From orbit, Pandora looked much like Earth, except there was much more green than brown, the continents were unfamiliar, and the polar icecaps tiny in comparison to Earth's, even after the impact of global warming on humanity's home world. It was clearly a warmer world than Earth, despite its position outside the golden life zone of Alpha Centauri A.
Obviously, the greenhouse of effect of so much carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, and the immense amount of heat given off by the gas giant around which it orbited had something to do with its climate.
However, there was no denying that it was a beautiful world – even more beautiful than Earth. Of course, the immense bulk of Polyphemus and its spectacular swirling storms made a magnificent backdrop for any world. The only thing missing was a ring system such as that of Saturn, although Lissa thought that might be adding too much of a good thing. One did not want to overdose on cosmological beauty every time one looked out of a window – there was sufficient danger of that occurring already.
Immediately she had been awoken she had made a call to the human outpost on Pandora. Perhaps not surprisingly it had acquired the name Hell's Gate. Lissa fumed when she was told that few of the preparations she requested almost six years ago had been made. The site administrator had told her bluntly the first priority had been establishing a defensible perimeter and living quarters, and removing overburden for the open cut mine. He sincerely regretted – although the tone of his voice said something else entirely – that there had been no progress on buildings or growing food for Avatars.
Lissa was furious, but there was nothing she could do. The only authority that could put the administrator's ass in a sling was over five light years away, and the prick of an administrator had control over all superluminal communication messages – leaving any other method with a ten year turnaround time. He was his own tin-pot king in his little kingdom.
No wonder the bastard looked so fucking smug.
Phred felt his wife grow tense just thinking about it. He said quietly, "We'll deal with it, Lissa. Sara will be fine."
"It's just..." said Lissa, and sighed.
"I know," he replied. They floated in silence before the viewport for several minutes until he said, "It means that Sara has to go out into the forest sooner rather than later. This is what we have been training her for, after all. A few days or weeks won't make any real difference." He gripped her hand reassuringly.
Now she knew what it felt like to have elephants using her body as a stage for a tap-dancing concert. Sara was sore all over, her mouth tasted like ash – not that she knew what ash really tasted like, but she was pretty sure if she tried it would taste exactly like her mouth did now – and her head was throbbing.
She took a deep breath and rubbed her face against her shoulder – as soon as the cryo unit opened she would have to put on an exo-pack. Only a few more hours, and she would never have to wear one again - assuming, of course, that she was actually in orbit around Pandora. Unfortunately, inside the cryo unit there was little objective evidence for her current location.
The unit cracked open, and the faces she was hoping to see – Lissa and Phred – were waiting there. Sara did not attempt to speak – there was no point in wasting her only good lungful of air. Instead, she quickly undid the restraints and took the exo-pack mask from Phred, fitting it over her head with the smoothness of long practice.
As soon as the mask hissed, indicating that the facial seal was good, she started to breathe again, smelling the familiar scent of sterilised plastic scented with some disinfectant that pretended to be lemon. "Are we there yet?" she asked, and frowned when both Phred and Lissa chuckled. Had she made a joke?
"Yes," answered a smiling Lissa. "We're in orbit right now."
"I'm hungry," said Sara. "Is there anything to eat?"
The smiles disappeared from both of her foster parent's faces. It seemed that Sara had touched a raw nerve. "I'm afraid not," said Phred. "You'll have to go without until we can get out into the forest and collect some fruit. It should only be a couple of hours after we land."
Something had gone wrong, thought Sara.
Further thought along those lines was promptly halted in its tracks when Lissa said, "There is a v-mail for you from Nadia."
The progress dial quickly circled around as the data tablet loaded the v-mail, revealing Nadia's face. Sara breathed a sigh of relief – despite the scarring on her left cheek, she still looked like Nadia, still astonishingly beautiful. It seemed that Nadia's dark brown locks had grown back, as her hair was cut stylishly in a short bob. She looked to still be in some kind of hospital, by the institutional colour of the walls behind her, and the loose pale green clothing she was wearing.
"Has it started yet?" asked Nadia, turning her head to one side. Her voice was no longer hoarse and whispery – it looked like her vocal chords had recovered, but her words sounded flat and expressionless, very unlike the almost musical quality of the voice that Sara remembered.
An off-screen male voice said, "Yes."
Nadia turned back towards the screen and smiled. "Hi, Sara. They tell me you should get this message in five years' time, when you wake up from cryo. I wanted to say thank you, and to let you know that I will be ok. Today I'm being discharged from hospital, although I still have to do a lot of physical therapy."
She swallowed once, and Sara noticed that Nadia was resting her hands on the desk before her, clenching her fists tightly. "The doctors were correct in that I will never dance again – not in this body. Not only am I profoundly deaf, but I caught meningitis in hospital. It permanently damaged my inner ears, so now I can't balance properly. I even need a stick to walk so I don't fall over, although they tell me with practice I won't need one."
Sara fought back tears as she saw the pain and loss on Nadia's face, as she remembered what Nadia had said the first time they had met – 'Dance is my life'.
