A Distant Sadness — Chapter XXV
Aboard the Kestrel
The world that Kxeyìn knew was dead—shattered, destroyed, ruined. Pick any verb, and the result was the same. Without her father's hand to hold and his loving, reassuring voice by her ear telling her that everything was going to be alright, she was lost. Now, more than ever, she was truly… lost, and it clung to her like an oppressive weight refusing to let go unless she fought back.
But she had no plans to. She was exhausted; aggravated by the pain of her injuries, and with the only thing on her mind being her father, she had no desire to fight, let alone care to win. What she wanted was to be subdued by its anger; to succumb to it even if it meant facing the ultimate consequence: death.
Why? Because, as she slumped in her seat, shoulders burdened by the weight of her own helplessness, her gaze involuntarily drifted downward towards the quarry, as though something or someone wanted her to see the reason behind these feelings.
Beneath the shroud of choking brown dust emerged a colossal dark hole, its vastness extending far beyond the scope of her comprehension and truthfully, her imagination. It was like a surreal nightmare, a twisted dream that refused to leave her and though her gaze silently absorbed the enormity of the quarry, the incongruity of its existence in the heart of the pristine forest was a sight to behold.
"What is this?" she asked herself, the words escaping on the peril of disaster, as if the very act of vocalizing her confusion might bring clarity to the inexplicable.
From the Kestrel, the quarry sprawled out like an infecting wound on the forest floor, its width equivalent to that of two Hometrees aligned side by side, if Kxeyìn had to hazard a guess. Yet, even more perplexing was the apparent growth of this excavation. Machines, a quarter of the size of the quarry itself, were routinely digging more of the earth out, as if the mine itself was an organism that was feeding and the machines, these excavators, were the mouth and teeth.
Struggling to mentally map out the expanding abyss, Kxeyìn found herself utterly stupefied in a way that only encounters with the sawtute could induce, causing her to stammer out the question, "h-how...?"
Her answer would soon unravel as the vehicle she was in initiated its left turn over the mines, offering Kxeyìn an ikran's-eye view of the impending heart-wrenching scene—a tableau so agonizing that the nightmare would bury itself into her soul, haunting her until the end of her days.
Just below her were mud-covered beings, their movements haphazardly sluggish and ragged. When the Kestrel flew over them, they shifted their attention upward to catch a glimpse of the vehicle the Na'vi call 'kunsìp' in their native tongue. Some displayed fleeting curiosity, wondering about the vehicle's destination, while others remained apathetic, their minds too frazzled by the toil of their work to care where it was going. Only that it was going.
As the kestrel soared, a rogue gust from the rotors tore through the dust-choked air, revealing the Na'vi workers below in stark clarity. Revealing the weariness etched into every line and contour of the workers' faces for Kxeyìn to see. They were sunken and heavy with fatigue and yet they were indifferent to what was happening to them. To them, it was just another day of digging in the mines, another futile endeavor that held no significance in any way for the jaded, tired, and broken Na'vi. Other than they were forced to do it. To work from sunup till sundown and perhaps not even then. Some had been in the mines since the return of the RDA. Others were clearly new, unsure where to go until directed by a five-foot-nothing trooper who was more tired than they were.
And so, with a collective disregard for the Kestrel above, the Na'vi workers mechanically slung the burdensome tools over their shoulders as they have done a thousand times or hoisted the heavy bags onto their heads as they have done a thousand times and trudged towards the surface of the quarry.
Once there and under the harsh brightness of the artificial light that was beginning to illuminate the mines, they exchanged the tools for a cup of water, a meager reward for spending hours at a time in the dirt and mud. Alternatively, others dropped their bags nearby, relinquishing the weight to an AMP who tossed them into a pile until another AMP was prepared to bear the burden away into a waste pit.
At least in that regard, the humans were helping.
If only they could have done more.
Nevertheless, each momentary relief, whether in the form of a sip of water or a brief pause, felt like a precious gift salvaged from the relentless demands of their labor. The Kestrel in a way briefly granted them a newfound reprieve. Its cool winds brushing against their shrunken frames allowed some of the Na'vi to simply close their eyes and enjoy the moment, remembering what it was like to fly their ikrans or how the wind blew against their face while riding their pa'li. Such was the imaginary freedom at their fingertips that a few of the Na'vi quietly wept.
It was another reminder that they were shackled to this unending ordeal. A reminder that this was their new life.
Up above and unlike them, Kxeyìn was unable to find any relief with what she was seeing. Merely a distant sadness. Along with unimaginable agony that didn't just sicken her; it ignited a fury within, a visceral anger that seethed alongside her frustration. It was as if the very essence of her being had caught fire, and the flames of rage licked at the edges of her consciousness, relentlessly reminding her that this was the same peril her father faced, and without her intervention, he would meet the same grim fate as the rest of them.
Now understanding the reasoning of why she was absolutely angry, Kxeyìn's hands clutched the frame of her seat, desperately seeking a lifeline from the torrent of emotions rocking back and forth behind her gaze. Simultaneously, she watched as her People were gradually swallowed by the vastness of the horizon. The unrestrained surge of emotions started to buckle under their own weight, each heartbeat a pulse away from exploding. Before the last image of her kind succumbed to the distance, she gritted her teeth, a silent promise forming on her lips.
"They will be fine," she breathed, the words carrying the weight of both conviction and desperate hope. "They will be fine. I know it. My father is with them. They will be fine."
No, they will die. My father will die.
Falling completely over that final thought, a whirlwind she could no longer contain erupted from Kxeyìn's throat, a screaming cry of despair and grievance that merged with the mechanical howl of the rotor beside her. If anyone was meant to hear her, it would have been them. Alas, the metal beast, indifferent to Na'vi emotion, muted her cry, leaving her anguish unheard by her kin.
The only witness to her torment was Asher, who, upon glancing back, observed Kxeyìn sticking her head out from the door and shouting at the skies. A part of him wanted to help but another part still nursing the lingering sting from her earlier punch, hesitated to assist, believing that she would somehow use the opportunity to strike him again. If not, then to kill him.
