All was calm on the Hell's Gate airfield. The warriors cooked their game over small open fires. The air was merry with songs and good humour. A human took this opportunity to stroll across the asphalt and enjoy the beauty of the world. Her slippers flapped against her heels as she strolled past the cluster of tepees. She took in the pleasant scents as best she could through her visor's filtering, and her auburn hair fluttered across the smooth plastic of her mask—a barrier she pretended wasn't there.
An animal's death cry suddenly screeched in her ear, and the woman twirled around to find a stingbat at her feet with a poison dart in its chest. She reeled in disgust upon seeing the spasming corpse when a hand came in to pluck it off the ground. Her eyes ran up the tall frame of a stoic Na'vi. He was a noble sight with his bone-pierced nose and a ruby-quilled mohawk. He wore a cloak that ran down the left side of his body that stopped at the thighs, its delicate folds emphasizing his muscular build.
"I am sorry, JaninePara."
She eyed the gangly creature dangling by its tail between his thumb and forefinger. "Thank you, Anotang," she exhaled.
Mouthing a prayer, he laid the creature with reverence upon his open palm, its wings of brilliant purple draping lifelessly off his hand, before removing the dart. "Do not thank me. This is not a happy event. Ayriti make for friendly companions. It saddens me to do this."
"It was going to kill me."
"Yes. Most certainly, it would have." A loud bang went off in the distance, followed by the flapping of birds, and Anotang overheard the complaints of his disheartened warriors. They despised the minefield around the base that needlessly killed the wildlife—wildlife that was on its way to kill the humans. He agreed with their sentiment that these tactics were wrong, but Toruk Makto bade him to allow it.
Holding his thoughts to himself, the stoic warrior did not translate the protests for the lady, for he didn't want to trouble her, and Janine returned his goodbye as she watched him depart. He was polite for a Na'vi, she thought, and well-spoken too; English came easily to their race. Of all the warriors living on base, she preferred him, but that isn't to say he didn't frighten her. Anotang had a presence that earned a fearful respect.
Neteyam stood silently atop the hill with his leucistic ikran, White Flower, and together, they surveyed the ghostly depression. The structure that once towered proudly, a landmark that could be spotted from miles away, was splayed across the clearing like a fallen warrior's spear in the grass. |"My brothers and sisters, I see you,"| he spoke as he bade their memory a salute, then patted his ikran to signal he'd be a while before sliding down into the sunken area.
Neteyam made a gentle approach, respecting the fact that he was entering a graveyard. He walked down the length of the tree towards the base where the bark would be toughest. The wood hugging the ground was soft and unusable; only the sky-facing side would be suitable for carving. Taking a deep breath, Neteyam began his ascent up the horizontal trunk.
He wedged his feet and hands between the narrow cracks of the dense bark, but the effort scraped his skin—he'd been spoiled by the smooth rock of High Camp. Before long, he had to rest but took the time to remind himself that he still carried the blood of his tree-dwelling ancestors. He pushed upward; and, by enduring the biting pain, Neteyam achieved his goal.
He puffed out his chest in pride as he admired the view. White Flower came flying up behind him and stared blankly at her master; Neteyam gave her an annoyed sigh. |"Yes, I know I could've flown up here, but how can I call myself Omatikaya if I can't climb a tree?"| He then whipped out his knife and knelt before a good spot. The loyal mount tilted her head as she watched his blade dig into the tree's skin to make a bow-long incision before he began the work of tediously carving it out.
The hunt from the other day had left an impact on him. There he was, flying confidently atop White Flower, his braided hair whipping about in the wind as he led his fellow ikran riders into the hunt. Neteyam had painted his arm ochre: a hunter's vow that he would return with a kill. The targets were the migrating sturmbeests following the lazy river, corrugating the earth with their six-legged plodding. One bull could feed a clan for days, but their size made them formidable prey. The bulls were alerted by the hunters' cries and broke into a stampede; their hoofs tore up the river's silt, and sprays of mud coated the direhorse riders. Neteyam skimmed over the old and weak and aimed his bow at one in his prime. His arrow, dipped in slinth venom, careened through the air and straight into the narrow of an ear. The animal tripped over its still-running legs and crashed into the river, where it then issued its dying roar.
