I knew they were coming. The consuming fire of my dreams, the desolation of my nightmares. I had trained my People and the People of other clans to conduct a daring raid into what they call, the 'dark world'. The plan proved itself to be ambitious, but I knew it was never going to be enough to completely stop the RDA. We only slowed them down and in the end, the RDA won out and we lost everything that we had built for so many years. We became refugees again, losing our home to the impeding destruction of their unholy war.
It was a retreat with no white flag, fleeing to the Hallelujah Mountains where the RDA could not reach us without risking immediate death. The sanctuary—High Camp, was created many years ago. A hesitant plan that even Neytiri found regrettable, until we needed it. But now I pray a different prayer, seeking answers to fight an uneven war, waged by the violence unparalleled even by the standards that were fought thirteen years prior. It feels like we're losing. It feels like I won't see an end to this conflict.
I fear for my children's lives, for my mates', for the People. What will their future be if we do not win this time? They look up to me as though I can win this fight but I'm only looking at the reality, and the truth is, I don't know…
Vengeance — Chapter III
July 15th, 2168 — Approximately 6 months following the arrival of the RDA to Pandora
The luminous twin-suns boiled the temperatures through the afternoon, forging a life-sucking cyclone of sweltering heat, suffocating air pressure, and among the opinions inside the kestrel gunships—insanity. The saving grace was the speed of the kestrels. By keeping the side-hull doors open, they flew at close to two-hundred knots against the wind, encouraging the cool whirlwind of air to breathe through the asphyxiating interior and relieving the broiling bodies from within.
An hour into the flight, they felt it. The boredom. They were promised it would be a quick flight to Bridgehead, but as time dragged on, so did their minds. Filling out the rest of the time before they reached the circular city was an air of small talk, benefited by hands that fiddled with rifles or checked the gear they brought with them. All in an attempt to quiet the malevolent whispers about the Na'vi.
Outside of the kestrels, they heard the thumping of heavy music blaring from the speakers fitted to the hulls of the gunships. Serving to thwart any attempt by the Na'vi to ambush them. Of course this was benefited by the belief that the Na'vi hated human music, unless they suddenly became fans of The Sword—then they were in trouble.
And no one aboard the kestrels were that eager to find trouble. Afterall, despite wearing patches on their shoulders that showed a bowie knife going through a Na'vi skull, none of them had any experience in jungle warfare, or warfare with the tall blue aliens. At most, their experienced was with other humans, with other guns, and with similar technology. The Na'vi had the homefield advantage.
The preferred encounter if you had to ask any SEC-OPS personnel, was at a distance. A distance from which they could rest their rifle upon their hands and view through a scope to kill a Na'vi. Otherwise, they let AMP pilots handle the Na'vi affair. So far, the ones that SEC-OPS did encounter and continued to encounter were Na'vi who wandered through the human-claimed territory by accident. The kind with only spears to throw and bows to use.
Rules of engagement stipulated that a trooper should fire their weapon on any Na'vi coming close to human territory. However, SEC-OPS found it best to scare them than antagonize them into a fight. It left fewer bodies that way. No reason to embolden the Na'vi by leaving behind a carnage of dead bodies for their brethren to find, especially when they bloated in the hot suns.
As far as anyone was concerned, SEC-OPS played it cool with the Na'vi. Only fire back if they looked nasty; wielded a bow or a spear; were aiming right for you. It became something of a subconscious rule of thumb. Though no one could say the same for General Ardmore. Word down the grapevine was, she was preparing for some kind of an incursion against the Na'vi. No one knew for certain what kind of an incursion, but if they had to guess: it was the reason they were being transferred to Bridgehead.
Otherwise, seeing the Na'vi scatter back into the forest made for smiles among SEC-OPS.
But there still remained a secret fear. The kind-of-fear that was ten-foot-tall, carrying rifles chambered in fifty-cal. Because they were the ones Jake Sully had trained, with a bitter vendetta to hunt every human they come across. Those were the ones SEC-OPS were instructed to kill-on-sight, no matter what.
And as of yet, they had only a few run-ins with Jake's terrorists. At least in the first week after arriving to Pandora but after that? Silence. No one knew for certain when they will strike again—if ever. Many were hoping he never showed his face around Hell's Gate or Bridgehead. But who was a soothsayer among them?
All the reason to keep Freya on a loop.
And if the music did not stop them, the door gunners will. Swiveling their Hydra machine guns, they kept an eye out for any snooping, sneaking, flying rat in the sky. At one point, a door gunner stationed in the third kestrel to the rear of the V formation, fired upon a group of purple-bodied tetrapteron. Four-winged creatures no bigger than a bird-of-prey back on Earth and creatures who rarely—if ever—attacked humans. No one knew if he was bored or was practicing. But his paranoia was sound to keep his finger on the trigger.
