Yes, TuckingFypo, I do read my reviews. You people are taking time out of your life to read this; I care about what ya'll think.

This chapter is a turning point for clone!Quaritch. :3

Paintings On the Walls

13

Quaritch could not help himself. Despite Rajian's warnings, he still wanted to see the Na'vi. They were amazing to him. Norm, however, was not so happy. He would always send a glare to Quaritch, but smile at Tu'sky. She just smiled back—nothing more. Brother-sister love; no more. The clone soon found himself becomming more interested in her and her "title" in the clan. She was called the Village Stalker. She was known to follow people around (like him, Norm, even Neytiri, and this one other guy she took interest to), and she was very good at it. Quaritch found it humorous, but then again, it was a little odd. Tu'sky just said that she liked to watch people. If she wanted to learn more about a person, she "stalked" them to answer her questions. She was just a very curious person. Ma'ki clung to the clone like gum on a shoe, and he was kind to the boy. When the pup Viperwolf ran off, he comforted the boy, telling him that his "pet" was safe. The little boy was always teaching the colonel how to play Na'vi games and how to arch. Quaritch loved this place for these reasons:

One—it was a way to escape the horrible metal world of RDA.

Two—to get away from those bone-headed men he had to watch like a hawk when he did not want to watch them.

Three—he wanted to make up for the horrible things his people have done to the Na'vis. He would protect them.

Four—it was beautiful here. Like a Paradise.

He also began to notice certain things about the Na'vi, besides the fact that they were tree-hugging hippies. Not one Na'vi had the same markings. Example: Neytiri's was like looking at a big blue tiger. Tu'sky's was like military camouflage uniforms, and Ma'ki's . . . some odd form of stripes, camouflage, and swirls.

But today was an odd day. Jake wanted the clone. Even though the once-Marine Na'vi explained to his people what Quaritch was, it was difficult for them to understand. They were giving strict rules not to tell him the truth. When Tu'sky asked why, the leader answered: "He may not be able to handle the truth." Quaritch followed Jake, carefully climbing down the rocks. Jake jumped to the bottom, crouching on the ground.

"You here?" Jake inquired, glancing up.

Quaritch jumped, landing on the earth next to the Na'vi. "Yeah," he grunted. "Where the hell are you taking me?"

"It's important," Jake stated. He paused, and thought of the right words to say: "It will help with your memory."

Quaritch glanced up, surprised. "Really, the hell it better," he stated.

Jake glanced down at the smaller creature, his ears low. "I'm not sure you'll like it," he stated, his tail twitched.

"I don't give a damn, I need to know," Quaritch growled, staring at Jake.

The once-Avatar nodded. "Okay," he stated.

Jake grabbed a vine, wrapping it around his hand, and gently guiding down the side of the mountain. Quaritch glanced up, watching four-winged creatures fly in the air. The clone followed, scaling the side of the mountain. The air was cool here, and plants hung from the stones and scattered dirt. His hand went up, rubbing the side of his head where his scars were. Jake jumped down a small ledge, and walked into a cave. Quaritch followed, going into the cave. The sound of water filled his ears. His boots thumped against the water, splashing up. It was dark, but there were rays of light from holes at the top of the cave. Moss and greenery covered the stones of the cave. Jake grabbed the stones towards the end of the cave, and climbed up, going to a ledge. Quaritch followed, water splashing against his air mask and skin. He pushed himself up, trailing the tall Na'vi, who was bent over, not wanting to hit his head against the roof of the cave. Quaritch was small enough not to duck.

"So, where the hell is this damn place?" the clone demanded.

"We're almost there," Jake answered, going to another ledge and pulled himself up. "Stop worrying."

The colonel grabbed the rock, yanking himself up. There was another hole in a wall where light filtered from. Jake went through the hole, and the clone followed. Light and mist greeted them. The once-Avatar walked over to a series of rock-walls, and the clone trotted submissively at his heels. What Quaritch saw reminded him of ancient Egypt. There were detailed paintings on the walls. There were paintings of the Thanator, Viperwolves, the Woodsprites, and plants. The colonel glanced over them, arching an eyebrow. His eyes rolled over an image of a flying craft.

This was when the humans came to Pandora.

Writing in Na'vi were etched on the walls, reminding the clone of a child's storybook. There were the Na'vi watching the machines. Paintings of the AMPs were there, Samsons, and Scorpions. The next images were the humans educating the Na'vi, teaching them English. Then there was the machines destroying the plants, mining the precious mineral that RDA lusted after. Quaritch looked to the next painting. Humans murdered some Na'vi, their blood flying. The death of The Tree of Voices. Soon there was the painting of the destruction of Hometree. And there was a large multicoloured creature. The Great Leonopteryx. A Na'vi that looked just like Jake had the creature near him. Then the Great Battle. When the Na'vis fought the humans. Images of the Pandoran animals attacked the humans, smashing them and killing them. Quaritch looked, his face confused, yet understanding.

