Chapter Six – The Name
Earth, September 29th 2154 (just over a month before the last RDA ISV is due to leave for Pandora)
The RDA shuttle pad was lit like a Christmas Tree. Guards walked alertly across the concrete acres and stood at the electrified and barbed wire fences. A huddle of concrete block buildings cringed as far as possible from a runway, at the end of which a lone rocket stood like an idol reaching up to the stars – an old relic, a joke. The usual smog and pollution clung to the ground in the gullies, making for the clearest night some would see for a long time. The full moon's light actually lit the surrounding landscape but it looked dry and dead; the endless Spinifex dotted by skeletal gums. All was still - apart from the men scurrying and swarming over the hills towards the complex.
"Rebel to Trojan team," one whispered through his encrypted wi-fi radio. "Positions?"
"Ten klicks down the highway," Trojan answered. "Vehicle is approaching."
"Observe radio silence until you're four klicks from the complex. Got it?"
"Sure."
Rebel waved his fellows to his side, crouching behind a rare bush. A narrow man knelt, flipping open an aluminium suitcase, the screen flickering to life, the light bouncing off his exopack mask. "I've got them covered for the three check points," the techie whispered. "The gate a kilometre from the complex – keycard, then another at the fence. They drive past that into the hangar – that's the third, photo id, and I've put them in the system, but he's naked from then on. But Trojan's team will remain in the vehicle for ten minutes before infiltrating, if it goes wrong."
Rebel nodded. Seven men crouched around him, binoculars trained on the RDA facility. Every now and then they'd pause, taking gasps of clean air through their budget handheld filters.
Ten minutes later the radio hissed. "Trojan team to Rebel team. All went according to plan. Not a scratch. Are we good to go?"
"Good one," Rebel replied. "Go."
Within five minutes the Jeep-like vehicle curved around the hill, headlights on high beam. Rebel and his team watched through binoculars as they stopped at the gate, their breath misting as they waited for the security check. Then the vehicle passed through, heading straight for one of the huge tin and concrete hangars. Rebel squinted, then turned to the techie. "Should we start?"
The techie nodded. The other men jumped to their feet, donning infrared goggles and pulling spades from the crisp grass. Behind the bush they began a frenzy of digging. Every thirty seconds they had to stop, gasping for their filters. Rebel helped the techie lug a canister shaped object towards the quickly forming hole. The spades clunked as they hit stone, the men bending into the hole. "Man, you're good," he said to the techie. "It's just the right size."
Rebel and techie pulled on their own infrared goggles. At the bottom of the hole there was an opening in the stone – a lava tube from ancient times which breathed out old musty air.
One of the men was already drilling, fixing in little metal rings into the edge of the tube.
"You sure they can't detect it?" Rebel asked the techie. The techie was breathing easy in his exopack mask.
"The only way they're gonna be able to look for it – and they won't be - is with density imaging," the techie replied. "The lava tube will look like a hunk of rock to them – and there's heaps of those all over the place."
The men lowered the canister into the darkness of the lava tube, chains suspending it. Rebel checked his watch. It had taken two hours to dig through the hard soil. The eastern edge of the sky was pearly.
The suitcase suddenly beeped. Rebel jumped towards it, kneeling.
"They're in," he said, clearly relieved. "Lee is still cracking their system ... but Bill's got the SLU into the Valkyrie cargo."
There was a vague cheer from the others. More hissing from filters, which puffed out the pollution asthmatically out one end, life bringing oxygen on the other, eagerly sucked up by the men.
They hurried to camouflage what they'd done, filling over the hole, the antennae from the canister sticking above the disturbed dirt. It had been disguised as a small green plant – weird enough that they'd be able to find it again, but not so weird that any RDA personnel would notice it. This far away from real cities, you could be lucky enough to see new growth, if you were looking. The men made sure no footprints were on the disturbed dirt. They had to retreat before it got light, or they'd be found.
As they scurried back over the hills towards their transport, Rebel paused for extra air, looking up. He waved the others to stop, pointing into the sky. "That's a star. A real star – you ever seen one of them, boys?" The men all looked up, their filters hissing, with wonderment at the morning star. He was right, many of them had never seen a real star before.
