New Crisis Report

"Let him see how the Atlantic Federation treats its own member states. Then ask him whether eight units are enough."

On the third day after Lin Yuan spoke, Ma Chongshan did not answer whether eight were enough.

The answer came from the East Asian Parliament.

May 4, C.E. 71. East Asian capital. Second basement level of the National Defense Committee building.

The notice for the closed security meeting had been issued at three in the morning. The attendee list was tightly restricted: twelve standing committee members and four advisory observers. There was no media pool, no gallery, and even the orderlies in the corridors had been replaced by Security Division personnel.

By the time Lin Yuan entered the conference room, eight of the twelve chairs were already occupied.

Lin Chengjun sat in the second seat to the right of the chairperson's position. An untouched cup of tea rested beside him, the condensation on its lid long since gone. When he saw Lin Yuan enter, he merely raised his eyes slightly, his expression unchanged.

"The director is here. Let's begin." The meeting was chaired by Sun Peide, secretary-general of the National Defense Committee. Sixty-four years old, he had held the position for eleven years, and his speaking pace was always as steady and unhurried as the speed at which he signed documents.

Lin Yuan took his seat at the end of the long table. Sheng Lan stood against the wall behind him, a folder tucked in the crook of her arm.

Sun Peide opened the meeting agenda.

"We are discussing only one matter today. Minister Sykes's visit three days ago prompted a formal letter of concern from the United Army Technical Committee. Everyone has the document in hand. Its core demands are twofold. First, East Asia is required to provide an explanation regarding the armed border conflict. Second, citing Article Twelve of the technical cooperation framework, East Asia is required to disclose the technical details of its independent MS development program."

He closed the agenda and looked toward a seat in the middle of the table.

"Committee Member He, you first."

He Shaoen, seventh seat of the National Defense Committee, oversaw military budget audits. Fifty-nine years old, he wore an old-fashioned pair of black-rimmed glasses and always held a pen in his hand.

"My view is straightforward. Sykes's letter of concern is not a diplomatic document. It is a tool for pressure. But whether that tool works does not depend on the tool itself. It depends on whether we have cracks within us for it to wedge into."

He set his pen on the table.

"Since the Black Iron project at the 811 Institute was established, it has endured the Luo Qiming incident, the border conflict, and Sykes's face-to-face pressure. We weathered every one of them. But after each one, the internal dissent never disappeared. It merely found another way to speak."

He Shaoen turned his gaze toward Lin Yuan.

"Director Lin, I do not question your technical path. But I need to ask a political question. Aren't you moving too fast?"

Lin Yuan rested his fingers on the armrest and did not answer immediately.

Xue Zhaofeng, seated across from He Shaoen, picked up the thread. He was the director of the Military-Industrial Procurement Committee, fifty-one years old, and never smiled.

"Committee Member He put it politely. I'll be blunt. Sykes sends a letter today; tomorrow it could be a technology blockade; the day after that, they could cut off maintenance data for our warship propulsion systems. If the Atlantic Federation truly plays those cards, the maintenance cycles of the East Asian Space Force's active ships will be extended by at least forty percent. Do we have an alternative plan right now?"

The conference room fell silent for two seconds.

Lin Chengjun picked up his teacup, removed the lid, glanced at the tea that had gone completely cold, then put the lid back on.

"Peide, let Xiaoyuan speak."

Sun Peide nodded.

Lin Yuan rose to his feet and walked to the projection terminal.

"Committee Member He asked whether I am moving too fast. Director Xue asked whether we have an alternative plan. The answer to both questions is the same set of data."

He pressed the terminal switch, and the first slide appeared on the screen.

"Complete data from the three-unit Black Iron Squad coordinated exercise. Six simulated targets eliminated in four minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Twenty-two rounds expended. Zero unit losses. Ma Chongshan, chief of staff of the ground forces, observed the entire exercise and submitted a formal procurement request for eight Black Iron units afterward."

