Avatar: Rebirth Chronicles
A Novel By: A.R. Fredrick
Based on the characters in Avatar, Created by: James Cameron
Archive: With Permission Only
Chapter Rating: PG
A Dire Dilemma
.:Data Stream Open:.
.:Transmission Data Status: Highly Encrypted and Compressed. Limited To Text Only. :.
.:Transmission Origin: Alpha Centauri Star System - Transmission Mode: Civilian Sub-light Channel. :.
.:Transmission Origin Continued: Signal Originates From Pandora – Seventh Moon Orbiting Planet Polyphemus. :.
.:Personal Log: Sully, Jake T. :.
.:Classification: Na'vi/Human Hybrid. :.
.:August 27th, 2154 - Terran Calendar. :.
Training as a Marine and living through numerous war zones, skirmishes and combat situations hardens you a great deal to the rest of the world. You are used to disconnecting from your emotions and acting merely on instinct. When you are trudging through the mud of some god-forsaken swamp in a tropical country that you'd just learned about moments before you jumped from a plane and pulled the ripcord on your parachute, only to land in the thick of the bush, you learn to be ready for anything.
You pretend to yourself that you're hard, strong as steel and nothing can touch you. You tell yourself that living without feeling makes you a better man and you convince yourself that it is true. Then, pretty soon, you're not pretending anymore. You are living without emotion, you view the world in a haphazard manner, through eyes that used to see in Technicolor but now only perceive things in murky shades of gray.
Maybe that is what happened to Colonel Quaritch, at this point I can only speculate, but maybe when he started out he was a different man. Maybe he had been a good man at some point, almost assuredly so, perhaps living through so much violence and conflict warped him into the person that tried to kill me by playing dirty.
I'm not very philosophical, never really had the patience for it, but there is a proverb that always stuck with me. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. That, my friends, may be the most apt statement I've ever heard and I've found the truth of it in life. Maybe Colonel Quaritch had good intentions when he came to Pandora. Maybe he wanted to help his people to survive, flourish and continue on with their way of life. But because he had hardened his heart so much to the world around him and he had cut himself off from his emotions to be a better soldier, he became indifferent to the plight of the Na'vi.
Perhaps it was just another notch on his belt, another mission to log, another challenge to conquer. Maybe he had meant well, for his own people. But that does not excuse him from his actions. It doesn't excuse anyone who was exiled from Pandora for their actions. Good intentions for your own people, does not justify the massacre or genocide of another. Hell, while we are at it, someone tell Parker Selfridge that a good quarterly earnings statement for his shareholders isn't a good reason either. I hope both men are comforted by their good intentions and business motivations when it comes time for them to return their energy to whichever great spirit they belong to. I'll pray to Eywa that their punishment isn't too severe.
I don't mean to preach or pretend to be perfect, far from it. I am just a man, a living being. I've got faults. I've got fears. I've known jealousy, hatred, greed and envy. But what separates me from the likes of Quaritch and Selfridge is the fact that I've learned to deal with my emotions, both the good and the bad ones. I did not cut myself off from them, or try to lock them away in some clandestine corner of my psyche, I've lived with them each and every day.
Trust me when I say it was hard. Hard as hell. After losing my ability to walk, after losing my brother Tom, I wanted to shutdown my feelings and run on autopilot for awhile. And while I was sitting there, watching my brother's remains turn to ash during the cremation process, I saw the assignment to Pandora and the Avatar Program that I was being offered a commission into as a chance to forget the past, run on instinct and start my life over again.
The irony is that I got more than I had bargained for. More than I had ever imagined. I got new legs and a new life. My feelings ran rampant and I became more than a Marine, I became a Na'vi warrior. To tell you the truth, being a Na'vi warrior is much easier than being a Marine, because as a warrior of the Omaticaya, you do not have to forsake your conscience or emotions for the sake of the job.
Maybe I betrayed the Humans when I sided with the Na'vi, but I could not deny my conscience, or the blessings Eywa had given me without any strings attached. Colonel Quaritch may have offered to fix my legs, but the gift of the Omaticaya was greater than that. The Na'vi fixed my heart.
.:Transmission Ends:.