"Damn," Rebel said, clapping the techie on the shoulder and began running again. He laughed over his shoulder, daring to raise his voice, yelling, "It's a sign. Make a wish on it boys!"
Most of the men shook themselves, beginning to jog. A couple paused, however, eyes still on the star. They were quiet enough that all heard the techie whisper what they wished they were brave enough to beg.
"Please save us."
Jake often found it hard to believe how fast time flies.
With time comes familiarity; or so it would have been for Jake in those first three months of his being Clan Leader if it had not been for the seasons, and the People's activities surrounding the change between them. He'd joined the military for the hardship, to see for a moment if he could throw off the smog of urban existence. Tom had wanted the same, but had gone for enlightenment – Jake had gone for pain and mind numbing activity. But life on Pandora was another thing altogether. Every day was full of things to do, people to see, but not one bit of it was mind-numbing.
He woke at dawn, sometimes earlier. The clan was engaged in a myriad of industrious activities – preparations for the wet season were slowed by the fact that much of their tools and supplies had been lost with Hometree. The huge looms they used for weaving had to be rebuilt before cloth could be made. Covers for sleeping alcoves – not found or needed on the original Hometree had to be invented. Norm found himself suddenly popular with a design that looked like a mix between a fan and an umbrella made from waterproof skins stretched tight over a wooden frame. To look up at the Nest was to see dozens of these contraptions, of all sizes, like blue scales on the wood. Jake preferred not to sleep with them; it was not rainy quite yet, and he liked the natural light, sounds and smells of the forest.
The only quality time he spent in the forest away from the Nest was when he went hunting. He often guided hunting trips for young hunters on the ground. He missed the long days spent on his ikran's back, but he knew there would be a time when he would be king of the skies again, hopefully with Neytiri and Norm's company. Norm was learning how to hunt with speed, his 'scientific observation skills' as he called them becoming a valuable asset for tracking. Norm was a man possessed, and Jake could see how he'd made it onto the Avatar program in the first place. His brother Tom had had the same gleam in his eyes when he'd first began to work towards going to Pandora, at the age of twelve. Norm knew the name for so many of the plants and animals, but he had to rewire himself to understand Eywa not in terms of biology and chemistry.
Neytiri almost always accompanied them on these ground trips, for she had not yet been able to bear to get herself a new ikran. A hunter's bond with an ikran is much stronger than that between any human and pet – Tze'ze had been her friend. Humans often have to wait for months or years after a loss like that, so it was callous to think she'd simply get over her ikran's death quickly and get a replacement. But Jake missed the days when they'd flown together. As the days neared when the next group of hunters would go to get their ikrans, Jake considered how to ask Neytiri if she would join Norm when he went to Iknimaya.
The day was hot and humid, and it was clear that the months of sun and rain were upon them. Alpha Centauri A could be seen for longer periods of time each day as the season turned. Jake had returned from a hunt with a couple of others, but when he saw Neytiri waiting for him he quickly left his ikran to join her.
"You know, it might help if you flew again," Jake said, sitting beside her.
Neytiri inclined her head towards him, "It will," she agreed. Jake smiled in surprise. She turned her face back into the sunlight, eyes closed.
"I'm thinking Norm will be ready for his ikran in two weeks," he said. "Think I should tell him yet?"
"He works almost as hard as you did," Neytiri said.
"No," Jake said, feigning astonishment. "Come on. Really? I worked pretty damn hard y'know!"
"Norm is not tsamsiyu," Neytiri said, ears turning to the sun and glowing pink at the edges. "But he is smart. He was smart to know he had to learn everything from beginning, to forget."
"Empty his cup," Jake said wryly.
Neytiri smiled, eyes still closed.
"It will be good to fly again," she said wistfully.
In the coming weeks Jake had to prepare for his first time as guide to the ikran rookeries. There were two others ready to become hunters, both boys of about seventeen. Jake knew them both to be better pa'li riders than he was – he just hoped he wouldn't make a fool of himself. But he was more worried about when they got to the rookeries – making Tsahaylu with an ikran was dangerous at best, with risk or permanent injury or even death if the person failed, and it would be on him if anything happened to the boys. And, of course, he worried for Neytiri and Norm, even though he had complete faith in them.
