The day came for the recombinants to head out for Hometree. They were busy clearing out their belongings and piling them outside their cabins to be reorganized. Since they were going to be away for two months, they wanted to bring with them what they could for entertainment. Lyle stood outside his cabin going over his gear when he caught sight of a figure in the fields trying to approach. Recognizing it as Säro, he skulked over.
"Säro, what are you doing?" he whispered as he ducked with her behind the plants. He had warned her before not to come near their lodgings at the risk of upsetting his colonel.
"I'm sorry, Ly'il. Are you leaving?"
"Yeah. We're going to be stationed elsewhere."
"For many nights?"
He shrugged. "For two months. I'm…" He swallowed. They had conversed numerous times, but he was still at a loss for words when with her. "I'm going to miss you."
"I will miss you too." The young woman's eyes fell away as she mentally debated over something. "I wish to… To give you a gift."
"Oh?" His ears perked, and the corporal blushed slightly.
"Here." Säro nervously drew her hand around his neck and nudged him forward. The Marine was baffled and believed she was bringing him in for a kiss. His lips were slightly puckered when Säro, instead, pressed their foreheads together. With a deep breath, she pulled a necklace from under her shirt and, drawing it over her head, transferred it onto his neck. It pulled up her long braid in the process, and he dwelt on the feeling of her smooth hair sliding down his clavicle before he noticed the bib necklace now upon him.
"What is this?" he asked, thumbing the creation.
"My sister make it many years ago. It is fkxile. Necklace you give to 'eylan."
"Eee'lan?"
"Yes, frien'. It is what ''eylan' means."
Lyle was surprised. "You consider me a friend?"
"Is it wrong?" she feared.
"No, I just never thought I'd befriend a Na'vi."
She was relieved. "In time, you give to your 'eylan."
"Oh no, I'm holding onto this."
"It is Way." She smiled. "'eylan necklace walks to tell a story. It starts here." She touched the first bead on the chain, and Lyle savoured the press of her delicate finger. "Going from 'eylan to 'eylan." Her fingers danced down the pattern before it skipped to the last bead on the necklace. "Always growing into a great story of many ayeylan. Take necklace far, Ly'il. You are now a part of its life."
He was enamoured by her wording, wishing he could equal her eloquence, but alas, he was just a dumb grunt and could only nod. Säro was pleased he accepted her gift and turned away, fearing she, too, would lose her composure if she dared linger. She flew off like the deer she reminded him of, and Lyle was left alone. He felt the bone ring of the necklace's centrepiece, carved to such smoothness it would've been mistaken for porcelain. He did not know what a rare privilege it was on Pandora to be gifted an Anurai's work. He kept the item hidden under his shirt so his teammates would be none the wiser.
A band of tiltrotors soared over the lush jungle. It was a beautifully clear day, perfect for sightseeing. The eight recombinants gripped the interior frame and leaned out as far as they could to admire their surroundings. Slender trees, with flowing lianas for hair, wore around their trunks necklaces of viridescent ferns. Alongside the dryads were strapping giants enveloped by strangler figs that lent them a sinewy appearance. They impressed their ladies with dazzling corsages of pink xenocormiflorum.
CJ and Zhâng held a game of who could spot the most monkeys swinging through the canopies. Meanwhile, Sean and Lyle were less innocent, scoping a herd of direhorses and bragging about who could shoot the most. They didn't, as it was considered a waste of ammunition, but Quaritch wouldn't have let them either way, knowing it would have upset CJ.
Over the rippling green sea of swaying branches flew a rainbow flock of tetrapterons. The four-winged wonders hissed warnings at the flying machines and yawed away. The aliens then glided over a lagoon where a thanator was cooling itself, ferocity taking a holiday as it languidly sat in the pool, lapping up the water. The tiltrotors startled the apex predator, and it snarled at the whirlybird, not expecting its occupant, Quaritch, to snarl back. The team laughed as he kept taunting Pandora with the brazen show of his fangs.
They travelled over the lake that bordered Hometree and arrived at their destination. When they spotted the fallen monument, the mood shifted from jovial to brooding. Seeing the amount of growth on that former strip of ash was surreal for the recombinants; it reminded them just how long it had been since they were last there. Quaritch didn't say anything as the others reminisced over their involvement with its destruction. Walker had watched it all from a monitor back at Hell's Gate. She was supervising Jake and Grace, who were attempting to evacuate the Omatikaya. Bridgette could still remember the SciOps' faces as they witnessed the collapse of Hometree and the silent tears they shed for a species not their own. When the deed was done, she rounded up the drivers and could not deny they resisted like impassioned warriors; it was the first time she ever respected the frail scientists.
