Recombinant Bridgehead Chapter 14: Anurai, an avatar fanfic

The silvery lustre of Polyphemus' moons, or ayoare, illuminated the night sky. Jake and his banshee soared over the misty scape. His loyal mount was dubbed "Bob," a name embossed on the leather patch of his macramé collar. It was the extent of Jake's abilities in the art and his proudest creation. The ikran's four wings pounded the air as he raised his rider high over the cumulus to roll down its cottony bluff. Jake hooted in excitement as the air rushed past his ears. With the growing war and tensions building in the clan, he took this time to appreciate what he loved the most about his Na'vi life: flying.

"C'mon, Bob. I know you're stuffed." He could feel through their link that the animal was growing tired. The loyal beast uttered a guttural coo as Jake patted him. "Keep going, boy. The Anurai are just ahead." Bob flicked his head, and they followed the wind to the savannahs in the distance.

The grassy plains transformed into an ivory forest. For centuries, the Anurai would forage for animal bones to add to their sacred graveyard. These unchallenged artisans of Pandora would work them into astonishing crafts highly valued across the moon.

Jake landed Bob in a quiet clearing and headed for the Anurai's camp on foot, trying to ignore the dead sentries watching him.

The Anurai were known to reconstruct skeletons of revered animals into life-sized totems that could move on an axis. The night's mist seeped into the chambers of their rib cages, and the slightest breeze stirred them. Occasionally, a jaw would lower as if the animal's spirit was returning to roar.

It was a surreal experience for Jake, walking down the lanes of the beautiful but eerie necromantic zoo. He was passing one of a palulukan, the fiercest land animal known to Na'vi and the most revered by the Anurai, when a stray breeze moved the articulated remains. Jake lurched back as the totem swayed upward. Its skull eclipsed the alabaster moon, and a haunting, white light shone through the empty eye sockets. Its distensible jaw then flung open, flashing all of its wicked teeth before Jake.

Staring at the teeth, he was taken back to his first day operating his avatar. Accompanied by Dr. Augustine and his friend Norman, they were exploring the jungles, hoping to make contact with the Na'vi. Instead, Jake stumbled upon the nightmare his people called "dry mouth bringer of fear." Humans knew it as thanatora ferox. The monstrous panther, with its insatiable appetite, gave up on its hunt and came circling towards Jake. Its muscles rolled under its sleek black hide as it readied to pounce, and the avatar did the only thing he could—run.

The six legs overtook his two, and Jake had to slide for the protection of prop roots, but the beast gnashed away at his shelter, ripping off whole chunks like it were putty. Supine and kicking himself away from the claws, the would-be meal fired back, but the assault from Jake's machine gun only enraged the beast. It flared its crest and started digging with a newfound vengeance. Jake had no choice but to flee from his compromised shelter and dash for the bluff, where, by a hair's width, he escaped the snapping jaws through a leap of faith. Jake dove feet first into raging rapids that tossed him like driftwood until he gained purchase of a shore. Slumped in exhaustion and waters crashing against his back, the man listened to frustrated yowls echoing in his pounding ears.

Jake returned to the present day. He gulped, feeling silly for getting startled so easily and followed the sound of drums to the Anurai camp.

The Anurai were a zebra-striped people of the plains, with broad straw collars and hair teased up in mohawks. That night, the village was busy performing a special constellation dance. Their dancers, mimicking the stars, would move about the arena in accordance with their rotation. The clan adored the heavens and turned star-gazing into an art form. That's why they favoured the plains, for it granted them an unobstructed view of the night sky. Masters in both artistry and astronomy, Leonardo da Vinci would have found his kindred among the brilliant Anurai.

The drumming ceased as they caught wind of an arriving guest. With a bow of his head, did he politely enter the heart of their village. The people saw him and lilted, "Oel ngati kameie (I see you)." Jake returned their salutes and went to greet their olo'eykte (female chief).

|"I see you, Rider of Last Shadow."| She saluted. Her impressive headdress of beads jingled when she dipped for a bow.

|"I see you, Häku te 'rrtang Pakaw'ite,"| Jake answered, pleased he managed to repeat her name without stumbling. He had practised the whole day prior.

