"Is there something wrong?" asked Trudy. The LZ for the schoolhouse clearing was normally empty, when they landed – the Na'vi knew better than to get in the way of a landing chopper, but this time a Na'vi girl was waiting near the path to the schoolhouse.
Samson One-Six was settling to the ground as Grace Augustine replied, "I'm not sure, Trudy. Do you have time to hang around?"
Trudy cut the switches, allowing the engines to die. "I can wait for about an hour before I have to leave for the next sector," she replied.
"Ok," said Grace, "I'll let you know if you can lift off."
"Sure thing," replied Trudy, as Grace ducked out of the chopper and walked towards the girl. She had studiously ignored Sergeant Westin, who had come along as one of the door gunners. His voice was still not up to any other duty, but he was as bored as hell, and figured that riding as a door gunner shouldn't be a problem for him.
Westin watched Grace's Avatar walking away, his eyes fixed on her tight buns and her lashing tail. He was feeling very conflicted about screwing Grace. For Christ's sake, he was even attracted to her wearing the blue monkey suit.
"You are in such deep shit, Westin," said Trudy. "I mean, fucking the doc is going to get you nothing but trouble."
"I thought you were her friend," he said, not denying what she said. Jeez, he thought, did every man and his dog know what they were doing?
"I am," she replied. "Yours too, dickhead."
"Thanks a lot, Chacon," he said drily.
"Any time," she said. "Look, you're both good troop, but Grace is the tree-hugging geek boss – she wants to save the forest. We're grunts – we kill whatever is in the way. The two just don't mix, and it's all going to end in tears. You know that."
"When I want your fucking advice, Chacon," he growled, "I'll fucking ask for it."
Trudy grinned back, "Yeah, sure."
"Kaltxi, Grace," welcomed Ney'tiri, as Grace approached her.
Grace smiled and answered, "Kaltxi. Is there something wrong?"
"Mother wishes to speak with you," answered Ney'tiri. "Please follow."
No time was allowed for Grace to absorb the content message. The Tsahik had never asked to talk to any Avatar – it had always been the other way around. Ney'tiri was already off and running, and Grace struggled to keep up with her, for all that her Avatar was a full-grown adult, and Ney'tiri was only an adolescent.
The path to Hometree was not short, and Grace was puffing by the time they emerged from the forest. The few times she had been allowed this far she had been overwhelmed by the enormity of Kelutrel, that this towering living organism was the home of hundreds of Na'vi. Thankfully, Ney'tiri slowed as they approached. The Na'vi that she saw looked at her curiously, clearly wondering why a dreamwalker had been allowed this far, but none challenged her – no doubt because she was being led by the daughter of the olo'eyktan and the Tsahik of the Omaticaya.
She was led into Hometree and up to the first level, and conducted to an alcove. Ney'tiri drew aside a richly woven curtain, and gestured her inside. Grace saw the Tsahik seated on the floor and automatically said, "Oel ngati kameie."
Mo'at rose to her feet and astonished Grace by saying in English, "Welcome to Kelutrel, Toktor Augustine, and thank you for coming so quickly. Please be seated." She gestured to a rug on the floor of the alcove.
Grace was astonished. She had no idea that the spiritual leader of the Omaticaya could speak English. She had never been to any of the schoolhouse lessons. "Irayo, Mo'at," she somehow managed to say, and sat down on the rug.
As Mo'at joined her, the Tsahik added, "Please, speak 'Ìnglìsì. Although both my daughters are excellent teachers, I find I need the practice."
Grace glanced to one side, seeing Ney'tiri sitting quietly against the wall. "They are both excellent students, and a credit to their parents," she replied.
"It is well that you say so," Mo'at answered. "I see you wonder why my younger daughter is here." When Grace nodded in reply, Mo'at said, "Ney'tiri is to become Tsahik after me, and must learn of the duties. She is here to listen, and to learn."
"Not Sylwanin?" asked Grace curiously.
Mo'at sighed. "My elder daughter has a hot head. She is a great warrior and hunter, and I love her dearly, but I fear she has not the patience to be Tsahik. Would you like refreshment?"
"Rutxe," answered Grace.
Ney'tiri got to her feet and poured hot water from a pot on some kind of brazier into two bowls, passing one to her mother and one to Grace.
"This drink is called haw'naerftang," said Mo'at. "It is something of an acquired taste, but if you have been lacking sleep it will maintain your wakefulness for a time. Zha'nelle said you would probably like it."
"Is Janelle well?" asked Grace. She tried not to look at the foul smelling dark purple liquid as she took a cautious sip. Her toes almost curled with ecstasy as the coffee like flavour hit her taste buds. Involuntarily she said, "Ahhhh. This is very good." Grace just had to get some of this stuff. The flavour totally blew away the swill served in the Hell's Gate mess. What a pity it was probably deadly poison to a human body.
"I am glad you like it," said Mo'at, making a face as she sipped her own bowl. "However, it is unwise to drink more than one bowl. The side-effects are somewhat disconcerting, besides that of staining your water." She took another sip, adding, "It is because of Zha'nelle that you are here."
Some expression of concern must have flitted over her face, for Mo'at said, "Nay, do not worry for Zha'nelle. She is well, and very happy." Mo'at smiled wistfully when she added, "Zha'nelle has taken her life-mate."
"What?" exclaimed Grace in surprise. "She said nothing of this." Her last e-mail had chopped off suddenly, as though she had been interrupted before she finished writing.