When he told Norm that he was invited to Iknimaya, he expected excitement. Norm did not disappoint. He let out a huge whoop that no doubt scared the herd of hexapede they were following out of the forest. Norm literally jumped, pumping his arm, landing in a crouch with a grin that could split atoms.
"Seriously?" He didn't wait for a response. "Oh, yes, yes, yes! Irayo, irayo!"
"Thank yourself," Jake said, shouldering his bow with a smile. They wouldn't be getting the hexapede for a while now. "It's insane trying to catch up to sixteen years of training in three months – you did it, all by yourself."
Norm gave him a sardonic look. "You helped," he insisted. "Besides, you still got one up on me," he added grudgingly, "I had three years training, don't forget."
"Meh," Jake replied, "Silly scientist shit."
Norm scowled. "Drop it," Jake chided good naturedly, elbowing him. "You're happy, aren't you?"
Norm tried and failed to hide his huge grin from then on.
Roughly two weeks later, the group of five headed off for the Hallelujah Mountains on the back of pa'li. Jake and Neytiri took the lead in silent calm. Behind them, the two boys bumped and shoved each other in false bravado.
"I will get the biggest," one declared.
"I will get the fastest," the other replied. "Your one will be too fat and heavy to fly."
Norm trailed at the back of the train, back ramrod straight, his lips tightly pressed together.
They soon got to the point where the horses had to be left. The riders each urged the pa'li to return to the Nest before disconnecting the Tsahaylu. If all went well, the pa'li would not be needed again this day.
They climbed. Norm was the slowest – he still was trying to make the use of his tail a habit. But at last they reached the waterfall, the boys panting with the exertion. Jake nodded to the loudest boy, and they crept around the rock towards the banshees.
Jake, the boy's friend, Neytiri and Norm stood on rocks, watching as the boy stomped and taunted ikran. Eventually, a lithe ikran stood its ground.
The boy issued a cry and leapt forward, dodging claws and teeth. A wing whacked him sideways – he scrambled onto the beast's neck, ass over the ikran's head, legs hanging over it's eyes. Teeth snapped at his tail. But then the bond was made. The boy righted himself, and with a high-pitched scream, dropped over the cliff. Jake ran to the side, watching as the boy coaxed his new ride onto an updraft, where they hovered, wobbly, waiting.
The second boy was already risking his neck with an indigo female. He bound her jaw quickly, and almost leisurely climbed on and made the Tsahaylu. She flapped her wings twice, pulling herself into the sky.
Jake turned to Norm. The whites of his eyes were showing, and his breath came quickly, but Norm was determined. He and Neytiri continued through the field of ikrans, which parted as soon as they caught sight of the Na'vi, growling a warning before taking to the air. They had gone quite far when one ikran did not leave immediately. It was the same colour as the skies of Earth they showed in movies back on Earth– a rich blue that neither Jake or Norm had seen before coming to Pandora, its markings rich black. It was cleaning its wings, so perhaps it did not see them at first.
Norm stepped forward. "Hey! You!"
The ikran turned, looking astonished to be interrupted. Its eyes darkened, and it bared its teeth.
"Don't forget! Tsahaylu!" Jake yelled after Norm.
The ikran lunged. Norm flattened himself like a pancake to the rock. The ikran's head snapped around, searching for him. Norm reached out, his hand missing the antenna by a hair's breadth. But this alerted the ikran to his presence – he rolled; first left, then right, to avoid its needle-sharp teeth. Norm hauled himself to his knees, again reaching out and got a hand on the antennae. The ikran reared back angrily, pulling Norm to his feet. Norm held on for dear life, his spare hand trying to catch his own flailing queue, all the while dancing out of the way of the ikran's jaws. At last Norm managed to jam his queue against the ikran's neural connection, and panting, he crawled onto its back.
"Fly." he said softly. The ikran tightened its wings to its sides, powerful legs pushing it off the rock. There was an audible snap as it extended its wings, catching the air currents.
Norm's whooping faded into the distance as Jake and Neytiri continued on through the rookery, searching for an ikran that would suit her. All flew off when she stomped and hissed at them. They curved around the monolith to where the rock hung over, casting deep shadows.