Häku only smiled. She was actually of the Pakaw family and was the daughter of 'rrtang, but she didn't bother correcting him. The Na'vi had come to learn that the mixing up of names was a quirk of Toruk Makto's.

|"We welcome you among our humble clan."| Her arm spanned the village, and it was clear their numbers were few.

|"Fear not, my friends. I will not risk your safety by lingering. I've come under cover of night to request of you a warrior."|

|"We are your spears. We are your shields,"| she crooned.

|"I ask not for a spear or a shield, but a hidden ear and mouth. I need one who is willing to live on Bridgehead and report to me the actions of our enemy."|

Many straw collars rustled as the clan murmured in apprehension.

The woman's lips parted, revealing her prominent gap tooth. She respected the legend before her, but his request was an audacious one. |"Why, Rider of Last Shadow, do you want one of us to go there?"|

|"They have built for themselves a new warrior that uses our skin. They are different from Dreamwalkers. I need to learn more of them."|

|"We have seen these new warriors!"| a woman interjected.

|"Yes,"| Häku said to Jake. |"Never more than three come to inspect our goods each time we enter their wicked land."|

|"You have?"| Jake exhaled hard. |"What do they look like?"|

|"Big, big…"| the tribe answered in unison. In the disjointed discourse, Jake heard descriptions of their thin ears and unsightly small eyes.

|"Have you ever heard their names spoken?"| he queried anxiously.

The Na'vi searched their memory, but none could recall the demons addressing one another in their presence.

|"They all have strange markings on their body. No two are alike."|

|"I have seen a female with colourful arms. Strange, strange designs."|

|"One has a band of black around the neck."|

|"There is one with a skull on his shoulder. Right here."|

Jake listened with cocked ears and agonized over each description. |"Did any go by 'Colonel Miles Quaritch'?"|

Again, the Na'vi shook their heads. Jake was relieved, for a name as strange as that would surely be remembered.

|"One had a marking, here, on his arm. He was very big."|

The section on his upper arm that he pointed to unnerved Jake. |"What did this marking look like?"|

The Na'vi stammered as he tried recalling the memory. |"It… It was strange. It looked like an ikran with its snout cut off and missing two of its wings."|

The defector froze, recovered, then resumed talking with Häku. |"I must learn more, but I make no demands. If none wish to go, I do not think less of your noble clan."|

Häku appreciated his consideration. They had fallen from the Na'vi graces since accepting life on a reservation; it was the only way they could remain on their ancestral lands. Bridgehead wanted to clear it for development, destroying the boneyard that took the Anurai centuries to build. The clan was spared this traumatic outcome if they agreed to let members of their tribe serve in the city as workers. This was not a decision anyone favoured but reluctantly agreed to. The clan would be protected under Bridgehead law, which they saw as the city's foot, always threatening to stamp.

Among the hushed whispers rose a proud old voice. |"I will serve."| An elder stepped out into the crowd. His countenance was frail and unassuming. He was perfect for the job, Jake thought with a twinge of guilt.

|"Father?"| Häku shuddered. |"You cannot go, my sister's sacrifice—"|

Jake saluted him. |"Zwefnawo, I see you. I warn you, the Skypeople's land is very dangerous. I don't know how you can relay information to me. That will have to be figured out after you get behind their walls."|

|"A way will be found."|

Häku offered Jake a night's rest in their camp, but he turned it down. Bridgehead would decimate their village or worse if they discovered Jake Sully was among them. As Toruk Makto, he had a responsibility to all Na'vi, not just the Omatikaya.