"I was transferred to hospital in California," she said. "That's where I am now. It really doesn't make any difference where I live – everyone I knew from before is gone." Nadia brushed a tear from her cheek as she admitted, "They never found Papa."
Nadia was silent for several seconds as she fought for control of her emotions, before she managed to say, "I've been offered partial scholarship to Stanford, one that covers tuition. I want to study anthropology and linguistics. Yes, I know it's going to be difficult to do that when I'm deaf, but I always liked challenge. At least I don't need any maths – you should remember how bad I am with numbers. Not only do I not need maths, I have five languages now – Ukrainian, Russian, English, French and ASL."
"If it hadn't been for you – for your generosity," continued Nadia. "I wouldn't be able to take up the scholarship. Survivor's benefits will barely keep me fed, let alone give me clothes and shelter, or pay medical bills." She took hold of her hair with one hand and dragged off the wig, turning her face from one side to the other, ruthlessly displaying her injuries to the camera. Her head and neck were red raw with keloid scars and healing skin grafts, and there was no sign of her left ear other than a hole in the side of her head. Her right ear was not much better. "The rest of me looks much the same, so I'm afraid I'm no prize in employment stakes."
Sara found that she was gripping the monitor desk so tightly that the plastic surface was starting to crack beneath her fingers.
Nadia replaced her wig and smiled wrily. "There has been distinct lack of action on sexual front, as well. Not that it matters – what is left of my skin hurts too much for sex to be any fun, and there hasn't been much opportunity, or privacy for that matter. Although," she said slyly, her eyes sliding to the left, "One of my rehabilitation therapists is very cute, and has been flirting with me for last month. From available evidence he has absolutely enormous..."
"Hey!" objected the unseen male voice.
"...ego," finished Nadia, "He is just too damn yummy for his own good."
Sara was relieved. Despite her injuries and her sadness, Nadia was still Nadia.
"Anyway, I just wanted to wish you luck, and let you know I will be ok," she said. "I have been thinking about Eywa's message. I have every intention of doing what she suggested, so who knows?" Nadia lifted her head proudly, an indomitable fire blazing in her eyes. "I might be turning up on your doorstep sooner than you expect."
Nadia's hands made a series of signs that echoed the words she spoke, "Love you."
The screen faded to black.
Sara whispered back over the light years, "I love you too."
Unlike her ride into Earth orbit, the shuttle cargo bay was already packed with people and gear when Sara swam down the docking tube and through the airlock. She felt a multitude of eyes upon her, and heard the many whispers, ranging from 'fucking smurf' to 'she is enormous' to 'my god'. This time she would not be riding in the cockpit – Xenia and Rob had stayed on Earth, some other less friendly pilots taking their place.
One of the less attractive options she had been presented by Jacko was how she was going to fly down to the surface – strapped to the forward bulkhead with a cargo net along with the little baggage she carried. At least the deceleration wasn't going to be eyeballs out.
"Are you comfortable?" asked the loadmaster. "Is the net pinching you anywhere?"
She flexed her muscles and tried to move. The net was holding her firmly in position. "I'm fine," she answered.
"Good," he grinned at her. "You're the last piece of cargo to strike down."
The tone in his voice indicated that he was making a subtle joke at her expense. Perhaps it was the reference to her as cargo? After a lengthy discussion with Nadia regarding the subtleties of humour, Sara had learnt that an appropriate response to such a sally was to say with a wry smile, "Thank you very much."
The loadmaster's grin got even broader. "You're welcome," he replied.
It seemed she had got that particular interaction correct. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, and started to think about numbers. More specifically, Sara was curious as to why prime numbers hurt her head so much. She had been thinking about this for a while, and had come across an unsolved problem on the web that might bring some meaning to her problem with primes.
It was an interesting problem, almost three hundred years old, and when Sara thought about it she could almost hear the prime numbers singing to her, singing to her of the hidden patterns underlying the Universe.
While Sara was pursuing a solution to the Riemann hypothesis, the shuttle had undocked, fired its deorbit burn and entered the atmosphere, shedding kinetic energy as blazing heat as it flew great S-shaped curves through the upper atmosphere. Sara was so engrossed with her thoughts that she hardly felt the g-force pressing her into the bulkhead, although it probably helped that the ride down from orbit was a lot smoother than her ride into Earth orbit. Not that it was an entirely smooth ride, of course.
It was only when the loadmaster started yelling at the passengers to put on their exo-packs that disturbed her reverie, and her eyes flicked open. All thoughts of the possible solution she had been considering fled from her mind in her sudden excitement. She reached for the net quick release and flicked it open, the net falling away, and she had to make a quick grab for her quarterstaff and bow before they fell to the floor. The Major had drummed into her head that she had to take care of her weapons, otherwise they would not take care of her.
Before she knew it, the shuttle had settled to the ground and the rear cargo door opened. Sara took the last breath she would ever take through an exo-pack as she Saw the Pandoran atmosphere swirl into the cargo bay, and ripped off the mask with glee.
The air was thick, not like the thin stuff she had been breathing since becoming an Avatar. It was warm and heavy with humidity, and smelt of green and growing things.
Sara had come home.