Locusts — Chapter XXI
Somewhere on the Outskirts of Ayram Alusìng
The longer the nantang stood there, watching Kxeyìn, the more unbearable the pain became, and the pain was truly becoming unbearable by the second; no longer held back by her body's natural reserve of adrenaline.
She told herself she needed to keep moving, to keep going, to do whatever it takes to keep a safe distance from these creatures of the forest. But her body wouldn't let her. And despite her feeble attempt to command her muscles, they surrendered to the fracture hidden beneath her skin the moment she tried to move, plunging her into an abyss of searing torment that defied the limits of the impossible.
The unforgiving anguish found its voice in her involuntary screams, each outburst amplifying the risk of losing consciousness, intensified by relentless waves of undulating agony. And beneath her cries was the faint whisper of her training, directing her to press her face into the grass.
She knew it wouldn't work. But she couldn't think pass a moment to give any consideration to the question as instincts of her natural desire to survive coerced her to bury her face into the grass. A senseless attempt that proved worthless when everything in the forest must have heard her by now, including the nantang.
As the seconds dragged on and her painful cry bellowed against the ground, an awareness brushed along the far edges of her subconsciousness, letting her know that she should be dead by now.
Why wasn't she?
She was wounded prey to these creatures. So why hadn't they seized the opportunity to attack? Any other nantang would have lunged at her by now, their fangs sinking into her skin, puncturing her life's veins, and spilling her blood.
But these nantang were different. They were not like their kin. They remained still, withholding their drive to kill.
Waiting.
With her cries reduced to sobs and the night's chill wrapping around her trembling body. She settled into a rhythm of measured pants. Wary of inhaling too deeply for fear of triggering another onslaught of torment if she dared to test her body's resolve.
Yes, she completely feared it.
For this pain was both a constant companion and warden of punishment. And still, that urge, that need to assess her injured leg's state held sway over her fear.
Careful not to aggravate her condition, she shifted her gaze downward, tracing the jagged contours of her knee until her focus settled on the swollen limb. It throbbed, not as a merciful admonition she had expected like her finger, but a threatening pulsation that if she moved it anymore, it was only going to get worse.
She understood and laid still.
After some time that felt indifferent to her, the trickle of curiosity that once begged for an answer returned, urging Kxeyìn to look at the nantang, wondering as to why they have not attacked her yet. There wasn't a true reason to expose herself to them, knowing that if she did, then her movements would have alerted them that she was alive. But neither did they seem interested in killing her.
And still, she needed to know why.
Gathering her breaths, Kxeyìn lifted her neck and stole a cautious glimpse of the nantang from beneath the shelter of her wounded arm. To her surprise, they were still there, still passive, as though she never existed to them. But more troubling was the fact that they were staring at her.
What were they doing?
A painful coldness began creeping into her fevered, sweaty skin, clouding her thoughts as Kxeyìn's gaze remained locked onto the nantang. Desperation drove her to study their eyes, hoping to uncover some meaning behind their lifeless stare. But she couldn't see it. Not while the shadows of the night and the illumination of the nearby vegetation played with her vision. From where she lay, the nantang fragmented into elusive shapes, each dancing at the outer edges of her sight—difficult to see; difficult to make out. It felt as though the very forest was conspiring with her body to deny her an answer she sorely sought. She tried one last time to look past the haze of her vision, but she couldn't do it. It was hurting her.
Exhausted, Kxeyìn relented and laid her head back down against the grass. Her gaze naturally forced to stare up above, watching in a lethargic and painful state as the gas giant lackadaisically spun on its axis, its swirling colors making her imagine the afterlife.
This was it. She thought to herself.
She couldn't move. She couldn't fight. She did everything she could do to stay alive, and help was not on its way to rescue her.
She knew it, and her body knew it too: her life was at an end. It was only a question of whether time would kill her or the nantang would.
In the face of this cruel fate, apathy took over. Fatigue gnawed at her bones, hunger and thirst gnashed within her stomach. Her head throbbed mercilessly, and her injured leg clamored for release from its painful prison. The world around her wavered between light and darkness, straddling the precipice between consciousness and unconsciousness.
She couldn't hold on much longer.
The nantang can do with her as they please—if they care.
But first, one last plea.
"Eywa…" she breathed out; her petition in the name of the Great Mother carried away on the cooling winds of the night.
Bring comfort to my mother. Bring blessings upon her. Hug her for me. Tell her I did not die as a coward, or as a failure, but as a warrior of the Tipani. I die by the spirit animal that I have seen in my visions.
She breathed in the cool air and slowly exhaled every last ounce of it.
She was ready.
"Irayo, brothers." She told the nantang. She wasn't sure if they heard her, as her voice quivered beneath the pain.
She settled herself as best she could over the ground and prepared for the end they seemed to promise.
