A/N: I got the idea for this when I was watching some deleted scenes on the Avatar Extended Collector's Edition, where Parker looked scared and even regretful. They made me feel almost sorry for him. What if there was another side to the cold-hearted man we see in the movie, that no one knew about?
Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar or any of its associated characters and setting. It all belongs to James Cameron. Most of the dialogue is his, too. It was used in a scene that got cut from the movie.
I know that no one wants to hear my point of view, but I'm going to tell you anyways. My name is Parker Selfridge, and I wouldn't dispute that I am the most deeply misunderstood person who has ever set foot on Pandora.
In the beginning, I took a position in the RDA because I needed the money- I had a family to support, after all, and I heard that they paid well. My wife and daughter had to be fed and housed somehow. I really got into it- too much, now that I look back on it. All I really wanted was to please people. I wanted my decisions to make the most people happy, so that I had the least chance of getting replaced by someone else. I guess my strategy worked, because within two years I found myself one of the company's top administrators, and being shipped off to Pandora without a second thought.
That was where I met Quaritch. Imagine it's your first day of a new job, on a new planet, and a sweaty, muscular guy with inch-thick scars running down one side of his face is walking towards you in his army pants and a tank top, a large gun holstered at his hip. The first words he said to me were "Listen. I already know who you are, Mr. Chief Admin. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Colonel Quaritch, and you're not in charge of me or any of my marines. Keep that in mind, and we'll get along just fine." And then he'd walked off without giving me a second glance. I was terrified.
It was also where I'd met Dr. Augustine. Coincidentally, she was on the same ship as I was, and she also took an immediate hate toward me. She was convinced that I, personally, was out to remove both her and her precious Avatar Program from the face of the planet. She constantly complained about budget cuts and such, scarcely giving me a break (And just to be clear, none of that was under my control. I wasn't in charge of her department.).
Let me just say right now that I have nothing against the Avatar Program, aside from the fact that it costs millions of dollars out of my company's pocket. I like diplomacy. It saves me a lot of trouble.
Quaritch didn't like the Avatar Program. Not one bit. He preferred to solve his problems with violence. Early on, I had decided that he scared me more than Augustine did (he had more guns) and that in an argument, I would undoubtedly side with him. I regret this, now. I should have stood up for what I thought was right. If I'd been just a bit less concerned about the RDA's financial state, I may have even taken the Na'vi side in this whole event.
When Jake Sully arrived, Grace predictably blew up about how she didn't want any more marines, she wanted more expensive scientists whose tuition and equipment we had to pay for. I reminded her of the RDA's priorities, and that her department was completely unnecessary, and could be shut down at any time (as most other logical businessmen would have advised that I do, of course.).
Then, Jake had to go and get himself found by some native chic, who decided that he'd be allowed to stay with the tribe. And suddenly, everything was wonderful. Grace was happy to be in contact with the aliens again, and Quaritch was satisfied with using Jake to take down the tribe from the inside (I tried not to involve myself in this, but Quaritch insisted that I strategize with him.). No one whined to me about their problems anymore, and Unobtanium profits were soaring. We were almost ready to tap into the largest concentration of it on the entire continent (I knew it was right under the Omaticaya's home. I tried not to think about it- remain objective, right?)
Of course, what goes up must come down.
Jake and his gang of tree-hugging friends turned traitor when we started scouting a new mining site. When we confined them to the base, Augustine whined to me about how the site was "sacred" and how we destroyed some significant cultural element (I actually did feel bad for the Na'vi at this point, but I couldn't let anyone know. It would ruin me.) . Quaritch was pissed because his top provider of information wouldn't comply with him any more. But where was I? I was caught in the middle, as usual. I didn't like causing such sorrow in this alien tribe, but I knew I'd never go up against Quaritch. I saw only one solution.
I shut down the Avatar Program.
That night, the Omaticaya burned a multi-billion dollar piece of equipment.
Quaritch declared war on the Na'vi.
I tried to at least give diplomacy a fair chance (Because truthfully, I didn't want a war. The Na'vi at least deserved some peace, since we were ravaging their land.), by allowing Jake and Grace to link up one last time. "You have one hour," I had told him, but he screwed everything up by telling the Na'vi that he had known we would attack the whole time, and they were taken prisoner by the tribe. I reluctantly gave Quaritch the okay to blow up Hometree (I saw no other option. He practically begged me, presenting me with numerous strategies that were "humane".).
Soon after, as I stood in the Ops Center with the former Avatar Program crew members, watching the battle in HD on the large monitors in the ceiling, I found myself secretly wishing that the Na'vi would prevail. Something Jake had said to me about not wanting that kind of blood on my hands echoed dimly back to me, and my eyes teared up slightly. I was glad I was at the front of the crowd, so that no one else could see.
After the deed was done, we pulled Jake and Grace out and put them in the prison cells, along with their conspirator, Dr. Spellman.
I found myself stuck in a situation with no happy ending for either side, no clever plan I could devise to get myself out of this. I was almost relieved to find out that Jake and company had escaped, but he somehow rallied hundreds of thousands of warriors together, and they prepared to attack. It was then that I heard what Quaritch was planning.
