Distinction between classes is a consequence of civilization. Many noble men throughout history lamented flawed systems while touting a better path, but the tragedies of discrimination would always repeat, no matter what safeguards were put in place.

The minds behind Bridgehead's political structure thought they understood all fallacies of man when they implemented their tier system—all of humanity now under one rule. There was no alternative, no other world to travel to—Bridgehead was the only option on a moon where a human would not last four minutes without man-made assistance; in short, going native was off the table. To disguise the reality of the peoples' sheer dependence, the powers behind Bridgehead distracted the masses with an illusory set of goalposts called "the five tiers": a good-will system that would advance your rank depending on your strength of character; a convoluted setup with so many buzzwords, no one actually understood how it worked, only that it was a wonderful and irreproachable way of doing things. Anyone who disagreed was always a one-tier who clearly hated virtue.

Located in a particularly depressing section of the city, among rows of unimaginative but serviceable buildings, was the apartment complex chosen to house the Para family. The RTV wedged itself into the only available parking lot that was also doubling as a space for heavy-duty industrial parts. Careful not to nick her door, Walker exited first, then let out her two passengers, CJ and Spider.

His bare feet landed full on the smooth asphalt that would otherwise burn a sole not disciplined to harsh terrain. Fanning out his toes, he absorbed the collage of grit brought in by the colossal tires of the vehicles parked indefinitely and then glided his fingers over their bodies, reading their scuffed lettering with his hands. He had the gift of sight, more attuned than most, for he saw with all his senses, not just his eyes.

"Monkey-boy!" chastised Walker. "Don't climb that. You'll get me fined."

"You heard the man, Spooder."

Spider's visor-covered face poked over the roof of a steam roller. "Ladies, I have a name."

"That's a privilege reserved for non-climbers. Now, get down, Miles Jr."

"I'm coming down. Don't knot your tails."

Before he could plant his feet, CJ clamped him with one arm. "That's for giving cheek," she said, squeezing him, then channelling the spirit of a big sister, administered a noogie. "And that's for following orders."

"Oìsss! You guys are annoying."

He was strategically lowered into his abandoned sneakers, which Walker had to fish out from her "van." The women were given explicit instructions to watch the boy and keep him safe. Diligently, they looked about their scene for potential hazards but found only empty, sterile streets devoid of activities or crowds or anything else that would make the unwelcoming industrial desert feel alive—a sharp contrast to the comfort of their quaint Homestead with its wooden structures and naked soil. The buildings were not constructed from living but synthesized materials; whatever life essence was in them once was squeezed out long ago.

Doubtful if they were even in the correct spot, the women reread their written directions before the mouth of a dark alley.

"What's going on?" Spider asked.

"Your dad's penmanship is s***," mumbled Walker.

CJ stepped closer to the paper. "The code is 8-8-0-A-V-0-0-1."

"I can look ahead for it," Spider offered, and like that, his sneakers struck asphalt as he scurried down the street. Casey called out a warning to remain within sight.

Walker looked up at the dominating structures. It was a bright day, but the many skyways above eclipsed the sunlight and kept the alley in darkness; it was the most Earth-like thing she'd seen since coming to Pandora. "Place smells depressed."

"This is where those people we rescued ended up? I thought they would be living in the housing zone."

"They are traitors," Walker shrugged with her response. "Guess Bridgehead wasn't going to let 'em off easy after siding with Sully."

"Then explain Spider."

"Easy. The colonel had one too many."

"No, that's not what I—"

"This way!" Spider called from the top of the street, pointing to his right. He then clattered up steel stairs leading into a narrow passage. The noise of his arrival reverberated off the agitated walls as Casey and Bridgette followed suit. He curved into a new corridor, this time with a ceiling and doors running down either side. Populating the dark hall was the occasional visor-wearing resident. Spider was anxious to find the Paras and excused himself as he shuffled past the morose faces.