The second slide appeared.

"Ceramic Steel mass-production cost curve. Three months ago, the cost per panel for the prototype was forty-seven thousand credits. The current cost per panel for batch prefabricated components is twelve thousand. Next month, it is expected to fall below ten thousand. Compared with the Atlantic Federation's procurement price of sixty-three thousand credits per Phase Shift Armor panel, the cost advantage has already exceeded fivefold."

The third slide.

"Bombard Gun improvement plan. Feed-valve delay has been reduced from 0.7 seconds during its first combat deployment to 0.3 seconds. Xu Yanqiu's team completed the new heat-dissipation coating solution, increasing resistance to beam ablation by forty percent. The next prototype round will increase the explosive charge in its implosion chamber by fifteen percent, expanding post-penetration coverage by thirty percent."

He projected all three slides side by side.

"Everyone, this is not a moment of impulse. Over the past ninety days, the 811 Institute has completed the entire process from prototype validation to mass-production pre-research. The technical path has been tested in combat, and the cost structure has formed a closed loop. East Asia is not gambling. We are building a path that depends on no one."

He Shaoen picked up his pen again.

"Director Lin, I have no objections to the data. But you still have not answered Director Xue's question. What happens if ship propulsion systems are cut off?"

"The Candle Core Project." Lin Yuan switched to the fourth slide. It displayed only a project code and a progress bar. "A plasma reactor miniaturization plan. It is currently thirty-one percent complete. Once finished, it can replace the core module of standard United Army propulsion systems. The maintenance cutoff window Director Xue is worried about is unlikely to arise for another eight to twelve months. The first prototype reactor of the Candle Core Project is expected to complete hot-state testing in seven months."

Xue Zhaofeng closed the document in his hands, his tone unchanged.

"Seven months. What if Sykes moves early?"

"He won't." Lin Yuan shut off the projection. "The Atlantic Federation is at war with ZAFT. It needs East Asia's financial contributions and logistical routes. Before the war ends, all he can do is threaten us, not act."

Lin Chengjun pushed his teacup aside and spoke.

"Peide, I suggest we record today's conclusion as follows. The 811 Institute project will continue at its current pace. Budget audits will be submitted to the committee for quarterly review. Externally, East Asia will not alter its stated position within the United Army framework. Internally, we will ensure that the independence of our technological reserves is not affected by outside pressure."

Sun Peide made several notes on the agenda.

"Anyone with objections may raise them now."

No one spoke.

The meeting ended in silence.

By the time Lin Yuan and Sheng Lan walked out of the building, night had fully fallen. Sheng Lan's terminal vibrated three times in her pocket. She did not take it out until she stepped beneath a streetlamp.

"Director, an urgent report from Ye Qingluan."

"Go on."

"The desert sector. After Archangel was ambushed by ZAFT ground forces in the southern Libyan Desert, it turned southeast. Ye Qingluan's signal source indicates that Andrew Waltfeld is redeploying two squadrons of Baku-type MS from the eastern front toward an interception position."

Sheng Lan turned to the second page.

"At the same time, supply beacon C-07 has been moved again. Its new coordinates are less than eighteen kilometers from Archangel's projected route. The local resistance groups have doubled their activity over the past forty-eight hours."

Lin Yuan stopped walking.

"Andrew Waltfeld is moving troops, the resistance is becoming active, and Archangel is being forced into the heart of the desert. Three lines are converging in the same area."

Sheng Lan closed her terminal.

"How does the director intend to handle it?"

"Black Iron needs desert data. The Bombard Gun needs high-temperature environmental testing. The Ceramic Steel heat-dissipation coating needs verification under real hot-desert conditions."

Lin Yuan's gaze settled on the lights of the 811 Institute assembly workshop in the distance.

"Notify Han Zheng. Prepare to depart."

"Under what pretext?"

"Escorting a merchant convoy and evacuating civilians."