However, as time drifted on, the ceaseless pain penetrated every fiber of her being, shattering the illusion that clung to her: that she was still alive.
Kxeyìn clenched down on her teeth.
The stifling humidity seemed to mock her discomfort, suffocating her in its grasp. Her body ached, every inch of it sore and protesting, laughing at the fact she was alive against her own will. Her mind was a cacophony of a thousand and one thoughts, each clamoring for attention—thoughts of reuniting with her father, concerns about how her mother would feel of her daughter's passing, wondering if Srìlo will complete Iknimaya without her and if Tsmupxa would find a suitable mate. Invasive thoughts that gave her no rest as she prepared herself to leave this life and go into the next.
Meanwhile, the pain begged not only her but also the nantang to end it already.
They refused.
After a while, she had enough of their patience.
"Do it!" She yelled at them.
They ignored her.
Unbeknownst to Kxeyìn, whose knowledge of Sky People technology was beyond her understanding, the camera mounted on their heads quietly zoomed in on the Tipani woman. A wordless instruction was passed onto one of the viperwolves, and to Kxeyìn's relief, it began to move towards her.
The vexing drive of survival immediately flushed back into her system as the thought of death approached her. She fought against it. Understanding that it is nothing more than fear that can be held down. She gritted her teeth, clenched her jaw and slammed shut her eyes. She waited.
And still, there was nothing.
She opened her eyes and saw the nantang staring above her, looking at her, breathing warmly against her face.
"I offer my body to you." She told it.
Then she heard it. The faintest of faint mechanical whirr. It was coming from its head. The nantang lowered its head, allowing for something on top of it to look at her. Just when she turned her head to look up to the nantang, she caught it, the glint of light refracting off a glass embedded within a device.
What cursed creature is this? She asked herself.
She wanted to reach out to it, but the viperwolf recoiled away from her hand. Then she saw it. Metal. She clenched her hand and dropped it next to her side.
It was poisoned by the Sky People.
Then, emerging from the heart of the forest, a rhythmic thumping of a mechanical ikran reached her ears.
Was it them? She thought. Did they come back for me?
The vibrations permeated the air, causing her to lift her gaze, searching for it but her weakened state denied her of that ability.
It was getting louder, rattling down to her marrow and thudding against her skin. The sound steadily intensified when she noticed a sharp white light piercing the forest canopy, illuminating much of the area near her. It was as if an eye from the celestial heavens above was looking for her.
It has to be them!
Her fingers dug into the soft ground, providing her with a desperate anchor as she strained her neck to turn, eager to see what it was that came to find her. The prospect of the Sky People coming to her rescue filled her with excitement but also dread. If the nantang was tainted and poisoned. Then who was it that was coming for her?
The thumping grew louder, its rhythm seeming to sync with her own heartbeat. She made an effort to speak, hoping that her words might somehow divert their attention, but only a dry, scratchy grunt emerged from her parched throat.
Unfortunately, fatigue and pain surged over Kxeyìn, pulling her into the murky depths of the unconsciousness. As she quietly slipped away, the wind intensified, its force picking up around her, causing her to look up. Amidst the brilliance of the intense light that found her, she squinted and winced, but a point had been reached where she no longer cared. Gradually, she surrendered herself to the embrace of a tranquil and soothing darkness.
"We've located the package," the pilot's voice came through the radio, its crackle breaking the static. "Approximately four-hundred yards off to our three o'clock."
"Ilika, you take the left flank; Matthews, you cover right. The rest of you Skels, hold your position unless I specifically instruct otherwise. We're going to try out our new toys."
Each member of Micah's squad crisply replied with a "Yes, sir."
Acknowledging their readiness, Micah shifted his attention to the Kestrel's left side. The hoist system was deploying the fast ropes. Securing himself to one, he rappelled down to the ground. Ilika and Matthews followed suit. As soon as his boots touched the ground, he glanced back at the aircraft and tapped his wristwatch. A signal was transmitted, prompting two square mechanical devices to detach from the Kestrel's underbelly. They struck the ground with a thud that flattened the vegetation beneath them. Approaching them, Micah glided his hand over the onboard registration systems. The subdermal chip embedded in his wrist established a connection with the devices, identifying him as Sergeant Micah Thorne of Security Operations. Stepping away, he observed with a grin as the inert masses underwent a transformation, shifting into humanoid machines right before his very eyes.
The broken beams from the gas giant's glow illuminated their features, revealing to him imposing machines that stood at three-point-three meters in height. The 'head', so to speak, was a black sphere that Micah estimated had to be twice the size of a basketball, with integrated cameras at its 90, 360, 270, and 180 degree angles. Built inside the head was an array of instruments designed to eliminate any possibility of stealth from either human or Na'vi alike, while the arms and legs extended in a fluid, controlled motion. These limbs were the cutting-edge of biomechanical engineering, granting them an unprecedented range of movement that far exceeded the capabilities of any other machine in the RDA's arsenal. The artificial muscles housed within each limb were infused with Na'vi DNA, enhancing the machines with superior strength and a lethal precision that outmatched even the combined capabilities of the Na'vi and their AMP suits.