Having fought humans and their machines, the Na'vi knew how to disable them, and more frighteningly, knew how to knock a gunship out of the sky with such relative ease that it made every kestrel pilot pucker up when they saw a rogue banshee fly across their view.
The early warning signs that every pilot was educated on helped them stay alive long enough to keep flying. Otherwise, they knew they would be notched on some warrior's bow for all eternity for being able to bring down a gunship. The first sign was noticing how the Na'vi riders avoided a frontal attack. The second sign was using their banshees to gain a ceiling advantage over the gunships. Finally, they turned over in their banshee, aimed, and with gravity, released their arrows, which penetrated up to seven-centimeters of thick herculite aerospace glass.
Right into the heart of the pilot. Scary stuff.
To combat this problem, door gunners were told to fire upon any suspecting Na'vi rider, whether they were flying home or lining up for an attack vector. Which was easier discussed than done. Between the wobbling of the gunships and how the banshees were able to spin about or changing their flight pattern, made for shooting almost a gamble.
Which brings to a curious question: Why were they here at all?
They were willing to risk their lives against dangerous animals; against the Na'vi; against heat strokes; against dehydration; against asphyxiation. There was plenty of ways to die on Pandora and to the average person back on Earth, it seemed too much.
The truth was simple: Money.
No one was going to risk their necks for corporate interest had it not been for the hefty paycheck and the bonus check that came afterwards. Reducing the willingness to die on some backwards world was the RDA's guarantee to watch over their families, supplying them with healthcare, housing, and food.
Aside from money that bribed them to travel across the stars, there was also word that they will be the tip of the spear to deliver an ungodly amount of vengeance upon the Na'vi, Jake Sully, and whoever else that stood in the way of human dominance on Pandora.
Following the unscheduled return of the ISV Venture Star, the RDA painted a picture of defeat at the hands of their violent foes.
No one could wait. Thousands signed up for employment. It was an infectious virus that the RDA supplanted across all Earth and her colonies. Manipulating the voice of history by suggesting it was the Na'vi who overthrew Hell's Gate. By arguing it was them that murdered miners, workers, and security soldiers. Governments across the globe rallied behind the RDA. They gave them unlimited resources and with unlimited resources came a fleet of ISV's and a gargantuan supply of bodies.
Thirteen years later, they did just that. Vengeance.
Shortly after arriving, the fleet of ISV's turned their matter-antimatter thrusters on the surface of Pandora. The brilliant blue holocaust consumed every living thing that the fire reached and then some. No thing or no one could escape it. What remained after was the snowfall of ash. To the RDA, they were only making room and that the fire acted as nothing more than a glorified daisy cutter. None the less, it felt good to the people in the ISV's to see wide swaths of forest turn to cinder.
By the end of the first week, Pandora belonged to humans' again.
Leading this squadron of ariel death was the code-named Disaster. Painted in jungle-green with a pattern of light birchwood and nose art fashioned with the image of hooded-death carrying a sickle and holding a decapitated head of a Na'vi. She meant business. Especially with her hellfire missiles and chin guns that twinkled in direct sunlight. Flying at two-hundred and twenty knots, she was eager to make it to Bridgehead before the others.
She started to bank towards the sunny horizon when a horde of banshees flew right past their cockpit, narrowly missing both the kestrel and the ten lives aboard it.
"Wa-watch out!" The co-pilot screamed.
"Yup, see 'em. Crazy buggers."
The pilot, cool under the black visor of his helmet, jolted the stick to the right, careening the kestrel to bank hard right. Their passengers felt their guts go into their spines, then against their ribs.
"Hey—what the hell man!" One of the soldiers yelled into the built-in microphone of his mask.
It was not over. Looking to his right, the pilot noticed he was too close to the other kestrel that gained speed to avoid the banshees. Slowly steering into their path, the pilot adjusted and yanked the stick to the left while simultaneously adjusting the altitude with the pedals.
The kestrel soon struck an unusual and invisible air pocket and turbulence, a matter of heat vapor rising to meet their tiltrotors that temporarily caused the blades to malfunction. Suddenly, they were losing altitude—and fast.
Pulling the stick back, the pilot adjusted while his co-pilot read out the readings on the gauges.
"Too steep!"
"I know," the pilot replied, calmly—a little too calm for his co-pilot's taste.
Everyone else aboard the gunship started to howl a 'whoooooah!'
