Crossing Orb: Newtype Commander

Kira Yamato sat in the corner of the lab, two-thirds of the code already written on the screen in front of him. His typing speed was much slower than usual, not because he was tired, but because the words the man had spoken that morning kept echoing in his mind.

"The code you wrote is Microsoft's operating system."

This morning, at the Computer Lab of the School of Industry.

Kira stared at the code on the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a long time without typing a single character. Char stood behind him, not too close, not too far, close enough to see the screen but not too intimidating.

"Do you know where this system will be used?" Char's voice was very low, only Kira could hear it.

"They won't let me know the specifics..."

"That's a mobile suit. The code you wrote is its operating system—controlling the joints, posture, weapon systems, and most importantly—the energy distribution of the phase-transition armor."

Kira's pupils contracted slightly, and his fingers finally landed on the keyboard, but he didn't type; he just lightly rested on the keys. He had guessed it long ago—from the naming of those data interfaces, from the characteristics of those power curves, from those safety redundancy requirements that only appeared in military projects. But when the answer came from someone else's mouth, the shock was still impossible to rationally dispel.

"Do you know what this means?"

Kira lowered his head, staring at his fingers. Thin calluses from years of typing lingered on the tips; no wounds, no bloodstains, but perhaps soon they would. "My code… kills."

Char was silent for a moment. "Yes. But not because of your code, but because of the person using it."

Kira looked up into Char's eyes—those deep red eyes held no comfort, no excuses, only a calm acceptance. He acknowledged that code could kill, acknowledged that Kira couldn't change that fact, but he wouldn't leave Kira to bear that weight alone.

"Are you telling me all this... to make me stop?"

"No. I want you to know the truth, and then choose for yourself. Keep writing, or stop. No one can make that decision for you."

Char turned and left. Kira sat in his chair, staring at the code on the screen for a very long time.

Kira is still sitting in that chair.

Three hundred lines of code had been added to the screen, but he couldn't remember when those lines were written, nor what they contained. His fingers flew across the keyboard, but his mind was elsewhere—in the steel giants that the code was about to drive, in the cockpits that were about to be shattered by those steel giants, and on the faces of the fearful or angry people in those cockpits.

Miria walked over, carrying two cups of coffee. She didn't say anything, but simply placed one of the cups on Kira's table and sat down in the chair next to him.

"Thanks."

You look very tired. Like... mentally exhausted.

Kira picked up his coffee cup; the cup was warm, and the bitter aroma of coffee filled his nostrils. "Meria, if someone told you that the program you wrote could kill people, what would you think?"

Miria's fingers paused slightly. She looked up at Kira's face; the dark circles under his amber eyes indicated he hadn't slept well the night before. "I'll think... if that program has other uses. If it can only be used to kill, I'll stop. If it has other uses, I'll continue writing it and find a way to use it for good."

Kira stared at her blankly; that was the best answer.

"Kira, I don't know what you're writing, and I don't want to know. But we all know you're a kind person. You'll make the right choice."

She stood up, picked up her coffee, and walked back to her workstation. Kira stared at her retreating figure until she sat down and began typing. Then he looked down at his own fingers—not the fingers of a programming genius, but trembling fingers.

"What is the right choice...?"

In the afternoon, on the campus of Heliopolis.

Frey Alsta has arrived.

Her appearance caused a small commotion—students gathered around, asking all sorts of questions. Some said, "Is Orb safe?" Others asked, "Have you seen that red comet?" Still others said, "I heard the commander-in-chief of Orb is very young." Frey smiled and answered every question, but each time "he" was mentioned, her smile changed—not with politeness, but with warmth.

During lunch break, Frey approached Kira. He was sitting on a bench by the campus lawn, holding a cold sandwich. Frey sat down next to him, her long, reddish-brown hair swaying gently in the breeze.

"Kira-kun, may I sit here?"

"Please go ahead."

After a moment of silence, Frey spoke up. "Kira, do you know Commander-in-Chief Athulhu?"

Kira thought for a moment. "We've met a few times. He said my code is pretty good."

Frey laughed. "That's just the kind of person he is. He's gentle to everyone, but you never know what he's thinking."

"You like him?"

Frey paused slightly, but didn't deny it. "I like him. But that kind of liking is foolish. He's the commander-in-chief of a country, and I'm just a student."

"That's not a reason."

Frey turned to look at Kira's face, her reflection shimmering in his amber eyes. "Kira, do you believe in love at first sight?"

"I don't really believe it."

"I didn't believe it before either. But the first time I saw him, I knew—this person is different. His eyes hold the universe and everything; looking into those eyes, you're unconsciously drawn in."

The afternoon sun shone on the lawn. A group of students walked by in the distance, their laughter drifting back and forth. Frey rested her chin on her hand, her gaze fixed on the central axis of the distant colony, but her eyes didn't see the orbital elevator; they only saw her deep red eyes.

