Crossing Orb: Newtype Commander

Junius 7 wreckage area.

As the Archangel, having rescued Lux, slowly sailed through the desolate graveyard, no one spoke on the bridge.

Outside the porthole, the shattered colonial structures spun slowly in the starry sky, like the torn skeleton of a giant. The broken frame twisted and contorted; the bulkheads that were once agricultural areas were now just curved fragments, their edges reflecting a blinding gleam in the sunlight. Deeper still, more fragments floated—some metal, some concrete, some unrecognizable.

Kira Yamato stood by the porthole, his amber eyes fixed on the shards. His fingertips were white from the pressure. His lips trembled slightly, but no sound came out.

"Kira..." Thor stood behind him, his voice hoarse, "Those are..."

"Stop talking," Kira interrupted him, her voice very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Milia stood in the corner of the bridge, camera in hand, but not raising it. Her eyes were red, tears welling up but not falling. She had seen photos of war—in the news, in newspapers, in the accounts of refugees. But seeing it with her own eyes was a completely different feeling. Those fragments weren't "wreckage," they were former homes, former schools, former parks. Floating among those fragments were smaller things—pieces of clothing, torn pages of books, children's toys.

Sai Agers leaned against the bulkhead, his eyes behind his glasses fixed on the floor. He dared not look out the window. Not because he was weak, but because he knew that if he did, he would remember those images forever. And some images, once remembered, can never be forgotten.

Marlene Lamias sat in the captain's seat, her fingers gripping the armrests tightly. Her expression was calm, but everyone could see the heaviness in her eyes. This wasn't the first time she had witnessed the horrors of war—she had studied war history, seen countless battlefield photographs, and even participated in battles herself. But none of that could compare to the devastation before her. The debris outside the window was from a massacre that had actually occurred a year ago.

"Captain, we have entered the outer perimeter of the wreckage area." Natal Bakirulu's voice came from the fire control console, steady but with a slight suppressed tremor. "According to data provided by Commander-in-Chief Asha, the supply transfer station is located on the southeast side of the wreckage area, about fifty kilometers away. We are expected to arrive in fifteen minutes."

"Slow down," Murrue's voice was hoarse. "All ships, be on high alert. Avoid large debris."

"Yes."

The Archangel slowed down, its hull moving slowly through the debris. Its thrusters burned silently in the vacuum, illuminating the surrounding cold fragments.

Just then, Kira saw it.

a corpse.

Not a photograph, not a video, but a real, frozen corpse floating in a vacuum. It was a woman, dressed in PLANT-style casual clothes, her golden hair spread out in the vacuum like a withered petal. Her eyes were closed, her expression serene, but her posture—she was holding something. Kira's gaze shifted downwards, and he saw that "something"—a child, about three or four years old, curled up in the woman's arms, small arms wrapped around his mother's neck. The bodies of both mother and child were frozen, their skin an unnatural bluish-white, but their posture—that posture of clinging tightly even in death—

Kira's fingers tightened suddenly, his nails digging into his palms, drawing blood, but he felt no pain.

"Kira..." Thor's voice trembled, "You're bleeding—"

"It's nothing." Kira's voice was eerily calm, a calmness that was almost frightening.

He didn't look down at his hands. His gaze remained fixed on the mother and child outside the window, something burning in his eyes—not anger, not sadness, but something more complex, more essential. It was an awakening. He knew before that war killed people, and he knew from the news that 60,000 people died on "Bloody Valentine," and that behind those numbers were living, breathing lives. But "knowing" and "seeing" are two completely different things.

Now, he sees it.

Natal also saw the mother and child. Her gaze lingered on the screen for a moment, then shifted away. Her expression remained unchanged, her uniform still impeccably pressed. But her fingers—the one gripping the data tablet—had knuckles that were white from the strain.

She thought of her mother—her smile, her embrace, her back as she cooked in the kitchen. She couldn't bear to think about what would have happened if her mother had died in that explosion, thrown into a vacuum, her body frozen, her posture contorted.

"Captain Bugiluru." Maru's voice came from the captain's seat.

"Yes," Natal's voice remained steady.

"Has the flight route been confirmed?"

"Confirmed. Arriving at the transfer station in fifteen minutes."