They were called 'Locusts,' a moniker affectionately coined by several cheeky engineers at the Salang Corporation back on Earth. Strangely, they didn't resemble any insect Micah knew of. He chalked it up to the fact that their Korean friends weren't interested in giving a war machine a scary name. A point almost proven when they named their firearms after different types of painful wasps.
What truly excited the RDA was their cost-efficiency; they were significantly cheaper to manufacture than avatars but came close in cost to a single C-21 Dragon. Effectively making them cheap to produce but with the added cost of the reason.
And the reason had to be good.
Aside from that, there was an interesting attribute about the Locusts that made them wholly unique on the landscape of the battlefield. Unlike avatars, which necessitated human drivers, the Locusts were operated by a series of controlled algorithms overseen by a server-side artificial intelligence code-named MAIA or Multi-battlefield-domain Artificial Intelligence Algorithm, housed at Red Stone.
The rest of the Locusts' exterior was comprised of an amalgamation of skeletal framework fused with bulkier components designed to shield their internal systems. Each Locust gripped a single, powerful instrument: the highly illegal Asgari railgun. Notoriously prohibited by the UNE for its excessive power output that can turn a body into marinara sauce (especially when you consider its energy rate reached 18 kilo-joules), the RDA bypassed this ban by exclusively assigning the railguns to the Locusts. Of course the arrangement came with a significant caveat: They cannot be used against the Na'vi. Only against wildlife where traditional weapons were incapable of penetrating the more harden armor of their hides.
It was the easiest condition the RDA had ever agreed to.
Because no one was going to be the wiser when the UNE itself didn't even consider the Na'vi 'human'. Except for the mercenaries working at Red Stone whose paygrade was stuck with very little upward mobility and the only affordability to their livelihood rested on how many Na'vi they could capture alive.
"Alright," Micah addressed the machines. Locusts Deimos and Neptune promptly engaged in background voice recognition and snapped to attention at the sound of his voice. "I need you two to scan the area for any potential threats while we handle our business."
Deimos responded in English without a hint of artificiality, "What are the rules of engagement, sir?"
Despite their lack of a physical presence—no face, no eyes, no mouth—Micah was almost convinced he heard the voice just as naturally as if he were conversing with a fellow human being.
"Fire at anything that tries to kill us. But not the Na'vi. I repeat. Not the Na'vi. That's our money."
"Understood, sir." With that, they departed, their forms blending into the enveloping darkness of the night.
Ilika and Matthews were already on the ground, their gazes fixed on the new 'toys' as they approached Micah.
"Those things give me the creeps," Ilika said.
"You should have seen them in action back on Earth."
"Never had the chance," Ilika replied, her weapon trained down the range at the suspected Tipani woman.
Micah led the way, his weapon raised, as he continued, "The technology they had back then was less advanced than what the RDA has now. But that didn't make them any less terrifying. They had a knack for hiding on the battlefield, using animal noises to trick soldiers into thinking the coast was clear before ambushing them."
Animal noises? Matthews thought, a flicker of concern crossing his mind. He swore he heard the faint whimpering of a hexapede as he turned over his shoulder to check if the machines were still behind them despite the fact they left on Micah's orders.
They weren't.
"Anyways, the RDA bought Salang twenty years ago. Acquired the rights of all their technology. Now we get to play with them," Micah said, grinning mischievously.
"Convenient that they did," Ilika added.
"Very convenient and good for us."
"Here she is!" Ilika shouted, walking to secure Kxeyìn's right flank. The rifle was aimed squarely at her face.
The Na'vi woman failed to register their presence.
"Eh, boss, something's not right with her," Ilika noted, her flashlight casting its beam on Kxeyìn's face.
"Oh? Let's have a look," Micah replied in an almost sing-song way as he lowered his rifle. He was cautious about approaching any Na'vi. Alive or otherwise. Because as history taught him anything. The Na'vi were crafty creatures, flagrant for their use in traps that could leave a human screaming in pain until they bled out. So when he knelt down beside her, he kept a relatively safe distance between himself and the blue body. He then retrieved a flashlight from his pocket, and directed its focused beam onto her face, observing how she didn't blink, move, or even twitched at the light.
"Is she dead?" Matthews asked, joining Micah from the rear to cover the right flank.
Micah reached for her wrist, feeling faint pulses. "No, she's still alive."
"Thank goodness," Ilika exhaled with relief. "I thought I was going to have to work extra shifts just to pay off my student loans."
Micah turned his attention to the viperwolf standing near Kxeyìn's feet. He addressed the animal, "Red Stone, this is Sierra Nine actual. Package secured but her condition is critical. Standing by for further instructions. Over."