Nonetheless, he knew precisely what she was seeing. Because, much like Kxeyìn, Asher found himself repulsed by the scene unfolding before him. His past experiences across Earth's colonies had acquainted him with the various forms of indentured servitude—a regrettable consequence of humanity's ambitious reach across the stars—and also what the RDA was completely capable of against their own kind. And yet, Asher convinced himself that he was mature enough to withhold his own opinions on such matters. Believing that that if he spoke up too much about what he felt, then his role as a diplomat would be one of ill-repute. A stock character for mockery and disgrace for the face of the UN. Then again, the UN was much more fascinated with keeping what they considered a 'workforce' in check if the RDA was more than willing to pay the bills.
And they did pay their 'bills'.
But that didn't mean what he saw, he condone. On the contrary, by him witnessing the exploitation of Pandora's indigenous population, who had never sought this fate, Asher felt the stirring of some deep sense of moral unease. As though he should do something about it.
Was he? Asher liked to think he could. But then the mere thought of it almost elicited a bitter laugh from him—a cruel irony entwined on the fact that he was no hero. Let alone some savior. He was a man who took his job seriously enough that he killed innocent people based on false intel and his own poor judgement. He was not the man that the Na'vi didn't need. On the other hand, this bothered him to such an extent that he was beginning to question what side humans were on. Or what side he was even on.
"Damnit," he muttered. Burying his face into his hands, the burdening desire to make a difference impaled the imperious duty to maintain neutrality. It urged him to take action. But… how?
Sure, a stern conversation with General Ardmore seemed like a plausible course of action, but as a seasoned diplomat, he grasped the precarious balance of his position.
Stirring the pot, as it were, presented a multitude of risks. Firstly, it could jeopardize the delicate power dynamic that allowed him to be present in his avatar. Any overt dissent would only seek to compromise his capacity to do his work. Secondly, he foresaw that proposing the release of the Na'vi would not only be futile but would also brand him as having gone 'native,' a term more loaded than a revolver, filled with implications that could undermine his credibility and standing within the human contingent on Pandora.
No. He couldn't do it. For now though, he felt silence was the wisest course of action, a strategic choice to preserve his current position, both for him and the Na'vi. But that didn't mean his head wasn't rummaging for a way out. A way to fix this problem. That's what a soldier did. Adapt. Fight. Overcome.
But he wasn't a soldier, he told himself. He was a diplomat. Sent here because the UN trusted him enough to do a job.
And that job came before any revolutionary act.
Silently leaning into the seat, Asher gazed out onto the forest that had become routine for him to see.
Routine and strangely, haunting.
On the complete end of the Kestrel, Kxeyìn's emotional turmoil was unfolding with relentless intensity. Her face bore the indelible marks of streaming tears, and her throat, raw from unrestrained sobs, now rebelled against her. Stiffness crept into her body, and her vision blurred with a deluge of fog and misery. A maelstrom of emotions threatened to hijack her most basic impulses, as if eager to seize control and wield them against her will. Yet, that Tipani determination didn't allow her. He instincts caused her to hold back, to preserve her own sanity amidst the overwhelming tide of despair.
As her father once taught her, 'there is strength in peace'. A phrase she never understood or quite got until now. For without the anchor of discipline embedded in her father's words, she would have impulsively thrown herself from the Kestrel, landed in the quarry, and sought to kill and maim as many demons as she possibly could.
An act known as bloodletting.
It was enticing. More so, it was growing with every second.
Sadly, Kxeyìn knew what that entailed. It might have offered a fleeting satisfaction, an outlet for the anguish within, but it would have inevitably led to her own demise, knowing that her broken leg would not have supported such an ability to land, let alone the ability to keep going and fighting.
There had to be another way.
Turning her thoughts back to the reason behind their madness, Kxeyìn grappled with the senselessness of their actions.
It defied all logic and reason. And while she acknowledged the sawtute's intelligence, guile, and predisposition for violence, their current actions went far beyond the simple annoyance they had for her kind. They were ruthlessly destroying the land, tearing apart what was old and innocent, all in pursuit of a seemingly ordinary rock. This raised an unending stream of questions within her: What power did this rock possess? What justified such relentless devastation? The quest for answers became a mental battlefield, where her own understanding clashed with the incomprehensible cruelty unfolding before her eyes.
And the longer she went without an answer, the more that this need clawed at her, leaving her feeling impotent in the face of what she considered to be evil.
What was it that drove them? What told them to destroy these lands?
Drawing from her experiences in engaging with the sawtute during scouting missions, she recognized a pattern: what they couldn't claim, they destroyed.
What they couldn't own, they stole.
Like undisciplined children, they wreaked havoc in every turn, dealing death and ruin to everything and everyone. Their animosity towards her world wasn't a mere symptom of madness or illness; it was a larger affliction reflected in their work and twisted personalities.
To them, the only language they understood seemed to be the language of death.
Gripping the frame of her seat as the Kestrel turned its nose towards the floating mountains, Kxeyìn believed that in due time, she was willing to give them what they desired most in their hearts.
"I will kill them."
The avatar driver checked his watch and what he saw made him snort. Forty minutes of flying and they were still nowhere near those damn mountains yet. At least, not as far as his eyes were willing to tell.
"Should I?" He briefly considered asking the pilot of how far they were but immediately dismissed the idea when he sensed that the pilot might not be in the best of moods in answering any of his questions. Which was fair after what had happened in the quarry. Instead, Asher opted to squint through the darkness in an attempt to locate the mountains himself. But the red glow from inside the Kestrel was screwing with the avatar's natural night vision, causing him to get a weird pounding headache whenever he did and besides the sky (obviously) and the forest (more obviously), there wasn't much else to see.
Then there was the matter of the gas giant dominating the night sky, presenting a mesmerizing display of cosmic power unlike anything back on Earth. It held an unusual fascination for a diplomat like him, who rarely indulged in stargazing. And why should he? After all, he was a glorified pencil pusher, destined to sit behind a desk and stare at concrete walls for eight hours while daydreaming about his apartment complex next to his parents.
That was more his speed. Funny how fate had a way of making a man wrong.
Lured by Polyphemus and its hypnotizing colors, Asher quickly found himself watching the clouds of another world bleed and mingle with one another until memories from an ancient time greeted him from afar.