Respecting his choice, Häku walked with him back to his ikran.

|"I thank you, Häku, for receiving me."|

|"The honour was mine, Rider of Last Shadow."|

|"My heart is weighed with stones. My coming has taken your father from you."|

Häku gestured to him to not feel guilty. |"My father has his own mind. He has not seen my sister for five years. I envy that he'll see her again. I envy not where he goes."|

|"Do they not let you visit one another?"|

|"No. We enter, but we never see them."|

|"I'm sorry to learn this. I have not been in contact with your tribe as much as I would like. After my Omatikaya, your people have suffered the most."|

|"It was the loss of your Hometree that drove us to accept the Skypeople's offer. We do not trust these aliens, and I do not think they mean to leave our plains alone, but we are only doing what we can to protect our home."|

|"You are right to think that. My world has great clans too. They suffer under the same evil—an evil that breaks their bows and shatters their shields yet can not kill their spirits."|

|"Like your Zarhead clan?"|

Jake didn't understand her at first but then recalled how he introduced himself to the Omatikaya as "Jake Sully of the Jarhead clan"—a tongue-in-cheek joke that his people took seriously.

Jake felt a return of that same pride he had while serving in the Corps. |"Yes, our spirits refuse to die."|

Just then, the Anurai had gathered around their most sacred totem, and from the top of the dead palulukan, they paid homage to Toruk Makto by blaring their great shofar, which mimicked its paralyzing roar. Jake went rigid as he listened to it boom over the plains.

The recombinant silhouettes in the morning sun ran across the tawny plains of the plantation. The outer area of Bridgehead once again echoed with marching chants. Lyle lagged far behind, burdened with a rucksack twice in weight as the ones his teammates carried. He was panting heavily and ready to faint when Quaritch slowed to jog alongside him.

"What's the matter, Corporal, too heavy for you?" he sang.

Lyle ignored him and kept his focus on marching.

"Look on the bright side. Now you get to see all our fine tails," the sadist laughed as he sped forward, leaving Lyle in his wake.

The troop passed through the fields, avoiding the serfs who were busy tending to the crops. The recoms were many metres ahead by the time Lyle reached the field. Between the rows of soy-vein plants, his muscles failed him, and Wainfleet collapsed. Regardless of what his colonel would say, Lyle gave himself a moment to recuperate. His chapped hands dug into the refreshing peat moss, and he rested there under the shade of the climbing plants and their tiers of wavy leaf heads. The wind was torrid from Bridgehead's pollution, but it was still a breeze that cooled his overheated brow. During his break, he felt a set of hands adjusting his lopsided pack. He looked up and found himself staring back into a set of xanthous eyes: a serf woman had come by to assist him with his load.

Lyle tried telling her in Na'vi that it wasn't necessary; however, his knowledge of their language was abysmal, and the woman responded with confused blinks. "I speak Skyperson," she felt the need to say.

"Oh." Lyle was relieved and also embarrassed for making a fool of himself. "How do you know English?"

"We were…learn."

"Taught?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know you guys knew our language. You never talked to us before."

"We…" she hesitated. "Are not allowt." She completed her word with a 'T,' for the phonetic 'D' was not native to her language.

"Oh. Hey, it's no big deal if you do." Lyle smiled, and she returned the expression, displaying her striking gap tooth that added to her artless beauty. She was a svelte woman with a diminished chin. And her features were like a deer, timorously sensing the area for danger. Lyle thought her beige head wrap reminded him of a famous painting about some girl with an earring. He couldn't recall the name but thought the look added to her femininity.

He started to blush. "I'm, uh, Lyle."

"Lee?"

"Lyle," he enunciated.

"Ly'il."

Lyle decided he liked the guttural stop she put into his name and left it at that.

She rested her palm against her chest. "Säro."

"Sawoo?"

"S-aah-rroo. Listen. Rrr," she trilled.

He tried to do the same, but his schooling had not covered purring. "Uhr."

Säro held back her giggle and tried again. "Rrr."

"Err."

"Rrr."

It was by the third trill that the recombinant was utterly spellbound. Lyle knew he had to get a move on before she could purr a fourth time and make him forget himself entirely.

He came to his feet. "Look, uh, thank you for wanting to help, but this is part of"—he hoisted his ruck onto his back with a loud grunt—"my drill." He had a vague recollection of how they would say goodbye in their language. Linked with the action of drawing a hand down from the eyes, he bid, "Uh, well, gnaty cami ha."