"This is Red Stone actual to Sierra Nine. How critical? Over." The voice answered in his earpiece.
Micah looked back to Kxeyìn, studying her face, then running along her body to examine her wounds. She was cut up nice and good around her torso, thighs, and legs. A swollen right leg suggested a serious fracture beneath it. Paying close attention to her breathing, it sounded ragged. He reached down to lift her massive hand to find the skin had been torn around her elbow. On top of it, she wasn't responding to his touch and normally the Na'vi would be on their feet, ready to fight or flee by now.
She wasn't good.
"Not good, Red Stone. She's torn to bits but… she's alive and breathing. Somehow. Over."
A minute passed without an answer as Micah looked up to Ilika and said. "Anything over on your end?"
Ilika scanned the forest to her left, then right, the flashlight shining and pushing away the darkness.
"Nada. Just a bunch of glowie plants."
"Sierra Nine. We're picking up another possible body. Over." The voice on the other end crackled back.
"Another? Over." Micah said, standing up and quickly looking around. The viperwolf who had been standing alone suddenly started to move down the slope.
"The viperwolf has picked up the scent of another Na'vi body. Follow it. Over." The voice instructed.
"Roger that, Red Stone. We're on it. Over."
"Copy that, Sierra Nine. Keep us updated. Out."
Micah, now silent, motioned to Ilika to stay with the Na'vi woman as he and Matthews made their way down the slope.
The viperwolf picked up the pace before stopping close to the bottom, near the river. One of the lights attached to Matthew's weapon managed to shine on a body. It was turned over, its back facing them.
"Red Stone, this is intriguing. Appears to be another Na'vi—stand by a moment."
As they approached the body, more of the light from Micah's rifle managed to give a clear view of what they were looking at.
"Uh-huh. I think we just stumbled across an avatar."
Matthews walked around the body, kneeled, and stared at the face with his own light.
"Recognize it?" Micah asked.
Matthews looked up and shook his head. "Negative. It's an avatar all right, just don't know who it is."
"Jake Sully?" The voice in Micah's earpiece asked.
"Matthews, pull out the tablet." Micah instructed.
"Copy." Matthews complied, pulling out a tablet secured to his vest. His fingers danced across the screen, displaying various 'MOST WANTED' images until it showed Jake Sully's face.
Two distinct profiles were displayed. One depicted Jake's former human identity, while the other showcased his current avatar form, appearing 14 years younger. Matthews leaned in closer over the face, which still drew breath, scrutinizing the features. With two fingers, he gently lifted the face from the mud, momentarily exposing the avatar's side profile to him.
"Who did you guys get?" Ilika asked over comms.
"Dunno yet." Micah responded as he leaned in with Matthews, watching as the tablet camera scanned the face of the avatar. "But it's definitely not Jake."
Another face popped up in the profile. His name:
"Rayan Asher?" Matthews said.
"Who the hell is that asshole?"
"Says here… United Nations of Earth." Micah observantly read out loud, his finger pointing on the tablet. They both exchanged dumbfounded looks with one another.
"The hell is a UNE scumbag like him doing here?" Matthews asked.
"And with an avatar." Micah said, standing.
The viperwolf walked around the body and faced Micah again.
"Red Stone actual to Sierra Nine actual. Do you have an identification? Over."
"Affirmative. Rayan Asher. UNE. Who is he? Over."
Thirty seconds filled the air before a reply came back. "Our systems just flagged the name. We can't touch him. Over."
"Him or the avatar? Over." Micah inquired.
"Is the avatar still alive? Over."
Micah pressed his fingers on the avatar's neck, feeling a faint pulse. "Affirmative. Over."
"Retrieve the avatar. It remains RDA property. Over."
"Understood. And the Na'vi woman? Over."
"Take her too. Not going to ignore a free prize. Clear? Over."
Micah nodded to himself. "Understood. Sierra Nine actual. Out." Micah then switched to the Kestrel pilot's frequency. "Kilo Seven-Eight. We have two bodies for pick up."
"Roger!"
Micah continued to look at the avatar, curious as to how a UNE rat managed to come all the way out here, in an avatar body no less. It was going to be a most intriguing tale to hear once they get them both back to Red Stone.
F.O.B. Ticonderoga
"Anything yet, Wade?" Asher's voice carried across the room, laden with impatience.
Wade's focus remained unbroken, his fingers deftly navigating the keyboard, his gaze never straying from the monitor tracking the avatar's vital signs which sat as 'N/A'. He meticulously monitored for any changes, even as Asher's question attempted to penetrate his concentration.
"Guess not," Asher mused inwardly, taking a sip from his coffee mug. The urge to return to his avatar was palpable, but pacing behind Wade wouldn't expedite the process. His concern for whoever had fallen from the Samson lingered in the back of his mind, casting a shadow over his impatience. If he had his way right about now, he would have called a Kestrel to go searching for his avatar and to help the Na'vi that tried to help him.