"Stay in sight, Spider," Casey again warned. When the people saw the recombinants, they gasped and stepped aside for the famous Valkyries, who did not register, at first, the reason for such treatment.

Spider stopped before a grungy metal slab indented in the wall. He studied it with unease, then pressed a button on a panel, notifying the occupants inside of his arrival. There was no answer.

Casey stared at the impassive grey door and went to deciphering the faint alphanumeric address. "Hey, Bridgette, let's see that paper again."

"It's the one," Walker insisted as she stepped over, believing the doorbell to be shot, and rattled the metal with her fist. After pausing to wait, the panel zipped into the wall without warning, and there, behind a glass barrier encasing the white entryway, was Mr. Para. Spider could barely recognize the gaunt frame robbed of its virulent strength and ruddy health. Shadows ran long and dark off every corner of his face that was, amazingly, capable of joy.

"Josh?!" the muffled voice broke through.

By instinct, Spider's palms joined the ones pressed against the glass. He didn't want this sorry man to be his adoptive father; he didn't want that kind of fate for Jack Para, but it was him. Never before had the recent graduate of boyhood felt such an onrush of duty now incumbent upon him.

When Mr. Para noticed the recombinants, his smile vanished, and his eyes skipped to Spider's in the seconds before he hit the intercom. "Wait for the light, then follow me inside."

"The colonel said you can visit for as long as you like," CJ told Spider.

"I won't be long."

"We'll wait at the RTV. Let's go, Bridgette. We're making everyone jumpy."

The women departed, and the vestibule allowed itself to open up for Spider. He stepped into the unwelcoming, achromic entryway that sealed him inside. The noisy walls spat out mist as the air shifted from scented to stale, and the next door gave way. He was now inside the new "home" of his old family. Spider stripped his EXO pack and hung it respectfully on the designated hook by the door. From there, his mind was flooded with observations: one room, no windows, few lights, three cots in the back, and a narrow alcove partitioned off by a foldable screen—the latrine. A challenge to do so, he consciously pulled his eyes away and acted like he didn't notice any of these things so as to not make it awkward.

"When I heard you were in the city, I couldn't believe it—Janine, it's Josh."

Janine exited the kitchenette, staring at her son in disbelief. When she recovered from the shock, she ran over in tears. She patted his shirt, his hair, his face, all to remind herself this was real. She had a million questions for him that he couldn't keep up with, but it was the father's that Spider was able to answer first.

"What happened to you? Why were you brought to Bridgehead? Wasn't Jake looking after you?"

"He was. It was my own stupid fault I got caught. I disobeyed."

"See?" Janine verbally shot at her husband, puzzling Spider.

"It's nothing," he explained to his son. "When did you get here?"

"Two weeks ago. I was held prisoner for the first few days."

Both of them stiffened as they listened to his account. "Did they interrogate you?"

"Yeah… But I wouldn't talk, so they let me go."

Janine cocked her head. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. That's why I don't want anyone finding out you're the family that raised me. I don't want you getting in trouble because of me."

"We understand."

Spider looked around. "So… Where's Zach?" He caught the droop in his mother's face as she broke eye contact.

"He is at school."

"You still have him, right?"

"Yes!" the mother answered promptly so there was no room for doubt. "It's good he's away most of the day. There's more space where he is."

The adopted older brother didn't feel comforted by the thought. "How has he been doing?"

"He's well, but tell us about you," the father intervened. How have you been? Where have you been living?"

"I've been set up with another family."

"Where?" the couple responded as one.

"In the housing zone. Some place called Moore's Garden."

"Moore's Garden?!"

"What tier are you?" Janine breathed. Spider presented his identification necklace, which she fondled in disbelief. "Jack, he's a five-tier!"

Mr. Para refrained from cursing in surprise and instead only stared at the tag his wife held up.

