Great Power Reclamation

The boundary marker was so hot under the midday sun that it could fry a pancake. Abdi leaned on a rusty AK-47, sweat dripping from his forehead and stinging his eyes.

He is a veteran of the Third Border Guard Brigade of the Federal Republic of East Africa, and has been guarding this godforsaken place for seven years.

He looked through his binoculars and saw yellow dust rising on the horizon. Not an army—it was people. Thousands upon thousands, like ants whose nest had been scorched by fire, dark and silent, swarming in.

The man dragged a makeshift stretcher with tree branches and rags, the woman carried a faded plastic bucket on her head, and the child stood barefoot on the scorching sand, unable to even cry out.

Behind them, the faint sounds of artillery fire from the neighboring country's civil war could be heard, like muffled thunder on the horizon.

“Another wave,” his deputy, Mura, said in a low voice, his voice hoarse. “Yesterday there were five thousand, and today… it’s probably over ten thousand. The warlords of Qatar have massacred a village.”

Abdi remained silent, his fingers tracing the trigger guard. The order was absolute:

The border is closed, and illegal crossing is strictly prohibited. It's too easy for a few spies and rioters to infiltrate the refugee camp. The East African Federation's hard-earned wealth from years of peaceful development cannot withstand such turmoil.

But when he saw an old man stagger and fall, and a emaciated boy next to him tried to help him up but fell down as well, almost being trampled by the numb crowd behind them, his Adam's apple bobbed.

“Connect to command,” he said hoarsely, “requesting instructions…no, requesting orders.”
-
The scorching decision-making process within the Cool Palace in the capital city.
Inside the Cool Palace, the presidential palace of the Federal Republic of East Africa, the air conditioning was strong, yet a different kind of heat permeated the air.

On one side of the long table, the Minister of Defense tapped his fingers on the surface, the veins on his fingers slightly bulging.
“Your Majesties, we cannot open this door! We have confirmed that spies from the Caledonian Salvation Army and the Tobias Freedom Front are mixed in with the refugees!”

They don't want refuge; they want our mines and ports! East Africa's rise is based on stability! These people bring only chaos, disease, and security threats!

The security chief added, pulling up satellite images and intelligence summaries, the red markings of which were alarming.

At the end of the long table, Queen Ye Mei leaned back slightly in her chair. She was over thirty, but her eyes were clear and sharp, like East African obsidian that had been tempered.

She didn't look at the reports; her gaze was fixed on the view out the window. There lay the skyline of the capital, "Sunrise City," where glass-walled skyscrapers intertwined with smart farms, and unmanned transport planes moved about in an orderly fashion like swarms of bees.

This is a miracle that she, her sister Ye Rou, and countless others have built with years of hard work.

"Younger sister," Ye Rou, sitting to her left, spoke first. She was a few months older than Ye Mei, and her temperament was sharper and more direct. What was laid out in front of her was not intelligence, but a thick economic forecasting model and population structure chart.

"The risks that Minister Quinto mentioned do exist. But our problems are equally fatal."

She pulled up a holographic chart, where the blue and red curves were locked in a fierce standoff:
"Look at this. There's a 37% shortage in manufacturing, and the average age is 42.6 years old. The newly planned Northern Agricultural Development Zone and Artificial Intelligence Valley have equipment, but lack the manpower to operate them!"

Our demographic dividend has peaked. In the next decade, if the labor force doesn't grow, economic growth will be halved, or even decline. Relying on natural births? Too late. Relying on high-end immigration? A drop in the ocean.

She pointed her finger at the word "refugee," which appeared enlarged, bolded, and almost dancing on the light screen.

"Among these millions of people, there are farmers, artisans, mothers, and children! Screening, managing, and assimilating them is, of course, incredibly difficult. But they are population! They are the most primitive and most valuable human resource! Neighboring countries treat them as a burden, so why can't we turn them into wealth?"

"Absurd!" Kuntu slammed his fist on the table. "That's millions of people! Not a million docile cattle and sheep! How are you going to screen them? How are you going to manage them? Food, water, healthcare, security—aren't all of these bottomless pits? Our social structure will collapse!"

"Then strengthen our structure!" Ye Rou declared resolutely, her gaze unwavering.

"Use AI for initial screening and classification, use newly built modular resettlement camps for transitional management, and implement work-for-relief programs, exchanging labor for status and benefits! Risk? What reform is without risk? When we built our country on ruins, wasn't the risk significant?"

The conference room was completely silent, save for the low hum of the central air conditioning. All eyes were on Ye Mei.

Ye Mei finally withdrew her gaze from the window and slowly swept it over each face, whether anxious or excited.

She recalled thirty years ago, when her father, Ye Wancheng, stood in the laboratory in the military reclamation city, facing that old centrifuge, and said:
"As long as I can still move, I have to keep going." She thought of the wilderness when she and her sister first arrived on this continent, and of the early pioneers who, like them, had nothing but were full of longing.

