News Incoming

For the time being, I am still out of work, meaning I need to do what is financially sound and save the money I have left in my bank account. This means I'm going to need a lot more income before I can make any purchases for myself, regardless of whether I want to use the money for my benefit or if I want to give the money to those who also need it, like those who are stuck in impoverished countries. That's something I strongly believe needs to be done.

However, I have recently found out about an anthology that I am willing to try my hand at writing a short story for. The anthology is about giant kaiju, and I am planning out how to write this one in four days' worth of time (starting today). When I say that, I am talking about starting at 00:00 PDT, August 28th. Keep that in mind.

This is not the only anthology I will work on an entry for. The same press that created this opportunity also has a second anthology that started on the 21st of August... about sports. Neither the giant kaiju one nor the sports one is what I nominally write, but I figured I'd get something done and see how well it fits the expectations, either for the giant kaiju one or the sports one (which is labeled as The Wyrd, Wyrd World of Sports for some reason).

Then there's the third anthology... one for my preferred genre. This anthology, by Riverfolk Books, is about LitRPG. That's my preferred genre... even if the subgenre is not one I'm inclined to write normally. I would normally write about something more like The Gamer in terms of LitRPG elements. The subgenre in this anthology is Dungeon Core.

Oh, well... needs must when the Devil drives, or so I think the saying goes. The Riverfolk Books anthology will give a flat $100 to those they accept in their anthology, while the first two anthologies will give a royalty split for the authors who make it, and that royalty split is (according to one author who says they submitted a piece to one of this press's anthologies) rather fair for authors. Make of that what you will.

With that said... let's put this up for a vote.

Which short story would you guys like to see me write for an anthology? You can only vote for one of the options that I have to show you all.

I have one thing to say right now to everyone who will see this page.

The truth of the matter is, I have not been so consistent with updates here, and I am aware of that. If I wanted to blame anything for the lack of updating, however, that would be too lame a thing for me to do. Why do I say that?

Because my ability to stay focused on any one thing is not as good as it would be for a normal person.

To be perfectly clear, I'm on the Autism Spectrum, and I'm ADHD. That's not a fun combination for any author or game dev... and it's especially unfair for me to say that it's like that for everyone on the Autism Spectrum or who's ADHD. Most of us who are autistic have the problem of not being on the high end of the spectrum. I'm one of the lucky ones to be autistic on the higher end of the spectrum.

However, I have a problem that needs to be addressed, which I hope will come from me being more consistent with the work here.

Before I started getting paid for the work that I do on this platform, I had a day job. My day job paid me for 24 hours of work every pay period (I only worked three hours a day for four days a week), and it was a good time to be alive. Even if I only had one subscriber here, I had some measure of staying afloat without the need for falling back on my government-paid money, which I refuse to go into detail about for the sake of my privacy.

Now, though, I lost my job.

Without going into detail about what happened, I'll just say that my current means of getting money will heavily rely on me getting the government to pay for my living expenses, which is not cool for me to even have happen. This means I need to be more consistent with the writing/game dev. My writing on this post is going to be used to address the issue I have allowed to happen by not updating more frequently.

Thank you for hearing me out.

Phase 0001a: False Peace (Part 1)

Heliopolis Park Gazebo

Park District

Orb Union Space Colony Heliopolis

Earth-Moon Lagrangian Point L3 (between the Sun and Earth in Earth orbit)

11:00 UTC, January 25th, Cosmic Era 71

"Y'know, Kira, I'm suddenly glad that we don't have to worry about war hitting us so far," Kamito said.

Kira glanced up from her advanced laptop screen, amethyst eyes reflecting the morning light filtering through the gazebo's decorative latticework. Her F-cup chest rose beneath her black tank top as she shifted position on the wooden bench, green cargo pants rustling against the seat. At fifteen, she'd grown taller than when they'd first met—now standing at one hundred seventy centimeters—but her expression remained as thoughtful as ever.

"What do you mean?" she asked, fingers pausing over her keyboard. The news feed on her screen showed another somber report from the Earth sphere, statistics scrolling past in clinical white text.

Kamito adjusted his position across from her, his blue T-shirt with the Muay Thai design stretched across his broader shoulders. The past year had been kind to him—he now stood at one hundred eighty centimeters and had filled out his frame nicely. His brown socks peeked above his white sneakers as he crossed his ankles beneath the table.

"Look at everything that's happened since the Tragedy of Copernicus," he said, gesturing toward her laptop screen where another casualty report dominated the headlines. "February 5th, Cosmic Era 70 changed everything. One terrorist attack wipes out the UN leadership and most of the sponsor nation representatives on the moon, and suddenly we're living in a completely different world."

Kira's brow furrowed as she minimized her homework assignment—some complex programming exercise that would have made most students' heads spin. "The Alaska Declaration followed pretty quickly after that."

"Two days," Kamito confirmed, pulling up his own news feed on his laptop. The blue glow of the screen cast shadows across his face. "February 7th. The Atlantic Federation basically declared war on every Coordinator in existence. Blamed us for Copernicus, called it an act of war against all Naturals."

The gazebo fell quiet except for the distant hum of Heliopolis's atmospheric processors. Morning joggers passed by on the nearby paths, their conversations a low murmur that didn't quite reach the secluded study spot the two had claimed.

"OMNI's been getting more aggressive ever since," Kira said, scrolling through another article. Her tank top shifted as she leaned forward, the blue sports bra beneath visible at the neckline. "The Earth Alliance formation wasn't exactly subtle about their intentions."

"Four major power blocs deciding that Coordinators are the enemy," Kamito muttered, his hazel eyes darkening. "Atlantic Federation, Eurasian Federation, Republic of East Asia, South Africa Union. That's most of Earth's military might pointed directly at the PLANTs."

