Earth:

Sam Anderson took his place at the head of the boardroom table. The other eleven men were already waiting for him.

"So?" asked Mr. Cox.

Sam looked at the board calmly at the other men. "So… the security force is en route to Pandora, while my son is en route to, God knows where."

Mr. Cox looked at him incredulously. "You're kidding. How did you manage that?"

Sam smiled. "Once again, money talks."

Mr. Pratt laughed out loud, "You ol' bastard."

"Are you talking about Grady?" said Mr. Cox. The whole room let out a laugh.

"I just had a dummy corporation finance the security forces and relayed a last minute message to the bridge of the Vociferous Michelson, the ISV Grady's on, to alter course to some coordinates that would put them precisely two hundred light-years away from Alpha Centuri A and Pandora, and most important, gentlemen, our operations."

The eleven other men stood up as a unit and applauded Sam, the loudest being Mr. Cox. Sam motioned for them to take their seats. "Good, now that ruddy pest can't make injunctions on our affairs!" exclaimed Mr. Cox.

"Onto other affairs, gentlemen," said Sam. "Currently our force is traveling a little under 0.6 light speed, putting us at Pandora in little over five years. This is our timetable. Five years. Now, gentlemen, what to do with the Avatar program?"

Mr. Cox stood up. "Disassemble it, and quick, I say! What good are those scientists to us? Eco-babble. Poppycock. The more of them that stay on that planet, the more trouble they'll cause, ain't no doubt about that."

"I'll have to disagree with you on that one, Mr. Cox," said Mr. Pratt. "That program has already come in handy to us on this endeavor, therefore I'm certain it may come in handy again."

"I believe I'm in league with Mr. Pratt, gentlemen. There is no rush I believe to dismantle it, but perhaps stifle it, at least here on Earth like research and whatnot. I move to keep that channel open."

"Aye," piped in Mr. Pratt. Mr. Cox sneered down at the table.

Aboard the Vociferous Michelson:

Grady saw to it that all of the security personnel were put into cryosleep before his personal bodyguards touched the semi permeable fluid that all had to drink before embarking on the five year voyage in, basically, a coffin. After a sweep of the barracks and sleeping quarters, Grady made his way to the ISV bridge.

The captain on the flight was an exceptionally tall man, with broad shoulders and a well-trimmed mustache. He had an angular face with a standard Navy crew cut that he adopted ever since enrolling in the Fleet. Most captains would get sick during travel in semi light speed, at least during the rapid acceleration, but somehow Captain Thomas Whitaker did not. He reveled in it. No feeling was closer to attaining pure excitement, he thought, than the travel from .0C to .7C. If only the engineers at RDA could unlock that mystical barrier to push beyond, to .9C, or hell, .999C, Captain Whitaker could die a happy man.

Grady approached the captain, who was the only one on the bridge except for a few techs and the first mate. "Evening, Captain Whitaker."

The captain was looking out the bow window, hands clasped behind his back, and turned to nod to the young industrialist. "Sir. I would have thought that you would be in your bunk right about now. The Vociferous Michelson is about to accelerate."

"I wanted to make sure that the security personnel weren't up and about with no one to look after them."

"You need not worry about those grunts onboard my vessel, master Anderson, I believe your position is well in order."

"Still, wanted to make sure."

"Aye."

"Are we the last to leave? Don't see any of the other ISVs still lingering around."

"Aye, we are. We received a coded message after all of the, well, most of the cryobeds were locked in, that said to delay departure an hour or so, something about a disturbance that will pass our vector, so we're just waiting it out."

"How long ago was that?"

The captain looked at his chronometer. "Fifty-one minutes ago. The message said that they'll respond when it's all-clear."

Like clockwork, the video monitor at the head of the bridge's panel lit up. CORRECTION: BEAR 32.54°x 21.84°y 4.46°z; ALL-CLEAR.

Captain Whitaker looked at the message. "Huh, changing our course quite a bit, must be because of the disturbance. Not to worry though, master Anderson, you have quite a capable bridge on this vessel."