Sadly, that wasn't the world he lived in.
He took another sip from his coffee, allowing its warmth to temporarily distract him from his restlessness and where his gaze eventually wandered to the table before him. Strewn across it was papers and on them, near-perfect handwriting that recorded his thoughts and experiences with fluid strokes of a pen. It was a practice he had maintained since his school days, a preference for the tactile sensation of ink on paper, a private sanctuary for his musings that he used to reflect the day with. He nearly lost it when he graduated from high school, forced to use a computer to jot his ideas down, even when he was in the military. But when he left, he reverted to using pen and paper. Particularly in a world where children as young as five were proficient keyboard users, Asher clung to this archaic method of writing ideas down. Likely because it just felt natural to him. Safe even. But here? Writing was not just a means of escaping the stress. It was also a pragmatic way of avoiding the prying eyes of the RDA to read his thoughts before sending a digitized report to Ardmore.
Through the giant windows they had in the bunker, Asher could see the landscape of Pandora. He could still see the final moments of his avatar running in the back of his mind, falling towards the very same jungle.
He sighed.
Leaning back in his chair, his thoughts took an unexpected turn to his sister. His hand moved almost instinctively to his pocket, where he kept a wallet that, despite being seemingly obsolete on Pandora, safeguarded his most personal and cherished possessions. From it, he extracted a folded photograph, a fragile portal to a past life, a memory that seemed like a distant, drunken dream of happiness.
In the photograph, his sister, Irene, was younger than him by about three years. She always held this wide-eyed smile, like nothing wrong could happen to her. He couldn't help but imagine her here on Pandora, a place that held its own dangers yet might have appealed to her sense of adventure. Nestled beside her was their mother, holding Irene with a protective tenderness. Dad was present too, right behind them both, his own smile ever present and warm as he too hugged around them. And right off the center was Rayan, hands in his pocket, trying to act cool right before being shipped off to basic training.
Amidst these memories, another emerged uninvited.
I don't care if they're babies sucking on momma's titties! You're gonna go back in there and put a bullet in each of their heads!
No!
You will or I will have you court martialed!
Asher shook his head at that abrupt memory. Staring back at the photograph, he lightly leveraged it against the ceiling light, watching as the light struck his sister's face just right, masking her smile as the smell of blood filled his nose again.
They just wiped out half a village and you're here debating with me? I should have you shot myself! Forget it. I'll do it.
I won't let you do that sir.
You will or I will have corporal Ferrier here shot for interfering.
Asher pressed his fingers against the corner of his brow, feeling the pressure again as the memory took hold of his vision. He could see the people's faces again, wondering inwardly if they were about to be executed into a mud pit where their flesh would dissolve from the acid that was poured in.
I'm not going to let you do it, sir!
Are you pointing that gun at me, sergeant?
Yes sir.
Asher crumpled the photograph when the shots rang out in his memory. The last look of the private's face was seared into his mind as he slumped back, the entry wound boring into his cheek bone and exiting out from the back of his head with blood splatter smearing across the concrete wall. Asher didn't have time to think. He turned around and began executing all twelve members of the Naja Sumatrana battalion. Everyone knew they were killers. Raping women. Dismembering loyalists. But what he didn't know that day that the private understood was that those twelve members were not them.
That revelation came later after an internal investigation unit discovered that they were prisoners of war. Picked up during the initial invasion and were given clothes of the Naja Sumatrana for unknown reasons. But what was certain was that they were not soldiers. And yet, somehow, the private knew and Asher didn't have an ounce of doubt in him to ask how the private knew. Asher was court martialed for killing the private, but corporal Ferrier backed him up, saying the private was the first to draw the weapon on first sergeant Asher.
The case was later dropped, and Asher immediately shifted his career to focus on being a medic. Believing in helping people, rather than killing them. Was it a way to escape his mistake? Yes. Did he?
As he looked back at the photograph, knowing he had never told his family the real truth. Asher knew it would be impossible for him to truly escape it. It was part of him now. His character. His DNA. He murdered a brother and a son because the fog of war was too heavy at the time to truly see who was friend or foe. And no matter how far he went, or how much good he tried to do, Asher knew he could never escape it. Not fully anyways.
Left with the haunting memory, Asher quietly ran his thumb across the picture to undo the damage he had done before giving it a kiss and slipping it back into his wallet. Leaning over the table, pen in hand, he tapped it on the table, thinking of how to put into words of what happened in the past five hours leading up to his fall.
"Did you guys locate his avatar?" Danielle asked, her hands resting against her hips as she stood in front of the screen within the room of the communications tower.
"Yeah, we're triangulating it as we speak. It's not easy to pick up the frequency again with these damn nanites so close to the mountains." General Ardmore said as she shuffled back and forth on the camera.