The transports landed on the bank, and the recoms began unloading their cargo, lifting the heavy equipment with such ease that the pilots dubbed them "walking powerhouses." Quaritch told his team to be quick about it as the pilots risked animal attacks the longer they lingered.
After their transport took off, he savoured just how serene the environment was—how brilliant the sunlight when unobstructed by smog—and inhaled the fragrant air free of pollution. For a man who valued discipline, he couldn't argue the sickly world of Bridgehead was counterintuitive to good physical health; it's why, during his days as chief of security, he exercised outside the borders of Hell's Gate to train in his AMP suit, Beyond Glory.
Bridgette walked up beside her commander, weary of the jungle around her. "There's only eight of us. What's stopping the Na'vi from over-running the site?"
"The Na'vi consider this place cursed. They remember what we did to them and know we can just as easily do it again."
Meanwhile, there was an Omatikaya scout, hidden in the trees, who had his arrow trained on Quaritch; however, his olo'eyktan commanded everyone not to engage the enemy. He deliberated on disobeying his leader for the righteous cause of punishing the aliens for sullying a sacred ground but, ultimately, lowered his bow and climbed down silently to his ikran. Within the hour, he was back at High Camp, flying up through the floor entrance, shouting, |"They are in Hometree! They are in Hometree!"|
Jake and Neytiri both burst from their tent and ran down the rocky stoop towards the scout.
|"Who is?"| Jake asked.
|"The demons! There are only eight of them. They are making Hometree their camp."|
|"Did you see one with a strange ikran on his left arm?"|
The scout shook his head. |"I do not know of this strange ikran. I only see they walk wherever they please over our old home—over our dead!"|
Neytiri heard all this with disgust. The other warriors shared in their princess' indignation. |"There are only eight of them. I say we take them now!"| she growled.
|"Peace, my love. Do not forget how easily they slew our brothers and sisters."|
Neytiri would not let her anger abate. |"Have you heard any news from our ears within the ci-tee?"|
|"None yet. He still needs time to figure out how to get information past the walls."|
Norman stepped forward to address the pair. |"It will take two months for the ground eater to reach Hometree. That monster will make a mile-wide crater of the whole site."|
|"They will desecrate the land and our ancestors' remains!"| decried the scout.
Jake set his hand on the shoulder of his worried clansman. |"I know. I have planned for this, my brother. We will not let this violation go unanswered. Hear me now. When I give the word, we will strike!"|
The lusty warriors, including Norman, whooped and hollered as all were eager to fight. Brandishing her father's bow, Neytiri filled the cavern with her ululated cry. She had been insulted too many times by the Skypeople to let this injustice stand. Her heart burned to take action; her fingers itched to right this wrong. She would surmount the more powerful enemy with an interminable spirit that would live on well after the invader's machines rusted to dust.
Zhâng and CJ were on top of Hometree, setting up the team's tactical satellite.
"Almost done, boys?" Quaritch called up to them.
"Almost," CJ replied.
With a roll of wire in hand, the two uncoiled it over the edge, and it fell for many yards onto a patch of grass.
"Watch it there," their colonel complained, stepping aside to avoid getting hit. He picked up the heavy cables and walked off with it in hand.
After finishing up with the satellite, the friends strolled down the length of Hometree, making a new game of identifying birds. Zhâng was older than CJ by seven years and exceeded her in height by a foot and a half, but when together, the pair were like little kids. From rock skipping to arm wrestling to rounds of I Spy, they acted more like they were in summer camp rather than the army.
"Swivel-tail dove!" Casey jumped up excitedly.
She pointed to a creature that could only be considered a dove with a stretch of the imagination. It flapped its membranous wings and flew off, with the long pink quills of its tail spinning behind it.
"You'll scare them away if you shout," he teased.
She pouted and tugged his Manchurian queue. "Ah! Z-Dog?"
"Why do you style it like that anyways? You're from Sichuan, not Manchuria."