Five large ikrans were resting in the shade, but it was the largest that drew their eyes, and they knew immediately just by looking at her that she was the ikran for Neytiri. Her eyes were narrowed at the two approaching Na'vi, and she let out a roar. The other ikran scampered off.
"Holy mother," Jake breathed. He had never seen an ikran – or any Pandoran animal like this one. Funnily enough though, it reminded him of a school trip to the zoo, and a huge albino boa constrictor he'd seen there. This banshee was similarly lacking the colours of her kind – where they had blue or green skin, hers was white with the barest tint of blue; where others had stripes of browns, orange or purples, she had markings of a pale butter yellow, with sparse lavender on her face and tail. And most stunning of all: her eyes were ice blue. She may have been a freak of nature, a genetic anomaly, but there was no denying she was a beautiful beast. And furious.
The ikran reared up, spreading her vast wings against the rock face, screeching a warning. Jake made sure not to make eye contact, but Neytiri stared into the pale eyes, which only made the ikran angrier. Its' teeth gnashed as the Na'vi woman approached.
"Eeee – ya'!" Neytiri leapt forwards, hands pushing down on the animal's snout as she vaulted over its head. Fangs snapped dangerously close to her legs, as Jake watched anxiously. The creature bucked, neck twisting – but Neytiri moved with purpose and determination. A moment later the ikran froze, eyes wide, breathing heavily. With a slow, calculated movement the creature turned, looking over its shoulder at its new rider.
"Yeah!" Jake yelled. "Whoo! That's my girl! Yeah, baby!"
Neytiri was laughing as her ikran bounded into the sky, her wings flapping around Jake momentarily. A whistle later, Jake and his ikran were launching themselves off the rock-face, diving hard to join the others who were soaring around a smaller mountain.
Jake yelled over the rushing wind, "Follow me, boys!"
He banked hard, then rose. Neytiri was at his side within a second. The roar and whoosh of air currents on sail-like wings followed them. He led the boys and Norm through a series of exercises – twists, turns, dives. The three who were new to this yelled at every change in direction, laughing, and in Norm's case, swearing. For hours they did this, Jake and Neytiri showing them how to shoot while travelling at high speed, how to learn the winds.
Alpha Centauri A, which the Na'vi called tsawke had set by the time they were landing in the canopy of the Nest. The boys farewelled their ikrans and their teachers before hurrying down, no doubt to regale siblings and parents and friends about their ordeals. Norm was slower, sliding off the ikran with about as much grace as a duck. He pulled himself to his feet, rubbing his legs. "Ow," he moaned, "I knew there had to be a drawback."
"It gets better," Jake assured him, standing by his ikran, still connected and rubbing its face. Neytiri lay against the pale neck of her own, her hands stroking its skin.
"I feel like Jane Fonda," Norm complained. "Not that I blame you," he said, turning to his ikran and patting its nose.
"Who is Jane Fon-der?" Neytiri asked with curiosity, lifting her head off the ikran's neck.
Jake shrugged. Norm shook his head slightly, "Before our time," he explained to Jake. "She was a ... she taught people how to exercise."
Neytiri was obviously not understanding the concept, her lip curling. Norm shook his head again. "She liked to squat."
Jake laughed. Neytiri turned to him, her eyes questioning. The laugh was turned into a cough, and Jake covered his mouth to hide his grin.
"Do not worry," Neytiri told Norm, "you will have powerful thighs soon."
Norm looked stunned; Jake burst out laughing. He was bent over, shaking.
"Did I say something funny?" Neytiri asked. Norm spluttered.
"I'll see you, Jake," he said tightly, giving his ikran one last pat before he left, stiff backed and bow-legged. Jake continued to snigger.
"I love you," he said to Neytiri. "You make me complete." He chuckled one last time.
Neytiri cocked her head, slipping off. She pressed her cheek against the ikran's, ears pricked.
"She's like you," Jake commented, eyes on the pair. "She's ... beautiful."
Neytiri smiled in pleasure, her eyes closing briefly. "She needs a name."