A pain flickered through his left frontal lobe—his past life memories stirring. He knew how this story was supposed to go, but living through it felt different than watching it unfold on a screen. The weight of real consequences pressed down on every news report, every casualty figure.

"The Bloody Valentine Tragedy was the worst part," Kira said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kamito's jaw tightened. "February 14th. Valentine's Day. Someone thought it would be poetic to nuke a civilian agricultural colony." His fingers gripped his laptop edge hard enough to leave marks. "Two hundred forty-three thousand, seven hundred twenty-one people. Gone."

"The official reports still claim the PLANTs self-destructed Junius Seven," Kira said, her tone carrying the bitter edge of someone who'd read too many propaganda pieces. "Anyone with half a brain knows that's garbage. You don't accidentally launch a nuclear strike from a Moebius Mobile Armor."

"The Roosevelt," Kamito added. "Agamemnon-class vessel. They have the ship records, the launch data, everything. But somehow it's still the PLANTs' fault according to Earth Alliance media."

Kira pulled up another news feed, this one showing grainy footage of debris fields floating in space. "My programming instructor mentioned that his cousin lived on Junius Seven. Worked in the hydroponic labs. Had two kids."

The morning breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of nearby trees and carrying the scent of the colony's carefully maintained gardens. Kamito watched Kira's expression shift from analytical to something more personal, more hurt.

"And now we've got the Jovian Lizards to worry about on top of everything else," he said, trying to shift the conversation to something less immediately painful.

"Those are still just rumors, right?" Kira asked, though her tone suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "I mean, aliens from the Jupiter sphere launching fleets through these... what do they call them? Chulips?"

"Chulips," Kamito confirmed, the word feeling strange on his tongue. His right frontal lobe twinged—current life memories insisting this was new information, while his left side whispered warnings about technologies that made conventional beam weapons useless. "The reports are scattered, but consistent. Some kind of dimensional gateway that opens and releases swarms of autonomous attack drones."

"Autonomous," Kira repeated, her programmer's mind latching onto the technical implications. "That suggests an AI system sophisticated enough to operate independently across interplanetary distances."

"Supposedly, our beam weapons can't even touch them," Kamito said, scrolling through a classified report that had leaked onto certain forums. "Whatever defensive technology they're using makes them practically untouchable."

Kira sighed as she watched the news while typing another report. "So we've got a war between Earth and the PLANTs, plus potential alien invaders, and here we are sitting in a park doing homework on Heliopolis like none of it matters."

"Orb's neutrality has its advantages," Kamito admitted, though the words felt hollow. His past life memories carried knowledge of just how fragile that neutrality would prove to be. "For now, anyway."

The refugee camp footage flickered across Kira's laptop screen, showing rows of makeshift tents stretching toward a dusty horizon. Children with hollow eyes stared at the camera while aid workers distributed what meager supplies remained. The male anchor's voice carried that practiced neutrality journalists adopted when delivering devastating statistics.

"The refugee camp in South Africa has been suffering from a chronic shortage of food and relief supplies, endangering the lives of 1.2 million people."

Kamito watched Kira's fingers dance across her keyboard, somehow maintaining perfect typing accuracy while her amethyst eyes tracked the news feed. Her ability to multitask bordered on supernatural—though given she was the Ultimate Coordinator, perhaps that wasn't surprising. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling his shoulders pop after hunching over his laptop for the past hour.

"Kira, I hope you can focus on the school work as well as possible while still paying attention to the news," he said, though his tone carried more admiration than concern.

"Don't worry, Kamito-kun." Her response came without missing a keystroke. "I've got it."

The news feed transitioned with a soft chime, and a female reporter's voice filled the gazebo's quiet space. Her professional demeanor barely masked the tension underlying her words.

"We'll now bring you images from the Kaohsiung front where heavy fighting is in progress." The screen shifted to show smoke rising from distant buildings, Mobile Suits visible as dark specks against the hazy sky. "According to information just received, ZAFT forces have advanced to areas within six kilometers of Kaohsiung."

The Republic of East Asia's defensive lines were crumbling. Kamito recognized the tactical situation from his past life memories—urban warfare where ZAFT's superior Mobile Suit technology gave them decisive advantages over Earth Alliance's conventional forces. Tanks and fighter jets meant little against GINNs that could leap between buildings and shrug off most conventional weaponry.

A soft whirring interrupted his analysis as something small and mechanical descended from the trees above. The robot bird—about the size of a sparrow but clearly artificial with its metallic green plumage and glowing blue eyes—landed delicately atop Kira's laptop monitor. Its head tilted at that characteristic angle real birds used when examining something curious.

"Birdy?" The robot's synthesized voice carried an interrogative tone, as if asking permission to stay.

Kamito perked up, grateful for the distraction from increasingly grim war coverage. The little robot represented something pure—technology used for companionship rather than destruction. "Oh, hey, it's Birdy." He leaned forward to get a better look at the intricate mechanical work. "Didn't you say a friend of yours made it for you?"

The typing stopped.

Kira's head turned slowly, her gaze shifting to catch him from the right corner of her vision. The morning light caught her eyes in a way that made them seem to glow with an inner fire. "I don't recall telling anyone about Birdy's origins." Her voice carried a note of suspicion that made Kamito's stomach drop. "How did you know that a friend of mine made it for me?"

Oops. The thought crashed through Kamito's mind like a runaway Mobile Armor. I need to watch my mouth at times like this.

His past life memories had betrayed him again. In the original timeline—the anime he'd watched—Athrun Zala had built Birdy as a gift for Kira. But they'd been childhood friends in that version, and Kira had been male. Here, in this reality, he had no legitimate reason to know about Birdy's creator. The robot wasn't mass-produced; it was a unique, hand-crafted piece of engineering.