There was one specific memory that came to mind. That of a bespectacled figure who went by the name of Olafsson. Asher remembered him hunched over a desk in a dimly lit room, shuffling papers in a futile attempt to shield him from the harsh reality of his own actions.
When he was ready to speak, the would-be judge advocate for Asher would lower his face and waited for the glasses to slide down along the ridge of nose until the sharp piercing blue eyes his mother must've gifted him peered over the frames in order to stare across the dimly lit room, granting him the authority to dispel the words that had been latched onto his tongue the entire time.
"It wasn't your fault. You know that, right?" Olafsson's voice carried a tone of reassurance, his attempt to shield Asher from the weight of the truth.
Not that it mattered. Asher wasn't the kind of guy to simply ignore the reality of what he had done. Not unlike so many others who have. "You're asking me to ignore what I just did?"
"I'm asking you to ignore it because your report states that you were confused during an intense moment of combat. And stress, my friend, blinds everyone in times of crisis."
Asher shook his head, rejecting the notion. "It wasn't a crisis. I knew what I was doing. I thought… I thought they were the enemy."
"Then it sounds to me like you didn't know what you were doing."
Olafsson, with an air of nonchalance, shuffled his papers once again, his actions almost a tic betraying a hint of aggravation. He attempted to downplay the severity of the crime by arguing, "You might as well ignore it. The officers are on your side with this one. Trust me." His smile was meant to instill a sense of honesty, but all Asher could see was a man trying to protect the military. Not him.
Asher tapped his fingers against his knee for the rest of the session. He wanted out of that office. To go throw up somewhere and then get drunk. Which he did but not in that order. Later that month, he contemplated suicide. Figuring, if everyone was going to lie on his behalf, then at the very least, the bullet would tell the truth.
He never got around to it. Either because he chickened out or because he knew the truth was in the bullet and if he pulled that trigger, he wouldn't be around to find out of it was the truth or not.
Before the memory could choke him, the Kestrel struck an air pocket, causing it to jump in turbulence and with it, kicking Asher out of the memory and back to reality. Grabbing onto a nearby handrail, he checked his watch again, hoping to see if time somehow passed while he was away.
It didn't, sadly. What he saw was another unfortunate circumstance to being in his avatar.
"Fourteen hours," he muttered, the words carrying the weight of fatigue with it.
Operating the avatar didn't tire him in the same way it would his human body, but a weariness that existed just outside the peripheral was seeping into his consciousness and draining him of the will to go on. It made it harder for him to concentrate and focus on trying to return to High Camp. And if he was tasked to keep going for another hour, he might pass out without even knowing about it. This was in spite of the avatar's extraordinary endurance that could see him through another day without a single wink of sleep. Amazing body but, he really wanted to go back. To his real body. To feed it. Use the toilets and complete his daily routine of a hundred pushups which he absolutely and unfortunately forgot when he hopped into the avatar this morning.
What was worse, Asher knew by now that Wade was likely prepping his body for a possible long stay, such as shoving a catheter up his…
…he didn't want to think about that just yet.
Still leaning out of the door by holding onto the handrail, Asher half-expected to see the silhouette of the mountains by now. Surely they weren't that far off? But again, he was proven wrong. There was nothing but an endless quilt of trees and more trees.
His eyes briefly glanced to the side, catching the Tipani woman's hand over her knee.
Have she seen them yet? He wondered.
Taking a chance to steal a cursory look in the direction of the Tipani woman, Asher found her silently gazing out of the door. Her eyes were fixed on something unseen, and she appeared ensnared in a catatonic trance, a state of detachment that refused to acknowledge his presence or anything else for that matter. Even the rocky jump from the Kestrel earlier failed to stir her from the depths of her inward reflection. She remained locked in that thousand-yard stare, fighting her own demons that were beyond what Asher was able to see.
As he observed her, a sense of empathy that he never had before with the Na'vi, slowly crawled up to the surface and began to take form. The tail of his avatar, normally wild and uncontrollable, shifted a final time before striking the seat to settle beside his leg while Asher looked on. He tried to imagine what it was like for her. To see someone you love torn away from you, stolen and thrown into a machine intended to destroy that person you loved dearly. Then, without a way to help them, are taken away yourself with no intent to ever see them again.
It was truly devastating. And in an attempt to offer some modicum of comfort, Asher softly spoke, "We're almost there." Right after he said that, he did a double take and ask himself why he said it. There was no reason to. She didn't understand English and yet, he was compelled to help her however he could.
Of course, the Na'vi woman didn't pay attention. She simply sat there. Her eyes glazed over. Waiting for the ride to end.
Somewhere over Ayram Alusìng
Darting through the night at breakneck speed, Jake and Neytiri urged their ikrans forward, taking advantage of the southern gusts before they were gone. Skimming inches above the treetops, the Omatikaya riders scanned the forest below with eyes keen as starlight. Because the way the night behaved on Pandora in its close proximity to Polyphemus, the world of the Na'vi became a diffuse bloom of twilight incandescence; a reflexive response to the ingredients of the gas giant stirred in together with the burnish beauty of the neural network that was the forest. Resulting in what was an amalgamation of dreams and confusion. As they sailed together through the night at heightened speeds, the shifting shadows played tricks on their perception. Offering one clue in an instance before subduing their hopes with another.
A true game of hide and seek. Except there was a chance that one of their own might be dead if they didn't play this game the right way.
"Bob, slow down a tad," Jake instructed. Responding to his rider's command, Bob spread open his wings, inducing a subtle drag that gave his rider the time to piece together the puzzle that was the jungle ground. At the same time, Neytiri came swooping over ahead, her speed doubled that of Jake's and upon spotting her mate slowing down, she did the same.
Gliding alongside Jake now, Neytiri turned to reach out to him. "Did you find something?"
"No," he responded, his voice crackling from the infecting interference caused by the unobtainium despots underneath the ground. "What about you?"
She pushed in the earpiece with her finger, feeling that it was becoming loose. When she felt it was properly in its place, Neytiri took his question and leaned over her ikran to find anything remotely concerning Amanti's daughter. Though her eyes didn't discern anything concrete, an unspoken sense told her they were on the right track. She couldn't quite explain it. It was an intuition. A Tsahìk premonition that continued to govern their flightpath and her heart.
