Inside Maxwell's field cabin, two contrasting styles battled for dominance. The unoffensive straight lines of futuristic architecture were interrupted by the holographic displays of historical art. Try as they might to coexist, the golden works of Klimt, with their beauty dampened by a blueish display, felt incongruent with the scientist's habitat, but at the same time, it was an appropriate reflection.

Norman reclined on a chair with his legs stretched out as Max leaned against a shelf, drinking black tea.

"Why is it only when I'm around do they have a lovers tiff?"

Max shrugged. "That's why I never married."

"So what do you think of all this?"

"Think about what? That Quaritch is back? Or that Spider might be his son?"

"Both."

"Honestly, I don't know. The fact that the RDA were able to preserve minds is boggling."

"The fact that Quaritch had one to preserve at all is more boggling."

"Norm, did he hurt you?"

"Grace is not around to dish out the insults, so I have to do it for her."

"Her legacy carries on." Max admired with a tea sip. "I can't fathom how they pulled it off. When we deported the RDA—"

"Flies were buzzing around his damn corpse."

Max withdrew in thought, letting his eyes draw up to the ceiling. As he slowly turned the cup in his hands, a theory was burgeoning in his analytical mind.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"I was just thinking. Avatars are possessable by a human consciousness without requiring a permanent brain transfer."

"The psionic link," Norman concurred. "What are you getting at?" The brows arched, and Norman caught on. "Wait, you think—?"

"Norm, how else could they do it?"

He was shocked by the sheer simplicity of it. "Of course! The moment he died, the mind would travel right back to the point of origin. That could have been anywhere within Hell's Gate."

"But to where?" Max wondered. "Where did his mind go?" He paused to let his friend take the stage, but Norm didn't bother.

"Too easy, Max."

"Oh." The technician took another sip. "I never thought about using the psionic link to possess a human body, but theoretically, it is doable if the body, like an avatar, was brain-dead."

"So, therefore, Quaritch qualifies."

"Hey, there we go."

Norman was unabashed in his self-satisfaction.

"Well, this has been a productive tea break—a good theory to start from. Just not sure how it benefits us."

"What about Spider?"

Max exhaled. "It bothers me that we never found anything on his history. Miles Socorro wasn't even registered on the Hell's Gate's roster. It's like his name was purposely erased."

"To conceal a mistake?" Norm apathetically splayed his fingers.

"We did find him hidden away… But Jake has a point, Norman. Quaritch didn't have relations. I was there longer than either of you, and I never heard about him having a fling with anyone."

"No surprise there. Who would put up with him?"

"There was… Well, it was just a rumour."

"What rumour?

"Oh, it's nothing. But now that I think about it—this was two years before you arrived, by the way—hearing he visited the clinic after a SecOps woman gave birth."

Norman's jaw dropped as he stared at Maxwell. "Why didn't you mention that?!"

"Because I heard through the grapevine that the visit ended in an argument. Remember, Hell's Gate was a mining facility, not a residential colony. The compound was not built to withstand a sudden population growth, so you can imagine why the RDA would be terrifyingly strict about procreation. Even our contracts had stipulations about…you know."

Norman said nothing and just sipped his tea.

"Still. To go out of your way to harangue a new mother seemed rather harsh, even for him."

"Not if you ask me. So you said this happened two years before?"

"Roughly."

"And Spider was roughly two when Jake found him?"

"Yeah…"

A timely knock on the door brought the conversation to a halt. When Max answered, there was Spider, standing in the vestibule doorway and wondering why the two men were looking guilty as sin.

Spider looked around, sensing they were tense. "Did I come at a bad time?"

"No, no," Max insisted.

"Good a time as any," his partner in crime replied.

"You were talking about me, weren't you?"

Max went still. "How did you know?"

"I do now," Spider quipped and took a seat.

"Shrewd, kid," Norm chuckled.

"Can we help you with something, or do you just want our pleasant company?"

"I'll take both." Squatting like a chimpanzee, Spider snatched a biscuit from the nearby tea set and flung it in his mouth. "You guys—" He stopped to swallow. "Know if there's any way to find out who your parents were?"

The civilian scientist was outside Spider's peripheral vision when his head spun in Norman's direction. "Yeah…" he started. "Through a DNA test."

"What's that?"

"Well, it's when you take a DNA sample of a likely candidate and compare it with your own. From there, you can determine if you're related. Are you looking to find out who your father is?"

The young man shook his head anxiously. "No, I was— I was asking for Kiri. Since…she doesn't know."

"Kiri?" Max wondered aloud. "You know, I never thought about doing a paternity test for Kiri."

