The Glutton of Wealth

17

"Twenty million a kilo!" Selfridge cried in glee. "And so far, we've got several thousands of unobtainium kilos!" The rich man laughed.

Selfridge was one happy bastard, and Quaritch was disgusted. RDA was sponging off the Na'vi, and taking their planet's minerals. The clone stood before the rich man, straight, stoic, and his hands behind his back. Parker leaned back into the chair, his feet propped up on his desk, his hands supporting his head.

"Isn't this great?" he asked the clone.

Quaritch felt his upper lip twitch. "Maybe for you," he growled.

Selfridge arched an eyebrow to the clone. "You should be happy," the business man stated. "You're getting a good paycheck when you get back to Earth."

"I don't want the money," he grumbled. "I'm not interested in the money. When are we leaving?"

"Leaving?" echoed the rich man.

"Yes, leaving," Quaritch said. "When are we leaving Pandora?"

It was not like he wanted to leave—he wanted Selfridge and RDA to leave. He now saw life through the eyes of the Na'vi. The humans were killing this alien moon. Selfridge sighed, shifting his weight to place his elbows on the desk. "Well, we're going to clean the place out," he stated.

"W-what do you mean?"

"Must I explain."

Quaritch stepped forward, placing his hands firmly on the rich man's desk. "Yes, Mr. Selfridge, explain this to me," he stated, gritting his teeth.

Selfridge glared up at the clone. "We're staying until we have every damn bit of unobtainium," he stated, pounding his on the desk firmly.

Quaritch felt like reaching over and strangling the life out of the man in front of him. The clone only growled, pushing away from the desk. "We're staying until we suck this place dry?" he hissed.

Selfridge shrugged. "Why not, that was our original plan," he stated. "After all, you never cared before."

Quaritch glared heatedly at the other man. "Well, I do now," he snarled, pointing at his face.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you care for them?" Selfridge asked sharply.

"Because they're people too."

The rich man then laughed loudly, his hand flying to his gut. "Really? This is too funny!" he called. "You always thought of them to be a group of wild savages."

"Well, they are people," the colonel growled. "This is not our planet. This mineral is not ours to take."

Selfridge straightened up, leaning against his desk. "Well, I personally don't give a rat's ass what you think," he stated. "I'm the boss here. Not you. Maybe to your lackeys, but not to me. You understand? You do what I say. Is that in any way unclear?"

Quaritch glared angrily at the other man. His fingernails dug into the flesh of his palm, and caused crescent-shaped scarring, which bled down his fingers. He said nothing when he left the room, blood being smeared on Selfridge's office door. The rich man looked at the blood-covered door, disgusted. The man went to the door, looking at the blood running down the metal. Selfridge glanced up, glaring in the direction of the clone was.

"Stupid clone," he roughly whispered.

He walked to his desk, grabbed some tissues, and cleaned up the blood on the door. "Stupid, stupid clone," he snarled, throwing the tissues into the trash. "Waste of good money."

Dr. Wolfe approached the door, knocking on the door. "Mr. Selfridge, sir?" he called.

The business man glanced up, his hands on his cold metal desk. "Oh, Wolfe," he said. "What do you want?"

Dr. Wolfe offered his papers that he held in his fat hands. "Here, the unobtainium results," he stated. "This is how much we dug up yesterday."

Selfridge took the papers, eyeing them. It read:

Company: RDA

Home Planet: Earth

Colony: Pandora

CEO of RDA on Pandora: Parker Selfridge

Unobtainium total since arrival: 76,000 pounds

Value of unobtainium: $1,520,000,000

Selfridge smirked, looking at the numbers with smiling eyes. "Perfect, perfect," he stated.

"How's Miles?" Dr. Wolfe inquired.

The business man glanced up, a frown spread across his face. "About him," he began, waving his pointer finger at the scientist, "can I just pay you?"

"Pay me for what?"

"Well, um, let's say it simply: I don't like him," Selfridge stated. "I didn't like the real Quaritch, but at least he did what I told him to do like a loyal dog. Your Quaritch fights and scratches at me all the way. He likes the Na'vi. So, how much will it take to let me decommission him?"

Dr. Wolfe's stomach churned. "I won't accept any amount," he growled. "He is a work of ar—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know: 'he's a work of art' and all that crap," Selfridge hissed. "I will pay you a million just to allow me to decommission him."

Dr. Wolfe shook his head firmly. "No, I won't let it," he stated.

"Any why not, he's just a clone."

"He's not just a clone, he's a person," Dr. Wolfe defended. "A living being!"