"We are close, ma Jeyk." She said, looking back up to meet his eyes.
"Close? How close?" He took another look around and didn't see how they were any closer than before.
Then he remember Saeyla's words:
I saw the arrows of fire streaking past my eyes. They were close to killing me. I was able to feel their heat on my cheeks, that is how close they were. When I turned, I saw where the fire was coming from. Near a river. We managed to escape before anyone of us were killed, thanks to the guidance of Eywa's mercy.
"Neytiri," Jake's voice crackled over the radio, breaking through her thoughts. "Keep an eye out for a river."
She huffed in response, "There are many rivers."
A laugh resonated in her ear. "If you find one, just tell me. Okay?"
He heard a sigh coming through his own earpiece. She got it.
Guiding Bob ahead and moderating his speed, Jake naturally began to look to his right before tracing a path across the horizon and then back down to his left.
"Where are you," Jake muttered into the wind, as if anticipating a response from the elements.
And it did.
The radiance from Polyphemus had cast a subtle glimmer that refracted directly in Jake's direction. It was a delicate illumination, barely visible beneath the expanse of the night sky. Had he and Bob continued flying at any other altitude, the glimmer might have easily eluded Jake's notice.
Good thing it didn't.
With Neytiri now positioned over his left shoulder, her posture perfectly attuned to the flight, Jake adjusted Bob's trajectory to align with her ikran. He motioned to Neytiri, encouraging her to gaze in the direction where he believed he saw the river.
In an instant, Neytiri's sharp eyes locked onto it—a glimmer of water reflecting the vague colors of the gas giant. "Yes! I see it, ma Jeyk," she exclaimed, a triumphant smile lighting up her face as she nodded back to Jake.
"C'mon then!" Jake shouted, and the duo transmitted the command to their loyal banshees. Bob and Neytiri's ikran, with a shared determination, flapped their wings ahead, drawing the last ounce of strength from their reserves, fatigue be damned.
Responding to the call, Neytiri's ikran let out a spirited cry, following the directive with a swift descent before resuming a powerful flap, gaining the momentum needed to carry them through the slipstream. The air hummed with energy as they surged forward.
Jake and Bob were next in line, but weariness from the extended flight caused Bob to hesitate at the command. Worried that his ikran might grow restless and cease following instructions, Jake infused a measured reassurance into the creature's consciousness. He promised a well-deserved rest upon reaching land and a feast of meat and fruits—a rare treat that elicited a cheerful chirp from the ikran.
Focused. The ikran flapped and took centerfold of their formation, playfully snapping at Neytiri's ikran.
The banshee's weighed their trajectory and adjusted their speed, aligning themselves with an almost perfect synchrony. When they were over the river, they executed a calculated maneuver that guided their riders over the riverbank. The closeness to the river's surface was such that the flapping wings created a delicate misty spray, adding a surreal touch to the night that made Jake smile.
That was cool.
Flapping wildly, Bob maintained his steady hover above the water, accommodating Jake's need for a moment of observation to ensure the absence of any conspicuous SEC-OPS presence in the serene landscape.
"See anything, Neytiri?" Jake asked, his rifle coming up to scan through iron sights.
"No," she said, sweeping over him in her ikran as their shadow grazed over Jake and Bob's skin.
"Me neither." He lowered the rifle and ordered Bob to circle around one last time. After he did so, Bob searched desperately for a purchase on the sturdy tree branches across the bank. As soon as he was able to clutch the branch, Jake leapt off and landed with the firmness of a seasoned warrior, the ground briefly illuminating brilliantly upon impact before returning to darkness.
In stark contrast to her mate, Neytiri's descent was measured, producing scarcely a sound and emitting only a faint light from her touch. Jake, observing the Olympic-display of her agility, couldn't help but marvel at the seamless execution of her landing.
So that is how she found me.
Smirking, Jake looked ahead and with an ingrained combat instinct that never failed him, he smoothly retrieved his rifle and narrowed his gaze through the iron sights until his eye naturally inclined to look through it. He almost believed he was going to be greeted by a hail of bullets by now, but instead, a void of silence was all that met his ears.
He knew it had been long enough that the RDA typically didn't stick around to see who was going to attack them. Though one might never know.
"Guess they're not here." Jake remarked, the rifle moving side to side as Neytiri joined him. She had her bow drawn, an arrow ready on the fiber drawstring, and like Jake, found nothing to strike at—only darkness.
When Neytiri glanced over to Jake, he threw a hand signal that read 'follow me'. It felt like old times again, a flashback to their hunting days but, more honestly, it reminded her of their romantic nights. Never knowing where he'll take her next. Except this wasn't a romantic night. This forest was not their haven and the shadows that fled from the corners of her vision could very well be the enemy.
Taking the step forward was deliberate, restrained, careful. Her bow poised against the shroud of the night, the arrowhead glinting in the planetshine like a symbol of her potential violence carried by the strength of her fingers. Every stride wore the grace and power ingrained in her movements. A dancer's precision fused with a warrior's elegance. Adding to it was the adumbration of the forest. It broke the familiar pattern of her silhouette, altering it in a way that suggested a more feral appearance. Closer to that of a predator than the ten-foot tall blue being.
She was lethal. She was war.
She was Na'vi.
The Kestrel
The endless eventide of the sky, dotted with white twinkling embers of the stars, had been Asher's soothing backdrop for the past twenty minutes or so. He had been tracing some of the constellations to dull his troubling thoughts of pain and was well on his way to figuring out where Orion's Belt was when suddenly, a lurch jerked his head around, sending his heart leaping right into his throat.
He had to grab onto the handrail dangling above his head to prevent himself from falling out of the vehicle. It was that bad. Clearing his throat, Asher snapped his attention to the outside, wondering what the hell happened when he realized the jungle, a once hazy smudge on the periphery, was beginning to materialize into view.
They were finally landing!
"About damn time," he muttered, though the words themselves held a proverbial procession. A type of relief without the relief as what laid ahead was going to be a gauntlet of trees, pain, and possible death.
Despite that though, Asher felt an unexpected surge of energy coursing through every limb. The kind that awoken the resilience of the soldier within and one that thrived on these types of challenges that put him to test (as if the broken ribs and being in his avatar all day long wasn't enough).