"I'm not the father if that's what you're thinking."

"Will you ease up?" Max griped. "Na'vi don't use DNA, so we would need Nagata's help. He's brilliant when it comes to understanding their genetic code."

"He also knows how to brew teylu into an ale," Norman complimented, tipping his cup.

"Okay. Well, when he's sober, he's brilliant."

"What would you need for a sample?"

"Norman's spit."

"Max, for the last time!"

"It requires spit?"

"Well, it's one option. You can use anything, really. Blood, spit, bones, se—"

"I get the picture."

"Anything else we can help you with?" asked the hospitable Indian.

"No, that's pretty much it." After stealing another homemade biscuit from the tray, he got up to leave. "I'll see you guys later."

They both waved goodbye as he exited the field cabin.

"You know, why don't we do a test for Kiri? Might give us some answers."

"And me, some relief."

High Camp was calming down after the earlier scare, with some warriors blithe enough to wave to their passing olo'eyktan; however, he was not of like mind. Jake was preparing his words for Spider when a sudden voice robbed his attention.

|"An Anurai rider approaches!"|

Immediately, he ran for the entrance, where he sought to hail his long-anticipated scout. Underlit by the ambient light of the now-setting sun, Jake looked upon a beautiful blue ikran breaching through the opening.

|"I see you, rider,"| Toruk Makto panted. |"What news do you bring?"|

The Na'vi leapt from his ride and bowed in return with his earrings of bones clacking against each other. |"I see you, Rider of Last Shadow. I bring word from Zwefnawo. He sent us a message through the water drum."|

"He actually did it," he whispered to himself. |"I am ready to hear."|

|"The message is this—Ker. Nel. Hunt. Dream. Bed."|

Jake was baffled by the cryptic message. |"That is all?"|

|"Yes, Rider of Last Shadow. I am sorry I have not brought more."|

|"No, you did well. Thank you, scout. Please eat and sleep here tonight."|

He bowed his head again. |"Thank you."|

"Colonel hunt dream bed?" Jake again repeated as the Anurai departed.

Neteyam was readjusting his tight bandages when he, too, noticed the new arrival. He ran excitedly up to his father. |"That man is Anurai! Have we word from our hidden ear?"|

|"Yes, but it comes as a puzzle. 'Colonel hunt dream bed.'"|

|"Colonel? Then he has already learned of the Chief of Demons."|

|"A little late, but it's good to know we sing in tune. But why would he go after a link bed? What link bed does the message mean?"|

|"Could it be more than one? Did he mean to say 'beds'?"|

|"Maybe that is what he intended to say?"|

|"Father. Do the Skypeople think you're still a Dreamwalker?"|

|"Why would—"| Jake was halted by the sudden revelation that even if the RDA were told of what took place, they would never believe it. "Well, I'll be damned… They would think I'm still linking…"

"So, they would want to track down the beds you are using!" The elated Neteyam swung his pointed finger in triumph but was restrained by his bandages. "'ak!"

Jake smacked his Aussie forehead. "Why didn't I think of this before? Where's your uncle?"

"Let us go check his cabin." Ignoring his sore joints, the son hurriedly followed his father as he made his way back to the human's encampment. Halfway there, they crossed paths with another family member.

"Whoa, old-timer. What's the rush?"

Jake flashed him a telling look that Spider did not fail to notice. "I need to talk with you in a moment. Where's Norman?"

"Talking with Max," he answered hesitantly, turning his attention to Neteyam for an explanation. Confused himself, his brother could only cock a shoulder.

The olo'eyktan changed headings for Max's residence, and the two boys followed. Jake first alerted the occupants with a harried knock on the window, then signed to Norm to swiftly come out. His friend didn't understand what roused him but participated in the fever. "Jake? What is it?"

"I just got the first message from our mole. Norm, Quaritch thinks I'm still linking."

Spider gaped at Neteyam, whereas Norman swore in shock. Still in disbelief, the man then settled into an arm fold. "Jake, you sure you got that right?"

"Well, they ain't gonna believe how I live now, I can tell you that. Linking is as about as much as their little grey minds can handle."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. There's no reason for them to think otherwise." The convert chuckled to himself. "I've gotten so used to miracles now."

"Okay." Jake breathed to steady himself. "Here's what I'm thinking—thanks to Neteyam." The son exchanged smiles with his grateful father. "If the RDA is operating on this assumption, then they would try and target my link beds—link beds that I've stashed all over the jungle. You follow? Norm, I'm going to need a tally on all the ones that have gone cactus."

"Cactus?"

The Australian shook his head. "No longer works. Tell me what shacks we have remaining—rigging cables, cameras, everything."