"So she was talking to you on her glass tablet," said Mo'at. "I was curious, but did not wish to push her on this small matter. This was little that she could tell you that would endanger the Omaticaya."
At this point, Grace realised that she was being played by a expert. Mo'at was no fool – despite what RDA management thought, the Na'vi were not savages. Their society was as complex and sophisticated as any pre-technological human society – more so, for they were far more mobile than any comparable human society, thanks to their ability to fly banshees. The evidence was all around her, just from the hangings and the furnishings in this single alcove.
"I should not have asked her to conceal her communications from you," said Grace. "I thought that she should maintain some contact with one who knew her as a human, so that she did not lose all anchors to her previous self."
Mo'at made a sign of assent with one hand. "You are a kind and caring woman," she said, "For one who is not Na'vi, I believe your sense of honour is like to that of the People. Those who lead your people on this world, well, the Na'vi do not know them, or their honour."
Grace did not trust herself to respond.
"You are learning, Toktor Augustine," smiled Mo'at. A more serious expression replaced the smile as she said, "Zha'nelle has told of the fate of the people that raised her, the Cree, and their cousins – Sioux, Cherokee, Apache, many of the disappeared clans of their land. Those who became the sky-people killed and corrupted them, such the clans no longer could hear or see their mother and father, and their land was stolen away."
"My people have done much we are ashamed of," admitted Grace.
"It is not your shame I am concerned with, but the life of the Na'vi," responded Mo'at calmly. "Eywa has sent a message that in time the tawtute may be the enemies of the People. This time has not yet come to pass, and it may not, for all things are possible, and those of honour among the tawtute may prevail. Until the time of enemies occurs, you may stay on Omaticaya land, for the People wish to learn of those who would be our foes, the better so that we may kill sky-people. You will be told where you may go, and where you may not – but neither the forest nor our brothers and sister may be disturbed."
Nervously, Grace took a large swallow of the haw'naerftang. It had grown cool, although she hardly noticed. Instead, she was well aware that she was being given a blunt warning that the Omaticaya would not tolerate a free reign for human activities. This was going to be a problem, if Selfridge was going to remain in charge. The man only had an eye for maximising profit, and did not care for anything else. "I understand completely," said Grace. "I have one concern, though. What of Janelle? If it comes to war, she is human..."
"No," interrupted Mo'at. "She is not of the sky-people now, and I doubt that she ever was. She is no longer called Toktor Zha'nelle Manitowabi – her name is Zha'nelle te Manitowabi Eywa'ite of the Omaticaya."
Grace was surprised at the vehemence of Mo'at's response – as though she had cast doubt on the honour of the Omaticaya – which she supposed she had. She really should be more careful with what she said.
"I see you do not believe me," said Mo'at. "Zha'nelle is waiting by the water to speak to you."
As the Tsahik rose to her feet, and Ney'tiri drew aside the curtain over the entrance, Grace realised the meeting was over.
Ney'tiri led Grace to the bank of the lake of the Omaticaya, where a tall Na'vi woman was leaning on her bow, gazing distantly over the water. Grace wondered where Janelle was supposed to be when the woman spoke, "The Tsahik tells me you were once my friend."
The woman turned towards Grace, showing her the familiar features of Janelle Manitowabi's Avatar, broken nose and all. There was no sign of recognition in Janelle's face.
Grace felt an intense shock. Every inch of this woman screamed Na'vi – her stance, her voice, the way she moved, everything. She could always tell an Avatar from a true Na'vi, and every sense Grace had told her that this woman was not an Avatar. It was only by dragging her eyes away from her arresting face to her hands that any trace of the former Avatar could be seen.
"What happened, Janelle?" demanded Grace fiercely. "What did they do to you?"
The woman showed her teeth, in something between a smile and a snarl. "You do not say my name properly, Toktor Grace," she said. "Say it slowly, like this – Zha'nelle."
The former Avatar was intimidating as all hell. Grace responded slowly, "I did not mean to offend you, Zha'nelle."
"I take no offense," said Zha'nelle. "Tawtute are ignorant and do not See, so you do not know any better. How can I take offense from the words of a child?" She laughed softly, sensing Grace's confusion and dismay. "Though your question has merit. My answer is that the Omaticaya gave me a home, welcomed a lost spirit as one of their own. That is all."
Grace was about to interrupt when Zha'nelle held up one hand. "Nay," she said. "You should be told that I know your face, and that I have memories of life among the tawtute – but they are as memories of a story that one has told me. They do not feel real. They are not who I am."
"But..." tried Grace, only to be forestalled again.
"The story tells me that you are an honourable person, and a good friend, even though you are tawtute," said Zha'nelle. She held out an open hand towards Grace. "If you wish a friend, my name is Zha'nelle te Manitowabi Eywa'ite."
Grace swallowed once. She knew what was being offered, but she did not hesitate any further. Grace talk the offered hand and answered, "I am called Grace Augustine, and yes, I would be your friend."
A twinkle of humour appeared in the eye of the Na'vi woman called Zha'nelle, showing Grace the first sign that this woman had once been Janelle Manitowabi. "Tell me, Grace, did you like the haw'naerftang?"
Somehow, Grace had the impression that an elaborate joke was being played on her. Still, she answered with a straight face, "Yes, I did - very much. Why?"
"I hope you like the colour purple," said Zha'nelle.