She was taken aback and stammered, "Oel ngati kameie, Ly'il."

He flashed a loveable smile and jogged away.

Elated, Säro dashed off to rejoin her clan mates, who were busy at work. |"Everyone! I talked with one. They are pleasant. Not cruel!"| They rose to their feet and gasped but did not share in her joy.

|"Säro!"| One of them scowled while thrusting down his canvas bag. |"What were you doing? You risk setting that woman upon us by even approaching one of those things."|

|"Peace, Reyneyat. This was the same man who saved my life."|

Rather than praise, the reveal caused many to moan.

|"No wonder. She always watches that hairless demon when they run by each morning."|

|"You invite trouble on us, Säro!"|

A woman slightly older than Säro joined the conversation. She was dressed in slacks dirtied from days of labour. |"He is right, Säro. You are being a fool. These are demons you talk to. They can only be dangerous."|

|"He is not a demon,"| she insisted in frustration. |"He is kind. How is a demon kind?"|

Reyneyat flicked his head to cluck in mocking disdain. |"A good-hearted demon?"|

|"What about Zayksuli? He is Rider of Last Shadow,"| Säro argued.

|"Let us see your ugly friend try to ride a toruk then,"| Reyneyat scoffed.

|"He'd only get eaten,"| another jeered.

Säro was disheartened by the ridicule and knew no amount of arguing would sway them. She lowered her head and returned to working in silence.

A caravan of two dozen Na'vi traversed through the jungle that receded as they approached Bridgehead. Their direhorses were decorated with beaded caparisons and burdened with straw baskets. The Anurai would spend months on a single piece to give to the humans and thus pay for living on their own property.

They stopped before the kill zone: a ring of mange around the lesion that was Bridgehead. It was a mystery to the Na'vi how the heretics were able to keep Eywa's touch at bay, but they were more perplexed as to why.

The eykyu, the leader of the caravan, stepped forward to blow a carved shofar. A firework rose out of the city, where it cracked in the sky, and the caravan braved the deactivated kill zone.

Those who made this crossing often succumbed to an inexplicable sickness, ranging from vomiting to dermatitis. While the Anurai's medicine could alleviate the symptoms, they could not deduce the cause. In the end, their only solution was to lengthen the time between caravan trips as they waited for the afflicted to recover.

The specks stood before the monstrous city wall. A hairline running down its face widened as a brace of two thousand-ton metal slabs rolled away from one another. The powerful machinery worked itself up into angry roars to pry the barriers apart, just enough to let the caravan through.

Outside the washing house, the recoms were crouching down to dunk their heads under running taps. Fike was letting the refreshing water cascade down his neck and saturate his sweaty clothes when, from the corner of his eye, he caught his friend returning. "Hey, look! Dumpling made it back alive."

"Give me some of that," Lyle wheezed. He crouched to his knees and fought with Fike for tap privileges. Their tussling resulted in the faucet getting ripped off the wall, and a spray of water shot out that drenched everyone.

"Woo-hoo!" CJ sang as she and the others ran their hands through the torrent.

Quaritch arrived on the scene with a disappointed scowl. He surveyed the destroyed property, the two responsible and the subtle point of blame Fike directed at Wainfleet. "Alright, you two chuckleheads. Since you like fooling around so much—the circus is in town, and you're just in time to go inspect them."

It was strike two for Lyle and, knowing better than to object, nodded in compliance.

Alexander shook his head as he watched them shuffle away. "There's three rules on Bridgehead," he told his teammates. "Don't lean over the smelting pit rails, don't touch Ardmore's whip, and don't bring up how fine the colonel's tail is."

The others snickered, except for Prager, who was confused as to why he wasn't ostracized for breaking the third rule. The descendant of the tribe of Judah chalked it up to his commander respecting his chutzpah.

Every month, selected recombinants had to go inspect the visiting Anurai. It was a cumbersome chore they likened to latrine duty due to the stench of the direhorses. It was only to search their goods, but they hated most how close it brought them to wild Na'vi.