"it is good."

The conversation ended. But Natal knew that Maru hadn't called her to confirm the course. Maru wanted to make sure she was alright. On the battlefield, this was a captain's concern for his first mate, but in this resting place of the dead, it felt more like a silent support between two women.

Mu La Fraga leaned back in his executive chair, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, but his gaze was empty. He had seen many corpses—in the lunar wars, in the African airborne operations, in countless battles. But most of those corpses were soldiers, in uniform, weapons in hand, dying on the battlefield. Those outside the window were civilians. Mothers, fathers, children.

He thought of his father—El da Fralda, the patron of the Allied Forces, a man with immense influence in both political and business circles. Their relationship was complex, so complex that Mu would rather risk his life on the battlefield than return home to face him. But now, in this resting place of the dead, those complex relationships no longer mattered.

"Mu." Char's voice came from the corner of the bridge.

Mu turned to look at Xia. The man sat on the sofa, the bandage on his left shoulder faintly visible beneath his military uniform, his deep red eyes fixed on the mother and child floating outside the window. His expression was calm, but Mu could see something in his eyes—not sadness, not anger, but a deeper, more fundamental heaviness.

"Are you alright?" Xia asked.

Mu was silent for a moment. "It's not good. But I can still hold on."

Char nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

Shihe stood in the corner of the bridge, her eyes fixed on the debris outside the window. She was a Coordinator, a PLANT soldier, and had witnessed firsthand the consequences of "Bloody Valentine"—not in the news, not in reports, but on the battlefield. She had seen the wreckage of Junius 7, the corpses frozen in the vacuum, and the families searching for their loved ones in the ruins.

But every time I see it, I don't get used to it.

Her fingers trembled slightly at her sides, but her expression remained unchanged. She didn't want anyone to see her vulnerability—especially not on this ship, among these "enemies." But what she didn't know was that Char had been watching her. He saw the sadness in her eyes, the trembling of her fingers, and the strength she was trying so hard to maintain.

"Poetry and..." Xia's voice was very soft.

Shihe turned her head and looked at Xia. There was no hostility in her deep red eyes, only a calm, gentle light.

"Are you alright?" Xia asked.

Shi He was silent for a moment. "I'm fine. It's just... I was thinking about a lot of people."

Char nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

Lux Klein stood at the porthole on the bridge, her eyes fixed on the debris outside. In her hand, a crying emoticon appeared on the pink Harrow screen. She wasn't crying—at least not now. Her tears had already dried up in the life pod, in that darkness, in that loneliness, in that fear of death.

But she knew that the dead didn't need her tears. What they needed was to be remembered.

"Lux." Char's voice came from behind.

Lux turned around and looked at Char. He stood behind her, not too far away, just enough for her to see the light in his eyes—not pity, not sympathy, but an equal and respectful gaze.

"Commander-in-Chief Askha," she said softly, "thank you for saving me."

"You're welcome." Xia walked to her side and stood with her by the porthole. "Lacus, if you can't take it, go back to your room. This is a reality and responsibility that we adults have to face, but you're still young and don't have to bear such a heavy burden so soon."

Lux paused for a moment. "They are all citizens of PLANT. They are my fellow citizens."

Xia didn't answer. He just stood there quietly, watching the cold shards outside the window with her.

The Archangel slowly traversed the debris for ten minutes. During those ten minutes, everyone witnessed those scenes—scenes they would never forget for the rest of their lives.

A woman cradled her baby, her body frozen in a vacuum, the infant's tiny hand still clutching its mother's collar. An old man sat on a broken chair, holding a photograph of a smiling young woman—perhaps his daughter, perhaps his wife. A young man wore a ZAFT uniform, but the rank wasn't insignia of a combat unit—he was a logistics worker, perhaps a cook, perhaps just an administrative officer. In his hand he held a spoon, not a weapon, just a spoon.

There are more people. More corpses. More fragments. More unrecognizable "things that were once human."

Miria finally raised her camera. Her hand trembled, but she pressed the shutter. The sound of the shutter was particularly crisp in the silent bridge, like some kind of silent vow—"To record the truth. To let more people see and know the tragedy of war caused by selfish desires."