"When I say now, you throttle the engines to max power. I'm going to let her glide a little." The pilot stated, his hand moving the engine thrusters back, giving the engines enough time to restart. It only gave them a matter of seconds before they face planted right into the shimmering surface of the lake.
Counting down to zero in his head, the pilot turned and yelled out, "NOW!"
The co-pilot slammed the throttle forward, giving the kestrel the necessary juice to send both tiltrotors back and their prop blades spinning clockwise. It was barely enough to save them from death as the belly of the kestrel skimmed along the water, churning in its wake a misty rainbow-colored fright for their passengers to see.
"Dude!" One of them shouted, seeing just how close they were to hitting the lake.
Leveling out and slowly gaining altitude, the Disaster rejoined the rest of the squadron above.
"You guys good?" Came the voice of another pilot over the headset.
"Yup, just some turbulence is all."
"Roger, thought for a moment we needed to send in the coast guard."
The pilot laughed.
"Now that is what I call smooth, my man." The co-pilot said with a fist bump to his pilot.
"All in a day's work."
As everyone struggled to regain their bearings, one man looked paler than the rest. Wearing cargo shorts down to his knees, hiking boots up to his ankles, an ordinary green shirt that was layered behind a basic khaki plate armor, and sunglasses to protect himself from the blaring sunlight, he appeared to everyone aboard the Disaster as a civvy.
And if they knew exactly who he was, they would stop questioning his reason for being aboard the Disaster.
Running a hand over his short crew-cut hair, he breathed out the tension from his stomach while swallowing back the wave of nausea that tickled his throat. When he felt there was no risk of puking inside his mask, he pulled the tablet out from the sleeve of his vest and ran his attention across the words on the screen:
Name: Jake Sully
Employee: Resources Development Administration
Status: Dismissed
Reason for Dereliction of Duty: Title 18 Code § 2381
Scrolling to the paragraph referencing Title 18, he found out why. Though by this point, everyone knew exactly the why he was considered a terrorist. But did anyone ask him why?
"Made attempts to subvert and undermine operations on Pandora. Utilized the indigenous population of Pandora to conduct and wage conflict against RDA personnel and their employees. Have murdered RDA personnel and their employees. Is dismissed from all responsibility as of August 24th, 2154."
Reading the details on this Jake Sully, the man remained quiet, keeping to himself by the rear corner of the kestrel where above his head, swayed the netting of supplies. Unfortunately, this drew the interest of a SEC-OPS trooper who started to elbow his friend next to him.
"Who's the limp dick?" He asked, tossing a nod to their mystery man.
"Him? Have no idea. But he looks like the IRS with those shades on," answered the chewing-gum man.
The man chuckled, "but seriously. No weapons, no armor, no helmet. I mean look at those ghostly-pale legs! And the arms! He's barely been outside. Has to be a civvy."
The chewing-gum man shrugged, "so?"
"So? Last I check, this bird is SEC-OPS only. So 're all the other birds. The General has been asking for an additional supply of guns and somehow we got a hitchhiker joining us? Something ain't right about this."
"I don't know man. I'm not paid to be a logistics officers. I'm just here to kill some blue skinnies."
Sinking back into his seat, the trooper agreed. "Amen to that."
They both gave one more look to their mystery man before holding on for dear life when the gunship took a hard bank right towards the circular city.
Bridgehead City
"This is Disaster to ATC-Bravo-Hotel, requesting landing at heliport."
"Disaster, this is ATC-Bravo-Hotel, please land at pad three, and Disaster, welcome to Bridgehead City, enjoy your stay." Radioed tower.
Flying over to pad three, the Disaster switched to VTOL-mode, giving the kestrel time to land without sacrificing fuel. From there, the pilot followed the guidance of the marshal, watching for both his signal and the altitude meter on the console as the kestrel slowly descended over the tarmac.
"Almost… almost… annnnd," the pilot said aloud as the kestrel made a soft bounce. "Touchdown," switching to public LAN-comms, the pilot gave their passengers the go ahead. "All right boys and girls, welcome to Bridgehead City. Your number one vacation spot on the threshold of hell." The pilot remarked with a playful tone.
"I really hate that guy," said one soldier.
"I was starting to like him," remarked another as they disembarked from the vehicle.
"Kiss ass!"
As they walked across the wet tarmac, they were greeted by the sight of two powerful amplified mobility platforms, whose mechanical gears wheezed with every step. Holding between their robotic hands, were rifles, powerful enough to turn any human body into a mist of blood. Unusual to find the AMPs here, they silently pondered if among the crowd, someone brought contraband or someone was about to pull off some kind attack.