"A name?" Jake frowned – his ikran pulled away, sensing through their Tsahaylu that something was wrong. Jake glanced at it, his hand automatically touching its pointed chin. The beast calmed. "Would you like a name too?" he asked it softly, answered only by the breathing of the ikran.
"I have an idea," Neytiri said. "I will give your ikran a name, if you will give her one," she brushed a hand down a lilac stripe.
"Really?" Jake smiled. "Okay, then."
"Atan," she said immediately. " 'Light'," she translated needlessly. She paused. "You See better with light ... when you fly, Atan will guide you."
"You've been thinking about this!" Jake accused with false indignation. Inside, he was pleased. "I like it," he added to her. He peered into the newly named Atan's eyes. "Atan, that's your name." Atan took a rumbling breath.
"He likes it also," Neytiri said.
Jake then cast an eye over her ikran. "Uh ... how 'bout..." He scratched his head, eyeing the pale ikran critically. At last he said, "Ghost."
"Gost?" Neytiri repeated. "What does it mean?"
"Ghost," Jake corrected her. "It's ... they're like on Earth, the spirits that don't go to Eywa. They're white and they fly, and sometimes they're good ... and sometimes they're not."
Neytiri frowned. "There is no Eywa there, you have said. So, all become Ghost? The world must be very full. Grace did not say, at the school."
Jake shook his head. "Nah, they're a myth – a story, but nobody knows if it's true." He looked at the ikran, filled with doubt again. "Do you want a different name for her?"
Neytiri shook her head slowly. "Ghost is a good name, for her. A sad name, but also happy - I am happy to hear that some Earth people, even if there is no Eywa, can hear their ancestors."
Jake gave her a tight smile. He'd never believed in ghosts, but he didn't want to ruin Neytiri's hope.
The next day dawned hot and bright; a perfect day for flying. At breakfast Jake announced he planned to go hunting; the new ikran riders, Nguran and some others decided to accompany him. As they were leaving the fire pits, Jake was approached by a man who seemed vaguely familiar. He had a large scar on his arm that appeared like half his bicep had been scooped out. The man greeted Jake, then introduced himself, "I am Kai, husband of Ansit, father of Hnene and Ote'lo." Jake smiled and returned the greeting. "I am now healed," Kai proclaimed, "and I will hunt with you, Toruk Makto." Jake agreed, saying that they would be proud of have Kai on their team.
"And please, call me Jake," he finished as they approached the ikrans perched high in the Nest.
Their hunting party totalled twenty in all, and they flew in arrow formation to arrive quickly at a pocket of forest well-known for its resident sturmbeest herd.
The hunters sped, and wheeled above the canopy, eyes out for the tell-tale shake of trees.
At last, one of them rose up high on an updraft, the wordless signal.
Four of the riders banked to the east. The trees shook at the sturmbeest took fright, running out into the open. Jake gestured to the new riders – this was their chance.
Norm balanced the spear – but his ikran was not steady. Norm wobbled, his hand reaching for anything to grab onto, clutching onto the antenna. He swore as the spear was lost to the forest below, and shakily pulled his second – and last one before taking aim once more. He leaned forward as his ikran raced towards the herd, throwing with all his might at the last moment, spears from his comrades whistling over his shoulder.
Three of the sturmbeest stumbled, tripping up their fellows. The air filled with the scent of pollen and bellowing from bewildered animals. Riders quickly ducked and swooped, trapping the herd against a cliff. While the majority of riders ensured that those already wounded died quickly, a few sent the rest of the herd on their way, driving them as far as possible in the hopes of relieving their terror. As four carcasses lay, the riders descended, hurrying forward to make the prayers and ensure their catches did not have any undue suffering.
Knives appeared in all hands; already the edge of the clearing rustled with curious scavengers, and the deep drone of insectoids grew and even the plants were turned towards the butchery as if they too were watching. Large, people sized leaves were set out. Long flat strips of meat were wrapped in these as quickly as possible, and the leaves rolled, tied. Each rider, with the exception of the four new ones were give two to three of these rolls each, depending on the strength of their ikran. The new ikrans could not be trusted – they were neither strong nor tame enough to handle the heavy chunks.
Jake saw Norm standing helpless as the last rolls were attached to ikrans and waved him over. "How was it?"