He couldn't help but snicker. "They wouldn't even wear this in Manchuria. The style hasn't exactly been popular in over three hundred years. This look was mandated on the Chinese people during the Qing dynasty. For many, it's a symbol of oppression. Think my grandmother would strike me dead if she saw me wearing it."
"So why wear it like that?" she wondered, folding her arms across her chest.
"I don't know—thought it looked cool. I actually didn't know much about its history till after I got it. Since learning what happened to Earth, I've been reading everything I can about my ancestors."
Her smile flew off like the bird she scared. "Hard to believe it's really all gone. That it's just us."
Zhâng stopped to stare up into the heavens and the soaring banshees eclipsing the outline of the gas giant. It reminded him of an ancient poem, The Far Journey.
"I value the perfect man's vital valour
and hail the Ancients' heavenward ascent.
Beyond mutability and the human gaze,
leaving behind names that are admired in time,
I heard strange tales of men that dwell in stars,
and the enviable Han Chung who gained Oneness."
CJ, enchanted by his recital, asked, "What does that mean?"
"I think the poem envies those who achieve immortality. It's a Taoist thing. Speaking of Taoism, did you know the Na'vi also believe in reincarnation?"
"They do?"
"Yeah, spirits coming back as living matter—plants, animals—energy always recycling. I, myself, never believed in it, yet here I am, having ascended from rénjiān as something new entirely."
"You saying we're gods now?"
"Low gods," he corrected with a smirk. "As former mortals, we'd get few perks in heaven. We still have to kowtow to the high gods and the celestial emperor."
"That sucks. You spend your whole life achieving perfection, but when you get to heaven, it's the same as Earth, only longer?"
"Welcome to Pandora."
Meanwhile, Quaritch carried the cables back to their makeshift opening in the tree located by the roots. It was a narrow squeeze, for the recombinants had blocked off most of the entrance with sandbags to negate predators, and Quaritch cussed as he tried to worm his way past. Inside, the interior was a vast tunnel that went on for many, many yards. It was not so much a tree now as it was a cavern. They lit the great expanse with several fluorescent floor lamps only to realize few were needed due to their excellent night vision. The old wood creaked beneath Quaritch's feet as he made his way down into the deeper recess of the tree where the others were still setting up camp. He stepped over the sleeping bags and handed Fike the cables. Sean plugged it into their communications setup, and the glass screen powered on, revealing Mansk currently inside the lobby of the HEM-OA Bucket Wheel Excavator. The recoms were happy to see each other again.
"What's your situation, Sasha?" Quaritch asked.
"All good here, sir."
"Now that we have direct communications, you report to me anything that seems off. I don't like how easy it's been to clear a path to Hometree—that Sully is up to something. Have a recom on guard duty at all times and keep those drivers safe."
"Will do, sir."
The screen powered off, and Quaritch carried on with setting up camp. He ceased with a wince to massage his torso. It was for the third time that day, and his medic took notice.
"You alright, sir?" Brown queried.
"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing, just a little heartburn."
"We get heartburn?" Lopez doubted. "I thought these bodies were superior to humans."
"That's only according to Fappin' Chatters," Brown sniggered.
Quaritch took a look at his military watch and read sunset was fast approaching. He pressed his comm mic. "Alright, Z team, come back inside. I don't want anyone out after dark."
"Roger that, sir."
Quaritch readjusted his belt. With his hands set on his hip, he moseyed about their camp, approving the arrangements with silent nods in order to mask his real interest in Hometree. He had only ever seen the beast from the outside. Now, sixteen years later, he finally got the chance to snake around its belly. His curiosity pulled him further down the tunnel towards the crown. The musty, hollow tree was magnificent in size and redolent with decay. His tail flicked about as he stepped over the rotting heartwood. In the centre of the tunnel was a spiralling column that had once served as a stairway up the tree. It had taken the Omatikaya centuries of manipulating the growth in order to create those stairs, and now it lay in a heap of mangled wood. He heard a crunch and looked down at a group of beads under his boot. The thread that once held them together rotted away, and they rolled about the floor as rubble. Hometree was riddled with these decrepit trinkets—decorations that once comforted its occupants with a sense of warmth and security.
A movement in the shadows had the colonel whip out his Wasp revolver and fire at what turned out to be a harmless cuirass crab. The bullet had flipped it onto its back, exposing its belly. Quaritch sneered at the ugly arthropod as it twitched helplessly. He ended it with another shot. Having been alarmed by the gunfire, Quaritch informed his team, asking via the comm mic, that all was fine. Afterwards, he bent down to take up the object that had interested the creature.