Holding their breaths, they wait until the AMPs stopped several yards away then exhaled when emerging from behind the towering behemoths was a petite woman, her hands shuffling behind her back and her black boots shining beautifully in the daylight of the afternoon.
Chuckling to each other, they recognized the four-black stars that adorned her cap. General Frances Ardmore, commander of security operations on Pandora.
Dropping their duffel bags by their side, they saluted her, showing respect to the stars. Even for a private military arm of the RDA, respect was still shown by the rank.
Standing ahead of the AMPs, Ardmore saluted back.
"Welcome to Bridgehead City ladies and gentlemen," she yelled out to them. Her voice surprised some, not expecting such a powerful voice to come from such a small woman as herself. "At ease. You already know who I am, so we'll skip the pleasantries for another day."
Studying each of their faces, she found their expressions soft, their gazes lulled, their situational awareness crippled. They all took for granted the seven-year nap to Pandora. That was going to change. They were going to find out how rotten it was to fight a ruthless, vile enemy that despised them. That, if given the chance, would disembowel them and flay their skin to wear.
Envy the ignorance, bless the oblivious, she thought.
"I requested the best and the RDA picked the best. What I see here are some of the meanest, blood-thirstiest, hungry pack of wolves on this side of Alpha Centauri. And I know my wolves are hungry."
She heard them chuckle. Good, they still have an appetite for violence.
"As you know, our world is dying, and Pandora serves as a mean to avoiding that end. Everyone here serves a purpose, both small and great, and we need all the help we can get. Right now, we're building for our future and that leaves us in a tight spot. A spot from which our enemies—who live in the forest—can use against us."
Booing was substituted for the chuckling heard earlier. They knew who she was referring to.
"I can feel your eager spirit. And one day soon, you'll all get your chance to bring down the traitor known as Jake Sully."
Cheering erupted among the crowd, with some raising their rifles into the air. They were ready, but not yet.
"Starting today, we save our civilization. Report to your respective CO for a briefing. Dismissed."
She saluted and the crowd saluted back before dispersing to the main building behind her. The only lackadaisical soul that did not care to partake in listening to the rousing pep talk was the man and his notepad, scribbling something she could not see from where she stood. He started to meander over to the administration building when Ardmore stopped him.
"Mr. Rayan Asher, UNE liaison from Colonies Division I presume?" She called out to the man.
Shoving the notepad in his vest pocket, he slid the duffel bag off a shoulder and approached her with a hand stretched out.
"That's correct, ma'am."
One of the AMPs sidestepped in between, blocking his access to the General. Ardmore waved the AMP pilot down.
"Tight security," he commented.
She shook his hand. "Dangerous times, Mr. Asher, dangerous times." she said, feeling his handshake was firm and strong.
"I was hoping to catch a briefing inside before discussing what needed to be done here."
She raised a brow then slipped in a grin, "why wait?"
Feeling the sunlight searing his skin, he preferred to do it inside, but the reconsideration was outweighed by the idea of killing two birds with one gun.
"Fine," he added, wiping his side face of sweat. "Really hot out here."
"That's Pandora for ya…"
He smiled and so did she.
"I've come to understand you are here because?" She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it personally with her own ears.
"I'm here on behalf of the United Nations of Earth. To investigate claims that were not substantiated by your executive board during the hearing regarding the outbreak of war on Pandora. And if possible, find a peaceful resolution that includes mediating a peace treaty with the Na'vi."
A mouthful indeed. Shifting her weight, she smiled up to Asher and nodded. "You do that kid. I also understand that the UNE bought you one ticket to use an avatar?" She said, shaking her head with mild amusement.
He nodded in agreement.
She took a step closer to him, she might have been shorter, but she was not afraid to stare up to a threat when she sensed one; even if the threat wore shades to hide his intentions.
"I've read your records, lieutenant. Being in the Rangers might give you the balls to face the RDA. To tell us that we're in the wrong here. But I promise you, the Na'vi will give you no quarter to speak when you do happen to come across them. That's why I think you're making a big mistake by playing dress-up and going out there to find these monkeys living in the forest."
He nodded, "Correction ma'am. I'm not a lieutenant. I've been discharged for the past six years."
"Plus seven to get here," she added, coyly.
Time dilation, he thought. No need to feel guilty about the lack of understanding on the laws of physics.
"And I'm not here to tell your people that they are in the wrong. That's not my place."
She shifted her weight to the other side of her hip, "so what is your place then?"
"Ma'am. I'm here to discern if the stories your executive board told to the UNE was true. If they are true—"
"—they are." She said with confidence.