“Kuntu,” she began, her voice soft but instantly silencing all other noises, “I accept all your concerns. Safety is the bottom line.”

Kuntu's expression softened slightly.

Ye Mei continued, her tone calm yet containing an undeniable force:
"Therefore, it's not about 'opening the border,' but about 'launching the highest-level national potential absorption plan.' The military will move forward to establish a 50-kilometer security and screening buffer zone along the border."

The entire intelligence department is mobilized, working in conjunction with the AI ​​screening system. I want you to sift out problematic individuals like gold and bring them under control. The resettlement camps are managed like military camps, serving simultaneously as skills training camps and observation posts.

She stood up, walked to the holographic map, and traced the long border line with her finger:
"Yang Da, you will take the lead in establishing the 'Population Transformation and Development Committee,' and I will grant you special privileges and mobilize all resources. I want to see the first batch of refugees who have passed the review become qualified workers in the Northern Agricultural Development Zone within six months."

"Within a year, I want to see the technical talents among them added to our secondary industrial system."

She turned around, her eyes blazing: "We will bear the risks. We will take responsibility. But we must seize the opportunities. The rise of the Eastern Federation will not be based on hiding and protecting ourselves, but on making precise bets in the midst of turbulent waves and turning crises into a cornerstone."

"Population is both the denominator and the numerator of future national strength. They have lost their homes today, so we will give them a home that needs to be built; they have nothing today, so we will give them an opportunity to earn everything with their own hands."

She glanced at Ye Rou, and the two sisters exchanged glances, their minds made up without a word.

"Yang San, issue orders to all border troops," Ye Mei's voice was resolute, echoing throughout the Qingliang Palace:

"Effective immediately, implement 'Operation Ark.' Accept as many refugees as there are. Simultaneously, the entire military is placed on Level II combat readiness. We must open our arms to build, but our fists to defend our homeland must always be clenched!"
-
Border, the gate of fate
When the order arrived, Abdi's binoculars showed the first group of refugees less than 100 meters from the barbed wire. Numb, desperate, and anxious faces were contorted in the heat.

He took a deep breath and spoke into the communicator in as steady a voice as possible (multiple languages ​​played on a loop):
"Attention! This is the border of the East African Federation. Please halt your advance and follow our instructions. We will provide humanitarian aid and temporary accommodation. Repeat, halt your advance and follow instructions!"

The crowd paused for a moment, then erupted into an even greater commotion. Some knelt and wept, while others tried to continue their advance.

With a wave of his hand, Abdi signaled the start of heavy construction machinery, not to build obstacles, but to quickly level the land in the open area behind the barbed wire fence.

Medical mobile units, water purification units, and supply tents rapidly deployed like steel flowers. A swarm of drones took to the air, using gentle lights and multiple languages ​​to guide the crowd to designated areas.

Soldiers stood guard with their guns drawn, but muzzles were lowered. More soldiers and civilian personnel emerged from their bunkers and began setting up registration channels and preliminary sorting and screening points.

Abdi watched as the fallen old man and boy were helped up by two soldiers wearing Red Cross armbands and taken to the medical tent. The boy glanced back, and a faint light seemed to appear in his bewildered eyes.

Yellow dust continued to churn on the horizon, and even more people were approaching. Along the border, the roar of machinery, the clamor of human voices, and the buzzing of drones blended into a chaotic yet vibrant symphony.

Abdi wiped the sweat and dust from his face and gripped his gun tightly again. He knew that the hardest work had only just begun.

This national gate opened in an unexpected way. Inside the gate lay unknown risks and heavy burdens; outside, endless yearning and faint hope.

The East African Federation, a giant ship that has only recently set sail, has already adjusted its course and is determined to enter this "sea of ​​people" full of storms and possibilities.

The fate of the nation and the fate of these millions of individuals are now inextricably intertwined, sailing towards the unknown depths of the sea.

The fighting has pushed more refugees toward the border. The East African Federation's "Project Ark" has been fully launched on the scorching sands.

The barbed wire is no longer an obstacle, but a guide. Within the 50-kilometer buffer zone, it is divided into three areas: red, yellow, and green, like a giant biological filter.

The red zone, adjacent to the border, is controlled by the 3rd Border Guard Brigade, where Abdi is stationed. Excavators have dug deep trenches, drones hover 24 hours a day, and sensor networks are buried in the sand.

The soldiers were fully armed, their eyes sharp as eagles. The atmosphere here was the most tense—the initial screening was being conducted here.

All adult refugees were required to undergo rapid facial recognition and voiceprint comparison, cross-checking against the E-Federal Database and the Interpol Red Notice List.

Even the slightest doubt would result in a polite but firm invitation to the "deep verification camp" next door, which was covered with barbed wire.