It's going to be a tough pill for her to swallow, knowing what I do about her, at least according to the original material.

His mind raced through potential explanations. He could claim he'd overheard her mention it to someone else, but Kira's memory was too good for that lie to hold. He could pretend it was a lucky guess based on the robot's obvious custom construction, but that felt weak. The truth—that he possessed memories from another life where he'd watched her story unfold as entertainment—would sound insane.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by Birdy's mechanical chirping and the distant news report still playing. Kira's expression had shifted from suspicious to analytical, those brilliant eyes dissecting his reaction like she would a complex programming problem.

"Kira! Kamito!"

The call echoed across the park, and Kamito nearly collapsed with relief. Someone approached from the walking path, their voice carrying the kind of urgency that demanded immediate attention. Whatever explanation he'd have to craft for his slip could wait.

For now.

As Kira and Kamito looked in the direction of the one who called out to them, Kamito saw it was Tolle Koenig and Miriallia Haw, two of their classmates from Professor Kato's classroom.

Tolle jogged toward them with his characteristic easy gait, coffee-brown hair catching the morning sunlight as it bounced with each step. His pale green button-up shirt hung open over a blue t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows in that casual way that somehow looked effortless on him. Black pants and blue tennis shoes completed his relaxed ensemble. At fifteen, he carried himself with the kind of laid-back confidence that made him popular with their classmates—the type of guy who could defuse tension with a joke or rally people together when needed.

Miriallia followed close behind, her light brown hair with its distinctive orange shade swaying as she moved. The color caught the light beautifully, parted down the middle of her bangs and curling up in the back in a style that framed her face perfectly. Her ocean blue eyes sparkled with their usual mixture of curiosity and gentle concern. At one hundred fifty-nine centimeters and fifty-two kilograms, she moved with a dancer's grace despite wearing practical brown loafers. Her orange and white dress with detached orange sleeves looked cheerful against the park's greenery, white knee-high socks completing the ensemble that somehow managed to be both cute and sophisticated.

Tolle... I promise I'll ensure your survival so you can be with Miriallia as your wife. The thought struck Kamito with painful intensity as his left frontal lobe twinged—past life memories reminding him of what was supposed to happen to the coffee-haired young man. In the original timeline, Tolle wouldn't survive what was coming. The knowledge sat in his stomach like a lead weight.

"So this is where you're hangin' out," Tolle said as he reached the gazebo, his green eyes taking in their study setup with amusement. He gestured broadly at their laptops and scattered notes. "Professor Kato has been trying to get ahold of you two."

"What, again?" Kira asked, her fingers automatically moving to close her news feed. The irritation in her voice was unmistakable—Professor Kato had a habit of piling additional work on his most capable students.

Miriallia stepped up beside Tolle, her expression apologetic but determined. "He asked us to bring you two to him right away." She tucked a strand of her orange-tinted hair behind her ear, ocean blue eyes moving between Kira and Kamito. "Well? Are you assisting him on something else?"

"Too much," Kira said, gesturing at her laptop screen where multiple assignment windows remained minimized. "We still haven't even finished going through the stuff he dumped on us yesterday."

The news report continued playing in the background, and suddenly someone in the crowd on screen yelled out, "It's begun! Hurry! Hurry! Run away! That way's just as dangerous!"

The urgency in the distant voice made all four students pause. Tolle's laid-back demeanor shifted slightly as he walked closer to get a better view of Kira's computer screen. "Huh. Some development in the news?"

"Yep," Kamito said, watching his friend's expression grow more serious. "It's specifically in Kaohsiung, Taiwan."

"Here, let me pull it up for you," Kira said, her fingers dancing across the trackpad to bring the news feed back to full screen.

As the footage magnified, a male news reporter appeared, his right hand pressed to his earpiece as he spoke into a microphone. Smoke and distant explosions formed the backdrop behind him. "I'm within seven kilometers of Kaohsiung, where the sounds of fierce combat continue to echo."

Tolle's eyes widened in shock, his casual expression evaporating completely. The reality of the war—something that had felt distant and abstract despite the constant news coverage—suddenly became tangible. "If this is footage from last week, they may have already taken over Kaohsiung."

"Yeah," Kira said quietly, closing her laptop with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.

Miriallia's face paled slightly, her orange and white dress suddenly seeming too bright against the somber mood that had settled over the group. "Kaohsiung isn't very far from us, is it?" Her voice carried the tremor of someone trying to maintain composure. "Will the homeland be all right?"

"Birdy!" the robotic bird announced, its mechanical wings flapping as it took to the air above Heliopolis. The little robot seemed oblivious to the tension below, its programmed responses carrying an almost childlike innocence.

Tolle straightened up, forcing his characteristic grin back into place. "Sure," he said, though the confidence in his voice sounded deliberately manufactured. "There's nothing to worry about. Oh, they're close by, but our nation's neutral. Can't see Orb turning into a war zone."

Kamito felt his left frontal lobe pulse with sharp pain as past life memories flooded through him. Images of Heliopolis under attack, of ZAFT forces infiltrating the colony, of the chaos that would consume their peaceful world in a few hours. The knowledge felt like swallowing broken glass.

"Or so it seems right now," he said carefully, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. "Remember, just because we're neutral now, it doesn't mean we won't be neutral later."

Miriallia's ocean blue eyes widened with shock, her hand moving instinctively to grip Tolle's arm. "Kamito-kun, what do you mean by that?" The tremor in her voice had grown more pronounced, and her knuckles showed white where she held onto her boyfriend.