Taking in a deep breath of the humid air, he held it, then slowly, exhaled it before steering his gaze across to the entangled web of trees, vines, and glowing things.
He honestly missed it—the forest. Sure he had come to hate it from all the grief it did to his avatar, but he would be lying if he didn't miss it.
Too bad they didn't land forty minutes ago. He would be in it rather than contemplating his demise once they got going.
But before he could leave the Kestrel, the question that had been nipping at his heels since they left the mines returned, and that was: how the hell was he going to make it to High Camp?
He had a broken rib or two and the Na'vi woman across from him had a broken leg. Then there was the matter of the backpack, a dented metal behemoth promising agony with every jostle against his fractured ribs. Without it, he would disconnect. With it, he was going to endure misery. Not to mention that he had no clue where he was in correlation to High Camp. They might as well have been dropped off the middle of the Sahara Desert with two golden retrievers and a clown as their guides. At least then he could eat the dog for food and use the clowns for entertainment while slowly dying.
Such a dreadful proposition was the appetite for pessimism.
Ears folding back; the truth slipped out in a whisper in admission to what he was thinking at the moment.
"I can't do this. There's no way."
The poisonous cocktail of overly scrutinizing the future and the fear of what was about to happen flooded into his veins, each taking a turn to tear down the shield he had built up during the flight. Causing tremors to shake his legs and stutters to chip away his facade of bravado before twisting the natural anxiety into a paralyzing, stomach-churning mess that Asher couldn't deal with.
I'm not going to make it. There is simply no way I can do this!
Blinking from the sickening realization of what was becoming of him. Asher peered back to the Na'vi woman and saw that she had none of his fears. Only resentment that she manage to hide from him. Rather than understand the indifference of her emotions, he took the false passivity for strength, and collected himself.
"No-no," his breath rasped, the words thin against the roar of the approaching jungle. "I can do this. I can… do this." Each repetition felt like another rung on a rickety ladder leading toward a precipice. An edge by which the very gravity he fought against was going to push him over if he didn't gather his wits from running in every direction.
It also didn't make sense for him to be this worked up. To his own admission, he found that it would've been easier for him if he was back on Earth, fighting the enemy again with guns instead of operating a blue giant on some alien world. That's where his natural-self existed in. In violence. The ones where bullets flew over his head and the heat of a grenade exploding near him would make him rethink twice about his decisions in life.
But here with this woman? This Na'vi? He felt responsible for her. Not in the way he felt responsible for another human but in the way he felt responsible as though he broke something that wasn't his. Because she didn't belong here. She should be with her own kind. Doing her own thing. Instead, the fool risked her life for this tool. To save it. Why? He didn't know.
He couldn't even find the answer now that he felt a wave of nausea flushing his runaway thoughts.
Feeling close to blacking out, Asher instinctively gripped the dented backpack and then something strange happened. The tremor in his muscles subsided. Replaced by a low hum that resonated through his very being.
"Whoa," he mumbled. Asher tilted his head, ears flickering in surprise, searching for the source of the sudden calm. His gaze snagged on his palm, but nothing seemed amiss about it. Only when he touched the backpack did the tsunami of fear just… stopped.
Whatever it was, he wasn't about to dwell on it. The nausea was gone and that's all that mattered.
Taking a shuddering breath, he counted down the final seconds as the Kestrel dipped its nose, signaling their descent. The familiar crunch of metal against earth followed, harsher than he knew. Then came a disgruntled thought about the pilot's 'friggin' carelessness' when the rest of the vehicle landed, causing a slamming thud that sent him bumbling forward against the wall. Held in place by his hand, a flickered death threat flew across his mind before being consumed by the sheer relief of escape.
"Okay, okay. We're here. I'm alive. This avatar is alive." Asher said, hand patting himself down as a mental reminder that he was still here. Driven by his own power, the diplomat turned his body completely to the exit and stopped. He looked down and saw how far the ground was from his boot. In reality, it wasn't that much, but with a broken rib, Asher made it seem to him as though he was walking alongside a skyscraper.
Closing his eyes, Asher braced himself for a stumble, for the harsh return to solid ground after hours cramped in the Kestrel's metal embrace as the tip of his boot fumbled for a footing. But to his surprise, he found solid ground underneath it, earning a cautious look from beneath his eyelids.
"Good," now he eased the rest of himself out, albeit somewhat awkwardly due to having been seated in such an awkward position for so long.
When he felt ready, he moved the other leg and as expected, a sharp pain stabbed at his ribs, causing an involuntary gasp to escape from his mouth. Trying to uphold an image of this strong-willed human, Asher instinctively clutched at his mouth to hold back a yelp. Though it offered very little relief.
He held his hand there for several moments, waiting for the pain to subside and once it did, he carefully maneuvered the rest of his body off the vehicle. In what he considered the most meticulously planned move of his career, he slowly slipped one arm after the other through the loops of the backpack until it was secured over his back. Then, taking the straps, he clipped them across his chest.
The pain didn't care what he did and returned in a relentless wave of thrashing agony that made him unleash a stream of curses into the humid air. He used his teeth as a way to bite back the insanity, but it only caused him to hunch over and breathe out the remaining torment until it dissipated, leaving him drained but composed.
A gruff voice crackled through the speakers, the impatience grating on Asher's last nerves. "Come on! Hurry the hell up, will ya?!"
Wincing, Asher held himself up against the frame of the Kestrel and pushed himself up to stand on both feet. With his body protesting, Asher moved around the cockpit. Upon hearing the pilot, he raised a hand in acknowledgement, a tired grin twisting his lips. "Ya-ya, I'm coming you impatient bastard."
The pilot flashed the external headlights, telling Asher to walk faster.
On the other side of the Kestrel, a flicker of life had rekindled in the Tipani woman's eyes. Gone was the blank catatonia, replaced by a burning impatience to escape the metal bird, she was squirming to get out.
By the time Asher rounded the cockpit, her good leg was already thrusting out and her hand gripped the overhead loop like a lifeline to balance herself.
"Hold on… hold on, don't try to rush things. That's how you'll get hurt," Asher said, knowing she wouldn't understand a word of English.