What should have been a victory ended in disaster. As Neteyam was hooting triumphantly, he flew over a sturmbeest that bucked its head. Its horns buffeted White Flower, and Neteyam was thrown clear off his mount. When he got up, he discovered his tsko (bow) had split in two beneath his back. While the other riders flew on to follow the herd, Neteyam stared at his shattered weapon. The bow could bring down nine-ton beasts, but the wood wasn't sturdy enough to bear his own weight. He perceived a question in his heart that asked, "Why did you make your bow from a tree other than the one meant for your people?" Neteyam heeded the gentle voice and understood this was a sign from Eywa.
He continued with his cutting when he heard a cry from above. Neteyam looked up and saw Jake circling overhead with Spider clung to his back. Jake called down to him. "Got everything you need?" Seeing Neteyam nod in reply, he continued, "I'll see you in two days. Take care of your mother and sister."
"I see you, Father. I will," Neteyam hollered back.
They waved goodbye as Jake steered his ikran towards the direction of Hell's Gate.
The sun was setting by the time Jake and Spider reached Hell's Gate. The grey pentagon, bordered by mountains, stuck out like a scab on the green landscape. Plant shoots grew between the cracked tarmac, and foliage coiled its way over the iron fences; Pandora sought to heal the wound.
After the battle, this former RDA base had become home to the defectors—defectors who had to make the most of what they had. Despite the base running on renewable energy, parts would inevitably break down. With no supply chain bringing in replacements, the humans had to jury-rig less than safe alternatives, resulting in one tragic incident where the airtight sealing in a compartment ruptured, killing a family of three in their sleep.
As the humans' quality of life dwindled with each passing year, along with morale, it was almost a blessing when Ardmore hijacked their airwaves and offered them a place at Bridgehead, which included a full pardon for their crimes—a bombshell that set off a daisy chain of arguments within Hell's Gate. Rationalists screamed at loyalists about the reality of their situation, while loyalists couldn't conceive of returning to the enemy; however, no matter how much any of them favoured life on Pandora, the unavoidable could only be ignored for so long.
Families were torn in two; friends became enemies; and, in the end, most left for Bridgehead. Painful as the separation was, it at least lifted the strain on the dwindling supplies.
Jake's ikran landed on the airstrip, and the two men jumped off to await a lady on approach. She was dressed in an old field vest that was now more beads than burlap.
Pamela Licai was her name: an American/Taiwanese and former RDA on-site resource manager. Ms. Licai was not to be mistaken for a defector; on the contrary, she hated Jake and regarded him as nothing more than a traitor. When the humans were being rounded up for their removal off-world, the woman told the defectors how short-sighted their plan was—that they'd eventually run out of means to sustain themselves and perish. Knowing this, they still insisted on staying, stating they would rather die free on Pandora than atrophy on a dystopian Earth. Ms. Licai wasn't about to let that stand. Traitors or not, she knew she could help stretch their remaining resources, and when she told Jake this, she didn't hide her animosity; on the contrary, it was actually her candour that convinced him he could entrust her to the task.
Jake appreciated her genius enough to put up with the constant insults, and over time, his patience paid off. Somewhere along the lines, she stopped calling him names, and their working relationship gradually improved. Pamela had actually fallen in love with Pandora, but she wasn't about to let Jake know it, not after all the words she had with him; that is, until the day her field vest had finally worn to pieces. Being the guy he was, Jake offered to have his people mend it. He later returned with a garment so beautifully stitched that Pamela dropped her guard to admire the craftsmanship. Upon discovering it wasn't repaired by just any weaver but a labour of love by Jake's own wife, Pamela stopped pretending to hate him.
She was brilliant in keeping up Hell's Gate despite the limitations they suffered. She had mining equipment gutted for parts and teylu farms constructed before the last of their synthesized food packs ran out. For all the creative workarounds, Pamela still warned Jake she couldn't make a projection that extended past two decades.
"Pam. I see you." He saluted.
"Howdy, Jake," she replied, then smiled at Spider. "Howdy, monkeyboy."
The boy squatting at Jake's feet saluted back.
Jake surveyed the area. "Anything new to report?"