Filled with rage, I marched down to the armor bay, determined to stand up for myself this time. Just as I had pictured, the mining explosives, my mining explosives, were all packaged up and ready to be wasted on some preemptive attack that probably wouldn't even eliminate the threat completely. (I was also upset because I really didn't want to attack the Na'vi, but you'll never hear me admitting it.)
As I passed by one of my workers (Why the hell wasn't he at the mine like he was supposed to be?) pulling some straps tight around the bundle of explosives, I lost it.
"No, no, NO! That blasting compound goes back to the mine. What's your name?" I shrieked at him.
"Logan," he replied unsurely, a scared look on his face.
"You're fired!" I belted, feeling the heat rushing to my face. It felt good; I felt ready to face Quaritch. At that moment, I spotted him bossing around another one of my workers (What gave him the right to do that?) a few feet away. I walked briskly towards him, my hands clenching into fists.
"Hey, this is getting completely out of control," I said hotly.
Quaritch turned to the sound of my voice. "Aw, shit," he moaned, rolling his eyes. He whispered something to the worker he was talking to, but I directed his attention back to me.
"Listen, I didn't authorize you to turn my workers into the local freaking militia!" I yelled at him.
"I've declared Threat Condition Red. That puts all on-world assets under my control," he replied nonchalantly.
"Oh, so you think you can pull this palace coup shit on me?" I practically screamed at him. He
turned and began to walk away. "I can have your ass with one phone call!"
Suddenly, his meaty hand was around my neck, lifting me into the air, and I couldn't breathe any more. I told myself to remain strong, but my eyes teared up fearfully.
"You're a long way from Earth." He hissed into my face, the vein in his forehead popping out. I nodded meekly, and he set me down. "Escort this man out of here and get that compound loaded," he demanded my workers. He walked off angrily, leaving me to stand there, demoralized.
"Don't touch me," I warned them. "You are so fired."
Someone, apparently Max Patel, had informed Jake of the Colonel's plans, however. They planned a revolt. As soon as the gunships took off, the avatar team linked up and broke into the Ops Center with some stolen mining equipment. I leaped over the shrapnel from the broken windows, grabbing an exopack off of someone in the process, and crouched under my desk, trembling. They had reasonable grounds to shoot me then and there; that is, if they found me.
"GET DOWN! EVERYBODY ON THE FLOOR!" came the booming voice from higher than any human's would have. I heard scuffling as people surrendered, and I was almost sure that I would remain hidden. I had forgotten to take into account the unnaturally good hearing that avatars have, though, and in the next second one of the large beings was above me, pointing a gun at my head.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" I pleaded hoarsely, tears streaming down my face. I wished I had never gotten involved with this stupid job. I wished I had stood up for myself. I wished I hadn't been such a coward.
"Why shouldn't I?" the woman snarled, nudging the gun closer to me.
I opened my mouth to speak, but said nothing. There was no reason she shouldn't shoot me, absolutely none. I probably even deserved to die. I looked up into the barrel of the gun with wide eyes, accepting my fate.
She looked down into my face, pure hate evident in the slightly feline features. I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut tightly and expecting pain. None came. When I looked back up, she was gone.
I stood up shakily and saw that the room was mostly intact, with one corner blown to pieces by the dozer they had used to break in; glass was on the floor, but everything else was just fine. The avatar team was no where to be seen, but I knew they were watching. Everyone else seemed to know this, too, because they didn't even bother to get up.
The radio communications still worked, and we all listened as countless pilots called in asking for help, sometimes punctuated by screams (Were they injured humans, or banshee calls?), and then silence. Most of us were crying; I was crying. I don't even know who I was crying for- the pilots, people from my own species, or the Na'vi warriors, whose home had been destroyed by invaders from far away? Was I crying because I was scared for myself? Nothing made sense any more.
When news reached me that the Na'vi had won, that Quaritch was dead, I found it bittersweet. They got to take their homeland back, but that also meant that I had to leave. I had to leave my job behind, I had to leave my life for the past six years behind, I had to leave the Unobtanium behind.
Na'vi warriors found us huddled together in the ruined Ops Center, and herded us to the barracks, which they were using to hold anyone else who had survived and been captured. I complied with anything they told me to do; I didn't want any more fighting. I was tired of it.
A week later, as I walked across the tarmac in a long procession of humans, I didn't know what to feel. I still don't know what to feel. I walked by one of the large warriors brandishing a gun, which I thought was unusual. I craned my neck to see his face, and saw the features of a familiar marine who had sat in front of me, confined to a wheel chair, just a few days ago. Jake gave me a stern nod toward the Valkyrie, but somehow looked smug while doing so, as if he were gloating. I gave him a sad look; he'd never know how much I wished that none of this had ever happened.
No one knew any of what I thought, though. I was Parker Selfridge, heartless businessman who only cared about profits and control. I didn't have a family to provide for. I wasn't secretly a coward who did things only because he was afraid of others disapproving. I didn't secretly feel sorry for the Na'vi. No. Of course not. No one cared.
And what awaits me when I wake up from cryo, six years later?
Lawsuits.
Debt.
Misery.
Jake, where ever (or what ever) you are, I hope you're happy.
(I know I'm certainly not.)