The caravan squatted on a patch of asphalt that was off to the side of the main road. They were shaded by towering fuel tanks that served to power the dozers that routinely cleared the kill zone of its collected cadavers. It was a painful display of waste for the witnessing Anurai. Instead of memorializing the animals' greatness by carving their bones into art, the dead beasts were dumped into the garbage incinerator.

Several men in SKEL suits were temporarily supervising the Na'vi until the recombinants arrived. The south land gate wasn't far from Homestead, but it was a slog for Lyle and Sean, who were still exhausted from their morning drill. When the guilty party arrived, they relieved the humans, leaving the two recombinants alone with the task.

Lyle patted Fike's shoulder. "Alright, you sniff the goods."

"Why am I playing sniffer?"

"Because, Daisy, you smell so good," he warbled.

Fike rolled his eyes. "Gotta make sure these monkeys aren't packing any IEDs made of mud and animal dung. Know how dangerous those are." He shooed the Anurai away as he approached their direhorses. Frightened by Fike's proximity, one of them began snorting loudly, waggling its long snout and stamping all six of its legs. Worried for his own safety, Sean allowed a single Na'vi to come over and steady it. The animal calmed, and the recom proceeded to comb through the woven baskets hanging off its side.

Seeing now was a good time, Zwefnawo walked up to Wainfleet. The moment Lyle's peripheral vision spotted the nearing enemy, he raised his weapon and shouted at the man to stand down. Zwefnawo fanned his hands in petition while giving a hurried explanation that he wished to live on Bridgehead, but Lyle barely understood his language.

"What's working him up?"

Lyle slowly lowered his weapon. "I don't know… But it kinda sounds like he's requesting to be a serf."

"That's new. Do you know the protocol for that?"

"No, no one's requested it yet." Unsure what to do, Lyle brought up his walkie-talkie. "Colonel?"

Zwefnawo's ears raised in surprise. "Ker-nel?"

"What is it, Corporal?" a voice replied through the speaker.

"I got a Na'vi here requesting to live in the city. What do I do?"

"Grab his name and age, then bring him over to the service office for his picture. After that, you take him to the plantation."

"That's it?" Lyle grimaced. "Bridgehead doesn't do more than that? No quarantine period? No vacs? Nothing?"

"Why, you worried they're diseased? Bridgehead's not too concerned with what they bring to the other serfs."

"What about us?"

"Well, if he bites you, get yourself checked for rabies! Is that all, Corporal?" Quaritch snapped, wanting to get back to his weights.

"Okay, sir," Lyle finished, and the device fired a beep as it switched off. He turned to the Na'vi. "Alright, what's your name?"

The Na'vi cocked his head.

"Oh, right." Lyle scratched his ear. "Uh, tstxo? Tstxo?"

His pronunciation was poor, but the man recognized he was trying to say "name."

"Zwefnawo te Pakaw Auonoro'itan."

Fike chuffed. "That's a mouthful."

"Zwef…nah…woo," Lyle repeated slowly as he jotted the name on his electric pad. "Umm… Hey, Sean, what's the Na'vi word for 'age'?"

"How the hell would I know?" He shrugged, flicking a bone flute back in its basket.

"Okay, uh, pulpy oary?"

The Na'vi winced.

He tried again. "Pol-pay oh'aree?"

Zwefnawo deduced Lyle was trying to ask him how many moons there were. He was at a loss as to why but patiently answered with, |"Twelve."|

"You're twelve years old?"

Sean shook his head and sniggered, "Zoboomafoo's one wrinkly kid."

"Hang on, I think I remember their word for 'year.' Uh, zizit?"

"Zìsìt?" Zwefnawo corrected.

"Yes, uh, oe mevohin zìsìt. Ayoe?"

The Na'vi elder was renowned for his intelligence and concluded, after several mental gymnastics, that the recombinant wanted his age. |"I am sixty-three years young."|

Lyle, unfortunately, did not know the Na'vi word for "sixty-three." It was lucky for him that Zwefnawo was a patient man who took the time to count up to the number with slow claps.

It was a very long day for everyone.