His mind then flooded with memory.

When he joined RDA. When he first saw the Na'vi people and called them "flea-bitten savages." Then when he first murdered a Na'vi. It was a male one . . . protecting his daughter. When he allowed the destruction of Hometree. Then the Great Battle. Quaritch was trembling, his stomach churning. Jake looked at him, his ears low, and reached over to touch the clone's shoulder.

"Quaritch?"

The clone flinched away. "Don't touch me," he snarled.

"You were a different person then," Jake calmly breathed. He was trying to be gentle about it. This new Quaritch was . . . kinder than the original Quaritch. Not like he was not mean. Oh no, he twisted Norm's nipples when the Na'vi made a smart remark. The rest of the day all Norm did was complain how much his nipples hurt. "You're not like that now."

Quaritch ripped himself away from Jake. "But I was like that," he snarled around gritted teeth. "I was that person. The one you remember. The one your people remember. I—" He suddenly felt something rise in his throat. He trembled, his stomach lurching. He soon found himself darting off to a ledge, removing his mask, and vomiting. Jake watched, placing a hand on his back. He did not take in the information well. The sound of retching and the sound of the digested substance hitting dirt and rocks filled Jake's ears. Quaritch took in a sharp breath of the toxic Pandoran air, and quickly placed his mask on. A new feature with the mask was whenever it was removed from the face; it would stop sending fresh air. It was a way to conserve precious air. The clone's breathes were hard as he took in the air. When his breathing was normal, he glanced up at Jake.

"Take me to the witchdoctor—take me to Mo'at."

"Why?"

"I want to see Mo'at, damn it!"

Jake held up his hands. "Okay, okay, calm down," he said. "We'll go see Mo'at."

Jake poked his head through the cloth "door" to the hut. "Mo'at?" he called.

Quaritch glanced in. There were bones hanging and displayed. There were paintings of odd symbols and wood carvings. Mo'at was kneeling in front of a totem, turning to her son-in-law, as one would call it. Mo'at looked directly at the clone, seeing the colour had faded from his face. The Na'vi stood up gracefully, and walked over to the clone.

"What wrong?" she asked, bending down to the clone's level, reaching up to touch his face.

"I told him the truth," Jake said in Na'vi. "He did not take it well."

"I thought you said that he should not know the truth," Mo'at said.

"I did not tell him that part, just what he did. What the real Quaritch did to us."

Mo'at took Quaritch's jaws into her large hands, lifting his head up. "Come, MilesQuaritch," she told him, offering him inside. When Jake tried to enter, Mo'at thrust out her hand, placing it on his chest. "No, JakeSully. Just MilesQuaritch."

Jake nodded, walking out of the hut. Mo'at guided the sickly clone to the floor on the mat, crossing her legs, making the clone sit down. "Sit, MilesQuaritch, sit," she said.

The clone did, right in front of her.

"Why you want to talk to me?" Mo'at asked, placing her hands on his knees.

Quaritch's eyes were dull—just empty orbs in his head. "I can't believe I was like that," he whispered. His stomach lurched again. Quaritch growled, bending forward. "I'm sorry. I was a monster."

Mo'at shook her head. "No, you no monster," she stated. "You no tìkawng person. No tìkawng. You no tìkawng now." She placed her hands on his chest, right over his beating heart. "You have good tirea. Sìltsan tirea."

Quaritch looked at her. "I want forgiveness," he whispered.

"Forgiveness? Txoa from who?"

The clone glanced up, unsure of what she meant. "What do you mean?" he inquired.

Mo'at pulled back her hand. "You want forgiveness from The People or from Eywa?" she asked, lifting her hands to the sky.

The clone looked up at the roof of the hut, then down back at her, arching an eyebrow. "Your people," he stated.

Mo'at shook her head. "No, first you need txoa from Eywa, then from The People," she stated, placing her hands to his shoulders.

He bent forward, his elbows against his knees. The Na'vi female patted his shoulders, reaching towards a jug and a small round dish. She gave Quaritch the dish, placing it in his trembling strong hands, and poured fresh water into it. Mo'at placed the jug down, and then picked up the bowl in her own hands.

"You need drink?"

He nodded his head solemnly. He took it a breath, and removed his mask. He brought the bowl to his lips, and drank from it. The water was cold as it gushed down his throat. Quaritch placed the bowl down, and picked up his mask, bringing it to his face. He took in the fresh air. Mo'at smiled, placing her hands to his shoulders.

"Okay?" she inquired.

Quaritch glanced up, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, thank you."

"So, these tests, what are they for?" the clone demanded, currently doing a series of pushups.

Dr. Wolfe watched his masterpiece. "Well, I would like to scan your brain," he answered, his arms around his upper torso.