"Anything yet?" Ardmore's voice sounded from off screen. Then, abruptly, the volume symbol on the screen morphed into a mute symbol, freezing the image.
"Huh?" Danielle murmured, her confusion settling across her face as she waved at the screen. "General ma'am? Can you hear me?"
Nothing.
Back in the Operational Surveillance and Intelligence center at Bridgehead, also known as the Black Room, Ardmore leaned over one of her technician's chairs, squinting at the screen.
"Why the hell is the body all the way out in Timbuktu?" She asked.
The technician silently shrugged.
She straightened up, turned, and whistled, "Hey! Hey! Vaughn! Get Dr. Eric Hurley here. Now! On the double!"
"Yes ma'am!"
Twelve minutes later, Dr. Eric Hurley in his familiar white lab coat came jogging over to Ardmore's position in the Black Room.
"Yes?" He asked.
Ardmore motioned for him to look at the screen, displaying a topographical map of the Hallelujah Mountains. A yellow dot was centered on a grid, and it was moving rapidly.
"Care to explain?"
Eric leaned over the screen, attempting to make sense of the situation.
"Looks like he's flying."
"No." Ardmore sternly answered. "He's moving on a damn Kestrel."
"Uh, why?"
Ardmore pursed her lips, averting her gaze from Hurley's face before exhaling. "Because his avatar has been taken by one of Sato's men."
Eric narrowed his gaze, trying to make sense of this story in his head, then glanced back to Ardmore. "I don't get it."
"Very. Very. Long story. So I'll make this quick. You've heard we've been using the Na'vi as labor for the construction of both Bridgehead and several mining quarries, right?"
Eric nodded, "yeah, I'm aware of it."
"Okay. Sato is one of those men. He's been tasked with overseeing Red Stone. And part of his job involves acquiring Na'vi laborers. So this is what he does. He finds them. Tracks 'em. And tags them to bring back to Red Stone. That's what is happening right now. To Rayan Asher's avatar."
"Wouldn't they realize it's an avatar?" Eric asked.
"They're fully aware it's an avatar," Ardmore responded. "I expected more wisdom from a self-proclaimed doctor such as yourself."
Eric frowned, irritated by her tone. "Then what's the problem?"
"How long before we are able to take over Asher's avatar?"
"Four weeks, as promised," Eric replied. "Why?"
"Four weeks…" Ardmore said frustratingly to that notion. With all the advancements in their technology, they still can't get a bunch of tiny robots to take control of an avatar's brain fast enough. "Because Asher is about to find out we are using the Na'vi as labor."
"Slave labor?" Eric questioned.
"Never use that term again," Ardmore warned. "They're not slaves, they're not human. They're no different from Locusts, avatars, or rocks."
Eric nodded casually, folding his arms, awaiting Ardmore's point.
"What if we initiate it now?" Ardmore asked.
"It wouldn't work," Eric answered. "The connection would be too weak for a driver to infiltrate the avatar's mind. Besides. We need the full four weeks for the machines to bypass the blood brain barrier, which, as we've come to realize, is nearly if not more complicated than the human blood brain barrier. The immune system responds faster, more aggressively if those nanites breach the barrier without adequate time for the nanites to understand what it's breaching. We could force it but then the avatar's immune system will work to get rid of the nanites entirely. By which point, you lose. Respectfully, ma'am."
Ardmore rotated her head, stretching her neck. "Fine… fine… and you're confident it will work?"
"Worked before."
"I know he's going to see them." Ardmore said, shaking her head. "I just know it. He's going to get pissed. He's going to come here, demanding why we're using them."
"Just tell him the truth. We're using the Na'vi as a way to minimize human casualties. He'll understand. Hell. The UNE understands."
"The UNE thinks we're also rewarding them with homes, medicine, and food." Ardmore countered.
Eric raised a brow. "Aren't we?"
Ardmore glanced at him briefly before refocusing on the screen, the yellow dot drawing nearer to Red Stone. "No."
"No?" Eric repeated. "But I thought—"
"—These Na'vi are not your typical forest dwelling blue skinnies you're used to seeing. They are lethal killers. And they have an appetite to kill some humans. So no. I'm not about to let them out in the wild so they can gather more of their kind and retaliate. We're going to work them to death, and we'll bury their bodies in the ground."
Somehow, she managed to make it sound as though her intentions was not to help the Na'vi, but to kill them however she could within the legal bounds of the UNE's restrictions.
"Then what are you going to tell him?" Eric asked, curious as to how Ardmore was going to cover her tracks from a snooping Asher.
Ardmore placed her hands on her hips. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." She tapped on the shoulder of the technician in the chair. "Turn the mic on."
"Yes ma'am."
Ardmore motioned with her head that Eric was free to go.
Standing in front of the camera, Ardmore waved to Danielle who she could see was still standing around. "Ah sorry about that. Technical difficulties."
