From the faint bird songs rising from the canopies to the thanator roars issuing from the dark caves, the sound of Pandora's waking yawn was an orchestra like no other. Within the dead city of Bridgehead, there was no sound to distinguish the time of day with its untiring machinery forever at work. A sole marching chant echoing from the edge of the plantation was all that indicated it was early morning.
"Hey there, Jake, you heard the news?"
"Bridgehead's got the Deja Blus."
"Taste our lead, and kiss our boots."
"Our recom team will tread on you."
They were going to need months of training to build up their weak muscle tone, and no one understood physical discipline better than Miles S. Quaritch. Despite his own body aching, he ran backwards down the line to berate the pathetic excuses that weren't keeping up. He took one look at Alexander and blew a whistle right in his ear. "What are you slouching for, soldier? Trying to show off your ass?"
"Do you like it, sir?" he grumbled, readjusting his rucksack.
"It's adorable, Johnny. I might start acting up!"
Alexander hastily straightened out his posture.
Quaritch blew his whistle again. "C'mon, kittens, don't go tripping on those tails of yours!" He looked back and saw CJ was lagging behind. With a disappointed scrunch, he forcibly took some of her extra baggage and threw it on his back. "Know your limits, Casey!"
She could do nothing but swallow her embarrassment and pick up the pace as he returned to the front of their group.
Not a morning went by where their colonel didn't run them into the ground. In the past, he was widely considered a masochist for his high pain tolerance, and in his new flesh suit, he was found to be no different.
Sun assaulting their backs, the recombinants executed their push-ups with their colonel opposite, barking at them to go faster. "Let's see you kiss that ground, Fike!" Quaritch shouted. "Casey, quit speeding through your pushes. You're bobbing like a fishing lure!"
CJ complied, but not without some hushed obscenities.
Fike struggled to keep up the pace as Lyle, who performed next to him, decided to show off using one hand.
"That's it!" Quaritch cheered.
Fike shot Wainfleet a surly side-eye. "Teacher's pet."
The braggart licked his smirking lip. "Let's see you do better, Daisy."
It became a battle between Lyle and Sean as the sweaty men tried to outdo one another, going faster and harder than the rest, with neither noticing their leader, who was showing them all up by performing clap push-ups.
The recombinants were issued new weapons resized from existing models. Bridgehead's industrial-sized 3D printers enabled them to expand their arsenal at an ungodly rate. A lot of strides were made in weapon science, and the state-of-the-art firearms reflected this; the team not only appreciated the evolved power but the sexiness of the designs. Fike and Wainfleet, being the snipers of the group, put their new toys to the test on the firing range by holding a competition. Their targets were black paper cut-outs in the shape of Na'vi. The two knuckleheads were having a blast, obliterating the line-up of forms, until dark horse Sasha Mansk arrived with a Hydra Machine Gun and shredded his victim into confetti. The snipers gaped at Mansk, who simply let out a Russian snort. As for the serfs who were cleaning up the camp, they had watched the whole scene with frightened dismay.
CJ served as an audience to their adorable reindeer games and decided to join in. Whipping out her Wolf pistol, she fired a shot right between the eyes of her cut-out and doled the boys a wink. The men hooted at her unabashedly.
"Girl is going to show us all up," Mansk declared, slipping off his protective ear muffs.
Libido running high, Lyle approached her with a wolfish leer. "You're not bad with that pistol, CJ. Want to see mine?"
"I'd love to," broadcasted Quaritch, appearing suddenly from behind.
Lyle immediately backed down, heeding the threat in his stare. "I, uh, left it in my other pants…" He tittered.
Unamused, Miles ripped the pistol out of Wainfleet's holster and fired three consecutive shots over the hole made by CJ. He handed the weapon back to his red-faced corporal before strutting off. The woman's perplexed stare ran between her colonel and the target, unsure of what to make of the whole interaction.
No soldier's training was complete without hand-to-hand combat. Stripped to their pants, the men were paired off in wrestling matches, with Johnny and Warren going hard at it. The man from Massachusetts, Thomas Warren, was the second oldest of the group, being only six years younger than the colonel at his time of death. Free from the burden of high blood pressure, he swung Johnny over his back for a brutal dunk.
"Heyeah-haha!" Thomas brayed in victory.
Alexander jumped back to his feet and locked arms with Warren. "Don't overwork yourself, old man."
"I'm just getting started, kid."
