Crossing Orb: Newtype Commander

Chapter 108 Whales in the Universe

Butterfield finished the last piece of roast meat, picked up his teacup, and casually glanced across the market. His gaze paused for a moment, the kind of pause where he saw something familiar but wasn't sure. His eyes landed on Kira's back—the young man in a white robe and a headscarf wrapped around his head. Although his appearance was well disguised, his posture, his broad shoulders, and the way he held his teacup were out of place among the locals.

"Andrew?" Elsa noticed his unusual behavior.

"Nothing much," Butterfield said, setting down his teacup with a slight smile. "I just saw an interesting back view."

He stood up and walked towards Kira. His pace was unhurried, like an after-dinner stroll, or a chance encounter with an acquaintance. Elsa followed behind him, a hint of wariness flashing in her grey-blue eyes.

Mu saw Butterfield approaching. He made a gesture under the table—a warning. Kira sensed the gesture, her fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on her teacup. Miriam held her camera up to her eyes—not to take a picture, but to shield her view. Through the viewfinder, she saw the man's face: rugged, composed, with a hint of amusement in his smile.

"Young man," Butterfield said, stopping beside Kira with his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on Kira's profile. "Your back reminds me of someone."

Kira didn't turn around. His voice was calm, with a deliberately imitated local accent: "Sir, you've mistaken me for someone else."

Butterfield laughed. The laugh wasn't loud, but it was particularly clear in the noisy market. "Perhaps. But my intuition is rarely wrong." He pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Kira, looking directly into Kira's eyes—those amber eyes that couldn't be hidden.

"juvenile."

Before the words were finished, a gunshot shattered the market's clamor.

It wasn't Butterfield's gun, it was a sniper's. The bullet fired from a third-floor window on the east side of the market, aiming precisely for Butterfield's head. The instant the bullet left the barrel, Kira's SEED ability awakened.

The world slowed down. He could see the bullet spinning in the air, Butterfield's pupils contracting, and Elsa rising from her chair in slow motion. His body acted before his brain—his right hand grabbed the ceramic cup on the table and flung it towards the bullet's trajectory. The cup shattered in mid-air, the bullet was deflected, grazed Butterfield's shoulder, and struck the wall behind him.

"Sniper!" Mu jumped up from his chair, a pistol already in his hand. "Third floor, east side, window!"

Butterfield remained calm. He crouched behind a table, drew a pistol from his waist, and scanned the crowd in the market. Civilians were screaming, running, and searching for cover. ZAFT patrols were closing in from both ends of the street, but they were too slow.

"It's not a desert resistance," Butterfield said calmly. "It's the assassins from Blue Cosmos. They've been following me, waiting for their chance. Today, they've got it."

A second shot rang out. This time, the target was Kira.

Kira's body, enhanced by his SEED ability, made an incredible dodge—he leaned back, his back almost touching the ground, a bullet whizzing past his nose. He braced himself with his right hand, his body springing up, simultaneously grabbing a shard of pottery and flinging it towards the sniper. Not a weapon, but a distraction—a shard of pottery scattered in the air, obscuring the sniper's vision.

"Kira, cover!" Mu Chong fired his pistol repeatedly at the building where the sniper was located, suppressing the enemy's firepower.

Miria crouched behind the table, holding the camera above her head, and took several blind photos. Through the camera's telephoto lens, she spotted the sniper's position: on the third floor on the east side, at the second window, a figure holding a sniper rifle.

"Three people!" Milia shouted, "There are some on the second floor too!"

A third shot rang out. This time, the target was Elsa, who was standing next to Butterfield.

Butterfield shielded Elsa with his body, the bullet striking his left arm. Blood gushed from the wound, staining his uniform crimson. He didn't fall; he merely frowned, then raised his pistol and fired repeatedly in the direction of the sniper.

"Andrew!" Elsa's voice was filled with panic.

"It's nothing," Butterfield's voice remained calm. "Just a superficial wound."

Kira rushed to Butterfield's side, grabbed his right arm with his right hand, and took out a hidden pistol from his waist with his left hand. It was a standard-issue weapon of the Combine, given to him by Mu before they set off. Although it was not as advanced as ZAFT's, it was deadly enough.

"Come with me," Kira said calmly.

Butterfield looked at him, a flicker of surprise crossing his deep brown eyes—not at his marksmanship, not at his reaction speed, but at the look in his eyes. There was no fear in those eyes, only a calm, resolute light. This young man, on the battlefield, on the brink of life and death, remained clear-headed.

"it is good."

Kira dragged Butterfield toward the west side of the market, Mu leading the way, Elsa following behind, and Miriam and Selin bringing up the rear. ZAFT patrols had already engaged in firefights with the Blue Cosmos assassins; gunfire echoed through the streets as civilians ran, screamed, and scrambled for cover.