He shook off the rot to reveal a woven direhorse wearing a stitched smile and realized he held a child's toy. He turned it around indifferently in his hand, then moved to set it back on a ledge, but before the hooves could touch the surface, he suddenly lurched back with the toy falling to his feet.
Quaritch found himself frozen, gazing up at the nightmarish skull of a great leonopteryx
The sacred totem of the Omatikaya was purposely left behind to guard the ruins and to remind trespassers where they should not be. It chagrined Quaritch how easily he was startled. Rubbing away the knot forming in his chest, he pushed over the totem with a gentle tap and watched it crash to the floor, mocking its effectiveness.
He continued onward, where he found a section populated with shimmering webs. Glow worms that the Omatikaya once used in their ceremonies had been feasting upon the dead tree, unchecked. The shining teal filaments tickled his ears as he crouched under them. His eyes focused on a tiny hole in the ceiling where a worm was issuing a new web. It clumsily fell from its den and landed at Quaritch's feet. He picked up the luminescent purple grub and studied it with pure fascination.
It was a long time since he was so inquisitive. His mind had closed off over the years, losing interest in things that would have enraptured him as a boy. Since entering his new body, he had begun to change, or rather revert, and he couldn't help but notice the same phenomenon happening with his comrades. In one way or another, they all exhibited some form of childlike behaviour. Miles wondered if this was a result of their brains technically being six years old or even a consequence of having Na'vi genes, but as he was not about to admit to anything, it was never brought up.
He squatted down, still observing the grub, and fished out a book from his back pocket. His copy of The Secret Life of Pandora was worn from constant use. The spine was cracked and corrugated, and several bent pages threatened to fall out. He flipped to the page that mentioned the Arachnolumera nitidae. It was Augustine's own words coming through the paragraph where it talked about how the Omatikaya would use the worm's psychoactive properties for their vision quests. Quaritch read the words in her voice; it was always her voice. He tried imagining another narrator, Chatterjee even, but no matter what he did, it always returned to that composed matriarchal tone.
Just then, he heard a faint sigh. He flicked away the grub and went to investigate.
Quaritch peered beyond a barrier and found his corporal. He was slumped against a wall, fondling a red-tasseled necklace. Lyle burst out of his daydream when he discovered his colonel standing in front of him and rushed to hide the token under his shirt.
Quaritch squatted dominantly in front of him. "You, uh, taken to wearing jewellery, Corporal?" The man was speechless, and his biolumen flared. Before he knew it, Quaritch's lighting grip seized the contraband. "Where'd you get this?"
"I, uh, traded for it f-from one of the serfs… I like what it does for my eyes." He tried to laugh.
"Oh," Quaritch chirped. "I thought it was from that little filly I keep seeing sniffin' around you."
Lyle gulped as he stared back in fear. "Are you disappointed, sir?"
"No, I'm jealous!" he sang with a fake smile that flipped instantly. He thrust the forehead back and returned to a full stand. "Come on back to camp, Corporal. You can make love to your trinket later."
The operator cabin of the Bucket Wheel Excavator was spacious enough for the recombinants to stand in. Mansk was asking about the delicate instruments that fascinated his tech-loving mind. Despite having to pull up his breather every other question, Sasha was more loquacious than usual, chatting up the driver, who was happy to explain the inner workings of his baby. The human had to sit for tedious hours in that seat, slowly ploughing the machine towards his destination and was glad to have the company.
Alexander was dressed only in his boxers when he strutted into the cabin, asking for directions to the latrine.
"Get your pants on, Johnny. This isn't a dorm," ordered Warren.
"I think our latrines might be a tad small for you, buddy," the driver chuckled. "You'd have to go outside."
Johnny groaned and cussed in frustration.
"If you're afraid of the dark, kiddo, I can escort ya?" Warren offered. "Maybe hold your hand too?"
Alexander gave him the finger, and it was quickly answered by a smack to the head. Warren followed it up by comically brushing his hands. "Well, I might as well pack it in for the night. See ya, Sasha."
"Krepkikh snov." Mansk waved.