"I'll do my best, Jake," he complied with a hint of hesitation.

"Jake," Spider interrupted. "You're not going to booby-trap them, are you?"

"Not now, Spider."

"You can't do that! The avatars need all their supplies."

Norman's eyes involuntarily fell on Jake, but he answered the rattled young man before the Marine could. "It's okay, Spider. We could spare maybe a few glitchy beds—strip them of their working parts…"

"No, Norman, you don't have to do this. Jake, this plan is too reckless."

"You're one to talk."

"What?"

The guardian pinched his lips together. "Would you give me a minute alone with Spider?"

"Sure. I'll get started on inventory."

"I appreciate that, Norm."

The olo'eyktan of the Dreamwalkers exited the scene with his equally concerned nephew.

"What's this all about?" he pleaded in frustration.

"I told you not to go to Hometree."

Spider's frown sunk into dread. "Jake…"

"Not only did you disobey me, but you jeopardized Kiri too!"

"Kiri was safe! She wasn't in any danger—I wouldn't let her be in any danger."

"Quaritch almost found her."

Spider fell silent.

"She didn't want to implicate you, but I know there's only one reason why she would sneak out, and that's if you asked her to. Do you have any idea how serious it is when someone is willing to follow you like that?—and you led her right to Quaritch!" As the giant took one step forward, the human had to take three steps back.

"It wasn't like that."

"Do I have to remind you of what he is? One hundred and thirty-seven people. Forty-one children. Thirteen infants—crushed under Hometree! He killed them without batting an eye. And the fifteen thousand lives who died protecting the Tree of Souls. Thousands of widows and orphans were made by this monster, and you almost had Kiri at his mercy! My daughter trusts you! I trusted you."

Spider's head lowered with every weighted word. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry's not good enough. You have to take the responsibility for this. I want you to learn how to be a leader, Spider, and that means always putting others first as well as shouldering the blame."

He gulped in anticipation of what would come next.

"From now on, you're not allowed to see Kiri—not until you build trust again."

"But, Jake—"

"That's an order."

Heavily, he nodded. "Yes, sir."

Jake was struck hard by that one little word, but he suffered it.

Once again, Quaritch found himself in the recombinant ward of Bridgehead's clinic. Instead of being embarrassed by a hospital gown, the stubborn recom maintained his dignity by insisting on his usual clothes. He sat on a gurney while a doctor patched his arm.

"Wrangling an ikran went south," he lied, and a misfired bullet struck him rather than the "blasted dragon," finishing up his tale with, "Better luck next time." Everyone bought it, save the witnesses, and Quaritch's stunt with Sully went unreported.

He wore his sling confidently as the doctor finished his medical report. With other patients to see to and eager to travel to a ward that didn't require an EXO pack, the doctor made for his departure when Wainfleet entered. The giant politely kept the door open as they crossed paths before shutting it, sealing both him and his commander inside. His cohort wasn't his usual self, Quaritch observed, as Lyle went to lean against a cabinet.

"Ah. Howdy, Corporal. Science types just finished fixing me up. Take a gander at that." He pointed to his simple black swathe. "Says it only needs three days. These bodies heal faster than I thought."

Lyle said nothing.

"'Preciate you coming round to bid me well." With a grunt, Quaritch hopped onto his feet and paced about the room, flaunting a straight posture. "Just need to—ngh—roll my shoulders occasionally to combat the stiffness." His comrade was still taciturn. "I know, I know," Quaritch admitted. "It's my fault we lost the kid. Don't worry. I got my comeuppance." He impishly grinned, gesturing to his arm. When he saw that his charm wasn't working, he put away the smile. "Alright. What is it?"

"I was talking with the team."

"Oh? Had a good laugh, I'll bet. Colonel went and got himself licked by Sully."

"You disobeyed orders, sir."

That put whatever was left of Quaritch's geniality to flight. "I see. You think I should have followed Ardmore's logic and not pursued? Well, okay, I admit, doing so got my ass kicked. I see that." He again pointed to his arm in case Lyle didn't notice.

"It wasn't a suggestion, sir. It was an order," he reminded him in his humble Alabama accent.

"By going after Sully, I was acting on behalf of the USMC, whose fine men and women are no longer around to administer justice to that goddamn, yellow-bellied, braid-whipping, blue tail-suckin' son of a b****!"

"We're not in the USMC. We're in HAF."

Quaritch was fit to strike a wall. "So I shouldn't have gone after him. Okay. I paid for it. I get it!"

"No, sir. I don't think you do."

He challenged Lyle with a hardened stare, but the man didn't back down. "What are you getting at?"