"General Asha makes me feel that this world has an infinite future. Even if he doesn't necessarily care about me."

Kira fell silent. He thought about how he was a Coordinator, a "monster" in the eyes of Naturals. But in Commander-in-Chief Athulhu's eyes, he was just an ordinary student. That man wouldn't look at him differently because he was a Coordinator, wouldn't be wary of him because he was a Coordinator, and wouldn't exploit him because he was a Coordinator. Equality—for the first time, he felt equality in front of that man.

"Frei, what if he doesn't even notice you?"

Frey looked at Kira's face, his amber eyes filled with a seriousness beyond his years. "Then I'll try my best to make him see me. To become a better version of myself. To study hard, to grow up, so that one day when I stand beside him, I can proudly say, 'I am Frey Alster, not as someone's appendage, but as myself.'"

Kira lowered his head. He wanted to argue, to say, "Liking someone shouldn't be this pathetic." But he had no right to say such a thing—he himself secretly liked Frey, but had never thought of changing the situation. Frey at least tried, while he couldn't even find a direction to try.

"Kira, do you believe in the future?"

"What?"

"The future. The war will eventually end, and peace will come one day. Do you believe that day will come?"

Kira fell silent. He used to believe that wars would always end and peace would always come; he was an optimistic person. But ever since he started writing operating systems, ever since he learned that his code would be installed on killing machines, that optimism had gradually disappeared. In its place was a heavy, inescapable gloom.

"I have no idea."

Frey looked at his profile, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Do you know how you and him are different?"

"where?"

“He would say, ‘Even if you don’t know now, you can find a solution later.’ You say, ‘I don’t know,’ and then sit down and do nothing.” Kira was stunned. Frey stood up and brushed the grass clippings off her skirt. “Kira, you’re a kind person. But kindness isn’t about sitting still and lamenting how cruel the world is; it’s about going out and doing what you can. Even if it’s small, even if it doesn’t change anything.”

She left. Kira sat alone on the bench, staring at the cold sandwich in her hand. Doing what I can.

In the afternoon, Kira returned to his lab. On the screen, the code remained where he had left it, the cursor blinking. He sat down, his fingers on the keyboard. This time, without hesitation, he typed each word, line by line. Five hundred lines, six hundred lines, seven hundred lines. He didn't know what he was writing, only that he couldn't stop. Frey had said, "He'll do it," so he would. Not to let anyone see him, but simply because he didn't want to be someone who just said "I don't know" and did nothing.

The sun has set. The artificial sky has switched to twilight mode, and orange-red light spills across the campus. Kira is still writing.

In the evening, Sai Agers walked into the lab and saw Kira's focused back. "Kira, it's time to eat."

"Wait a minute."

Sai sat down next to him and glanced at the code on the screen—dense, neat, efficient, and building a massive, sophisticated, and terrifying system.

"Kira, do you know what this is?"

"Know."

"Then why are you still writing?"

Kira's fingers paused for a moment. "If I don't write it, someone else will. I might as well write it. At least I'll write it as accurately as possible, minimize misjudgments, and reduce the probability of innocent people getting hurt."

Sai looked at him. Two years had passed, and he was no longer the "genius who could only write code".

"Kira, you've changed."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I just saw something I hadn't seen before."

Outside the window, the artificial stars lit up.

Late at night, in the Orb Dawn Corporation command center. Char sat before the VEDA terminal, the holographic screen displaying surveillance footage of Heliopolis. Kira was coding—rapidly, clearly, filling in the final gaps in the OS bit by bit. Frey had already returned to her dorm, Miriam was organizing photos, Tohru was playing games, and Sai was reading. Everyone was doing their own thing; no one knew what tomorrow would bring.

"VEDA, play back the audio recording from the Heliopolis campus this afternoon." Char's voice was calm.

The audio played. Frey's voice, Kira's voice. Every sentence was as clear as if it were right next to his ear. "Commander-in-Chief Athulhu makes me feel that there is still hope in this world. Even if he doesn't necessarily care about me." Char's hand holding the pen paused for a moment. The pen tip lingered on the document for a few seconds, the ink spreading into a small black dot, and he put the pen down.

"VEDA, this audio file has the highest access level. No one but me can access it." He paused, "including Mina Sahak and Erica Simmons."

"Commands recorded." VEDA paused. "Do you need me to delete this audio?"

"No." Xia stood up and walked to the window. In the night outside, the elevator cables shimmered with a silvery-white light. "Keep it. No need to delete it."

Why?

"Because that's her true feeling. Her true feeling shouldn't be ignored. It's just that I don't know how to respond to her yet. After the war, if she's still willing—"

He didn't continue. Outside the window, moonlight shone on the sea.