As usual, she hissed at him and the good leg tensing like a coiled spring, was ready to kick at him if he dared to approach her.
"Look," he tried again, his voice firm but not harsh, and gestured towards the pilot. "If I don't help you down, they'll just take you back. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
She spat back something fierce in Na'vi.
Asher frowned. He did resist the temptation to simply scoop her up and instead, tried something else.
Something more, passive.
He took a step back and crossed his arms.
"Alright. Your call, then," he said.
"You have thirty seconds for her to get outta my helo or I'm leaving!" The pilot yelled.
The clock ticked on, punctuated by the impatient growl of the Kestrel's engine. The pilot's booming threat reverberated, but Asher ignored it.
Sensing the avatar's withdrawal, Kxeyìn made another attempt to exit the kunsìp. Using her big toe as a fulcrum, she balanced herself against the ground, slowly maneuvering her cast leg over the edge and down onto the grass. It was a laborious process, but she succeeded.
A faint smile glimmered across her face. Victory was hers. But then, the Kestrel abruptly launched upwards, the world tilting beneath her. A yelp ripped from her throat as she tumbled forward, her face colliding with the unforgiving ground.
Asher reacted before he could think. A guttural curse tore from his lips as he lunged towards her, the Kestrel's deafening roar momentarily drowned out by the searing agony in his own ribs.
He knelt down the best he could beside her and started to grab her shoulders. With careful ease, he rolled her onto her back. And when he did, the piercing shrill of her painful scream bursted through the atmosphere.
It was raw. Primal. Ear shattering.
Unable to bear the sound, Asher cupped his ears. He looked down her to see if she was hurt in any way but the continued howl made that impractical.
Then, panic ensued.
If she was about to die, then he was in deep… deep trouble. He needed to do something.
The Forest — 30 Minutes Earlier
Jake's movements slowed to a crawl; each step more cautious than the last. The rifle pressed against his shoulder, biting into his muscle, while he anchored his eye to the canted iron sights. The M69-AR's muzzle moved in methodical arcs, scanning the dense foliage for any telltale signs: a glint of a mask, the rustle of unseen movement, the murmur of soldiers hiding among the foliage.
And then there were the traps…
Shortly after their return, the RDA began experimenting with a series of tactical strategies to overcome the major obstacle of Pandora: the Na'vi. The old brute-force method, favored by Colonel Quaritch, had demonstrably failed, costing both the colony and countless lives in the process to get the Na'vi under human control. Board members and shareholders alike also wanted the RDA to be free of having Na'vi blood on their hands, and so, any direct confrontation was thrown out of the window. This rule, though enforced by law on humans, held no sway over the Na'vi. They were free to attack if they wanted to.
Thankfully Jake and the Omatikaya made sure not to do so. At least, not until they fully understood the strength of the RDA.
Equally ineffective against the Na'vi's guerilla tactics was the overconfident belief that technological superiority was the key to winning on Pandora. This turned out to be a grave error on many parts. For one, the pilots, untrained for aerial dogfights with Na'vi banshees, found themselves outmatched each time. Their transparent aluminum canopies proved no barrier to the Na'vi's arrows, leaving pilots vulnerable to fatal strikes if the Na'vi utilized the sun to blind their foes. Secondly, missiles couldn't lock onto such agile targets, forcing Kestrel gunners to support the fight, assuming they survived long enough to be of any use.
The only reliable solution seemed to be the production of stronger canopies and arrow-resistant body armor for the gunners. However, the latter remained untested, as no one dared volunteer for a trial by Na'vi arrow. With options dwindling, Ardmore drew inspiration from Earth's grim history of conflict to protect the RDA personnel on Pandora. Convincing her officers that low-tech tactics could counter the Na'vi's, she implemented the first booby traps.
While many trap designs existed and many more implemented to various degrees of success. The most effective proved to be the pitfall. These seemingly innocuous patches of earth, calibrated to Na'vi weight, would collapse underfoot, plunging the victim into a six-foot pit lined with sharpened sticks. Left to bleed to death, the Na'vi would naturally cry for help, drawing their fellow tribesmen into the kill zone. There, another trap, this one explosive, would trigger when enough bodies crossed the laser grid, setting off a chain reaction of claymores. The kill zone often yielded nothing but scattered flesh, victims obliterated by the shrapnel storm. It was an efficient, devastating method, one that sent a brutal message: the Na'vi were unwelcome on their own land.
Of course, Ardmore's perspective differed. She argued that the traps were purely defensive, deployed only on occupied RDA territory and solely when necessary. She viewed them as a "hands-off" approach to dealing with combative Na'vi. To the Na'vi, however, it was an act of aggression. Reports spoke of dozens slain by the traps, instilling fear in tribes determined to resist the RDA.
To the rest of the world whose name was not Pandora. They didn't know. They were intentionally left in the blind. Neither the shareholders or the United Nations of Earth knew what Ardmore was doing, which was what she wanted. Giving SEC-OPS the deniability to operate on Pandora without being perceived as though they were fighting on the ground.
And it was working. The Na'vi backed off. Except for the mines, which Ardmore intentionally left half-defended. What she didn't explain to anyone was that the mines served as bait for the Na'vi. This, she hoped, would entice them into attacking, providing legal justification for a full-scale retaliation.
Sadly for her, the Na'vi haven't. Forcing her to utilize another unconventional means to go after the Na'vi: Rayan Asher.
For now though, traps were all the RDA were good at in fighting the Na'vi.
Taking a deep breath, Jake lowered his eyes to the ground, scrutinizing it with the practiced gaze of a veteran survivor. Every inch of Pandoran soil held the potential for a fatal misstep, and he prayed silently that this wouldn't be his last day.
"Nothing," he told himself and looked back up. Holding his rifle tight, he pressed forward through the overgrowth.
Along the picturesque path, a group of yerik poked their heads above the foliage, clearly recognizing someone was among them. As soon as they caught sight of Jake and Neytiri, they flitted their fans in silent warning. The Na'vi couple maintained their distance, recognizing that they posed no threat. Still, Jake paused to observe before they vanished back into the forest depths.
"Funny little guys," he remarked, a brief respite in their tense journey.