"To put it simply—you abandoned your team."

To hear such talk made him heartsick, but he hid it with stoicism. "Alright," he chuffed, holding his head high, "I'll report myself to Ardmore."

"She won't trust you with another mission if you do."

"What do you want me to do instead? You're making your point loud and clear that I need to fess up."

"This is a recom matter."

Quaritch recovered from the newfound brazenness of Lyle before he exhaled one haughty snigger. "So you want the team to penalize me. Ah," he realized while digging his tongue into his teeth.

"We want you as our leader, but we need to know that we can trust you in the field. The choice is yours. You can submit to our penalty or go to Ardmore."

Quaritch didn't say anything as he stared defiantly back. He narrowed his brows, rolled his pinched mouth, stood tall, inhaled intensely, and then swaggered towards the door.

He was mid-stride when a lightning-fast punch sent him flying. Cabinet doors burst open from the thunderous impact, casting spatulas and rattling bottles. Quaritch had less than a second to register the event before Wainfleet grabbed his shirt and shuffled him across the room, knocking over two IVs in the process. Slapped onto a cold gurney, with his arm trapped in a sling, Quaritch's face suffered the receiving end of Lyle's brutal fist. After the pummeling, he pinned Quaritch in place by forcing his forearm up against his neck. "Now I have to say it," Wainfleet panted. "You didn't just disobey orders. You didn't just abandon your team. You almost got CJ killed."

Quaritch's creasing brows smoothed, and both ears pivoted in Lyle's direction.

"She was going to go after you. Wrestling her down was all I could do to hold back a lady. You think I'm proud of that? But somehow, I know you'd still prefer that over her getting wasted. Jake owned you, sir. Imagine what would happen if she got thrown into the mix. We were in Sully's territory. And, for all we knew, there could have been an ambush waiting for us." Lyle took a moment to exhale. "You know, I thought I felt bad for her before, but you were right not to pop the question. She's better off."

Quaritch stopped struggling. After a strained pause, the colonel swallowed hard. "She was really going to go after me?"

Lyle nodded only once, then slowly eased his limb, allowing Miles, who was lost in many thoughts, to sit back up. "I really let her down."

With his arms now crossed, Wainfleet flashed two fingers.

The man used his available hand to clean his face. "I guess I deserved that."

"It was the only way to get through to you, sir."

Quaritch chuckled in agreement. "Your balls grew three sizes today. Alright, Lyle, you got my attention. What's my punishment?"

"I am not allowed to say."

"Why not?"

"You have to agree to it first."

He paused, then started to wince despite himself. "Did Walker come up with it?"

Lyle clamped his mouth.

Under the cool shade of propped tarps, every recombinant gathered leisurely, sipping cool drinks and making jokes as they spectated Walker and their colonel, stripped to their undergarments and performing yoga. Mansk, in particular, was enjoying it like a vacation.

Lyle raised his drink in support. "You're doing great, sir."

"Go to hell!"

The distraction caused Quaritch to lose focus, and he fell from his Garudasana pose, resulting in five consecutive swears rather than the usual three.

Alexander nudged Fike. "You know I could make a fire mixtape from this."

The instructor was unfaltering in her arrangement of twisted arms, palms at eye level and wrapped bent legs. "Focus. You're too easily distracted."

"Thanks for the tip, Ghandi!" He attempted the awkward stance once more, held it for a few seconds, then collapsed again. "How the f*** do you f****** do this?!"

"You could stop whining?"

Next, Quaritch had to perform the stretches, which he found far too compromising, evident by the suggestive wooing of his audience.

"Poetry in motion." Prager fist-bumped Mansk.

Try as she might to bottle up her laughter out of respect for her colonel, CJ couldn't win the fight. In the end, Miles was treated to the sound of her snorted giggles, the only saving grace.

When the sun finally set, Quaritch thanked the god he didn't believe in that the hell was finally over. Yoga was sheer torture for the rough and tough Marine as he knew nothing of "body awareness" or why limbs needed to be flexed in dainty ways simply to inhale at full capacity, not to mention having to endure all of it with the added "support" of his team.

Walker was obliging enough to escort him back to his cabin, seeing how much pain he was in, and with great exertion, the man lifted one numb leg after the other to climb the steps of his porch.

"You did well."

Quaritch opened his door, grumbling, "Yeah, well, I'm glad it's over."

"We're doing it again tomorrow."

He stared at her in horror and could barely breathe out, "What?"

"It's for the whole week, Colonel."

He watched her tail flick in satisfaction as she pranced away, and Quaritch's swearing started anew.