Sai Agers looked up at the debris outside the window. His glasses reflected the starlight, obscuring his eyes. But his voice—a calm, subdued, slightly trembling voice—carried across the bridge.

"Shouldn't we...do something for them?"

Everyone looked at him. Sai blushed, but his gaze didn't waver. "I mean… a memorial service. Even though we didn't know them, even though they were PLANT members, even though they were Coordinators… they were human too. They're dead, we should… we should…"

He couldn't continue. But everyone understood what he meant.

Murrue stood up, her brown eyes sweeping over everyone on the bridge—Natal, Mu, Kira, Thor, Miriam, Sai, Shiwa, Lacus, Char. Their faces wore different expressions, but their eyes shone with the same light—not sadness, not anger, but something deeper, more essential. It was humanity.

"Captain Basiluru, halt the voyage." Murrue's voice was calm. "All crew, observe three minutes of silence."

"Yes."

The Archangel's engines stopped. The hull floated silently among the debris, like a fallen leaf still in the wind. On the bridge, everyone stood up and bowed their heads. No one spoke, no one moved, only the hum of the life support systems echoed in the silence.

Kira lowered his head, the image of the mother and child flashing through his mind—the mother holding the child, the child holding the mother, inseparable even in death. He thought of his own mother—the woman who raised him. If she had died in that explosion… He dared not think further. But he knew that from this day forward, he would cherish every phone call with his mother, every letter from her, every smile from her. Because he knew that those things could be lost at any moment.

Thor stood beside Kira, his head bowed low. His shoulders trembled slightly, but no sound came out. He wasn't a Coordinator, not a member of PLANT, and had no connection to those who had died. But at this moment, in this resting place of the dead, he felt a grief that transcended race and borders. Those people were "people," just like him.

Miria put down her camera. She didn't need to take any more pictures, because she had already memorized them. Those images, those fragments, those corpses—they would remain forever in her memory, becoming the backdrop for all her future photographs. War was a real, vivid, painful, and ongoing tragedy.

Mu looked up at the ceiling.

Natal's head was bowed, her black hair falling to the side of her face. Her expression remained calm, but her eyes were red. She thought of her mother—not a hypothetical "what if," but a real memory. Her mother's smile, her mother's embrace, her mother's back as she cooked in the kitchen. How long had it been since she called her mother? How long had it been since she went home? The war had made her forget those things. But now, in this resting place of the dead, she remembered.

Maru stood before the captain's chair, her hands resting on the back. Her head was bowed, her brown hair falling loosely around her face. Her lips moved silently—she was praying for the dead, and for those still alive on board. She was the captain, the supreme commander of these eight hundred-plus men. Her responsibility was to get them home alive. But at this moment, she was just an ordinary woman, feeling the fragility and weight of life in this resting place for the dead.

Lux stood by the porthole, her eyes fixed on the wreckage outside. She didn't bow her head, for she had already mourned countless times in her heart—in her hand, the pink Hello display showed a tearful emoticon. But she didn't shed a tear. Because she knew that those who had died didn't need her tears. What they needed was—peace.

Char stood beside Lux, his crimson eyes fixed on the view outside the window. He simply stood there quietly, sensing the sorrow echoing in this resting place of the dead. The Newtype's abilities allowed him to "hear" the final cries of the dead—not words, but emotions: fear, pain, despair, and the clinging to life.

Char closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, a new light shone in his deep red eyes—a more resolute and unwavering determination.

"I will not let all of this be in vain," he thought to himself. "I will end this war. For those who have passed away, for those who are alive now, and for those yet to be born. For them."

Three minutes have passed.

Murrue raised her head, her eyes sweeping over everyone on the bridge. Their faces wore different expressions, but their eyes held the same light—not sadness, not anger, but something deeper, more fundamental: determination.

"Captain Bakiruru, start the engine. Continue sailing."

"Yes."

The Archangel's engines reignited, and the ship slowly moved forward through the debris. But the atmosphere on the bridge had changed—no longer the heavy oppression, but a calm, resolute, and powerful one. They had seen the truth of war; they did not flee, they chose to remember.

Goods transfer station.

