Mo'at's Terrifying Dream

19

Trees were laying on the dead earth. Long burrows were dug into the earth, deep enough to hide Na'vis behind their earth walls. Ikrans, Sky People, and Na'vi alike were laying dead on the ground, bleeding, Viperwolves ripping at the sweet flesh, chattering like old friends over their dinner. AMP suits ripped at the trees, throwing them aside as other Sky People used their machines to dig trenches. A tall man using an AMP suit held a dead, bleeding Na'vi. The male Na'vi bleed where his limbs were missing. His mouth was open like he was screaming, but he was frozen in that state forever. The man in the mechanical suit was bald, smirking, his arms covered with red swirls. His eyes were an acid green, and his eyebrows matched his markings. He dropped the Na'vi onto the ground like he was a doll.

"This was fun."

Mo'at screamed, sitting up, her skin covered in sweat. Her breathing was erratic, and her ears were alert. She moped her wet face with her palm. "Okay, okay," she breathed to herself in Na'vi. "What is Eywa telling me? What is Eywa telling me?" She rubbed her temples, thinking.

Startled by the sound, Neytiri entered her mother's hut. She was outside to make sure that everyone in the tribe was in their huts. She poked through the cloth door, looking at her mother fearful. "Mother, are you alright?" she asked.

Mo'at reached out to her daughter. "Daughter, Neytiri, daughter," she gasped, grabbing the other Na'vi's hands. "I had another dream."

"Did Eywa send you another message?" she asked her mother.

"Yes, yes," Mo'at stated. "Eywa sent another dream to me. It was just as horrible as the first."

Neytiri sat next to her mother, holding her hands tightly. "Mother, please, tell me," she whispered. "What is it? What did Eywa tell you?"

"I saw that Sky Person with red markings on his arms," she stated. "He'll kill us. He had a man is his machine's hands. He was dead. I fear that the Sky People will destroy almost all of us."

Neytiri looked at her mother, disgusted by what she had heard. Her hands trembled, but then she gripped her mother's tightly. "Don't worry, we'll be okay," she stated.

"Eywa protect us," Mo'at whispered. "Eywa protect us."

Quaritch lay awake in his bed, looking at the deep black shadows that danced on his room ceiling. The clone could not sleep. His mind filled with thoughts of his past. He sat up, his chest bare, his body a canvas of scars. He hit the side of his head. "Go away," he snarled at the ugly memories. "Get the hell out of my head."

The images of him in an aircraft, high in the air, a Samson shooting at him, and he ordered his men to fire back. The airship was shot, and it burned to a crisp, and he heard over an intercom: "I'm sorry, Jake." It was obviously a female. Who she was? He could not remember. But he did not like the old him. Yes, he was still an ass, but he could not mindlessly kill someone. But when Blackwood comes, it will be Hell in Hell's Gate. He raped women. Quaritch dug deep in his memories, and not once did he ever rape a woman. He had mindless sex, yes. Some with drunken bimbos, others with his female soldiers (not all the time, just to control those human needs)—where ever he could get it. But never did he ever rape a woman. That was extremely low. But Blackwood did it. The Army, however, just covered it up for his own good.

That was sickening.

He swung his legs over the cot, touching the cold floor. Quaritch shivered at the coldness. He wanted to repress those memories. He thought of something else: Tu'sky. He enjoyed being around her. She was a strong female—that was slightly a stalker—but he did love her. At first, he was sexually attracted to her. He just wanted her body when they first met. But now, he loved her personality. He loved her talents. He loved every bit of her. Body, heart, and soul. The clone stood up, going to the mini-refrigerator, and took a beer, cracking it open and taking a drink from it.

"Good stuff," he grumbled, pressing the bottle to his forehead.

He looked out the window, thinking of his Na'vi love interest.

It was midday, and two days it has been since Quaritch last saw the Na'vi people. He sat in the Hell's Gate's cafeteria. He was looking out the large window, beyond the fences that surrounded the enclosure. Dr. Wolfe was there, standing by the coffee area. He knew that it was the day that the soldiers would attack the Na'vi village. The scientist sighed, glancing over at his clone. He let out a ghost of a groan.

"Hey, Miles," he called.

The clone perked up, looking to his creator. "Oh, hey, Doc," he greeted, waving his hand to the heavy-set scientist.

The two of them, over the months, developed a father-son thing. Quaritch would ask for his advice, and Dr. Wolfe would give his ideas to the clone. He was becoming to close to the clone. Dr. Wolfe was breaking the first rule about clones.

"Want some coffee?" Dr. Wolfe inquired, holding up a mug.

"Sure," Quaritch answered.

Dr. Wolfe turned his back to his creation, placing the mug on the counter. He filled the coffee cup with the strong liquid, and reached into his pocket, taking out a small vile. It was crushed up sleeping pills. About three of them. He poured the shattered bits of pills into the drink, and stirred it into the deep rich liquid. He then put in the cream and sugar, covering up the taste of the pills. It was not like he wanted to do this—Selfridge ordered him to do so. It was to make sure that the clone would not interfere with the storming of the Na'vi village. Dr. Wolfe put on a fake, calm smile, and walked over to his clone. He placed the coffee before the man's hands. Quaritch took the cup, looking up at the scientist.

"Thank you," he stated, taking a large gulp of the drink.

"You're welcome, son," Dr. Wolfe stated, a tiny frown forming on his face.

Quaritch tasted the strong coffee on his tongue, and sighed. "Good stuff, real cream," Quaritch said.

"Yes," Dr. Wolfe breathed, sitting down, across from his clone. "So, son, how have you been?"

Quaritch shrugged merely. "I could be better," he stated. "You wouldn't want to hear."

Dr. Wolfe watched as the clone took another gulp of the drink, his eyes pained. But then he glanced up at the clone, truly interested in what he was going to say. "What? You can tell me," the scientist stated.

Quaritch glanced at the man before him with a stoic expression, and then he arched an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked. "You want to hear my damn problems?"

Dr. Wolfe shrugged, nodding his head as he did so. "Why not? I'm here, aren't I?" he said.

Quaritch blinked, looking down at his drink. "I started to recover my memories," he then said. "And I don't like them."

Dr. Wolfe nodded his head, looking at his own refection in the metal table. "I see," the scientist stated. "That's okay. I can see if you don't."

Quaritch looked at his cup, and it slowly faded in and out. The clone blinked many times, watching as his vision faded away. His hand went to his head, sighing. "Um, I'm kind of tired," he stated, standing up. "I'm going to my room."

Dr. Wolfe nodded, knowing that the pills were taking its effects on him. "Okay, get some sleep," Dr. Wolfe breathed.

Quaritch did not take his coffee with him, and he walked out of the cafeteria. His head spun, and his hand went to his forehead, groaning. His vision was becoming slightly hazy, and he shook his head. The clone walked down the hall, and to his room. He kicked off his boots, one scuffing the wall. His army uniform pants unraveled when he freed them from the confinements of the boots. He flopped on the bed, and he was out.

"Okay, men!" called a man. He was a marine. "I'll look after you. Colonel Quaritch cannot make it on the storming today." He glanced over the men and women. "Okay, this is simple: we just kill a few and destroy some things. Not much. Now, no one die."

The soldiers glanced between each other, guns in hand, AMPs behind them. They were ready for fights. The Na'vi people were oblivious to this whole thing. They were never expecting to have the Sky People attack them.

They were so very oblivious, and Quaritch could not help.