Tolle's green eyes flashed with something between confusion and mild outrage. "Hey, come on, man." His voice carried an edge that Kamito had rarely heard from his laid-back friend. "That's pretty pessimistic, don't you think? Orb's been neutral since the country was founded. We're not about to throw that away just because there's fighting somewhere else."

The tension in the gazebo ratcheted up several notches. Kamito could see the hurt in Tolle's expression—not anger, exactly, but the kind of wounded confusion that came from hearing a friend voice the fears you'd been trying not to think about.

"Look," Kamito said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. He needed to defuse this without revealing how much he actually knew. "I'm just saying that neutrality works great until someone decides it doesn't. The war's getting bigger every day, and Heliopolis has... strategic value."

"Strategic value?" Miriallia asked, her grip on Tolle's arm tightening.

"We're positioned right between Earth and the PLANTs," Kamito explained, choosing his words with surgical precision. "Plus, we've got Morgenroete's industrial facilities. In a war, those kinds of resources become tempting targets."

Tolle's expression softened slightly, though the concern remained. "Okay, but that's like saying a battle could break out in Heliopolis today, somewhere in the next five hours. Technically possible, but not exactly likely."

The irony of those words hit Kamito like a physical blow. His friend had unknowingly chosen the exact timeframe when everything would fall apart. Within the next five hours—when ZAFT would infiltrate Heliopolis and steal the new Gundam prototypes, when their peaceful world would shatter into chaos and violence.

"You're probably right," Kamito said, hating himself for the lie. "Just... keep your eyes open, okay? Both of you. The world's changing faster than we think."

Kira's amethyst eyes had gone unfocused, staring at something beyond the physical space of the gazebo. Her laptop remained closed on the table, forgotten, while Birdy circled overhead with mechanical precision. The distant look on her face suggested her brilliant mind was processing something far removed from their current conversation—perhaps running through combat scenarios, probability calculations, or simply trying to reconcile Kamito's ominous warnings with Heliopolis's peaceful reality.

Tolle noticed her thousand-yard stare and moved closer, leaning down until his face entered her field of vision. "Hey, Earth to Kira—"

"Wha—!" Kira jerked backward on the bench, her body reacting instinctively to the sudden invasion of personal space. Her hands gripped the wooden seat for balance as she blinked rapidly, amethyst eyes refocusing on Tolle's concerned face mere inches from her own.

"What's up with you, anyway?" Tolle asked, straightening back up with his hands on his hips. His green eyes carried genuine worry beneath the casual tone. The morning light caught his coffee-brown hair as he shook his head slightly.

Kira's cheeks flushed slightly as she regained her composure, adjusting her black tank top where it had shifted during her startled movement. "Nothing. Just thinking about the programming assignment."

Tolle clearly didn't buy the explanation, but he let it slide with a shrug. "Let's go." He turned and started walking toward the path leading back to campus, his blue tennis shoes crunching on the gravel. "Professor Kato's probably timing us with a stopwatch at this point."

Miriallia fell into step beside him, her orange and white dress swaying as she moved. She glanced back over her shoulder, ocean blue eyes checking that Kira and Kamito were following. The concern in her expression hadn't fully faded—Kamito's words about neutrality had clearly struck a nerve.

Kira stood and gathered her laptop, sliding it into her bag with practiced efficiency. Birdy descended to perch on her shoulder, mechanical talons gripping gently through the fabric of her tank top. The little robot's red eyes swiveled to track Kamito as he packed up his own equipment.

They followed several paces behind their friends, maintaining a comfortable distance that allowed for private conversation if needed. Kamito noticed how Kira kept shooting him sidelong glances, clearly still puzzling over his knowledge about Birdy's origins. That particular conversation had been postponed, not forgotten.

The path wound through Heliopolis's carefully maintained park district, artificial sunlight warming their faces as they walked toward the colony carport in the distance.

---

Bridge

Marseilles III*-class* EAS Honorable

Docking Bay

Central Shaft

Orb Union Space Colony Heliopolis

Earth-Moon Lagrangian Point L3 (between the Sun and Earth in Earth orbit)

11:10 UTC, January 25th, Cosmic Era 71

The bridge's recycled air carried the faint metallic tang that every spacer knew—that particular mix of ozone and cleaning solvent that meant civilization, safety, and the end of a long haul through the black. Mu La Flaga pushed off from the viewport, his tall frame rotating smoothly in the zero-g environment as he caught a handhold near Captain Riley's command chair.

"There you have it," Captain John Riley said, unhooking his white Atlantic Federation cap and letting it drift beside his head like a lazy satellite. The captain's graying blonde hair stuck up at odd angles in the absence of gravity, making him look younger than his years despite the crow's feet etched around his purple eyes. "This old ship has just completed its final mission. You've served admirably as an escort, Lieutenant La Flaga. I am in your debt."

"Sir," Mu said, his own tousled blond hair barely disturbed by the lack of gravity—a veteran spacer's cut, short enough to avoid the worst of zero-g's effects. He wore the same nondescript gray uniform as Riley, though his moved with the easy confidence of someone who'd spent more time in a cockpit than a wardroom. "I'm just glad we've arrived without incident. Any ZAFT vessels within the vicinity?"

"We've spotted two," Captain Riley said, stroking his mustache with one hand, "but it's no cause for alarm. They know they can't initiate any hostile action once we're docked."

Mu gave a single chuckle, the sound dry as recycled air. "Because it's neutral territory? What a joke that is."

John barked out a few laughs of his own, the sound bouncing off the bridge's close walls. "Well, it's thanks to them that our plans have progressed this far. We're fortunate that Earth has recognized Orb as a nation."