Norm was watching all the activity with wide eyes. "It's ... brutal."
"It's quick," Jake said. "Remember, nature doesn't always kill quickly. At least these guys were dead before they knew what hit them."
Norm sucked in a breath. "You're right." With his eyes on the remains, which already had a few viperwolves nibbling on the bones he winced, a hand touching his chest, where his scars stood out like two pearls and a silver streak against his blue skin.
"You 'kay?" Jake asked, noticing it.
Norm straightened up. "I'm fine," he said, "It just twinges sometimes."
From behind them, their ikrans approached, nudging their riders. Jake turned, laughing, "That's the closest they come to a puppy-dog face," he said. "I'll feed you later, you lazy lump," he told his ikran, mock punching Atan's snout.
Norm carefully placed a hand on his own ikran's nose. "Jake?"
"Hmm?" Jake was tightening his saddle.
"Mind if I don't come back with the party?" Norm said, "I want to practise flying some more. I almost fell off when a breeze went by."
Jake laughed, climbing up onto Atan's shoulders. "Sure," he said, looking up at the sky. "Just get back before that rolls in," he jerked his chin to the horizon, where a purple thundercloud sat.
Norm looked up. "Yeah." He stood beside his ikran until the hunting party had left. Norm walked once around the clearing, eyes tracing the disturbed earth, the droplet of blood here, a gauged tree there. It still freaked him out sometimes, in a good way, to think that he was miles away ... and yet, he was really here. A double life: so unfair; so many barely got even one life to themselves.
He hadn't collected any samples in two months. Sure, he had a few test-tubes of dried leaves and flowers back where his Avatar slept, but with most of the scientists having only vague ideas how to fly the remaining Samsons, there wasn't a way to return them to the lab. What wouldn't he give to take some of the stuff that grew right here back to the others. They'd go nuts. There was a small ground cover he knew – how could he forget, when it was capable of giving electric shocks? Or the vines, or a new octoshroom, no bigger than his fist? But it was impossible.
Except ... Norm looked at his ikran. "You can fly," he muttered.
It was a split decision. A stupid one.
He reached down, plucking the octoshroom in one hand and the tiny electric blue moss in the other. His arm jerked, muscles convulsing. His hand opened against his will. He cried out, cringing against his own stupidity. He backed away, finding a large leaf, and using it like an oven mitt, grabbed the moss and tied it up. He had a pouch against his back, which he began to fill hurriedly. Then he leapt onto his ikran, urging it as fast as it would go towards Hell's Gate.
He was flying with single focus through the Hallelujah mountains when a huge bolt of lightning crossed his path – it was horizontal due to the magnetic fields. His head seemed to rattle on his shoulders as the thunder rolled through him. His ikran screeched, swerving. Norm levelled them out, panting with shock.
Another bolt to their right, closer than the first. The mountain beside him boomed, rock spraying into the air, floating upwards, caught in the intense magnetic fields. His ikran twisted and turned. The lightning was the wrong way, the rocks were flying upwards like missiles and Norm couldn't tell which way was which. "Go left!" He screamed.
The ikran dived, narrowly avoiding another bolt, wings vibrating with the shockwave. Winds were buffeting from all sides it seemed.
And then it began to rain.
It was thick rain, heavy rain, raindrops the size of grapefruits.
In other words, the monsoon season had begun.
Norm guided his ikran to soar underneath a huge mountain. Lighting every second zoomed through the mountains, each CRASH and BANG and the winds making the mountains sway. The roar of water falling filled his ears.
"Down." Norm tugged on the ikran's antennae. "Just go down, down!"
They descended into a sharp spiral.
A lightning bolt escaped the field, going down. "Oh my god!" Norm yelled, as they fell through the canopy, leaves smacking. The tree was struck, the current of the lightning travelling though every branch, twig and leaf. Norm and his ikran felt, as one, all their muscles lock. The electric moss on his back was like fire, as they plummeted, muscles useless, brains just a wordless jumble.
They landed heavily on the forest floor and lay still.
Norm was awoken by shaking. He blearily opened his eyes.
A Na'vi woman was kneeling next to him. Her wet hair was plastered to her skin, and it was still raining. The trees groaned in the wind and the rumble of thunder could be heard.