Back on Earth, there was a world-wide controversy about clones being decommissioned if the owner did not want it anymore. Some people said that they had rights, while others said they did not, since they were created from a test tube and grown in a lab like a plant or a cell. They were just empty bodies. Another problem was that most people thought that clones had the right to know that they were clones. But most clones committed suicide after they found out, because most clones were based after horrible people, and they could not bear being in their image.

"So, another two million?"

"No, I want him to live."

Selfridge rubbed his temples. "You're not making this easy," he grumbled. "I own him, after all. He's mine."

"No. No. I own him—I own his body, you own his image. He's more mine than yours."

He was right. Selfridge groaned. "Fine, fine, you're right," he grumbled. "But let's put it this way: if he does anything else that pisses me off, he's mine."

"Who does he think he is?"

Rajian nodded, his hand supporting his head. "He's an ass," he grumbled.

Quaritch tapped his foot, glaring at the wall across from him. "I hate Selfridge," he snarled. "Thank God that we're not mining today. But we're going to mine again. And I have to agree with what that bastard says 'cause he's my damn boss. Now I can't see Tu'sky and the others 'cause I'm going to be stalked around."

"I know, I know," Rajian held up a bowl filled with tiny little fruit to his friend. "Jujubes?"

Quaritch looked at the little fruit. "Naw, I'm fine," he stated.

Rajian shrugged, peeling the skin away from the fruit. "More for me," he stated jubilantly.

The clone placed his hands to his hips, growling, looking out of the window. He saw the large fences that surrounded Hell's Gate in the distance. Gun mounts were on metal pillars, aimed at the dangerous world before it.

"I told you not to make friends with the Na'vi."

Quaritch glared at his friend. "I thought you liked the Na'vi," he commented.

"I do like the Na'vi, but we have rules to follow," Rajian stated. In truth, he was just afraid of doing anything wrong; he wanted that big paycheck. "Listen, I do, but I can't risk it. Back on Earth, I'm losing my house to the government. This job here on Pandora is good pay. I need the money. I can't risk it. Most people here need the money so that they can pay for something." He paused, and sighed. "Don't risk it for yourself too."

Quaritch sighed, rubbing his firm neck. "Okay, whatever," he grumbled, walking by his friend.

Quaritch saw the lush forest of Pandora. There was a link station to the right of him, and he was in his AMP. What was this? A flashback? He heard himself growl, and the AMP screeched metallically. Just below him there was Jake. Jake? Why him? Well, they were enemies at a certain point. He reached down, grabbing Jake by his long braid. The Na'vi cried out in pain, his hands reaching up, grabbing his head. He was breathing harshly, looking at the colonel with fear. Quaritch moved Jake closer to himself, reaching behind himself, yanking out a knife that was lodged at the backrest of his AMP. He held it to Jake's throat, and then there was the sound of something breaking through the air. It went into his chest. He gasped in surprise, dropping Jake to the ground, and clutching at the large arrow that was lodged in his chest. Quaritch heard himself gasp for the air in his mask, glancing up. He then saw Neytiri, drawing her arrow, and fired it at him. That arrow shot into his chest, and pain rushed through every fiber of his being.

He was shot by Neytiri? No. No.

She rushed over to her mate, arching over him, hissing loudly at him, her sharp teeth bore out. Quaritch felt his breath leave his lips, and his hands clutched the arrows in his chest. No. No. His leg gave out under him, and his AMP collapsed to the ground. His vision faded away slowly. The last things he saw was Neytiri kneel before her mate.

"Jhake! Jhake!"

Then everything was black.

Quaritch shot up, his body covered in a thin layer of sweat. His breath was haggard. He glanced around. He was in his room. Light from the night and stars beamed in through his window. "Just a dream," he grumbled, leaning forward, sweat rolling down his bare back. The clone cradled his head in his hands. "Just a damn dream."

He threw his legs over the side of his bed, his feet touching the cold floor. He wore his boxers tightly around his lower half. Quaritch stood up, walking over to the refrigerator. "That was one detailed damn dream," he grumbled, bending down to the mini refrigerator. He grabbed a cold beer, and popped it open. He took a drink from it.

What if it was not a dream?

He took the bottle from his lips. "It had to be a dream," he muttered to himself.

It was too real. What if it was a flashback? By the force of those arrows going into his chest, it could kill a person easily. Quaritch scoffed at the thought. But then something else entered his mind:

What if it did happen? What if he did die?

"No," he said, placing a hand over his beating heart. "I am alive."

He soon forgot about the dream, and drank his beer, his mind wondering back to Tu'sky and Ma'ki. Mostly Tu'sky.

*holds up a bowl of jujubes* Want some? xP