The transit station, located on an asteroid outside the Junius 7 debris field, is a spherical structure about 200 meters in diameter, covered with solar panels and communication antennas. Before the war, PLANT stored large quantities of supplies here—food, fresh water, medicine, and seeds and fertilizer for agricultural satellites. After the war broke out, most of the supplies were evacuated, but some remained.

When the Archangel docked at the transit station's dry dock, everyone breathed a sigh of relief—finally, they wouldn't have to navigate through the debris anymore. But that relief lasted only a few seconds, because when they opened the transit station's hatch, what they saw—

Supplies. A large quantity of supplies.

Food—rice, flour, canned goods, and compressed biscuits—filled three entire warehouses. Fresh water—stored in large tanks, enough to feed eight hundred people for a month. Medicine—antibiotics, hemostatic agents, painkillers, and various first-aid supplies.

"This..." Maru's voice was hoarse, "This is enough for us to make it to the moon."

Natal stood at the warehouse entrance, her eyes fixed on the supplies. Her fingers flew across the data panel, tallying the quantity of each type of item. "Food—enough to feed eight hundred people for twenty days. Fresh water—enough to drink for a month. Medicine—enough to treat one hundred seriously wounded. If we conserve a little, we can last longer."

Mu's lips curled into a slight smile. "PLANT's supplies are really plentiful."

"This is a transit station for agricultural satellites," Char's voice came from behind. "PLANT's agricultural satellites provide food for the entire PLANT. The supplies stored here were originally intended for shipment to other colonies. After the outbreak of war, transportation was disrupted, and the supplies remained here."

Kira stood at the entrance to the food warehouse, his eyes fixed on the mountains of canned goods and compressed biscuits. His stomach churned—he remembered just a day ago, the children on the ship had only received half a biscuit; he remembered the wounded groaning in pain because they lacked medicine; he remembered the elderly on the ship with their lips cracked from dehydration. And now, there was enough food, enough water, enough medicine. If only these supplies had been found a day earlier… He dared not think further.

"Kira, stop thinking about it." Thor walked up to him, holding a can of food. "We found it. That's enough."

Kira looked at Thor, his amber eyes filled with complex emotions. "Thor, why do you think these things are everywhere in peacetime? In war, they're more valuable than gold."

Thor was silent for a moment. "Because war makes people forget how to produce, and only remember how to destroy."

Kira looked down at the can of food in his hand. "We can't go on like this."

Lux stood by the porthole of the transit station, her eyes fixed on the wreckage area outside. A calm expression appeared on the pink Hello screen in her hand. Behind her, Shi stood quietly, her eyes fixed on Lux's back.

"Poetry and..." Lux's voice was soft.

"exist."

Why did you risk your life to save me?

Poetry paused for a moment. "Because you are Lacus Clyne. Your singing... gave me a reason to live in this war. If you die, one less reason will be lost."

Lux turned to look at Shihe. There was a complex emotion in her eyes—not gratitude, not pity, but something deeper, more fundamental: understanding.

"Shihe, do you still have family?"

Shihe lowered her head. "Yes. Father, mother, and a younger brother. They're in PLANT. I haven't been in touch with them for... a long time."

Why?

"Because I'm on a mission. My communications are being monitored. If they find out I'm in contact with my family, they might..."

Lux was silent for a moment. "Poetry, after the war is over, I'll go back with you to see them."

Shihe looked up, her eyes filled with surprise. "Miss Lux—"

"This is a promise," Lux said softly but firmly. "I will try to end this war."

Shihe stared at her for a long time, then lowered her head. Her eyes reddened, but she didn't cry.

The loading of supplies took a full two hours. The Archangel's cargo hold was saturated—food, fresh water, medicine, and spare parts and tools. As the last can of food was moved into the hangar, Maru stood at the dock entrance, her brown eyes fixed on the mountain of supplies.

"Captain Bakiruru, has the supply list been confirmed?"

"Confirmed." Natal's voice came from behind the data panel. "All supplies have been loaded. The Archangel's cargo hold is full. There is some space in the hangar, but we can't load any more—it will affect the deployment of mobile suits."

"That's enough." Murrue turned and walked towards the bridge. "Notify everyone to prepare for departure. Next stop—the moon."

"Yes."