"Excuse us, Captain," a pilot said from John's right—one of eleven men floating in loose formation near the bridge's exit. Each wore the crisp uniforms of Atlantic Federation mobile suit pilots, their faces a mix of determination and barely contained excitement.

John looked to his right. "Hmm?"

The pilot and his ten fellows all saluted the captain, who returned it with practiced precision. The eleven pilots pushed off toward the exit, their movements coordinated enough to avoid collisions as they filed through the opening hatch.

Mu watched them go, his jaw tightening. Eleven grown men to pilot eleven machines. And somewhere on this colony, a fourteen-year-old girl waited to climb into the twelfth.

Some joke indeed.

Mu looked back at Captain Riley. "Y'know, something's bothering me."

"What would that be?"

The lieutenant's blue eyes tracked the last of the departing pilots as they disappeared through the hatch. He pushed himself closer to Riley's position, lowering his voice even though the bridge had mostly cleared out. The captain's purple gaze followed Mu's movement, waiting.

"I know we've ferried the grown men who are supposed to be pilots, but what do we need to do about the twelfth, and youngest, pilot?" Mu's fingers found the edge of a control panel, anchoring himself in place. "I'm personally against the idea of letting her go into battle, especially with the higher-ups as they are, but I hope that someone keeps her from going out there alone. For that matter…"

Riley's expression darkened, the lines around his eyes deepening. He'd been dreading this conversation for weeks, ever since the sealed orders had arrived detailing their human cargo. The captain ran a hand through his graying hair, the motion sending him into a slow drift that he corrected with practiced ease.

"Yes?"

"Think they can handle themselves alone on the ground?" Mu gestured toward the now-empty hatch. "Eleven pilots, sure, but they're still green. And with ZAFT sniffing around..."

The older man's shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of command settling on him like Heliopolis's artificial gravity. He reached for his cap, which had drifted near a sensor display, and turned it over in his hands rather than putting it back on.

John turned his attention back to Mu, a somber smile on his lips. "To answer your questions in order, I wish I could do something for her, but my hands are tied behind my back and to my feet, as it were." His voice carried the bitter edge of a career officer who'd learned when to fight the brass and when to swallow orders whole. "I'd rather avoid her going out into battle as much as you would, but there's nothing we can do about it, I'm afraid."

Mu's jaw worked silently. He'd seen the girl during transit—Stella Loussier, according to her file. Fourteen years old and already carrying herself with the hollow-eyed precision of someone who'd been broken down and rebuilt for a single purpose. The sight had made his stomach turn.

"As for the young men who went out just now," Riley continued, "I know they're young, but they're all top guns selected to be G-pilots." He shrugged, the gesture more resigned than confident. "They'll be just fine. However, someone like you would stick out like a sore thumb."

The captain wasn't wrong. Mu's reputation preceded him—the Hawk of Endymion, ace of the 7th Orbital Fleet, the man who'd turned the tide at Grimaldi Front. His presence on Heliopolis would raise questions from both ZAFT intelligence and the colony's own security forces. Questions that could compromise the entire G-Project before it got off the ground.

"Heh," Mu said almost immediately. The sound came out flat, humorless. "Still…"

Still, eleven kids with state-of-the-art machines and no real combat experience. Still, a fourteen-year-old weapon being handed over to scientists who see her as data points on a spreadsheet. Still, the whole damn war machine grinding forward with children as its fuel.

Riley caught the unfinished thought. His purple eyes reflected something that looked like shared guilt, the burden of men who'd spent their careers following orders that made tactical sense but left moral wreckage in their wake.

"Ah yes, the young pilot who shouldn't even be here," John said. He sighed, the sound carrying twenty years of compromises and necessary evils. "Unfortunately, her handlers from the Lodonia Labs are rather insistent that she provide 'practical' combat data for the program she's a part of."

The words hit Mu like debris from a hull breach. Lodonia Labs—he'd heard whispers about their work, rumors of Enhanced Humans and biological computers masquerading as people. The kind of research that made even hardened military officers uncomfortable when they thought no one was listening.

Practical combat data. As if Stella Loussier was a prototype mobile suit instead of a child who should be worried about schoolwork and friends, not target acquisition and kill ratios.

Mu grimaced. "Yeah, I was afraid of that…"

John looked at both of the helmsmen of his ship momentarily, his purple eyes tracking their positions at the navigation console. The two officers maintained their posts with professional discipline, but Mu caught the subtle tension in their shoulders—the kind that came from overhearing conversations about classified operations and children turned into weapons.

"As it stands, the higher-ups want the Lodonia Labs still around, for who knows what reason." John's voice carried the bitter resignation of a man who'd learned to navigate the political currents of military command. "They've invested quite a lot in the place."

The captain's fingers drummed against his thigh in a slow, frustrated rhythm. Mu had seen that gesture before—usually when Riley was forced to relay orders that made his skin crawl. The Lodonia Labs represented everything wrong with the Earth Alliance's approach to the war: the willingness to sacrifice individuals for abstract strategic advantages, the reduction of human beings to mere components in a larger machine.

Great… a headache because of Blue Cosmos, Mu thought, his jaw tightening as he processed the implications. And we can't do anything about it yet.

Blue Cosmos—the terrorist organization that had somehow wormed its way into the highest levels of Earth Alliance command. They preached genetic purity while simultaneously bankrolling programs that turned children into living weapons. The hypocrisy would have been laughable if it weren't so deadly. Mu had seen their handiwork firsthand: Enhanced Humans who fought with inhuman precision but carried themselves like broken dolls when the shooting stopped.

The worst part was how untouchable they'd become. Blue Cosmos had money, political connections, and enough true believers scattered throughout the military hierarchy to make any direct action against them career suicide. They hid behind rhetoric about Earth's survival while conducting experiments that would have made the old Mendel researchers blanch.