She crossed her arms. "Other than the fact we're hopelessly screwed, not really. I don't suppose you could spare us an AT-99?"
"What do you want a gunship for?"
"We need the engine. I can't keep the solar panels going during routine cleaning, and our current generator is getting old."
"Like you?" he joked.
"Don't push your luck with me, handsome. I can take you on despite your size, remember?"
He smirked at the Texan with a black belt. "Sorry, I can't spare you another bird."
"Isn't that always the case? Your blue buddies are waiting to talk with you."
Jake nodded and turned to his ward. "You go on with Pam. I'll talk with Anotang." Spider agreed and left with Licai while Jake visited his garrison.
Hell's Gate wasn't home to just humans; a great number of Na'vi warriors lived on-site. After the battle that took place many years ago, Jake dispelled his toruk, not realizing the authority, along with the title, was permanent. It was a strange revelation to him when he understood he was something of a "colonel" to the Na'vi. No warrior, no matter their clan, would deny him respect. Jake used this to garner troops to dwell on Hell's Gate as a make-shift Na'vi fort, protecting the humans from the frenzied wildlife that would've otherwise killed them. When Bridgehead was built, the invaders wasted no time trying to retake Hell's Gate, but his troops were valiant in rerouting the enemy. With the return of the RDA, Jake created more garrisons to defend all known unobtanium sites. His commander in charge of the Hell's Gate division was Anotang.
|"Rider of Last Shadow, I see you,"| he greeted Jake. The proud Na'vi had a deep voice as impressive as his scars. He hailed from the plains and had fought by Toruk Makto's side fifteen years ago.
|"Anotang, I see you. How are the warriors?"|
|"Many itch to see their clansmen again, but we stay to fight."|
|"I know. We must switch out the warriors soon."|
|"I will remain to train the ones that come next."|
Jake's brows raised in surprise. |"But doesn't your mate miss you?"|
|"Of course she does,"| he boasted happily. |"But who else will teach the new warriors your strange fighting techniques? Li'ona understands this."|
|"Anotang, you're mated to your work,"| Jake laughed, and the two went over the barracks together.
The doors slid back, and Spider walked into the immaculate white apartment. It was sterile in its postmodernist architecture, valuing efficiency over enchantment. The displays of Omatikaya craftwork were all that lit up the barren room, with Spider's old woven ikran toy being the proudest ornament. He removed his EXO pack along with his visor and tossed it to the side.
A boy of seven sprinted with glee towards Spider. "Josh!"
"Hey, Dungbeetle!" Spider took the kid's reaching hands and proceeded to swing him around. His parents came forward to greet him but were halted by the unexpected stench. "For Pete's sake, Joshua. Doesn't Jake ever give you a bath?" his father complained while holding his nose.
"That's my natural musk, Dad. I've been working on it for weeks."
"More like months," remarked his mother, Janine. "Your clothes are in your room."
"Do I have to?" he whined.
"What are you, Tarzan? You're not walking around here in a loincloth. It's bad enough with the dreadlocks."
Spider smirked at her. "C'mon. It's my mane."
"What do you style it with? Mud?"
"No." He snorted. "Hexapede dung."
The boy, unbothered by the smell, continued to play with his dirty older brother while the woman leaned close to her husband. "We're going to have to hose them both down, aren't we?"
Spider stepped into the dining room, having fixed his appearance at his parent's request. His mane was tamed into a ponytail, and his legs were stuffed into pants. He clambered onto a chair next to his brother and squatted with his knees peeping up past the table.
"Button your shirt," his father directed.
"What's wrong with it? I'm not a girl. And even the Na'vi woman show—"
"Don't finish that sentence. Button up."
With an eye-roll, Spider obeyed his father. His mother came over to place the last dish, peeling off all the lids to commence with dinner. Spider barely waited before he shamelessly reached across the table to grab some food.
"I see Jake doesn't teach you any manners, either."
|"I am sorry, Mother. May Eywa smile on you both,"| he replied in Na'vi and bowed his head.
She didn't care for this response, recognizing the sarcasm even when spoken in a foreign tongue. "We should never have let Jake take you under his wing."
Spider narrowed his brows. "What do you mean? Jake's doing a great job teaching me."