"Demon man," she said.
Norm sat up, taking a second look at her. "Hnene?"
It was obviously her. She was at the end of her pregnancy, belly swollen.
"You broke my tree," she growled.
Norm looked up. His ikran was perched unhappily in a tree. The tree next to it looked like it'd been bombed – the wood was ripped open in a charred streak down the trunk.
"That was lightning," Norm said. He turned back to Hnene. "How are you? I haven't seen you in months, not since..." he trailed off. Hnene had not returned after she'd threatened him.
"I was bored of Tsahìk's daughter telling me I do not See." Hnene lumbered to her feet. "Leave now."
"Well, I don't think I can," Norm admitted. "Not till this storm ends. We almost got killed," he waved at his ikran, which shrieked in annoyance.
"You will leave now," Hnene said stubbornly.
Norm stood up. "No."
"Leave my tree."
"It's not your tree," Norm said. "Only Eywa owns trees. I can stay here if I want."
"LEAVE NOW!" She howled.
"No," Norm answered quietly.
Her eyes narrowed and Hnene threw herself at him. She pinned him down, snarling. Then suddenly she cried, and stumbled back, clutching her swollen middle. "What did you do!" she screeched.
"Wha-"
Hnene bent over, panting in pain. "Demon," she moaned, "you've killed my baby."
Norm scrambled to his feet, trying to approach. She snarled, backing away. Norm stopped, holding his hands up. "I did nothing," he told her. "You ... you must be giving birth."
Hnene's eyes grew wide and she sank to her knees. "Kehe!" She moaned. "Not now..." she glared up at Norm. "Eywa save us from this demon."
"Christ," Norm swore, throwing his hands up. "I'm not a demon!" he told her again.
Hnene's face screwed up in pain, and she bent over her stomach, rocking herself.
Norm moved towards her. "Look, let's get you out of the rain at least," he begged her. When she didn't respond, he pulled her by the arm to a thicket of ferns. Together they crawled inside, where it was dry.
Hnene leant against a log, panting, hands over her belly, wincing. Norm reached out, "Is there anything I can-"
She slapped him away, screaming, "KEHE! Go away!"
Norm retreated to the other side of the thicket, watching as she stressed, feeling utterly useless. Before it got dark, he left briefly, returning with water and some fruit. In too much pain to refuse, Hnene took both.
The storm continued. Each raindrop illuminated the leaves. Norm could see Hnene perfectly as she groaned and cried. She screamed often for him to leave. He ignored her pleas.
She grew weaker. Sometime during the night, the thunder let up. Her moans seemed to fill the dripping, soggy forest.
At last, she squatted, hands on the floor. Norm shuffled over, gingerly placing a hand on her back. Her skin was hot, her muscles all like rocks under her skin. Perhaps she was in too much pain to feel him, for she didn't stop him, or throw him away as he rubbed her soothingly, making comforting noises.
He tugged at the cloth rope on her hip. "I think you need to take this off," he said.
She nodded frantically at the floor. Her hands fumbled with the knots. She flung the cloth through the leaves, then screamed louder than ever before. "Ngera! Why have you left me!" she sobbed. She shook with her crying. Then her head tilted up, and Norm saw that her pupils were dots in her eyes.
Suddenly, all her luminescent spots grew dark, and she screamed.
"The baby!" Norm yelled. "Hnene, you have to push!" he hoped it was the right advice. How would he know?
She screamed again and again, and Norm heard a strange slithering noise. Hnene pulled her hands off the floor, looking down.
The baby was minuscule and encased in a thin film. Hnene reached down, ripping it from her child.
Its keening wail filled the air. Hnene held the child in front of her, mouth open in amazement. She sank into a seated position, holding the infant to her chest, looking bewildered. In love. Her luminous spots lit up again, her pupils dilated. The baby continued to cry.
"Shh," she crooned, rocking. Her hair was stuck to her face. The baby had a full head of hair, still damp. A longer lock of hair went down its back, and Norm could see the pale pink neural hairs interspersed. The baby's markings were very clear, stripes almost black against bright blue skin.
Birth wasn't exactly pretty, but Hnene and her child were gorgeous.