"—if they are. Then I'll happily relay the message back to the UNE and you can continue your expedition against the Na'vi, unimpeded."
She did not need his permission to fight the Na'vi. If anything, he needed her permission to do this little song and dance with the Na'vi.
"But, and I stress this very much ma'am. If the stories are not true. I will, under Article twenty-five that gives me powers, proceed with mediating a written and signed treaty. From there, you cannot touch, harass, or kill the Na'vi unless they threaten you."
Eyeing him, she also wanted to make Asher understand something about Pandora.
"Very well, Mr. Asher. But before I let you go; I want you to understand where I'm coming from. The last guy who thought to grow a heart about these natives, he started a war and deprived humanity of our salvation. Is that what you're here to do, Mr. Asher? Make friends with the blue monkeys and stab us in the back later?"
The mild-mannered man shook his head, "my job—."
She waved disapprovingly of his next words. "I don't want to hear about 'my job'. I've heard enough corporate bullshit to know when someone is lying to me. No, Mr. Asher. I want to hear it from your own lips about what you plan on doing with that avatar."
He cleared his throat, "I've read up on who Jake Sully is, ma'am. I know what he has done. And I'm here to see if what is said about him is true and valid. If you think I'm going to go native with an avatar, I'm afraid to disappoint you ma'am. I don't want to be on this moon a second more. I don't want to be among your people a second longer. I want to do this job and go home. And from what I gathered in your voice, am I to expect resistance from you and your people?"
She shook her head, "no you will not. But as long as you live at Bridgehead City or any outpost on Pandora that is under human control—you will listen to my orders at all times. Is that understood?"
"I'll obey any of them as long as they do not hinder my job."
"No. I expect you to follow all of them."
"Ma'am. If you hinder my duty here on Pandora, I will count that as an attempt to obstruct progress for peace between the People's of Earth and the People's of Pandora. The UNE will hear of it, and they will shut down operations on Pandora."
Her jaw tensed then relaxed as she took a step back. "Mr. Asher," she said warmly. "You might not realize it, given your credentials. But you are a long way from Earth. My experience outranks your diplomatic immunity. On Pandora, my word is gospel. And my word is to protect your ass and everyone else here from succumbing to death. That includes your little expedition to play pattycake with the Na'vi."
He tried to say something, but she continued, her tone shifting to one of callousness.
"My orders and by extension the rules established by the RDA, are there to protect our people, and you, from annihilation. I don't care if you think it might hinder your duty. If I smell even the slightest hint of betrayal, you will know it from me personally. Is that understood?"
"Yes ma'am. But you should know ma'am. I will disobey your orders if they prove to be obstacles. Will I expect any order that will become obstacles later?"
She licked her lips behind her mask, giving him another up-and-down look of the man before answering, "my rules are simple." She added, "I just want you to understand my feelings about treason. You betray me, and you will find yourself frozen in an ice box, waiting years before we send you back home. That—Mr. Asher, I can guarantee, and the UNE will support my decision on the matter."
Politics, he hated politics, but she was right. Even with some leeway by the UNE, he did not have full authority to do whatever he wanted. There were rules to follow and if he intentionally broke them, the UNE will disregard his report and ultimately a potential treaty with the Na'vi. He could not risk it.
With hesitation following his words, he agreed. "Yes ma'am. I understand."
"Good. Very good. I will see you tomorrow then."
"Ma'am."
Smiling to him, she left for the administration building. The two AMPs also trailed after her, their mechanical gears contracting under the immense weight as they wobbled off. Leaving Rayan Asher to watch as she eventually disappeared back into the administration building.
Taking several steps back, he scooped up the duffel bag and made a mental note of her behavior.
Challenging. Confrontational. Paranoid.
He did not care what she thought of him, but he wanted to ensure she did not try to sabotage his mission. An earnest peace with the Na'vi would go a long way with settling conflicts between both parties. But as he just experienced, it seemed that one side was not in the least bit interested in peace. He only wondered what the other side was going to think of him.
"Enjoyed the briefing?"
Asher paid no mind to the person who was trying to grab his attention as he shoved a notepad into his vest pocket. He thought what was said about the predators on Pandora was interesting and scribbled it down; he'll use it for later study when he was in his bunk. Even back at Hell's Gate, the briefings were… brief. But it seemed at Bridgehead, they wanted everyone to be up to speed with all known threats on Pandora.
"Hey bud, I'm talkin' to ya—"
A finger tapped on Asher's shoulder, snapping him out of the mental trance to find a red-haired man looking at Asher with a very shady mustache worming across his upper-lip.