After a visit to the service office, Lyle escorted Zwefnawo to the serf's camp. The Na'vi's beautiful raiments of animal hide were replaced with ill-fitting clothes: leftovers from the defunct avatar program. It was late midday, and Lyle desperately wanted to return to his cabin like Fike had. As they neared the village, it occurred to Lyle this was his first time setting foot in the serf's territory. Despite being instructed to keep them in line, the serfs never did anything to warrant punishment, so the recoms left them alone.

Not allowed to grow plants other than the ones necessary for food, the serfs were unable to weave textiles and had to construct their tepees from blue tarps. Near the centre of their camp was the communal fire pit, lined with chunks of broken concrete that had reinforcement rods poking out. Living on the outskirts of undeveloped land awaiting construction, the serfs made do with castaway rubble. A few scrawny tapirus', raised for meat, oinked as they hungrily sniffed the ground for food. It didn't escape Lyle's notice that the overall aesthetic of their camp was a sorry blend of tradition, industrialization and poverty.

Zwefnawo bemoaned the depressed surroundings with heartbroken cries that alerted the serfs.

|"Father?!"|

Lyle was surprised to recognize the caller; it was Säro. She sprinted into Zwefnawo's receiving arms, and though he looked feeble, he effortlessly twirled her around—it was for the first time in over a decade. The adult woman, overcome with emotion, cried like a child as she rubbed his cheek with her tear-stained face. She was both happy and heartsick to see him, knowing his presence meant the loss of his freedom. After they hugged once more, the other Na'vi came over to reunite with their clan brother.

The Anurai were openly affectionate in the reunion, clasping hands, brushing heads and setting their palms on Zwefnawo's shoulder. As the recombinant watched on, he thought about his team's huddle and couldn't help but see the comparison. The display of such ingenuous love was moving for Lyle, and he wondered if this was a trait found in all clans or if hardship brought it out in the Anurai. He would've quietly made his exit if not for his empty stomach choosing that untimely moment to complain. Everyone stared at the alien, including Säro, who was stunned to see him.

"Ly'il?"

|"You know him?"| Her father narrowed.

|"We met before,"| she said with a faint blush, then asked the recom, "Woult you take meal in our camp?"

He was stunned by the offer and agreed instantly, as there is nothing easier than coaxing a hungry soldier to join a beautiful woman for dinner.

Orange tarp mats were laid out around the firepit. Since the others were reluctant to sit next to the recom, Säro and her father sat on either side of him so he wouldn't feel isolated. A Na'vi brought out a jerrycan of water and filled a stained plastic bucket to pass around for hand washing. It was offered to Zwefnawo first; then, he handed it to Lyle.

Säro's father was deeply troubled by the way his daughter and the others were forced to live. She tried, but it was not easy to convince the proud elder this was an acceptable set-up—for it wasn't.

"Is he okay?" Lyle wondered, and Säro answered him.

"He is unhappy for how we live. He was not here to see how our lives are petter from past year."

"In what way?"

She gave him a curious look. "One Skyperson always came to harm one of us. Always say we are acting wrong, an' we never know what. Woult tie us up an'…whip us." Säro had taken a moment to remember the word, for there was no Na'vi equivalent. "Since your coming, tis woman has not come. We not know why. We are happy for it."

Lyle recalled what his colonel said about Ardmore. His heart swelled with pride after discovering his presence had been sparring her from harm.

Soon, a soy-vein leaf, filled with wriggling food, was set before them. Luckily, Lyle had come to appreciate the grubs for the delicacy they were and was happy to have a large helping that he didn't have to fight over. Säro explained the larvae were called tktk, a pestilence that fed on the crops. She went into detail about how the Skypeople had given them a harnessed mist to kill the leaf eaters, but it made the workers sick. Instead, the serfs valued the larvae for the nutrition they provided. In the land where there was no Eywa, they wasted nothing and shared everything.