In the ring next to them, Walker was hunting Lopez. He was less than happy being saddled with the virago and spun away from her molesting grapples. He wished he wasn't the smallest male of the group, but CJ couldn't be his opponent, as she was paired off with Miles. Her colonel shimmied from side to side to dodge her attacks. She overreached her grab, enabling Quaritch to snatch her by the wrist and trap her in a behind-the-back arm lock. CJ cried out in pain as he slammed her to the ground and left her gasping for air. She seethed at him with fire raging in her eyes; then, after wiping her mouth dry from the coughed-up spittle, stormed back at him with newfound fury. Again, the colonel subdued her, and CJ went flying into the dirt.
"What a tough girl you are. Why, I can hear the Na'vi trembling even now," he taunted. "You're too emotional in your attack. Quit trying to prove yourself." Before she could retaliate, an eclipse occurred. "Everyone, wrap up. Hit the showers. It's time for school."
Once a day, Pandora orbited behind Polyphemus and left them in darkness for a quarter of an hour—an event Quaritch began to use as their class bell. In this temporary night, the recoms bioluminescence was more visible than ever. They would poke fun at one another's designs only to have their own ridiculed seconds later. CJ got her revenge by mentioning to Quaritch that his rosetted patterns resembled daisies—he let her live.
The men rubbed themselves dry as they exited the roped-off arenas. Wainfleet, naturally, rolled up his sweat towel and whipped Mansk, who chased him all the way to the showers.
"Great," Alexander exhaled sarcastically. "I can hear Mr. Chatters fapping to the Na'vi now." He demonstrated his point with a crude gesture.
"I don't understand why we have to learn so much about the tail-heads," Prager expressed.
"Know thy enemy, Prager," Quaritch replied. "It's important we learn everything we can about them—how they think, how they talk,"—he bared his teeth and growled—"how they fight."
Warren couldn't help but snort at the idea. "We all know that teacher is one step away from dunking himself in blue paint." Alexander high-fived the wisecrack.
Quaritch slung his towel across his neck. "He and Augustine would make a cute couple."
With a few more crude jokes better off unrepeated, the men walked off, leaving CJ to make her way towards the women's showers; however, on her trek, she caught Walker glaring at her.
Bridgette Jeanine Walker was Métis from a small town in Quebec where its women would pride themselves in being forthright. "Still convinced he likes you?" she announced.
CJ darted her eyes in the direction of her colonel out of fear he overheard. "What are you talking about?"
"I've seen the way you've been looking at him—you share a maggot together and suddenly think you're destined for each other."
"Oh, is that what you think?" She chuffed. "Get a life, Walker. The only thing that's been going on is training. You should know since you can't seem to stop staring at us."
"Oh yes, I'm just so scared you're moving in on my turf."
"Maybe you should be?" She prodded her shoulder with her finger. "You should've seen him yesterday at the firing range. He almost seemed—"
"Jealous?" Walker scoffed. "Yeah, for his boyfriend, Wainfleet. I heard it all from Mansk. Stop being such a flirt with the men. You're no good to us pregnant."
CJ rolled her eyes. "That's rich. You were practically molesting Lopez."
"That little ass?"
"You know, Walker, I'm beginning to think you're a bigger pervert than Baldy. Who are you to grill me on morals? Mother Mary?"
As the two females faced off, Brown, Lopez and Zhâng were drawn in by the drama. With naughty grins, the spectators eagerly awaited the all-out catfight.
"You know, I never liked you before, so don't go thinking that because you're the only other blue b****, I'm going to start liking you now."
CJ cocked her arrogant head to the side. "You want to go? 'Cause we can go."
Walker's eyes ran up the glowing, built frame of CJ, who exceeded her by a few inches. "Stay on your best behaviour, chit."
"Stay on yours, shrew."
Bridgette flashed her fangs, and the two separated, much to the disappointment of the three men watching.
Recombinant classes were held in a lecture hall within the residential sector of Bridgehead. It was originally a cafeteria, reconverted when the city council realized the giants needed a larger space for their schooling. Seminar tables were also constructed to account for their size, but like many other specialty items made for the recombinants, the designs felt anomalous—all too apparent they were conceived by a human mind for a non-human being.
The milquetoast professor, David Chatterjee, a middle-aged man with degrees from the finest schools, rambled on about Na'vi culture. With his back turned, partly to avoid eye contact with the intimidating brutes, he filled out the already crowded whiteboard with more red jargon.
Regardless of how disinterested he was with the subject, Quaritch comported himself and gave his full attention. Military life had more than its fair share of dull bureaucracy and dry schooling; having done it all before, he knew better than to gripe. Lyle was smart enough to take a cue from his colonel, but Johnny wasn't as astute.