"Please don't tell me you're deaf. There was a lady 'round here who was deaf, and stupid me did not know. I ended up shouting at a deaf person! Hah—but seriously, you're not deaf right?"
Asher cocked a brow to the man as he shook his head, "that kind of question wouldn't work on a deaf person, would it?"
The man clapped his hands together, relieved that Asher was not deaf.
"I think they read lips," the man stated with a crooked grin.
Asher shrugged, "not my forte to look at a man's lips."
The man laughed, "that's a good one."
"You can have it," tossing the duffel bag over his shoulder, Asher began making a bee line towards the exit with the rest of the crowd, prompting a surprised look from the man who made a skip in his feet to catch up to him.
"Hey hol' up!"
"Can't," Asher said with cold bluntness.
"You're Rayan Asher, UNE."
Asher paused, then looked at the man. Confusion wrinkled Asher's expression, unsure if he was supposed to know this red-haired man or that he was about to be confronted by one of Ardmore's lackeys.
"I knew it!"
"Who are you?"
"Avatar Program engineer, well formerly—" the man childishly rolled his eyes to the ceiling with a pair of hands, suggesting the program had been killed. "—Now I'm just here to oversee the recoms and you of course!"
Asher squinted, "Recoms?"
The man nodded, "Recombinant. Some task force that the General established back on Earth to tackle the issue of insurgency here."
Asher mouthed an 'ah', that was going into his notes—but it still did not answer his original question.
"So… you're my—
The man gave him a thumb's up, "—forever humble engineer, to make sure you don't die, or your avatar doesn't die. I'm basically just a doctor slash engineer slash I told you so when you screw things up.
"I didn't catch your name?" Asher asked, offering a hand to shake.
"Wade Kingston, American," Wade answered, taking the offer.
"Rayan Asher, American, born in Jordan but my father really-really loved my mom who lived in Seattle."
"I heard some great things coming out of Jordan about…" he counted on his fingers, "six or seven years ago. Who knows, maybe your country is gone!" A wicked laugh chased after Wade's words while a pair of waving hands attempted to stifle the terrible joke, "kidding!"
Asher remained unamused as he tugged on his duffel bag.
"Just tell me to shut up when you had enough, but-uh, I guess you can follow me. Lemme show you your team," Wade said as he lead the way to… somewhere.
Asher followed him but said, "I'm not your lord, you can run your mouth for as long as you want."
"That's kind of you to say, usually people 'round here have a stick shoved up their ass so high, I thought I was Vlad the Impaler."
Again, Asher refused to laugh as Wade nodded with a silent suggestion to shut up on his cheap jokes.
"Are there other engineers and personnel from the program?" Asher asked as they made a right turn down a corridor.
"There's three others. One is an original, defected over to Jake-er I mean, the 'terrorist leader' then defected back to us when the General offered a pardon. Her name is Danielle. The other two is introvert Spall and extrovert Eric."
"Any other drivers?"
Wade shook his head, "you're the last one."
"So no more drivers?"
"The program was killed off by Parker, thirteen years ago. The RDA agreed with that sentiment when the entire program revolted and helped the terrorist leader."
"You're telling me the program was cancelled after the members took a stand with the Na'vi?"
"Yup!"
"Why?"
Wade shrugged, "I'm guessing siding with a terrorist has its benefits."
Then suddenly Wade grew closer to whisper something—
"I have a sneaking suspicion they too wanted the blue-you know what."
Asher knew the coded language as he shared a nod of understanding with the man.
Moving along, Wade pointed off to another corridor, "keep going right and you'll find your own private bunk. But to the left is the ambient room and operations room for the only existing avatar. Yours!"
Nodding in thanks, Asher was prepared to seek out his bunk when Wade scooted in front of him.
"You… you don't want to see your avatar?"
"I already have," Asher tried to sidestep the man when Wade continued to block him.
"Sure, one of those fake three-D bullshit images they gave to you, so you have an idea of what you'll look like."
"Wade please," Asher tried once more to circumvent the man when Wade blocked him again.
If he was going to be this persistent, Wade should know the world of trouble for blocking a UNE official from his business of sleep.
"Just-just two minutes. You have two minutes to spare, right? C'mon…" Wade began moving towards the left side of the corridor while waving to join him.
"C'mon! I know you want to. I see that look in your eyes. You want to. C'mon buddy, just two minutes."
Knowing that Asher would tag along, Wade started to jog towards the room labeled: AVTR
Exhaling, Asher rolled his head around at the idea. If it meant keeping the red-headed monkey off his back, he'll please him, but only this one time.