Quaritch stopped, lowering himself to a crouch. His elbows were resting on his knees. "What for?" he then asked.

"Just one final test to make sure that you are okay."

"I am."

Dr. Wolfe arched an eyebrow. "Well, I'm not taking your word for it," he stated, leaning against the desk behind him. "And Selfridge demands it."

The colonel growled, rubbing the back of his head. "Fine, if his highness demands it," he scoffed, standing up. He glanced down at the smaller man. "Where is Rajian?"

"Busy."

"Oh."

"Let's move."

It was not long before Quaritch was belly-up on a table. He was shirtless, and some wires were connected to his head and chest. Dr. Wolfe monitored his health and heart rate. The clone was in a large machine, and several scanners took x-rays of him. Other female scientists rushed about, flipping switches and pushing buttons. The male scientist watched the large monitor, watching the full almost 3-D photograph of the brain; Dr. Wolfe looked at the scans of the real Quaritch's brain. The scientist glanced at both of them, noticing the major differences between the clone's and the real Quaritch's brain. His heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, shit."

Selfridge glanced at all the paperwork that settled on his desk. Calming music filtered in the background, but it was soon interrupted by his office door opening, flinging to the wall adjacent from it. The business man flinched, and glared up at whoever bothered him. "What, Wolfe?" he growled the question, the pen between his fingers.

The scientist slammed the x-rays on his desk, right over his papers. He separated the x-rays of the brains, and tapped at the desk with his finger. "What do you see is the difference?" he asked.

"Look, Wolfe, I'm—"

"Just look."

Selfridge glared at the man before him, but did what was asked. He looked at the x-rays, and noticed that the only difference between the brains was that one brain had a bigger front than the other. "Okay, so?" Selfridge asked, wanting an answer.

Dr. Wolfe pointed to one of the brains towards the front. "This is what we call the frontal lobe," he stated. "See how it is different than the other brain's frontal lobe?"

"Yes, and?"

Dr. Wolfe took in a sharp breath. "This is the clone's brain scans, and his frontal lobe is different than the real Quaritch's brain," he said. "You see, the frontal lobe gives a person problem solving skills, creativity, sexual interests, and . . . personality."

Parker halted his pen that was signing a piece of paper, and gazed up at the scientist. "What do you mean?" he growled.

The scientist grabbed his scans, holding them to his breast. "Remember when I said we don't have cloning down precise?" he questioned.

"Yes."

"Well, this clone has a slightly different personality than the real Quaritch."

There was silence in the room for a few moments. That was the time when Selfridge was taking in the information he received. He then bolted from his chair, slamming his hands on his desk, papers and his pen flying.

"YOU MEAN HE'S A DIFFERENT PERSON!"

Dr. Wolfe made a hushing sound, flailing his hands slightly. "Keep your voice down," he grumbled, his eyes shifting from side to side.

Selfridge pushed his way around his desk, and in the face of the smaller man. "You told me that he would be just like the real Quaritch," he snarled. "Now you tell me he's a different person entirely? For Jesus Christ's sake!"

"It's not that different, he's just more in touch with his gentle side, and his creative side," Dr. Wolfe defended. "He still has it in him to kill, but, he's less likely to take orders blindly like the real Quaritch did."

Selfridge placed his hand to his forehead and caressed his throbbing brain. "This is great, I knew there was something wrong with him when he protected that Na'vi," he hissed, his hands moving to his temples. "Great. Thank God Blackwood is coming."

Dr. Wolfe bit his lower lip. "But, I still think that Blackwood coming is not a very good idea, Quaritch and him may clash," he warned.

"Well, you gave me a defected clone."

"We're still getting used to cloning. It's only about twenty-five years old—cloning is. Even though it is old technology, we're still getting the hang of it. We're still working out the kinks."

"I don't care what your excuse is," he snarled. "Blackwood is coming, and I don't want that clone of yours anymore because of this."

Dr. Wolfe blinked, his face slipped into surprise. "You mean you want him decommissioned?" he asked. "You want us to kill him?"

"A clone is not even a person."

"Technically, yes, they are. They have the capacities to have emotions and feel, along with—"

"I don't want him anymore."

"Please, he's the best I've ever created. It took me six years to create him from the photos you gave me," the scientist growled. "I made him perfectly. Every scar is in place. Same skin tone, same eye colour—he's a work of art. And let's not forget that you paid good money for him. About how much? Oh, yes, about a million or so just for a clone."

"What a waste."

"Please, I don't wish to decommission him."

Selfridge glared intensely at the man across from him, biting his thumbnail. He could see that he did not want to kill off something he worked so hard on. The business man sighed, looking at the scientist. "Fine, you may keep him," he grumbled. "But if he sides with the Na'vi just like Sully did, I will decommission him."

Tìkawng—evil

Tirea—soul

Sìltsan—good

Txoa—forgiveness