blue shadow on Char's face. VEDA's system logs were scrolling at a rate of hundreds of lines per second, but Char's gaze was fixed on only one record—

"Transformation of the Prototype Solar Furnace"—Core Component Assembly Progress: 73%

His fingers tapped lightly on the control panel, a slow and even rhythm. Erica Simmons stood behind him, a cup of now-cold coffee in her hand, her eyes bloodshot behind her gold-rimmed glasses. She had been working for thirty-six hours straight, but her spirits remained high because the development of "Change" was a full week ahead of schedule.

"Kato's materials team delivered the final batch of improved E-carbon fiber composite armor samples yesterday." Erica walked to Char's side and placed her coffee cup on the table. "Its strength is 1.9 times that of the existing model, while the weight increases by only 5%. If the pseudo-solar furnace's output power can reach the design specifications, the overall performance of the 'Transformation' will surpass that of the Gold Machine."

Char's lips curled into a slight smile. "The Golden Machine represents the Sahak family's sentiments; 'Change' is the pride of the Dawn Company. It's different."

"What's different?"

"The Golden Machine was created to protect. Transformation—" Char paused, a glint of light flashing in his crimson eyes, "...to change."

Erica looked at his profile, his face appearing particularly cold and aloof in the screen's glow. She wanted to say something, but in the end, she just sighed softly, took a data terminal from her pocket, and handed it to him.

"This is the beam shield technology data you asked me to compile. Civilian application of Minovsky particles | Field: To be precise, it is to form a high-density particle barrier around the machine using Minovsky particles, which can theoretically defend against both ballistic and beam weapons at the same time."

Char took the terminal and quickly scanned the dense data. Every formula, every set of parameters was as familiar as if etched into his mind, for the information originally came from his mental database. Erica, however, was unaware of this; she assumed he had obtained it from some "secret channel." She didn't question it, because trust needs no questioning.

"The core of the I-field is the compressed density of Minovsky particles," Char said, pointing to a formula on the terminal. "Using a large reactor to drive an I-field generator consumes enormous amounts of energy, limiting its use to warships. But if we can improve the compression efficiency, we can miniaturize the I-field to the MS level..."

"Then our mobile suits will have absolute defense," Erica chimed in, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Physical bullets can't penetrate them, and beams can't cut through them. Apart from physical impact, no weapon can harm the mobile suits."

"That's assuming a sufficient energy supply." Xia put down the terminal, turned to look at her, and asked, "Can the output power of the pseudo-solar furnace reach this level?"

Erica's smile froze. She paused for a few seconds, then rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Theoretically feasible. But it needs experimental verification. The prototype of the 'Transformation' quasi-solar furnace will be launched in three days, at which time we can test the energy consumption curve of the I-field."

If the data meets expectations.

"What if it doesn't meet the requirements?"

"Then let's keep changing it." Erica put her glasses back on, her voice carrying a rare stubbornness. "Didn't you say—difficult things always have to be done by someone? If even you believe that change can change the world, then I have no reason to give up."

Char stared at her for a long time, the light in his deep red eyes making Erika's face flush slightly. She pretended to be looking at the data panel, but her fingers were trembling.

"Erika".

"Um?"

"Thanks for your hard work."

Erica lowered her head, a slight smile appearing on her lips. "—I'm used to it."

Deep in the Sahara Desert in North Africa, lies the secluded stronghold of "Valley of the Wind".

Guided by the resistance group "Desert Tigers," the Archangel sailed into a valley surrounded by rocky hills in the darkest hour before dawn. This place was unmarked on any map, and even ZAFT's reconnaissance satellites couldn't penetrate the naturally formed electromagnetic interference zone—because the valley contained abundant iron ore, rendering all magnetic field-dependent detection equipment blind.

Selin Hawke stood at the entrance to the valley, his right eye fixed on the massive, silver-white ship that was slowly entering. His left hand was in his pocket, and his right hand gripped an old rifle—his weapon from his service in the Combine—with three scratches on the stock, each corresponding to a fallen comrade.

"Mr. Hawke, the Archangel is in position." A young voice came from behind.

Selin didn't turn around. He simply nodded and strode towards the Archangel. The sand crunched under his feet, and the morning wind whipped up dust that blurred his vision, but his steps remained firm.

Marlene Lamias greeted him at the bottom of the gangway. She was wearing a Union Army uniform, her brown hair fluttering slightly in the morning breeze, and her eyes held a complex mix of emotions: gratitude, wariness, and a hint of weariness that was hard to conceal.

"Mr. Hawke, thank you for providing the base."

"You're welcome." Celine walked up to her, extending his hand. "We each get what we need. You need cover, we need weapons. A fair trade."

Maru grasped his hand. His palms were rough, calloused, and his knuckles deformed from years of holding a gun. These were the hands of a warrior—no, the hands of a rebel.

"The Archangel has some spare rifles and ammunition." Maru released her hand, turned to the side and gestured "please." "It's not a lot, but it should be of some help."

Selin's lips curled into a slight smile. "That's enough."

Inside the base, a temporary canteen.

More than 800 people on the Archangel were crammed into a makeshift tent set up by the resistance, holding steaming hot desert stew made with dates, mutton and unknown spices. The taste was rich and unfamiliar, but in the cold desert night, every bite was a luxurious warmth.

Kira Yamato sat in a canvas chair in the corner, the cast on his left arm removed, but the bandages still wrapped around it. He stared down at the stew in his bowl, a vague sense of bewilderment in his amber eyes. It wasn't because he had no appetite, but because... "Kira, aren't you eating?" Thor sat down beside him, holding a larger bowl, his face smeared with soup, his smile as bright as ever.

"Thinking about something."

"What are you thinking about?"

Kira was silent for a moment. "I miss Athrun."

Thor's smile froze. He put down his bowl and looked at Kira's profile. His face, which appeared exceptionally pale in the red light of the emergency lights, carried a heaviness beyond his years.

"Kira, he's your friend, isn't he? Even though there are some issues causing misunderstandings right now, you'll figure it out someday, won't you?"

"I know."

Kira didn't answer. The image flashed through his mind—Athrun's face in the red glow of the emergency lights at the Heliopolis arsenal. The expression on that face wasn't anger, nor hatred, but something more complex, something deeper: pain.

"Thor, tell me, if one day we face Athrun on the battlefield, I must kill him. Can I do that?"

Thor fell silent. He wanted to say "yes," because Athrun was an enemy, and if he didn't kill Athrun, Athrun would kill Kira. But he couldn't bring himself to say it, because he knew that Kira's concerns were far more complex than "enemy" or "friend."

"I don't know," Thor finally said, "but I know one thing—whatever decision you make, I'll be on your side. Not because you're right, but because you're Kira."

Kira's lips curled into a slight smile. "Thank you, Thor."

"You're welcome. Let's eat. It won't taste good if it gets cold."

Kira lowered his head, scooped up a spoonful of stew, and put it in his mouth. The sweetness of the dates and the saltiness of the lamb melted on his tongue, burning him slightly, but he didn't stop. One bite, two bites, three bites—until the bowl was empty.

Thor looked at him and smiled. "That's right. You need to be well-fed to have the energy to think about complicated things."

Temporary medical tent.

Lux Klein sat by the hospital bed, cradling a pink Haro in her arms, her eyes fixed on the wounded resistance member lying on the bed. He was a young Coordinator, appearing to be under twenty, his left leg struck by shrapnel, the wound infected, and a high fever had plunged him into a coma. But his lips were still moving, silently uttering something—perhaps his mother's name, perhaps the name of his hometown, or perhaps just unconscious babbling.