Pulling out a security card from beneath his loose hanging shirt, Wade slipped it on the pad as the little light turned from red to green, signifying permission to enter.
"C'mon dude, this is going to be sweet," He said.
Chewing on the inner lining of his lip, Asher treaded with his gait in protest, not really wanting to but if he could get to sleep without being disturbed, he'll do it. He arrived just in time for Wade to kindly hold the door open for him as Asher gave a thankful nod before walking in. Immediately, Asher was hit with a wave of that bleach smell.
Did they clean this room recently?
"Danny, this is Asher, our very own avatar driver!" Wade yelled out for Danielle who sat on a stool, her fingers dancing along a keyboard to rotate the holographic imagery of a brain.
Swiveling in her seat, she looked over the rim of her glasses to see this very serious looking man with a duffel bag slung over his back and an attitude that could rob the soul of a tiny garden gnome.
"Driver," greeted of the sardonic technician across the room.
"Ma'am. Rayan Asher, UNE." answered Asher whose gaze was still scanning the room.
"C'mon, this way."
Tugged by the arm, Wade led him into the next room where Asher was introduced to a cylindrical tank at the center, monitored by Spall who gave a quick look to see who had entered.
"Howard, this is Asher," Wade introduced as the man walked over to the tank.
"Sir, Rayan Asher, UNE." Asher said as he briefly gave a nod to Spall.
"Rayan Asher, it's great to finally meet you in person. We've been prepping your avatar since yesterday. Fresh off the ISV Vindicator. Beautiful looking specimen we got here. And the most advanced avatar we have in stock, right next to some of the recoms. We were hoping to get the recoms online first but there was a delay. Something to do with-uh… eh not your concern, I'm sure. But it looks like you'll be the first instead."
"So, this is—"
"Buddy, this is you," Wade said, slapping a hand over the tank that caused the avatar to jerk in response.
Bending over, Rayan felt an unusual and uncomfortable sense of the uncanny valley. As though what he was looking at was not him but was him, all at the same time.
Creepy.
"Let me rephrase that. Part of you. There is Na'vi DNA of some kind, extrapolated from hundreds of candidates we took. The candidate for this avatar was a male, of course. Supposedly… old when we acquired the candidate," said astutely by Spall.
Asher wanted to ask how they managed to find a candidate when Danielle interjected.
"Candidate has been dead for at least twenty-six years," she said, adding, "official reports state of natural causes."
Stressing on the word official, Danielle hinted in her voice that it might not entirely be true.
"Driver, have you undergone training on Earth to operate an avatar?" She asked of Asher.
"Two hundred hours in simulations."
She shrugged, "I guess that will do then. Usually drivers clock in thousands of hours, with reading material that can last an additional two years before they ever touch an avatar."
By this point, Spall had maneuvered himself on the opposite end of the tank, a notepad cradled in his arms as he took notes on the musculature of the avatar.
"Hey bud, what're the plans for this beaut–if you do not mind me askin'?" Wade leaned against the tank, his fingers tapping on it with a grin weaving across his face.
"Classified," Asher answered coldly.
Wade threw his hands into the air, "wait a sec! We're all in on this for you and only you."
Asher shook his head, "It's classified because I need to do my job from an unbiased perspective."
"Unbiased?" Danielle repeated, "the hell does that mean?"
Wade swept over to Danny to whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, "He's a UNE liaison."
She scowled at him, having known that by his greeting alone.
"But what does that mean exactly, driver?" She asked again.
"Are you here to get us in trouble or something if we do something bad?" Wade suggested as he feigned surrender.
"My mission objectives are—"
"Classified!" Wade snapped his fingers to Asher.
"Mr. Asher," said another voice from the entrance of the room. Everyone had looked up to see that it was Eric, the lead scientist on the 'program'.
"I'm Doctor Eric Hurley. I'm glad you're here to see your avatar. I understand that you need to get it up and operational by tomorrow?"
Unlike others in the room, Eric dressed more professionally with his lab coat buttoned and a presentable shaven face, aided by a nicely trimmed and combed brown hair. Meanwhile, Spall had an aging white beard but a loose coat that revealed some logo of a band he never heard of. Wade meanwhile looked like he hardly belonged here, at least not while wearing that terrible Hawaiian-like shirt with words reading:
PANDORA, BE IN AWE OF THE STARTLING BEAUTY!
It was utterly tacky.
Danielle was the second best dressed, only because Asher did not like how she had that library lady glasses chained around her neck.
"That's correct, sir."