Johnny Jay Alexander was a thug out of Brooklyn. After a stint involving Grand Theft Auto, he had only two options: military or prison. Like his favourite musician, he chose the military. He was praised by counsellors as a true success story, winning his leaders' respect through bravery and quick thinking in the field. Over time, Johnny became a great Marine but never lost his hoodlum attitude. He hemmed and hawed throughout the whole lecture.
"In the Omatikaya tribe, and common with other clans, it's not polite to take a bowl for drinking. Instead, one must wait until it's offered to them," Chatterjee elaborated.
"I think I'd prefer prison," Johnny whispered to Lopez.
Chatterjee, being well-versed in Na'vi physiology, was forever burdened by several frightening facts regarding their prowess. Their ability to single-handedly crush a human skull was a particular visual that always lingered in the back of his mind, so the "no talking" rule was never enforced. He continued, "This is a prime example of the selfless mentality that governs all Na'vi tribes. It's been said that these people, who experience so little conflict amongst themselves, have achieved Nirvana."
"So perfect, even their gas is perfumed," the class clown quipped again, garnering some muffled sniggers.
Warren used his pen to tap Johnny from behind. "You're going to get thrown out on your rear if you don't stop trying to be the funny guy."
Alexander frowned at the rebuke. Jutting his large lips in a pout, he resumed his note-taking in silence.
Quaritch's eyes shot up in surprise the moment he caught wind of a familiar scent. Marching proudly into the classroom, with boots shined to a polish, arrived General Ardmore.
Chatterjee was startled into a nervous tremble when he saw her. Unsure if he needed to offer the woman a salute, he bobbed his hand, but it appeared more like a lame attempt to scratch an itch; it didn't impress Ardmore.
"Gentlemen," she greeted the class.
Coming to a full stand, they straightened their postures and delivered an immediate salute; this was the recombinant's first introduction to the general, and they took the opportunity to register all of her person: her gait, her air and, above all, the rawhide on her belt.
"At ease. I came to check the progress of your training. I know book learning isn't as fun as doing laps around the barracks, but I trust you blue-tails are doing fine." There was nothing disingenuous in her tone, but all the same, the recombinants did not feel at ease.
"Chatterjee." The name jerked the professor's attention. "Did you school them on what we discussed earlier?"
The professor drew a blank, but Ardmore's scowl scared him into remembering. "Oh, right!" He then readdressed the class, "Turn your books, please, to page 880—uh…" Chatterjee squinted at the sheet on his desk. "1."
"Quaritch," Ardmore directed. "Will you read it out for us?"
He stared back at her curiously. Obedience to one's superiors was more than a rule drilled into the commander's psyche; it was his religion and one he followed without question. Though he didn't understand Ardmore's intention of signalling him out, he flipped to the page. There, in bold letters, was a quote by the very Dr. Augustine, which he recited verbatim.
"There are many dangers on Pandora, and one of
the subtlest is that you may come to love it too much."
Having to repeat the heretic's words disgusted the atheist, and his neck muscles bulged in discomfort. He hid the feeling behind the need for carbon dioxide and took a shot. His peripheral vision caught sight of Ardmore studying him intently as he satiated his need for the Pandoran air.
"The Pandora Effect," Chatterjee read aloud while simultaneously scribbling it on his board. "A psychosis first observed in those who had studied the confidential reports on the biological and social history of Pandora. These reports were referred to by insurgents as 'the handbook.' It was a collection of data smuggled out of Hell's Gate by spies.
"These false accounts on the RDA's supposedly cruel operations, combined with the unrealistic utopian depictions of Pandora and her indigenous,"—his lips tightened as the professor struggled to recite the blasphemy—"fueled delirium that humans were inferior. The affected populace grew discontented, leading to the creation of eco-terrorists. Many respected names in the field of psychology are lobbying for its authentication, but the Pandora Effect remains only a hypothesized mental illness—not to be mistaken with the 'Eywa Complex.'
"Symptoms of this supposed psychosis include the following. Depression, misanthropy, irritability, hallucinations, species dysphoria, and transspecies fantasies."
"Keep going, Chatterjee." Ardmore nodded as she heard the failing resolve in his tone.
"It's been postulated that humans living on Hell's Gate suffered the Pandora Effect to a far greater extent than those living on Earth. However, none have exhibited it to such extremities as Jake Sully."
The mere mention of Sully caused a round of quiet disparages.
"The late Dr. Vikhrov hosted a study into the chimaera brain. After extensive breakdowns of Jake Sully's video logs, he concluded the Pandora Effect was not only a psychosis in humans but an actual brain disease that affected avatar drivers."