"Lieutenant La Flaga?"

Mu blinked, realizing he'd been staring at the viewport without seeing Heliopolis's rotating bulk beyond the reinforced transparent aluminum. Captain Riley was watching him with the careful attention of a commanding officer who'd learned to read his subordinates' moods.

"Captain Riley, I promise you this." The words came out steady, carrying the weight of conviction that had made Mu a legend in the pilot corps. "I will put a stop to the Lodonia Labs, all in the name of giving their experimental soldiers a place to call home without needing to return to that facility."

John's expression shifted, surprise giving way to something that looked like relief. The captain had been carrying the burden of his complicity in delivering Stella Loussier to her handlers, and Mu's promise offered something he hadn't expected—absolution, or at least the possibility of it.

The lieutenant knew he was making a commitment that could destroy his career. Going after Lodonia Labs meant going after Blue Cosmos, which meant stepping into a political minefield where one wrong move could see him court-martialed or worse. But some lines couldn't be crossed, and using children as weapons was one of them.

Besides, he thought with grim humor, what's the point of being the Hawk of Endymion if you can't ruffle some feathers when it counts?

The helmsmen at their stations had gone very still, their attention focused on their instruments with the kind of studied concentration that meant they were listening to every word. Mu didn't blame them—conversations like this had a way of defining careers, for better or worse.

"Enhanced Humans," Mu continued, his voice dropping to a more conversational tone that wouldn't carry beyond the bridge. "That's what they call them, right? Like giving it a clinical name makes it acceptable."

Riley nodded, his mustache twitching with distaste. "The reports are... unsettling. Biological computers, they say. Human minds optimized for combat performance."

"Optimized." Mu tasted the word like something bitter. "That's one way to describe breaking down a child's personality and rebuilding it from scratch."

The captain's hands clenched into fists, then slowly relaxed. John Riley had spent his career following orders, maintaining discipline, and keeping his personal feelings separate from his professional duties. But there were limits to what any decent human being could stomach, and they'd found his.

"The worst part," Riley said quietly, "is that it works. The combat data from their field tests shows performance metrics that regular pilots can't match."

Mu had seen those reports too—sanitized summaries that reduced human suffering to statistical analyses. Enhanced Humans demonstrated superior reaction times, improved spatial awareness, and an almost supernatural ability to predict enemy movements. What the reports didn't mention was the hollow look in their eyes, the way they spoke in clipped, precise sentences that sounded more like data readouts than conversation.

"Performance metrics," Mu echoed. "Right. Because that's what matters."

The lieutenant pushed off from the control panel, drifting closer to the viewport where L3 dominated the viewport. What he could see of Heliopolis's slow spin created an impression of tranquil routine—farming districts verdant with flourishing vegetation, housing sectors where families conducted their ordinary routines, academic institutions where youngsters studied literature and mathematics rather than elimination statistics and strategic positioning.

Somewhere in that rotating cylinder, Stella Loussier was probably being briefed on her upcoming assignment. Fourteen years old and already conditioned to see herself as a weapon rather than a person. The thought made Mu's chest tight with anger he couldn't afford to show.

John nodded. "That is an admirable and most honorable promise, Lieutenant. I pray that you succeed, with or without me."

"Right," Mu said, before looking back out the viewport.

---

Bridge

Nazca-class ZMSS Vesalius

Behind an asteroid

Fifteen kilometers away from the Orb Union Space Colony of Heliopolis

Earth-Moon Lagrangian Point L3 (between the Sun and Earth in Earth orbit)

11:13 UTC, January 25th, Cosmic Era 71

"Try not to look so frustrated, Ades," Commander Rau Le Creuset said as he floated over to the tactical table behind his subordinate's seat.

The bridge of the Vesalius hummed with the controlled chaos of pre-operation tension. Officers monitored their stations with practiced efficiency, their green ZAFT uniforms a uniform sea of professional competence. The main viewport showed nothing but the pockmarked surface of their concealing asteroid, but every sensor array was focused on the rotating cylinder of Heliopolis fifteen kilometers distant.

Rau moved through the zero gravity with the fluid grace of someone who'd spent more time in space than on solid ground. His white commander's uniform, trimmed with black panels and gold accents, set him apart from the rest of the bridge crew. The distinctive half-mask covering the upper portion of his face caught the artificial lighting, its white surface as pristine as the day he'd first put it on.

Captain Fredrik Ades turned his chair to face Rau. "Well, I don't imagine it would be too late if we waited to hear back from the council, at least."

The captain's black uniform marked him as ship's command staff, its crisp lines maintained even in zero gravity. At twenty-eight, Ades carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who'd earned his position through competence rather than connections. His brown hair was regulation short, his black eyes steady as they met what he could see of Rau's gaze behind the mask.

Rau picked up a photo from the tactical table's magnetic clip. "It will be too late. I have a sixth sense about these things."

He tossed the photo toward Ades, who let it float past him in the zero gravity. The image showed the head of a Mobile Suit, its twin eyes and V-crest at the top of the face a stark departure from ZAFT's standard mono-eye design with its attached fin.

"If we don't seize the moment now, later we'll pay with our lives for our reluctance to take action."

The commander's voice carried absolute certainty, the kind that came from years of reading patterns others missed. Behind the mask, his blue eyes tracked the drifting photograph as it tumbled slowly through the bridge's atmosphere.

"And how sure are we about the authenticity of the information, Commander?" Ades asked.

The question came without challenge or doubt, just professional thoroughness. Fredrik Ades had served under Rau long enough to trust his instincts, but he also understood his role as the voice of caution when his commander's certainty might lead them into unnecessary risk.

"What are you referring to?"