But the moment shattered as he stepped through a patch of tall grass, his foot crunching on a hidden branch like a gunshot in the hushed jungle. Annoyance immediately flared on his face and in his ears, swallowed by the prickle of self-flogging. "FNG mistake," he muttered. This, in a training exercise, would've earned him an earful from his instructors. And rightfully so.
Gotta be more careful, Jake, he reprimanded himself and continued.
Steadying his breath for a moment, he stood still and listened closely to the jungle ambience. Crickets, or their Pandoran equivalents, thrummed through the emerald cathedral, the only sound besides Neytiri's soft footsteps as she glided up behind him to squeeze his shoulder, a silent query to ask if everything was alright.
He squeezed back, a quick reassurance to let her know that everything was indeed okay. Then quickly assessing the ground, he examined them for any traces of AMP prints or the distinctive marks of human boots. If they passed through here, then the impressions they made would still be in the mud.
Seeing this, Neytiri did the same, her lithe form hovering near a cluster of bushes, allowing her gaze to sweep over the ground for signs of disturbance. The Na'vi were masters of reading the land, and the Sky People, for all their arrogance, couldn't hide their brutal passage from trained eyes. Yet, so far, the ground remained stubbornly mute.
As they were searching, a shocking crack-like sound ripped through the stillness. Jake's reflexes sparked, rifle whipping up and around, searching beneath the darkness for the source of the threat.
Neytiri became a shadow, melting into the foliage, her eyes scanning the canopy above. If the demons had arrived, they would face the full fury of her anger.
The tension ebbed as quickly as it had surged. Fluttering chirps and a rustle in the undergrowth – just startled creatures reclaiming their composure, scattering in different directions.
"Alright," he rasped, his voice hoarse from the adrenaline surge. "Clear."
Neytiri scanned once more with her bow, the arrowhead catching the forest light. "Clear," she murmured.
Jake nodded and pressed through the tangled foliage; rifle lowered but vigilance still his compass. The jungle now seemed to hold a thousand unseen eyes, watching, waiting.
Again, another crack, sharp and brittle, pierced the stillness. This time, from behind.
Then, another crack – sharp, brittle – shattered the stillness, this time from behind. Jake's rifle whipped around, nearly clipping Neytiri as she reflexively leaped aside, arrow poised. She followed his gaze, anticipating a threat... waiting, and then waiting some more.
Neither breathed, neither spoke, and neither moved. And as the humidity clung to the air, mingling with the dew-laden foliage, condensing around Jake's rifle muzzle. Gravity claimed a single droplet, and it fell, silent as a tear. It barely touched a nearby bush, yet somehow, that tiny impact triggered a flash of ethereal light, illuminating the hidden depths of the forest. Trees, plants, and creatures blinked into existence, momentarily painted in an otherworldly glow.
A frustrated curse slipped past Jake's lips. He crouched, disappearing beneath the foliage, and Neytiri, in silent synchronization, followed suit. But in the face of their desperate stealth, nature had other plans. A kaleidoscope of vibrant orange erupted from the bushes and ferns, and a horde of fan lizards sprung forth, unfurling to mesmerize those who startled them as red-yellow hues lit up the enveloping darkness around them.
"Damn it!" Jake hissed, the words barely escaping his clenched jaw in time to even say it.
Unfazed, the lizards whirred into action, spinning like miniature Samsons around their unwelcome audience. With each flamboyant twirl, their orange fans flashed, transforming Jake and Neytiri into unwitting beacons in the twilight gloom.
Jake scowled and began waving his arms in an attempt to shoo them away.
But for Neytiri, a child of the forest, their antics triggered a smile she couldn't quite erase. One little lizard, in particular, earned a soft chuckle from her with its clumsy way it pirouetted around her head, its expression seemingly a comical mix of confusion and determination. She felt a fleeting urge to reach out and touch it.
Jake, however, was a different story. He was getting restless. Annoyed even and wanted to find Kxeyìn so he could be done with these constant detours.
"C'mon, Ney," Jake said, pushing to his feet.
Neytiri tilted her head, the fan lizard's glow painting her face in fleeting streaks of orange. A flicker of longing touched her and for a heartbeat, she glimpsed the life she could have had, the Na'vi laughter echoing in her ears, the scent of woodsmoke filling her senses, and the exhilarating freedom of the forest in her lungs. It was a whisper of a past life, a bittersweet siren song tugging at her spirit. But the call of motherhood, the fierce love for her family, tugged at her soul with a far stronger grip. Rising, she fell in step beside Jake, her voice hinting of a regretful pang in her soul, "Yes, ma Jeyk."
The forest, once a bothersome of tricks and games, had fallen into a deathly hush by the time Jake and Neytiri came across a stream. Sharing a glance with one another, they silently acknowledged the spot's suitability for a brief break. But before cupped palms could scoop the cool water, a rhythmic rumble, thrumming through the air like a malevolent drumbeat, seized their attention.
Jake almost dismissed it as another quirk of the wild, but Neytiri's hand, light on his shoulder, tightened into a silent command, her eyes narrowing towards their rear.
"What is it?" Jake asked, eyes searching the dense foliage.
Neytiri, bow already raised, shook her head. "I do not know," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the growing rumble. "But it sounds like..."
She fell silent, ears straining as the sound intensified. Then, it hit them: the unmistakable, mechanical thumping of rotors.
Then the focus of the drums became clear to both of them. The mechanical thumping of rotors.
"They're here," Jake confirmed, a grim certainty hardening his voice. He strode past Neytiri to look at the forest again, making sure he wasn't just hearing things. When his ears picked up the rhythmic rumble reverberating again, louder and closer this time, his gaze snapped back to Neytiri. She knew right away what to do and together, they dashed back into the forest, running at full speed.
Crouched behind a gnarled, moss-covered tree, Jake and Neytiri watched in tense fascination as an avatar waddled awkwardly around the Kestrel, struggling to reach something on the other side.
"Got him in my sights," Jake whispered, his rifle barrel nuzzling the rough bark. He adjusted the scope, a crimson crosshair snapping onto the avatar's face.
"Them?" Neytiri's breath was barely audible to Jake's ears.