Warren led Alexander onto the main deck of the excavator. The people had cleared a path for the machine that spanned three hundred metres so it could lumber across the land unobstructed. The rolling castle moved on twelve treads that, in width, were ninety metres in total. Their teeth ripped Pandora's skin, and she bled rivers of mud that flowed for miles. At nearly eight hundred feet in height, the HEM-OA was more than a machine; it was a monster. Johnny couldn't help but lean over the rusty green rails and whistle in amazement.
"Damn, this thing's big."
"Loud too," Warren complained. "C'mon, let's get a move on. Noise is deafening."
They climbed down from the impressive height to the lower levels, swinging over the rails and sliding down piping to reach the ground far below.
Warren had his rifle ready at his side as he escorted Johnny across the clearing. "Alright, go here."
"I'm not doing that. It's out in the open!"
"Oh, miss wants her privacy, that it?"
Alexander ignored him and headed off into the bush. Warren warned him to be quick, for he didn't want to linger in the danger zone beyond the safety of their excavator, especially at sunset. A few minutes passed, then a few minutes more; as Rigil Kentauru slipped further below the horizon with still no sign of Alexander, the recom got worried. He called into the jungle. "Hey! You okay, Johnny? Johnny?" Beginning to fear the worst, Warren kicked up his heels towards the bush. It wasn't long before he found the lad, standing in a clearing and perfectly unharmed. Warren would have berated him for dawdling, but his attention was seized by the same thing that captured his brother. "Holy sh…" Warren didn't finish as he stepped further into the clearing. Every fleck of moss, every patch of lichen, every strip of bark—from the blades of grass to the wisping fronds to the iridescent leaves—everything around them lit up with resplendent phosphorescence. He was utterly taken in by his surroundings as he stood there with mouth agape.
"I had no idea it could be so pretty," Johnny uttered softly.
The grown men marvelled at the world they had known about their entire lives yet had never seen for what it was. Being underdressed, the constellations of Alexander's body shone in full glory, and the alien was visually harmonious with his new home. His bare feet massaged the ground, and excited by his tender touch, she responded with glittering ripples.
"How come your feet don't do that?" Johnny wondered as he stared at the dark shadow beneath his friend. Warren lifted his foot, but when he set it back down, the earth continued to give him the cold shoulder. "It's your boots. You gotta take 'em off."
Warren stripped his boots and set his naked foot on the ground. She lit up in excitement at the offering of his skin. "Whoa, that tickles," Thomas laughed. "You know, this Pandora chick looks good in the dark."
"What makes it do this?"
"Something about the radiation from Polyphemus, I think," Warren replied, gesturing to the planet above.
Johnny attempted to understand with a simple "huh." "It's kinda cool how we get to be out here like this."
"It's nice not to have to wear that stupid mask, isn't it?"
"Hell, yeah. I remember how much I hated that visor sucking against my skin. Made me feel like I was in a damn fish bowl."
"Thing made my skin clammy," Warren added and then sniffed the air suffused with the perfume of nocturnal flowers; the shy maidens would wait until the sun wasn't looking before they unwrapped. Warren never knew a scent more sweet. "Almost makes dying worth it…"
"How did you die?" Alexander quietly asked.
Warren cocked a shoulder. "Blew up. I was on a Scorpion firing the door gun when suddenly everything started spinning. Felt like we were being flung around, like a stone in a sling. Next thing I know—boom. That's it."
"Not very descriptive."
"I consider myself lucky." Warren noticed the conversation had slipped into a lull, with Johnny looking strangely ruminative.
"I was crushed…" he imparted distantly. "We were pushing out the payload—those things weighed about a ton each. The gunship listed, the payloads slid, and…nothing." His gaze idled on the grass. "Do you know what it's like to feel pieces of your own skull pop through your eyes?"
Thomas stepped towards Johnny and set a reassuring hand on his trembling shoulder. "You don't have to go over it, Johnny."
The young man gulped; his tone was choked with tears that didn't surface. "I still hear it—at night—when it's all quiet. But I don't know if the scream I hear is mine or someone else's…" His stare was disturbingly empty as he stood there in the glade, drifting farther away. Warren set his forehead against his, placed his hands around Johnny's neck, and stroked it with his thumbs. The son of a prostitute—the orphan who had been alone his entire life—followed Thomas' strong rhythmic breathing out of the fog that held him prisoner. Through a misty lens, Johnny looked up at the comforting smile, and he was back.