"Good. But in order for this team to operate at their best, they have been granted TS security clearance. Which means you are good to share details of your mission with my team."
Tugging on the weighty duffel bag, if Asher was going to exhaust them of his mission details, then he needed to be comfortable doing so. Swinging the green duffel bag around, he tossed it over to an empty table before leaning against it and buttressing his hands over it.
"My primary mission here is to broker a treaty between the people of Earth and the Na'vi."
A look of fascination dawned upon Danielle's face when she heard him say that. Taking a few steps around the lab, she centered herself next to some computers, eager to hear more.
"Thirteen years ago. The UNE ordered the executives of the RDA to come forward and testify about the situation on Pandora. The board members, all in their eighties, suggested that Jake Sully had been responsible for attacking and defeating the RDA at Extra-Solar Colony Zero One. Some believed them, others were unsure, but the Colonies Division did not. Pressuring the RDA for an answer, the executives turned to their so-called Mount Everest of evidence. None of it could explain why Jake turned. Now, if the RDA wanted to return to Pandora, they needed to follow it up with their claims or else they risk losing potential mining rights on Pandora. So, they've sent me. I'm here to see if the claims are true. And if possible, formulate some kind of treaty with the Na'vi."
Wade kept his arms crossed while Spall tucked the notepad under his arm to pay attention.
"My first objective is to establish contact with Jake Sully. Then, God willing, everything from there can move forward in a more amicable position for both us and his people."
"Quite the load you got there, Mr. Asher," Eric commented.
Asher agreed. It was a heavy load. Heavier than any job he had done before. It was dangerous too but at least he was not putting his own life at risk. That job fell on the avatar.
"And how exactly are you going to contact this terrorist?" Spall questioned.
"What do you mean?" Asher asked.
Spall chuckled as he lifted the notepad from under his arm and placed it on the tank.
"Jake and his terrorist cell are living up in the floating mountains. There's no way to get there without being attacked. And then there is the problem of communication."
Danielle then stepped in to explain more, "the avatars operate by a series of intricate networks, governed by the link units. If you leave the vicinity of the network radius, then you'll disconnect. Bridgehead is four-hundred and eight kilometers west of the Hallelujah Mountains. The signal strength is limited to two-hundred kilometers and that is on a good bright and sunny day."
"Not to mention," Wade sprung up, "the interference of those mountains."
Eric then looked to Asher, "which means we need to fix that."
Wade interjected again, "that explains the backpack!"
Eric nodded.
"You and your avatar, along with Wade and Danielle will be transported to the forward operation base, Ticonderoga. It sits in close proximity of the mountains, a smaller base of sorts established to keep an eye on Na'vi traffic. From there, you're going to be dropped off by a kestrel as close as possible to the region of the mountains. The rest is up to you."
"You mean I have to walk on foot from there?"
"By yourself," Eric added with a friendly smile.
"How do I make contact with Jake?"
They all gave each other puzzled looks, as though they were missing the biggest jigsaw of them all.
"None of us know, Mr. Asher. Danielle was the last person to interact with Jake but even she has no idea how to make contact with him."
Asher looked over to Danielle, who gave him a look to not ask.
Pointing to the fatigue weighing on Asher, Eric suggested an idea of getting rest before tomorrow.
"I'm sure you are resourceful, Mr. Asher. For now, get some sleep. We have to decant this avatar and you need to operate it to make sure everything works. We can go over more of the details later when you're rested and ready."
Asher smiled, "thank you sir, I'm looking forward to it."
Picking up his bag, Asher gave one more look of his avatar. He noticed it appeared to have more Na'vi traits than human ones. Pointing to the oddity in the tank, Asher asked, "no eyebrows?"
Eric, who was prepared to go to the computer station, pivoted to take a closer look of the avatar.
"Huh, sixth-generation. UNE must've paid handsomely for the latest avatar specimen template. Not all the recoms are six-gen. At least you have all your fingers there. Seventh generation was experimenting on the four fingers to blend in better with the Na'vi but there are reports of phantom digits."
Standing up right, Eric patted on Asher's shoulder, "we'll see you tomorrow then," Eric said, waving a hand of goodbye while Wade followed Asher out of the room.
"One more thing, bud. Don't overeat or drink too much when you do the test tomorrow."
Asher could think of the reasons why, "thanks for the advice."
Waving down Danielle and Spall a goodnight, Asher then made his way out of the command room and into the hallway again. Searching for his quarters was quick enough to find and promptly entered the room where he discovered a single twin bunk. Names were labelled on the side of the frame.
He read out loud the name of the bottom bunk.
Wade Kingston
"Well… shit."