The yellow zone serves as a transition and observation area. Rows of simple yet sturdy modular prefabricated houses stand, with steam rising from water purification stations and field kitchens.

Here, refugees undergo basic medical examinations, receive vaccinations, and collect numbered wristbands and essential supplies. The wristbands contain non-invasive sensors that monitor basic data such as body temperature and heart rate, and are connected to a central AI "lighthouse."

Psychologists and social workers in East Africa began to intervene, conducting initial interviews and competency assessments. Craftsmen, farmers, teachers, and even physically strong laborers were identified.

The children were gathered in temporary school tents, learning the basic vocabulary of East African official language and hygiene practices. The Green Zone, on the other hand, served as a forward base of hope. Individuals and families who passed initial screening, were in stable health, and were assessed as "low-risk, high-potential" by the AI ​​"lighthouse" were transferred there.

The conditions here are better, with skills training workshops offering much-needed basic machinery operation, crop cultivation, and construction techniques in East Africa, as well as richer cultural integration courses. There are even small experimental plots for them to return to farming. From here, a transfer route to the Northern Development Zone or the Artificial Intelligence Valley has been opened.

Abdi stood atop the watchtower in the Red Zone, gazing upon this bustling, orderly land, yet rife with undercurrents. Hot winds whipped sand against his face.

His company, in cooperation with the Ministry of Internal Affairs' AI special operations team, raided a tent in the early morning and apprehended three suspicious individuals attempting to falsify their identities and carrying miniature camera devices.

After a swift interrogation, it was indeed revealed that the group originated from the "T Freedom Front," a neighboring country that had long coveted the mineral deposits in East Africa.

“Even the finest sieve will have some leaks,” Mura said softly, handing him the water bottle.

"Therefore, we need to rely on multiple screening methods."

Abdi took a sip of water, his gaze sweeping across the yellow zone and beyond to the green zone. There, the numbness in most people's eyes was slowly being replaced by a cautious hope.

A man who used to work as an electrician in a small town in Country C is now eagerly learning the circuit diagrams of the E Federation standard in a skills workshop.

Several young women, under the guidance of the health worker, used clean postpartum care kits for the first time, holding their babies and softly humming old lullabies.

But the pressure isn't just external. Domestic public opinion is brewing. A commentator on the TV station "The Guardian" sharply questioned during prime time:
"Are we taxpayers' money being used to support future citizens, or to feed potential wolves?"

On social media, the hashtag #ArkorOrTitanic remains trending. The opposition has launched an emergency inquiry in parliament, demanding that Prime Minister Yang release a full risk assessment report and the budget.

The pressure was also transmitted to the Qingliang Hall.

“Your Majesty, the 'T Freedom Front's' infiltration attempts at the border are just the tip of the iceberg.”

The security chief's expression was grave. "We have detected that the 'C Country Salvation Army' is recruiting mercenaries on the international dark web. Their target may be to sabotage our resettlement camps, create widespread panic, or even... target you or Queen Ye Rou."

The latest report laid out in front of Ye Rou presents a completely different picture:
Over the past three weeks, the first batch of approximately 8,000 refugee laborers, after initial training, have arrived in the Northern Agricultural Development Zone in batches.

Their work efficiency exceeded expectations, especially in adapting to high-intensity operations assisted by automated agricultural machinery, which accelerated the sowing progress of the first phase of crops in the development zone by 15%.

Thanks to the addition of this new force, the infrastructure construction site in AI Valley is expected to complete its foundation work a month ahead of schedule.

"The risks are real, but the rewards are also considerable."

"Ye Rou's gaze was firm. "Moreover, we are creating a new model of integration. Look at this—"

She pulled up a video showing a young East African engineer patiently teaching several former refugees from Country C how to operate a smart irrigation system in a northern development zone. The two sides communicated with gestures and broken words, occasionally bursting into laughter.

“Assimilation is not about erasure, it’s about building together. A sense of security doesn’t come from high walls, but from shared interests and a gradually developing sense of belonging.” Ye Rou looked at her sister.

Ye Mei stood in front of a huge electronic map, on which the green area representing East Africa was steadily lit up.

Meanwhile, the surrounding neighboring countries (Country C, Country T, and the "K Alliance" eyeing them from the west) are flashing orange-red, representing turmoil and threat. The light blue arrows, representing the flow of refugees, are continuously merging into the green area.

“Yang San,” she turned to face Yang San, the Commander-in-Chief of the Three Armed Forces.

"The military's level-two combat readiness cannot be relaxed. The focus of defense has been adjusted, prioritizing the security of the northern development zone and major resettlement camps. The most advanced battlefield awareness and anti-infiltration equipment has been deployed to the buffer zone troops. What we need is an intelligent and resilient shield, not a rigid wall."