Refreshments were served in the form of a communal cup, which was a discarded can made clean for drinking. Lyle took up the can set before him when he caught Zwefnawo in the corner of his eye. He remembered from class that the Na'vi would not take a drink until one was offered to them. A bit unsure if he was doing it right, he set the can before the elder, who was surprised, to say the least. He didn't expect an alien who was so inept at their language to be well-versed in their etiquette. He thanked Lyle and quenched his parched throat. Säro could barely hide her delight as she watched this play out and observed the wide-eye stares with a vindicated grin.

After their meal, stories were shared, and the serfs were brought up to date on the events of the outside world. The English-speaking recom sat around, not understanding what was being said but enjoying himself all the same. His eyes often wandered to Säro, who was nestled comfortably in her father's embrace. The bridge of her nose was tucked under Zwefnawo's ear while he talked with the other elders. Occasionally, when Lyle glanced at her, he'd catch her glancing back.

When the day was nearing its end, Säro offered to walk Lyle back to his barracks, which he didn't object to; he even stripped his cumbersome boots and proceeded barefoot, as was the Na'vi modus operandi. He walked with them in hand as he crossed over the field and felt the smooth dirt between his toes. The star was low, and the moons were high. The chimaera plants brushed their legs, and the occasional banshee could be heard in the distance. Time didn't pass for these descendants of different ancestors, and it was good.

"I wish I got to know you guys sooner. You're not at all like the other Na'vi."

"How many Na'vi have you known?"

Lyle felt ashamed; the only ones he knew were on the receiving end of his MBS-22A. "I guess you could say you're the first."

"An' how am I not like utter Na'vi?"

"You're not trying to kill me."

"I say same of you." She grinned, and the recombinant lost himself again to her charm.

They continued onward for a while before Säro asked, "What are you, Ly'il? We know you are not uniltìranyu. Your spirits never leave to return to your Skyperson potty."

He had to hold back his snort at her poor pronunciation of "body" and no longer felt bad about his broken Na'vi. "What does yoo-til-ran-yuu mean?"

Säro had to think up the proper English translation. "'Unil' means to see story as you sleep."

"A dream?"

"Yes, a tream. 'Tìran' is 'walk.'"

"Oh! You mean a Dreamwalker." Lyle then remembered what Chatterjee said about the Na'vi referring to avatar drivers as "dream walkers." While the driver slept in a link bed, they would connect to their avatar and operate them as if in a dream. Lyle wished he was dreaming; his body was sadly very real. "No, we're not what you call 'Dreamwalkers.' We're soldiers, actually. Who…died."

Säro was startled and grimaced in confusion. "You are kerusey?"

Lyle gave himself a moment to translate the word for "dead." "Yeah, our spirits, or something, were transferred into these bodies. I actually died sixteen years ago."

"How?"

"I don't really know. The science behind it is beyond my pay grade."

"No… How you turkep (die)?" she clarified with sensitivity.

Lyle blew out a restrained exhale. "In battle," he evaded.

Säro heard the pain in his tone and lowered her eyes in empathy. "We are rusey akerusey. Alive an' not alive, like you." The recombinant didn't understand, so the lady explained. "We are where Eywa cannot see."

His face pinched, trying to understand her religion. Chatterjee had a hundred things to say about the Na'vi way of life, but Lyle couldn't even retain one-third of it. He learned the Na'vi had this view that connecting to certain flora would cause them to live forever. "Is it that important you guys connect with trees?"

"It is all that matters!" she gasped. "Have you not connect?"

"Uh, you mean my braid? I haven't done anything with it yet except accidentally whack my colonel a few times."

"It is kuru. Kuru is your…lifeline. Have no kuru, you cannot connect to Eywa. We see into (understood) when we come here. It was sacrifice to protect family."

Lyle lowered his head in solidarity. "I'm sorry."

"I am sorry for you, Ly'il. It is not right to call spirits to return," she murmured. "I know not what we call you in Na'vi. Kxitxtìranyu?"

Lyle was amused by the description. "'Deathwalker'? I'm a zombie? No, we're known as 'recombinants,' 'cause our bodies were made by recombining my species DNA with yours." Lyle then sighed and flipped a pebble over with his toe. "But, I guess 'zombie' is probably right."