There are three assassins working on the Blue Cosmos. One is on the roof, and two are on the second floor. Their target is Butterfield, but Kira and his group get caught up in it—simply because they're near Butterfield.

Kira didn't want to kill. But his SEED ability allowed him to "sense" the killer intent of assassins—cold, targeted, and unwavering malice. They weren't soldiers; they were killers. Their goal wasn't victory; it was death. Butterfield's death, anyone's death.

"Left wing!" Mu shouted.

Kira whirled around and saw a figure rush out of the alley, a submachine gun pointed at Butterfield's back. Kira pulled the trigger—not a fatal shot, but a shot to the leg. The bullet struck the man's thigh, and he screamed and collapsed to the ground.

"Let's go!" Kira dragged Butterfield along.

The battle lasted seven minutes. By the time the last assassin was killed by a ZAFT patrol, the market was a scene of utter devastation. Tables and chairs were overturned, debris littered the ground, and blood left dark red streaks in the sand. Civilians huddled in buildings, peering out of their windows into the world in terror.

Kira leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. His left arm was soaked in blood through the painful bandage—not his own, but Butterfield's. Butterfield's blood had stained his robes during the cover maneuver.

"You're injured." Butterfield looked at him, a complex light flashing in his dark brown eyes.

"It's not my blood," Kira said hoarsely.

Butterfield was silent for a moment. Then he laughed, a laugh that stood out starkly in the silence following the gunshot. "Young man, you saved my life. Do you know what that means?"

Kira looked at him, his amber eyes devoid of any expectation. "It means I'm a person, and you're a person. On the battlefield, we're enemies. But here, in this desert, under the guns of Blue Cosmos—we're just two people trying to survive."

Butterfield stared at him for a long time, then slowly nodded. "You're right. Here, we're just human beings."

He stood up, the gun in his right hand tucked back into his waistband, blood still flowing from the wound on his left arm, but his steps remained steady. Elsa walked to his side, tore off a piece of her sleeve, and bandaged his wound.

“Young man,” Butterfield turned around, “my camp is in the east of town. There’s clean water, food, and medicine there. Come with me. We need to talk.”

Mu's hand rested on his gun, his gaze fixed on Kira. He was waiting for Kira's decision.

Kira was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

Butterfield's headquarters were located in a two-story building in the east of Oasis City. Originally the residence of a local wealthy merchant, it was requisitioned by ZAFT and converted into a temporary command post. The building's exterior walls were made of adobe, but the interior was exquisitely decorated with carpets, tapestries, carved wooden furniture, and a huge desert landscape painting on the wall.

Butterfield sat on the living room sofa, his left arm wound, treated by the medic and wrapped in a clean white bandage. He held a cup of black tea, his dark brown eyes fixed on Kira. Mu stood behind Kira, his finger still on his gun. Miriam sat in a corner chair, holding a camera, her eyes scanning every corner of the room through the viewfinder. Selin stood in the doorway, his right eye fixed on the hallway.

"Relax." Butterfield put down his teacup and leaned back on the sofa. "If I wanted to arrest you, you would have been subdued the moment you walked in. My soldiers are not just for show."

"Then why did you bring us here?" Mu's voice turned cold.

Butterfield looked at him, a hint of weariness flashing in his deep brown eyes. "Because I have something to say. Not as a Desert Tiger, and a soldier, but as a man, and a human being. Just like that boy said."

He stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to the crowd. The setting sun outside the window dyed the entire city golden red, and the distant desert shimmered with golden light in the twilight.

Do you know the legend of the "Berserker"?

Kira shook his head. Butterfield didn't turn around, but his voice echoed in the room, low and calm.

"In this desert, there is an ancient legend. Long, long ago, there was an army—they did not fight for the king, nor for the gods, but for war itself. Their minds were controlled by a force, making them tireless, fearless, and merciless. On the battlefield, they killed everyone—enemies, civilians, even their own comrades. In the end, they turned on each other, and not one survived."

Butterfield turned around and looked Kira into the eyes.

"Legend has it that power is called the Berserker"—a curse that makes people lose their minds and only have the instinct to kill left.

I've been thinking, what's the difference between modern warfare and that legend? Aren't natural persons and adjusters all fighting for "hatred"? Hatred makes us tireless, fearless, and merciless. We kill enemies, civilians, and even our own comrades on the battlefield. In the end, we'll kill each other, and no one will survive.

The room was quiet for a moment.

Kira looked at Butterfield's profile, at the face that appeared exceptionally aged in the afterglow of the setting sun, and at an expression completely different from that of the "Desert Tiger" on the battlefield—not majesty, not ruthlessness, but weariness. A weariness that seeped from the very bones, an weariness that could not be concealed.

"Commander Butterfield," Kira said softly, "why are you telling me this?"