“Yang Da, the work of the ‘Population Transformation Committee’ needs to be accelerated and made more meticulous. I want you to personally go to the Northern Development Zone and the largest green zone resettlement camp. We need to not only look at the data, but also listen to the voices and solve specific difficulties. We must personally witness and bear the honor and the risks.”

These two men have always been the sisters' most trusted confidants, their right-hand men. They are also their husbands.

She paused for a moment, her voice as steady as a rock:
"Let the dissenting voices speak. But the basis for the decision is the national destiny of East Africa over the next thirty years, and the eyes of every person on this land who is willing to earn dignity with their own hands."

“The ‘Ark Project’ is not charity; it is an extremely complex, high-risk, and high-return strategic investment. Now that we’ve started it, there’s no turning back. We can only make it a success, and make it a success.”
-
A few days later, Ye Rou arrived at the agricultural development zone known as the "Northern Star". This place used to be a semi-desert, but now, thanks to drip irrigation technology and drought-resistant crop transformation, it is beginning to show signs of green.

Large, intelligent agricultural machinery is moving in an orderly manner in the fields, while in some areas that require delicate operation, newly arrived refugee laborers are busy at work.

She saw the scene in the video. The young engineer's name was Li Ming, a second-generation immigrant from East Africa.

He was gesturing to explain the sensor data to a former farmer from Country C named Hassan.

"Look, here, red means thirsty, and wants to drink water," Li Ming pointed to the icon on the tablet.

Hassan's dark face broke into a smile of realization and excitement, and he spoke in broken E, mixed with gestures:

"Water is scarce, the machine knows that! Amazing!"

He turned to his companions and said something loudly, his tone full of amazement.

Ye Rou didn't disturb them and continued her inspection. She entered a newly built community center that combined a canteen, clinic, and training facilities.

The walls are covered with illustrations of the basic principles of the East African Constitution, as well as welcome slogans and practical information written in the native languages ​​of refugees from countries such as C and T.

Several women are learning how to use the new energy-saving stove, while children play in the nearby play area.

An official in charge of community integration reported to her:

"The biggest problem is still the language and cultural barriers, as well as a deep-seated sense of insecurity. Some people wake up in the middle of the night, worried that it's just a dream, or that there's a conspiracy."

“But through collaborative work, skills exchange, and local volunteer-family pairing programs, we are slowly making improvements. Data from the AI ​​‘Lighthouse’ shows that positive emotion indicators are slowly but steadily rising.”

That evening, in the makeshift command post in the development zone, Ye Rou convened an on-site meeting. Developers, representatives of the garrison, local officials, and even representatives elected by several refugees attended.

Hassan was among them, somewhat reserved, but with focused eyes.

The meeting discussed specific issues: optimizing water resource allocation, localizing language training materials, establishing a more effective dispute resolution mechanism, and preventing potential internal conflicts or external instigation...

Ye Rou listened attentively, took notes, and asked questions from time to time. She did not offer condescending solutions, but instead guided all parties to express their thoughts and seek consensus.

When Hassan mustered his courage and, in his broken E language, proposed that he could set aside a small plot of land near his residence to try planting some traditional spices according to the methods of his hometown, both to soothe his homesickness and to potentially discover new cash crops, Ye Rou's eyes lit up, and she immediately instructed agricultural experts to follow up with an evaluation.

After the meeting, Ye Rou walked out of the command post alone. Under the vast starry sky, reminiscent of the Serengeti, the lights of the development zone merged with the distant lights of the resettlement camp.

The wind carries the scent of earth, the fragrance of crops, and the faint sound of human voices.

There's no cool air conditioning like in the Qingliang Palace here, only the breath of the wilderness and the sweltering heat of construction.

Risk lurks like a hyena in the night. But hope, like the tenacious new shoots emerging from this awakened land, is growing little by little through the sweat of countless people.

She knew that her younger sister, Ye Mei, was facing an even greater political storm in the capital.

The path they chose was destined to be fraught with thorns. But seeing the light rekindled in the eyes of the Hassans, she knew that the end of this path might truly lead to a stronger and more inclusive E Federation.

She opened the encrypted communicator and sent a short message to Ye Mei:
"Sister, the Northern Star is taking root. The wind is strong, but the tree remains unshaken. We need more 'gardeners,' especially in the areas of psychological and cultural integration. Also, Hassan's spice proposal is very interesting; perhaps it's a small entry point with a big impact."

She pressed the send button and looked up at the starry sky. The fate of humanity, the power struggles between nations, and the joys and sorrows of individuals, on this ancient yet young continent, once again intertwined to create an incredibly complex picture, brimming with primal vitality.

The "Ark" has departed port, sailing into the unknown depths. A storm is approaching, but the rudder lies in the hands of those who dare to face the storm head-on and sow seeds amidst the raging waves. (End of Chapter)