"I mean the number of Mobile Suits that are supposed to be rolling out of Heliopolis."

The intelligence reports had been vague on exact numbers. Their source inside Morgenroete had provided schematics and confirmation of the project's existence, but operational security had prevented them from learning how many units were actually combat-ready. It could be five. It could be fifteen. That kind of uncertainty made tactical planning a nightmare.

Rau put a hand to his chin, considering. "Honestly, there's a 5% margin on either side of my certainty, namely 90% certain. I know there's between 5 and 15% probability that I will be wrong, but there's more probability of my being right."

The admission of potential error was characteristic of Rau's command style. He never claimed infallibility, just superior probability assessment. It was one of the reasons his subordinates trusted him—he acknowledged risk without letting it paralyze decision-making.

"Let's hope so, Commander." Ades's expression softened slightly, the professional mask slipping to reveal the man beneath. "I know my family wants me to return home ASAP, and I'm certain that Toby wants to know more about my time out in the front lines."

The mention of family shifted the conversation's tone. These weren't just officers discussing an operation; they were fathers, husbands, men with lives beyond their uniforms. The bridge crew continued their work, but the nearest operators adjusted their positions slightly, giving the two commanders a bubble of privacy.

"Ah, yes, your son. How old is he now?"

"He'll be turning eight on February first."

Eight years old. Young enough to still see his father as a hero, old enough to understand that daddy's job meant long absences and worried looks from mommy when the news mentioned ZAFT operations. Rau knew Fredrik video-called home whenever operational security permitted, reading bedtime stories across the light-seconds when duty kept him away.

"What do you think his grades will be like in the next ten years?"

The question might have seemed odd from another commander, but Rau had always taken genuine interest in his subordinates' families. It wasn't manipulation or calculated leadership—he simply understood that knowing what his people were fighting for made him better at keeping them alive to return to it.

"Hard to say, but I hope he gets in the top 10% of his school of choice, for his sake."

Top 10% meant options in the PLANTs. It meant choosing a career rather than taking what was available. It meant the possibility of a life that didn't involve floating behind asteroids, preparing to strike at neutral colonies because intelligence suggested they'd violated their neutrality.

"I wish the best for you and your family, Ades."

The words carried weight beyond courtesy. Rau had helped Fredrik navigate ZAFT's political minefield more than once, steering him away from assignments that would have put him in the crosshairs of the CLA's more aggressive supporters. The Coordinator Liberation Army might be a cancer within ZAFT, but it was a cancer with patrons in high places, and opposing them too openly invited retaliation.

In the meantime, I need to keep the Earth Alliance on its toes, because they don't need to have Mobile Suits at all in order to be a menace to the PLANTs and ZAFT.

Rau's thoughts turned to the larger strategic picture. The Earth Alliance's numerical superiority had always been their primary advantage. Adding Mobile Suit technology to that equation would tip the balance dangerously. But there were other factors at play now, complications that made every tactical decision a potential strategic catastrophe.

Yes, I really know what I'm talking about, given the attacks by the Jovian Lizards since the year before the war started.

The Jovian Lizards had changed everything. Their Tulips—or Chulips, depending on who was doing the translating—could appear anywhere, disgorging fleets of unmanned fighters and warships that shrugged off conventional weapons. Three colonies had already been evacuated after Jovian attacks, and the death toll from the initial encounters had been catastrophic.

Why else would I need to think this through more? There isn't any other reason.

But rushing into this operation without considering all angles would be foolish. Heliopolis was technically neutral, under Orb Union jurisdiction. Attacking it would have diplomatic repercussions that could drive Orb into the Earth Alliance's arms. On the other hand, allowing the Alliance to complete whatever they were building there could prove equally disastrous.

Now, while I can hardly trust the Jovians to play fair, I can't say that Nergal, the tech conglomerate, is on the up and up. I feel they might have something to do with this.

Nergal Heavy Industries had emerged very early in the Cosmic Era calendar, roughly Cosmic Era 8 or 9, with very little known about them by those outside the conglomerate. Their Distortion Field generators could theoretically counter the Jovian weapons that had proven so devastating; however, the company's origins remained murky. Rau had tried tracking their funding sources and hit walls that suggested intelligence agency involvement—but which intelligence agency?

The bridge's ambient noise continued around them—quiet conversations between stations, the hum of electronics, the occasional beep of a sensor alert. This was the calm before battle, the moment when decisions made would cascade into consequences that would echo for years.

"Commander? What are you thinking of?" Ades asked.

Rau's gaze remained fixed on the tactical display, watching the slow rotation of Heliopolis against the star field. The colony's agricultural blocks caught starlight as they turned, a reminder that thirty thousand civilians lived their daily lives within that spinning cylinder, unaware that armed ships waited in the shadows.

"Just a few things at once," Rau said. "Now, we need to be on the lookout for any warships that might seem like they're ZAFT vessels, but really aren't."

The words carried weight beyond their surface meaning. Fredrik straightened in his chair, understanding immediately what his commander was implying. The bridge crew continued their work, but Rau noticed several of them adjusting their positions slightly, ears turned toward the conversation.

"Do you mean the Coordinator Liberation Army?"

"Precisely, Ades."

The confirmation settled over the bridge like a cold weight. Everyone here had heard the rumors, the whispered reports of ZAFT ships appearing in battle zones only to commit atrocities that violated every rule of engagement Rau had drilled into his people. Ships that looked like theirs, bore ZAFT designations, but served a different master entirely.

Ades was about to speak again, but one of the bridge crew asked, "Commander, Captain, what identifying markers do we need to look out for regarding the Coordinator Liberation Army?"