"What happened? What's going on?" Danielle asked urgently.
"Don't worry, Miss Danielle. The good news is, we've found him. Bad news is, his avatar is going to Red Stone."
High Camp — Same Evening
"Mother?" Srìlo's voice was a gentle, almost reverent whisper. Fearful that he might startle her.
"Your mother is asleep, Srìlo," Kiri reminded him in the softest of tones, knowing how sensitive this was for him.
Srìlo's gaze briefly shifted towards Kiri, an unspoken connection passing between them that told her he understood but he couldn't simply forgo the feeling he felt deep within himself. To be here for her.
Gently, he extended his hand and slipped it beneath his mother's, their fingers intertwining. It was a simple touch that conveyed a wealth of emotions—love, reassurance, warmth. It was his way of reaching out to her, even if she didn't notice.
As for the room. It was oppressively alien to young Srìlo. The unfamiliar bedding, the array of medical instruments, the sterile light—it all clashed with his People's connection to their world. And because of this, it seemed cruel to keep her here any longer, but he understood the reason why. It was to keep her alive, in spite of every fiber of his being screaming to take her from this place—he couldn't. Because he recognized the undeniable truth, that the Sky People, whom he held little regard for, had saved the life of his mother.
Searching for a place to sit amid the strangeness of the room, his attention was unexpectedly drawn to Kxeyìn's pouch, resting on a stand beside his mother's bed. He couldn't believe it. He almost didn't want to, fearing this was a deceitful act by the Sky People. But when he brushed his fingers over it, the tactile confirmation of its familiar weathered texture reassured him it was Kxeyìn's. He took it and held it tightly to his chest. He breathed the leather, the faint scent of his sister's existence still lingering on it.
"Kxeyìn," he whispered, knowing through his faith that she heard him.
Kiri lowered her gaze. Sensing the weight of the moment. Precisely knowing the feeling Srìlo was experiencing. Kiri often would talk to her own mother like this. Wondering when she too will awake from her slumber. It was a distinction that underscored the cruelty of her circumstances, and she felt the pang of it deep within her.
As far as Kiri knew, Grace was never going to wake up and see her daughter. Unlike Amanti who was going to see her sons again. But when Srìlo whispered Kxeyìn's name, it tugged at Kiri's heartstrings, nearly bringing tears to her eyes.
Where is she?
Over the Skies — Forty Minutes Earlier
Saeyla maintained her position beside the Tipani's very own Avarin, flying in tandem as they navigated the clear night together with ten other riders directly behind them. Everyone, including Avarin and Saeyla, were looking below them every now and then, hoping to catch signs of activity from the survivors. Instead of seeing fire, they were seeing the soft glow of the forest beneath them.
Understanding the Tipani's aversion to using Sky People technology, Saeyla relied on her wrist-mounted computer to navigate their way to the last location of the metal ikran. It felt unnatural to her, especially considering it was only the second time she had used one, but she was gradually growing accustomed to it, even though it remained distasteful to the Tipani and honestly, to quite a lot of the Omatikaya.
Referring to the map, which she had learned how to use during one of Olo'eyktan Tsyeyk Suli's lectures on map reading, Saeyla knew they were getting close. In fact, they were very close when suddenly—
FWOMP! FWOMP!
Shards of light zoomed dangerously close past her face, causing her ikran to veer off in a chaotic flight pattern.
"Easy! Stay steady!" Saeyla called out urgently.
FWOMP! FWOMP! FWOMP! FWOMP!
More of these luminous fragments streaked by, narrowly avoiding the riders and their mounts.
"Tswayon! Tswayon!" Avarin's voice rang out in the open air, signaling for Saeyla to maintain their course. She must have thought it was some natural phenomena. But Saeyla knew better.
"No! No!"
FWOMP! FWOMP! FWOMP! FWOMP!
The relentless barrage of light projectiles persisted, each one a close brush with death. They were incredibly fast. Faster than anything she had seen in her life. Faster than lightning even!
Down on the ground, the Locusts' instruments detected the presence of the banshees flying overhead.
"Sir, this is Neptune. We're engaging Na'vi riders."
Micah tore his attention away from studying Kxeyìn as Matthews and Ilika carefully placed her body on a litter.
"Are they returning fire?"
"Negative, sir. Should we engage?"
"Proceed but use non-lethal measures. Our goal is to deter, not kill." Micah's gaze shifted to Ilika and Matthews. "Listen up. Na'vi are in the vicinity. Heads on a swivel. We're almost done here."
"Understood," Ilika acknowledged, while Matthews readied his rifle.
Back in the sky, Saeyla reached a decision. Activating her throat microphone, she emitted a series of electronic beeps that signaled her fleet to rendezvous at High Camp. Avarin's mournful cries mixed with the wind as Saeyla deftly maneuvered her ikran in a tight turn. The relentless barrage of light continued, streaking across the heavens. Reluctantly, Avarin followed Saeyla's lead, guiding her own banshee in the same direction.