Chatterjee looked at the class. "The following is a direct excerpt from Dr. Vikhrov's own report. 'It cannot be underestimated the pull a native environment will have on any given species. The very instinct of the Homo Pandorus is embedded within their genetic code. Jake Sully was saturated in the Na'vi culture, unchecked for three months, doing what came naturally to his avatar. Prolonged exposure to the moon's environment strengthened his instinctual urge to return—an urge so strong it extended beyond the psionic link and affected his human brain. Therefore, his sympathizing with, and eventual defection to, the Na'vi was inexorable—an unprosecutable act.'"
"Excuse me?" Quaritch objected loudly.
"That's right, Quaritch," Ardmore crossed her arms behind her back. "The doc claimed Jake living with the Omatikaya caused his 'Na'vi side' to act up. In his case, he was simply answering the call of the wild." She inhaled with invidious satisfaction. "Course, the existence of this mental illness hasn't been proven, only theorized. Either way, you must conduct yourselves with caution regarding your exposure to Pandora. If this illness is real, and what Dr. Vikhrov's suggesting is true, any one of you could become a Sully." Her eyes panned the whole room before falling on Quaritch. He read her meaning loud and clear and didn't for one second appreciate her insinuation.
Mo'at caught a glimpse of a set of toes peeking out from under her tent flap. She could only smile as one foot rubbed the other leg in a nervous tick.
"Kiri," she voiced aloud.
The girl entered with a courteous salute and stood motionless before Mo'at. Tilting her head to the side, the beads of Mo'at's headdress jingled as she patiently waited for Kiri to make her peace. It took a moment, but then the girl's head shot up, revealing shame, and she rubbed her heart earnestly in a circular motion. Mo'at accepted this apology with a gentle nod.
Kiri, relieved to have this burden lifted from her heart, turned to leave when Mo'at interrupted. She grabbed her timorous granddaughter by the tail and directed her to sit down. Kiri's eyes darted about, trying to deduce what her tsahìk meant.
"Kiri," Mo'at began, "you are very impulsive."
The girl's head cocked to the left upon hearing her grandmother talk in English.
"You think I do not know the tongue of Skypeople?"
Kiri grinned. "I know you understand it, but it is weird hearing you speak it, Grandmother."
"I was one of the first to learn it. I learned it from GraceOgusteen."
Kiri's eyes dilated upon hearing her mother's name.
"She was a very dear friend of mine, GraceOgusteen. She was different from the other Skypeople. She believed that we had more to offer them than what they had to offer us."
Not once did Kiri fidget or let her eyes leave her tsahìk as Mo'at recounted the past. "I remember a day—I visited her school. I was curious to see what my daughters were learning, and what I saw was my Neytiri trying to teach GraceOgusteen how to sing." Mo'at could not contain the gentle chuckle that arose with the memory. "I would not call it singing…" She shook her head in delight, and it tickled Kiri to see the crow's feet around her grandmother's eyes crease. "I decided to also teach GraceOgusteen. She was stressed by many things. Many things bothered her about her world—her people—and I knew how to help."
"How?"
"I taught her to meditate."
"How do you meditate?"
Mo'at was pleased to see her bait had worked. "Cross your legs." She then demonstrated. "And close your eyes." Kiri did so, but her breathing would not relax, and no words from her grandmother seemed to steady it. Seeing the struggle, Mo'at decided to help coach her in a different way and presented her own queue. Kiri wasn't sure at first but obediently copied. The neural tendrils wrapped around one another, and they performed the tsaheylu. Immediately, Mo'at jolted, and the elder fought to steady her own breathing. She momentarily gazed at Kiri with a sense of fear and bewilderment; she did not expect such a powerful sensation from such an unassuming Na'vi. Righting her position, Mo'at took in deep breaths. Kiri could feel her tsahìk's regulated breathing and was able to do the same; however, her body would not keep still.
"You fidget so much, Kiri."
The girl sighed in defeat, as her nervous tick was she always needed something to do with her hands. Getting an idea, Kiri plucked up her songcord and asked Mo'at if she could strum the beads in her hand like she does when she sign-sings. Seeing no harm in it, Mo'at acquiesced.
Kiri shut her eyes, focused on the song in her mind, and let her thumb ascend the steps of her songcord. Time passed as she mentally relived entire years, flicking her hand in song to the storybook of her own life.
The room radiated with unseen energy that surged from Kiri's meditation. The elder lifted the corner of her lid and witnessed the maiden's bioluminescence pulsate up her body in waves, a phenomenon she had never witnessed before in anyone. Amazed, she closed her eyes again and continued to train the peculiar girl.