To say that I was shocked, stunned, or surprised would be the biggest understatement of the last century. I watched the pained expression on the angular face of Tsu'tey as he lay unconscious on the makeshift gurney and was baffled at his presence there. For all intents and purposes the ragtag Na'vi hunting and rescue parties that were sent into the wilderness to locate survivors counted Tsu'tey as Missing in Action, though they had not coined the particular term, the end assumption was the same.
Of the 2,000 strong Na'vi that went to war, 850 died and over 500 more suffered various wounds. The influx of the dead and the wounded in such massive amounts was something that the Na'vi were not used to. Though battles had been fought between clans in the past, they were limited to smaller engagements, that did not result in such a large number of causalities. Moreover, the amazing thing is that each Na'vi war party would regularly include a lesser shaman who would oversee the blessing and burial of each fallen body. With so many dead to bury and wounded to treat, this system became taxed beyond its limits and Omaticaya as well as representatives from other clans were left with a daunting task they had never faced before.
Dr. Max Patel spent a brief stint considering a career in Emergency Room medicine, and worked several shifts at Our Lady of Angels hospital in Neo New York City, where he was used to a barrage of different tasks and where chaos was abound in plenty. Because of this, he was able to help spearhead the treatment of the wounded, some of which still lay in a camp of tents in our settlement here at the Tree of Souls. Furthermore, with Spellman's geological knowledge, he was able to help streamline the burial process by locating the softest patches of land in the immediate area near the Tree of Souls, which would cut down the time needed during the burial process, as the graves could be readied more quickly with less physical labor.
But obviously there was some failing in the area of Search and Rescue, as nobody who was sent out to look for survivors was able to locate Tsu'tey. The idea that they had missed him, that he was out there wounded and almost helpless irked me to no end, but now was not the time to lay blame, now is the time to determine the extent of his wounds and render treatment.
While I was busy wool-gathering, the rapid murmurs of Mo'at and Gee'ma became more frantic and distressed. Neytiri was quiet beside me and I could not tell if this was a positive or negative thing. Gee'ma leapt up from her crouch with sudden feline grace and ran at a speed I would have otherwise assumed she was unable, toward the Tree of Souls.
I tried to master the emotions swirling inside me as I risked casting a glance at both Mo'at and Neytiri. Neytiri seemed to be distracted, lost in thought and only stared at her mother as if looking for guidance. Mo'at was intensively chanting over Tsu'tey's broken body. Both remained silent otherwise and as I was not able to follow much of the earlier conversation, I was pretty much left in the dark.
"What's going on?" I asked while drawing a deep breath. "How is he doing?"
"He is not well Jake." Neytiri mumbled from her place beside me. "His body is very weak, wounded and hungry. But we cannot heal his wounds because of the metals inside of him and he cannot take food in his condition."
"Err... Okay. So, what's the plan then?" I asked hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper.
"We will pray for him and assist him as much as possible during his passing to Eywa." Neytiri answered stoically.
"Um. What?" I asked, hoping I was mistaken. "You're just going to let him die?"
"It is beyond our power to do anything more for him now Jake," Neytiri responded.
I looked at her with compassion and I could see the pain in her eyes. This did not spurn jealousy inside of me, but rather I was aghast with the knowledge that they were resigned to do nothing in order to help save the life of this man. While I could not blame Neytiri, as she was following cues from her mother, I looked upon the face of Mo'at with fire in my eyes and discord in my heart.
"Mo'at, you can't just give up on him," I told her in broken Na'vi.
Mo'at's chanting abruptly ceased, she grunted in apparent frustration and looked up at me, her facial features were alive and challenged me to look away, to resign to her decision, thereby admitting that her method of action was the best option available. I did not look away and my gaze did not waver. I would not be deterred this time, or ever again when giving my opinion, I am Omaticaya now and forever more.
"You dare to question the will of Eywa?" Mo'at asked me in English.
I removed my hand from Neytiri's shoulder, and gestured at Tsu'tey's body. Hoping to make Mo'at see him as I did. Gunshot wounds and plasma burns aplenty. He was beaten, broken and bleeding, but still alive. He could be saved.
"Like hell, you know better than that Mo'at, Eywa saved my life." I responded. "But this has nothing to do with Eywa. If it wasn't for the goddamned RDA, then Tsu'tey would still be kicking ass and taking names, not laying here near death."
"What is it you presume to do Jakesully, how do you wish to save him?" Mo'at asked me.