After a while, Micah heard back from Neptune. "They're gone sir."
"Excellent. Return to the LZ. We're leaving this place." Turning to Ilika and Matthews, he gestured to both of them to get aboard the Kestrel.
Quarry 3 "Red Stone" — Morning
"Vitals are stable," spoke one of the nurses.
"And it appears she's responding well too the medicine." Another said, writing notes down on his tablet.
"What about the avatar? Anything?"
Both nurses looked back at the avatar lying on the bed across the room. "Nothing so far."
"Shame."
"Let's go. I'm hungry."
"Right behind ya."
The door sealed shut the moment both nurses left the room.
Five minutes later…
As the two nurses exited the room, the door closed with a soft hiss, sealing off the space. Five minutes later, a harsh, rasping gasp erupted from Asher's throat. Slowly, his consciousness resurfaced, and he struggled to sit up in the bed, his body tense as he fought for breath. Something was wrong. Why did it hurt to breathe? His surroundings gradually came into focus—a white room, unlike any he had seen at High Camp. It was too sterile, too spacious to be part of the camp.
"Where am I?" He asked aloud, his breath caught against the mask adorning his face. No answer. He was by himself.
He tried to move his legs, but they felt incredibly heavy and impossible to move. He looked over to his side. An IV stand was there, tubing running down and into the avatar's veins. They were dripping something into his system. He wanted to pluck at the tubes but when he moved his right arm over to his left, he instantly felt a sharp pain that caused him to hiss and recoil the hand back.
His gaze shifted downward, taking in the avatar's battered form that was marked by purple bruises and covered wounds. Around his torso was a pad of sorts that felt tight against his muscles. Gingerly, he reached toward the pad when he was instantly met with a surge of electrifying pain that made him involuntarily cry out.
Broken ribs.
He knew that kind of pain anywhere.
As he lowered his arm down, he unexpectedly found an identification wristband on his left arm. He looked at it. It read his name, with italics on the word 'Avatar Driver'.
And right beside it was the RDA logo.
"Well that certainly explains why I was able to connect back." He muttered, the drugs beginning to cloud his senses. Blinking through the haze, he surveyed the room and spotted another bed opposite him, its occupant's cerulean feet visible.
"Hey! Hey! Can you hear me?" He tried calling out to the other person.
Silence.
Ears fanning downward, he looked around, wondering if he could get the person's attention. But sadly, there was nothing that he could use to throw. Sighing, he laid back against the bed, wondering if he was going have to spend the rest of the day like this.
Then the door hissed. Drawing his attention to the door, Asher noticed a man in a dark black suit with a white tie walking across the room. He held his hands behind his back as he looked between the beds. A smile curled but ever so slightly. When he turned to face Asher, his smile grew bigger.
"Mr. Asher, I take it?"
Asher shifted his gaze onto a pair of security guards with guns next to the door.
"Yeah, UNE diplomat," Asher confirmed, refocusing on the man.
"My name is Takashi Sato."
"Nice to meet you sir. Sorry to be rude but when can I leave?"
"Soon. Mr. Asher. Soon."
"Cool… and uh,"
Sato glanced toward the other Na'vi in the room, knowing his next question. "She's alive, Mr. Asher."
"She?"
"A Na'vi woman, found alongside your avatar. It appears both of you took quite a fall."
Asher ransacked his memory for faces, eventually narrowing it down. It had to be the Tipani woman.
"Good," Asher breathed out. "Can I talk to her?"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible. She's heavily sedated, for her own well-being."
"What's wrong with her?"
Sato drifted his attention back to Asher. "Fractured leg. Bruised body. Internal bleeding. But other than that, she is doing well."
Asher's gaze dropped, pondering how much closer she had been to death had Sato not rescued her. The mere thought of it alone made him uneasy, a nagging feeling that he should have pushed Wade harder to establish a connection with the avatar. If only to save her life rather than the avatar.
After all, she risked her life for a tool. She didn't need to. But she did.
"How long will it take for her to heal so we can leave?" he asked.
Sato somberly shook his head. "I'm afraid that's not an option."
"Huh?"
"Because she belongs here, with us, Mr. Asher."
"What?" The blue face of the avatar scrunched with confusion. "What do you mean?"
Sato yawned. "Don't worry about her, Mr. Asher. Because later today, that avatar of yours is going back to Bridgehead."
Asher tried to get up, but the pain made him fall right back down against the bed.
"She needs to come with me!"
Sato was on his way out of the room when he answered back. "That's not possible. Have a good day, Mr. Asher."
Before Asher could hurl another comment, the door was sealed and the light within the room switched to darkness.
"Hey! Asshole! Let… let… her go…" Asher cries were left unheard as the drugs started to take effect on the avatar's body, lulling him back to sleep.