Hnene lifted her eyes to Norm. "Thank you," she said.
She then carefully braided her little girl's hair around her queue to protect it. Then, with infinite care, she pulled her own queue around and made the bond with her child.
Her eyes closed in bliss, and her girl grew quiet. Then she opened her eyes and the two stared at each other, smiling.
"I have no name for you," she confessed to the baby. She turned her eyes to Norm. "Tawtute. What are your children named?"
"Uh," Norm looked up in surprise, "I don't have children."
"A woman?"
Norm hesitated, then, "No."
"And still, you are a man to your people." Hnene's head tilted and she looked at him in curiosity. She then spoke, in the slowest, most accented English, "My husband is dead." Her voice caught at the end, and her ears lowered.
Norm's mouth hung slightly open. "You speak English?"
"Yes," she said, tears creeping into her eyes, "The ... school is the place where ... Ngera is killed."
"Was killed," Norm corrected automatically, only realising his rudeness afterwards. "Sorry." Her tears poured over, and she shook slightly. "Hey," Norm said, crawling over. She didn't stop him when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she just cried.
"I ... am ... alone," she wept.
"No," Norm said, squeezing her. "I'm here. Your baby is here."
She hiccupped, looking down at the little girl, who was curled up asleep, seemingly unaware of her mother's distress.
She peered at Norm. "Alien, will you take me home?" She returned to speaking in Na'vi, her voice small and lost.
He nodded. "My name is Norman, but they call me Norm," he told her. "I'll take you back to the Nest," he agreed, "but until it's day time, why don't you rest?"
Hnene nodded weakly, laying down, holding her baby to herself. Norm shuffled away from them and curled up in the leaf litter. His eyelids felt like they had weights attached. The rain was softening. Curling his tail, Norm fell asleep.
Norm had not returned that night, and Jake wondered why. The storm had blown in not long before sunset, providing Jake with his answer. Although it probably wasn't the best idea for Norm to be out in the forest in the first storm of the wet season, there was really nothing Jake could do. He decided to go looking for Norm in next day, when the skies were calm.
Early in the morning while it was still dark, Jake awoke. His Tsahaylu had lit up like the sun.
A voice echoed, calm and serene.
Eywa. This is my daughter, Astiri, child of Ngera and Hnene.
But the flood of sensation didn't come from Hnene. It came from the second person, who was like a sun in the darkness. Jake could feel everything little Astiri could – every new breath, fuzzy images, smells, sounds, touch. Her vision was overlaid over his; he saw Hnene's exhausted face – and, much to his disbelief, Norm's face.
Neytiri rolled over, her eyes open. Jake clutched her hand, sucking in breath. "Wow," he whispered.
"What is it?"
"Hnene ... she's got a daughter. Astiri," Jake breathed.
The connection faded, and Jake pulled Neytiri to his chest. "I could feel ..." he was lost for words.
Neytiri pressed her lips to his collarbone. "Show me," she said. Each took their queues and made Tsahaylu. Jake relived how it felt to breathe, as a baby did, to see colours for the first time, and to hear a mother's heartbeat. And to feel love – complete, unconditional love.
Of course, that love soon morphed into a different kind – not the love of a child for a mother. Neytiri straddled Jake as the sky grew golden with the sunrise.
The sun had fully risen by the time they lay spent, Neytiri draped over his chest. Jake stroked her hair as they looked out at the forest. A fine golden mist was rising up from the trees, but Jake didn't know if it was evaporating water... or something else.
"It is rainy season now," Neytiri said, a hand waving to the opening. "We will have to use the cover."
"Okay," Jake said reluctantly.
"More babies will be born," she warned him softly.
Jake squeezed her, laughing softly. "I don't mind."
They gazes locked. "And if we?" She half-asked the question.
Jake pushed a loose braid from her face. "When Eywa wills it," he said.
Neytiri laid her head down on his chest. Her words tickled his skin. "If it is a boy ..." she said so quietly he could barely hear her, "I would name him Thomas."
Jake slowly laid his head back, staring up at the sponged ceiling. "It'll be a girl," he said. "I bet."
Neytiri's lashes fluttered against his skin as she closed her eyes. "Maybe."