Rau turned toward the voice. Marcus Parker, a Greencoat with brown hair and blue eyes, sat at the sensor station, his green uniform marking him as an enlisted crew rather than command staff. The young man's hands never stopped their work on the sensor controls, but his attention was fully focused on the conversation.

"Good question, Parker," Rau said. "Coordinator Liberation Army ships have 72 painted beads around the bridge of each ship they call their own."

The detail was specific enough to be useful, obscure enough that it might be missed by inexperienced observers. Rau had learned it from intelligence reports filed by survivors of CLA attacks—witness accounts that described the bizarre decoration adorning ships that had slaughtered civilians while flying ZAFT colors.

"Painted beads, Commander?" Parker asked.

His confusion was understandable. The detail seemed almost trivial compared to the gravity of what they were discussing. Why would a terrorist organization waste time with decorative elements that served no tactical purpose?

"Yes, because they're mocking Catholicism," Ades said. "I only know about this because my wife was born into a family of Catholic Christians, and her knowledge is essential in keeping things straight."

Fredrik's voice carried a slight edge of protective anger. His wife Elena had grown up in a devoutly Catholic household before the family emigrated to the PLANTs. Her faith remained important to her, and by extension to Fredrik, even if he didn't share her religious convictions. Seeing that faith twisted into a weapon by extremists struck him as particularly vile.

"What makes the beads they put on the bridges of their ships a mockery of Catholicism?"

"They're mocking the concept of the Catholic Rosary with that depiction."

The explanation prompted Parker to lean back in his chair, brow furrowed in thought. Like many Coordinators, his religious education had been minimal—the PLANTs' focus on scientific advancement often came at the expense of spiritual instruction.

"Rosary… a prayer necklace? Don't they have 108 beads on them?" Parker asked.

"You're thinking of Buddhist rosaries," Rau said. "While I don't know the specifics of the Buddhist ones, the Catholic rosaries have 72 beads to represent the number of high-ranking demons of the Lesser Key of Solomon."

The correction came from years of studying his enemies. Understanding the CLA required understanding their motivations, their symbolism, their twisted interpretation of religious doctrine. Rau had spent countless hours poring over intelligence reports, trying to comprehend how faith could be perverted into such malice.

"He's right, Parker," Ades said. "Also, when looking out for Mobile Suit launches, the Coordinator Liberation Army, or CLA for short, Mobile Suits have a mark on the right side of their torso, mainly to mock the death of Jesus Christ."

The religious education Fredrik had received through Elena proved valuable here. She'd explained the significance of various Christian symbols, the stories behind them, the reverence they held for believers. Seeing those same symbols used as marks of hatred made the CLA's perversion of faith even more apparent.

"Where on the torso?" Parker asked.

"Above his waist, if I remember right. It even pierced his right lung," Ades said.

The anatomical detail mattered. Intelligence analysts had noted the specific placement of the marking on CLA mobile suits, correlating it with religious iconography to understand the symbolism. It wasn't random—every element of their appearance had been chosen to convey their contempt for Christian faith.

"I recall that the mark came about after he perished, leading to the creation of blood oranges," Rau said.

The legend was obscure enough that few people knew it, which made it useful as an identification detail. Rau had learned it during his research into CLA symbolism, cross-referencing religious texts with intelligence reports to understand their methods.

"Huh? How did blood oranges come into this?" Parker asked.

The confusion in the young sensor operator's voice was understandable. The connection between religious history and agricultural development seemed tenuous at best, but legends often survived precisely because they linked seemingly unrelated concepts.

"Because when he died, his lungs filled up with water," Rau said. "According to legend, and I'm not saying this is true or false, a Roman centurion noticed that he was already dead and pierced him with his spear. The water came out of his body, splashing an orange tree, resulting in blood oranges."

The story served multiple purposes. It explained the CLA's choice of marking placement, provided context for their religious mockery, and gave the bridge crew a memorable detail to watch for in combat situations. Intelligence was often about connecting disparate pieces of information into coherent patterns.

"That's an interesting legend, Commander," Parker said. "The more you know, and all that, right?"

"Correct," Rau said. "Now, Ades, we want no more neutral colonies to be destroyed because of what's going on. If the CLA were to come by and 'assist' us in taking out our enemies…"

The unfinished sentence hung in the air like a threat. Everyone on the bridge understood what CLA "assistance" meant—wholesale slaughter, deliberate targeting of civilians, atrocities committed under ZAFT colors that would stain their organization's reputation for generations. The kind of war crimes that gave Blue Cosmos propaganda material and justified their calls for Coordinator extermination.

"I understand, Commander," Ades said. "I understand all too well."

Fredrik's voice carried the weight of a man who'd seen intelligence reports describing CLA operations. Entire settlements burned. Prisoners executed. Children used as human shields. All done while wearing uniforms identical to the ones they wore, piloting machines bearing ZAFT designations.

The CLA's true allegiances remained murky, but their methods were clear. They sought to radicalize the conflict, to eliminate any possibility of peaceful coexistence between Coordinators and Naturals. Whether they served some hidden agenda or simply thrived on chaos hardly mattered—their presence on this battlefield would turn a precision operation into a massacre.

Rau's mask caught the bridge lighting as he turned back toward the viewport. Somewhere in the darkness beyond, Heliopolis continued its slow rotation, its inhabitants unaware of the forces gathering around them. The operation ahead was dangerous enough without the added complication of extremist allies who might prove more threatening than the enemy they'd come to face.

---

Okay, as I've said, this is part 1 of the chapter. I'm expecting there to be 8 parts in total for this chapter. Any further updates about this will now officially wait until I have more ready to share... which is likely to be way later. Then again, I'll be holding back on the public releases of this story until after I get some people to read this story in some way here, first and foremost. Until next time.