Butterfield was silent for a moment. "Because I witnessed your battle. In the sand valley, the moment your SEED power awakened—there was light in your eyes. Not the light of killing, but the light of protection. You wanted to protect the Archangel, protect the people on board, protect those who lost everything in the war. You and I were very similar when we were young—believing that we could protect something through battle."

He walked up to Kira, squatted down, and looked Kira in the eye.

"But do you know what, Kira Yamato? Fighting protects nothing. War only creates more war, hatred only creates more hatred. You kill an enemy, and his brothers will come for revenge; you destroy a mobile suit, and PLANT will build ten new ones. This isn't war, it's a vicious cycle."

Kira's lips trembled, but his eyes remained resolute. "Then why are you still fighting?"

Butterfield looked at him, a bitter glint in his eyes. "Because I had no choice. I am a ZAFT soldier, the supreme commander on the North African front. If I betray PLANT, my men will be purged, my family will be implicated. I can only continue fighting, continue killing, continue creating hatred. Until one day, I die on the battlefield, or at the hands of some Blue Cosmos assassin."

He stood up, walked back to the window, and turned his back to everyone.

"But you are different. You have a choice. Archangel, Orb, Commander-in-Chief Ashe—you have another path to take. Not to fight for the Union, not to fight for PLANT, but to fight for peace."

Miria raised her camera and pressed the shutter. The sound of the shutter was particularly crisp in the quiet room. Butterfield didn't turn around, but the corners of his mouth were slightly upturned.

"Do you know what we found in the universe? Whale fossils."

Kira was taken aback. "What?"

"A whale fossil." Butterfield turned and looked into Kira's eyes. "Near Jupiter's orbit, on an asteroid. Not an Earth fossil, but a fossil from space. What does that mean? It means life isn't unique to Earth. It means that in the distant past, and perhaps in the distant future, there were other life forms in the universe. It means humanity isn't the center of the universe."

He walked to the wall and pointed to the desert landscape painting.

"But humanity doesn't understand this. We think we're the most important, we think our hatred is the most important, we think our wars are the most important. We kill tens of thousands with nuclear bombs, slaughter civilians with mobile suits, and instill hatred in the next generation. Then we ask—'Why will the war never end?'"

He turned around and looked at Kira.

"Kira Yamato, do you know the answer?"

Kira remained silent for a long time. Images flashed through his mind—the corpses floating in the Junius 7 wreckage area, the weeping mother in the ruins of Heliopolis, and Char's words on the bridge—"Humanity knows no race, evolution knows no path, and the future knows no faction."

"Because humanity hasn't learned to see" the other side. Kira's voice was soft, but every word was clear and firm. "We only see the Coordinators and Naturals, not people. We only see enemies and allies, not those who are also suffering. We only see hatred, not the future."

Butterfield stared at him for a long time, then smiled. The smile looked especially warm on his tired face.

"Kira Yamato, you've made me believe one thing."

"What?"

"I believe the war will end someday. Not because people like me will change, but because people like you will persevere."

He reached out and grasped Kira's hand. The hand was rough, strong, and calloused, but at that moment, it simply held him quietly.

"Kira Yamato, go back and tell Commander-in-Chief Asuha—the Desert Tiger—that he will not become Orb's enemy. He will not publicly declare his allegiance, nor will he betray ZAFT, but he will also not be an enemy of Orb. If one day the scales of war tip, if one day the possibility of peace becomes real—I will choose to stand on the side of peace."

Kira looked at his hand, then looked up into Butterfield's eyes. "I'll pass it on."

Late that night, Kira and his crew returned to the Archangel.

Murrue greeted them on the bridge, her brown eyes filled with relief. "You're back. Are you hurt?"

"No," Kira said calmly, "but we saw Butterfield."

The air in the bridge froze. All eyes turned to Kira, awaiting his next words.

"He asked us to tell Commander-in-Chief Ashar—the Desert Tiger—that he will not be an enemy of Orb." Kira's voice was soft, but every word was clear and powerful. "He said that if the possibility of peace becomes a reality one day, he will choose to stand on the side of peace."

Maru stared at him for a long time, then slowly nodded. "I understand."

She turned and walked to the porthole, gazing at the dark desert outside. In some corner of that desert, in the direction of the man known as the "Desert Tiger's" encampment, lights flickered in the darkness.

"Butterfield," she whispered, "you are a victim of war too. Just like us."

There was no answer. Only the desert wind howled outside the window.

Kira, Mu, and Miriam encounter Butterfield in Oasis City and together they defeat the Blue Cosmos assassins.

Butterfield confided in Kira that both Naturals and Coordinators were victims of war, and there were no true victors on either side. He saw through the ambitions of the two major powers' leaders and was already weary of the killing.

But as the day drew to a close, he said, "If one day the possibility of peace becomes a reality, I will choose to stand on the side of peace."

On this day, a seed sprouted in the desert.

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