C'mon, show yourself, Jake mused, his finger adjusting the scope to zoom in closer. He could see a backpack on the avatar, it looked familiar, but something niggled at him. Could this be Asher or another, unknown avatar?
It was possible and Jake wasn't about to answer based on an assumption.
"Jeyk, is it—"
"Don't know. I think so, but…wait, wait." He was seeing someone in the Kestrel moving. Eyes squinting, he caught a glimpse of a flash of blue – a Na'vi leg.
"Na'vi," Jake rasped, the word raw with certainty. "There's a Na'vi with the dreamwalker."
Neytiri's tail lashed, the tip flicking like a viper's tongue. "Kxeyìn?" she hissed, her eyes trying to get a better look from where she crouched.
"Can't tell," Jake gritted his teeth.
"Jeyk…" she was getting impatient.
"The dreamwalker looks like he's standing there while waiting for the Na'vi to get out." Jake communicated.
"What is the dreamwalker waiting for?"
"Good question," he said. "Very good question."
Jake was for sure believed this was another one of the RDA's traps. To have an avatar and possible another avatar, sitting and standing around, waiting for the Na'vi—that being Jake and Neytiri—to come out and present themselves like fools.
That wasn't going to happen and if this was their trap, they would answer it in kind.
Then, without warning, the supposed trap sprung differently. A mechanical shriek screamed through the air, the rotors on full throttle, lurching the Kestrel forward to take off. And Kxeyìn, if it was her, slammed face-first into the earth.
A wave of primal rage surged through Neytiri, but Jake's grip on her wrist held her back.
"Not yet," he told her, his eyes narrowed on the receding Kestrel.
Screams, raw and desperate, clawed at the air and Jake's blood turned to ice. This was wrong. His adrenaline jolted him upward, his feet poised to launch him into a desperate sprint. But something held him back. A trickle of doubt, telling him to pay closer attention. The Kestrel had disappeared in the avoid of night, leaving behind on the ground a Na'vi with an avatar desperately trying to do something to silence her.
"Jeyk!" Neytiri yelled at him this time, urgently requesting him to do something, otherwise she was going to do it herself.
Steadying his rifle, Jake nodded. "Okay let's go."
Stepping out of the bush, Jake kept the rifle trained on the two. Neytiri, with her bow, also aimed at them, still unsure what to expect as they walked closer towards them.
"Hands! Hands! Hands! Show me hands!" Jake shouted in English.
Asher, who had slung the backpack down to retrieve a first aid kit, quickly flashed his hands into the air. "Whoa-whoa! Easy! I'm just trying to help her!"
Neytiri circled them, the arrow on her bow trained on the dreamwalker. As soon as she was able to see his face, her breath instantly hitched and the anger-filled eyes.
"This is him!" Neytiri shouted in Na'vi.
Asher's gaze snagged on hers, recognition flickering in his panicked eyes.
Damn, not these guys!
Jake kept the rifle trained on Asher as he knelt beside Kxeyìn who was still screaming in pain. "What's wrong with her?"
"Broken leg, I think," Asher stammered, voice rough with fear. "And my avatar..."
"No one gives a shit about your avatar." Jake barked, slinging the rifle and diving into Marine mode. He snatched the makeshift kit beside Asher and rummaged for pain relief.
"Can I at least lower these?" His gaze pleaded with Jake, but his eyes darted to Neytiri, the only one with a weapon trained on him.
"No."
Asher sighed and rolled his eyes around. He couldn't believe his luck. Sure, he actually preferred that Jake came to the rescue but with her here? He might as well have called in an artillery strike on their position.
Kxeyìn meanwhile thrashed in agony, sweat slicking her skin and tears streaking her cheeks. Jake tossed bandages, scissors, and finally found his prize: acetaminophen. Good, but not good enough.
"Kxeyìn," he crooned, switching to Na'vi. "I'm going to give you something for the pain." His words were lost in her shrieks. She writhed too violently for the intranasal spray.
"Neytiri. Hold her for me."
"Yes, ma Jeyk." Without hesitation, Neytiri grounded her bow and joined him, anchoring Kxeyìn with both hands. Jake quickly managed the spray, delivering a full dose into Kxeyìn's nostrils. After several minutes, her screams softened, turning into ragged sobs as she stared at the darkened sky.
Asher, hands still raised, started to lower them cautiously.
"I didn't tell you to lower them," Jake said, taking up his weapon again to aim it at Asher.
The diplomat look on with confusion. Unsure what the matter was when he clearly tried to help the Na'vi woman.
"So I'm the bad guy?"
"Didn't say you were."
"The gun says I am."
Neytiri was next, she scooped up her bow and took aim at the demon.
"What is this?" Asher said, glancing at both. "Listen! I tried to help her!"
"We don't know whose side you're on."
"Earth. Human."
"Exactly," Jake said as he walked around Asher. "Put your hands behind your head."
"The hell Jake? You really think I was in on her kidnapping?"
"Don't know. Don't care."
Asher still hadn't put his hands behind his head yet.
"I guess you also are not fond of listening to orders." Jake growled, grabbing Asher's wrist and twisting it behind his back. Immediately, Asher screamed with intense pain.
"Oh knock it off." Jake said but this wasn't some acting lesson. Asher clutched at his side and fell down.
Jake looked back to Neytiri to share a confused expression before turning to see the avatar wheezing between breaths.
"You hurt, bloodhound?"
"I… was… trying to… tell you… that," Asher breathed, his eyes slamming shut to let the pain wash over.
Neytiri's arrow twitched in her grip, pointing at the fallen avatar. "Trickery," she spat.
Jake shook his head. "No one is that good of an actor."
"Cracked ribs," Asher managed to add. "From the fall..."
Jake sighed. "Just what we need."
Neytiri's eyes darted between Jake and the avatar, her bow unwavering. "Kill it," she hissed, her voice laced with venom.
Jake grinned. "I could."
"You should."
"No… it's best we take them both back now. We can use him against the Sky People. Call our ikrans and lets get out of here."
Neytiri looked at her mate, her gaze meeting his as she walked passed him. Beneath her brow laid agitation for Jake who seemed inclined to continue keeping this demon alive. She wanted to tell him more but she figured it was best to save it for when they returned to High Camp.