"Like how to swing from trees and pick lice from hair?"
"The Omatikaya aren't uncivilized, Mom," he retorted. "They don't go around blowing up people's homes for profit."
"Hey, hey, hey!" the man of the house interjected. "None of that. We're finally having dinner together. I won't have it spoiled by another argument, Josh."
Spider nodded his apology with a contemptuous pout.
The younger boy shifted his anxious gaze between his parents and adopted brother. He didn't understand the context of the conversation but understood how it was being said.
"The Na'vi are an impressive people, but don't forget it's our race you come from, not theirs."
"With the way the animals leave him alone, you'd think that he was Na'vi," she said with a bit of snark.
"That's because of Kiri," the little boy declared.
Spider hit his brother's side. "Shut up, Dungbeetle."
"Joshua cut that out. Leave Zachary alone. And stop calling him 'Dungbeetle'!" she scolded.
"Kiri's the one with a knack for animals, right?"
Spider only gave his father a tight nod and quickly went back to eating.
"I thought it was because of some mixture Jake gave you to ward away predators."
"I made that myself," Spider boasted to both parents. "And it doesn't ward away predators. It just messes up their sense of smell. Works like cocaine."
The little boy couldn't help but be curious. "What's that?"
The mother hid her face in her hands, frustrated to the hilt with the whole conversation. "Joshua, please!"
"Who told you about—" He refrained from saying cocaine when he noticed the look on his wife's face. "That, Josh?"
Spider blushed, and his father knew who was to blame. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we shouldn't have let him train our son."
"Hey, it was Jake who found me as a baby, remember? He let you raise me."
"He let us? As I recall, that's not what happened."
Spider waved it off. "I still owe him for saving me. Besides, without me, his camp would be in ruins. I help him out with all his work. He even needs me to figure out military strategies."
"You're not his ward. You're his familiar," his mother observed.
"Jake doesn't use magic," he smartly replied before finishing in his head. It's Kiri who does.
Polyphemus was adumbrated by the distant star ebbing behind the horizon. In the golden hour of Pandora, everything glimmered with radiance. Colours were shifting from warm to cool with the coming of night. Jake and Anotang's skin appeared indigo as they stood atop the Habmod of Hell's Gate, a good vantage point for Jake's warriors to monitor the horizon. The two men were busy discussing their blind spots and how to better guard them.
|"I do not understand the Skypeople. They have such strength, but what kind of warrior makes a bow that fires arrows you cannot retrieve?"|
|"Normally, we'd just make more, but the ammunition we use for our weapons requires machines we don't have,"| Jake explained.
|"After five years, we cannot keep fighting with Skypeople tools. They are so destructive, they destroy even themselves."|
|"I know we're running out of ammo. You've made do with what you have. I'm thankful our enemy cannot easily venture out this far."|
|"Our Mother preserves us,"| Anotang voiced in a manner as courteous as his speech. His smile then fell away, and his eyes narrowed.
Jake's ears perked. |"What troubles you, Anotang?|
|"I'm a warrior that's known peace for many years—more than my fair share. I fear Eywa knows this too."|
|"What are you saying?"|
|"It is a dream I had a night ago—a terrible vision. I stood, down there, with my warriors ready. The ground shook and shattered. From the cracks rose skeletons. They moved like living men, but they were dead. All at once, they fell upon us. My men and women fought, but our weapons were useless. Our arrows flew right past their ribs. Our spears landed on nothing. Without skin, they had no blood to spill. How do you kill what is already dead? In the end, all of us were slain."|
Jake stood motionless as Anotang recounted his vivid dream. His mind wandered back to the Harryhausen pictures he saw as a little boy—movies with claymation skeletons fighting the heroes. It was unnerving to hear it described by an extraterrestrial. Zombies, ghosts and other undead monsters are foreign to the Na'vi, for spirits are never lost or wandering as they return to the Mother who made them. Anotang's dream was too Earthlike for Jake's liking.
|"It sounds like a nightmare."|
|"What is a 'nightmare'?"|
Jake sighed uneasily. |"A dream you don't want to have."|
Anotang dwelt long on this new Skyperson term. |"Yes."| He nodded thoughtfully. |"It was a nightmare."|