Spider was unsettled by all the fuss over a silly label. "Guys, c'mon…" he said, making a face as he took back the tag. "What do these stupid tiers mean? Everyone keeps tripping over themselves, trying to tell me about them, but they make no sense. Nothing here makes sense," he trailed off.

"It means how much you're worth to Bridgehead," Jack grumbled. "If you're considered morally upright, you're, therefore, 'valuable' and given a higher tier status. It's those stupid tiers that will dictate how much you can earn, where you can live, and the amount of 'freedom' you're allotted—if you can call going wherever you want within a prison freedom."

Spider stiffened with confusion. "And you guys…?"

"We're traitors, Joshua," his mother explained. "Being one-tier's just means we have less benefits, that's all."

"Do you get enough? Are you safe?"

The father huffed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we're damn safe. It's a paradise here. We're always given just enough food to work. I feel like a chicken on a factory farm."

Janine glared at her husband. "At least you work in the 3D printer department, where it's too loud to be overheard." She then faced her son with gravity. "Be very careful about what you say out loud, Joshua. You may have five-tier status, but this city has eyes and ears everywhere. It's how they determine whether or not you're a socially acceptable human being or—" She hesitated on the word. "A monster."

"Who said that?" Jack winced in disgust.

"One of the women I work under at the laundromat. Hearing her talk is chilling. According to her, we don't deserve family, friends, shelter or sympathy."

The man turned away with a contemptuous sigh. "The people here are insane…"

"They're the last of humanity," she reminded. "Everyone is desperate to live and don't want resources wasted on the criminals. We're lucky to be alive, Jack."

"Kept alive for labour."

Spider interjected. "If I'm a five-tier, is there anything I can do to help?"

Thinking it over, Mr. Para couldn't wrap his head around his son's wondrous luck. "Why did you get five-tier status?"

"I don't know. I've been told I'm being sponsored, but I don't know by who."

"I don't like the sound of that," the mother commented. "I would think they would give you the hardest time."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Janine. Josh has a chance here. He should use it."

Spider perked up. "How can I use it?"

"Well, right now, you're still too young. Legal adulthood is twenty, but your status does give you the option to climb the ranks in the military."

"Jack? The military?"

"It's an option and the best option with the amount of points you get. Look at Generalissimo Ardmore. She lives in a palace."

"I'm not killing Na'vi for a living," he blurted.

"Most of the time, they're fighting the wildlife, not the Na'vi. And you have more savvy about this world than any other human—you'd do great. Maybe that's why you're getting favour?"

His suggestion only struck Spider where it hurt the most. "You want me to sell out?"

"Sell out?" he repeated, aghast, losing his composure by the minute. "It's our team you're playing for, remember?!"

"Jack! Not here, please. Not now." After a second of strained quiet did the woman exit the interruption, her face softening as it, once again, beheld her son. "He just wants you to have a successful life. They're only a few options available, that's all. Whoever's sponsoring you might already have something planned for you. Wait and see what that is. For now, don't risk visiting us anymore."

"But I want to see Zach again…"

"You will, one day."

"When?"

"Don't worry about that. It'll happen in time."

There was so much more he needed to know, but it was clear to him they were only going to relinquish so much. He confused it with selfishness, for he had yet to understand the nuances of parental responsibility.

"We'll let him know how you're doing, okay?"

He could only nod once, and faintly, for his head was too heavy. "Could you… Could you also let Pam know how I'm doing?"

The whole room fell into a deafening silence as both parents stared long and hard at each other and then at their son.

"What happened to Pam?"

The surface of Janine's eyes were wet. "She passed away."

"No! Wh-when?"

"It happened last week. It was all so sudden."

Spider was reeling from the news. Pam was a huge part of his life—his tutor—always teaching him how to run Hell's Gate for a role that would never come to pass. No—more than a tutor. She was his friend.

"What happened to her?"

"'Intra abdominal sepsis,' they said. An infection in her system. Even when we all chipped in, she couldn't afford treatment."

"They didn't want to treat her…" Mr. Para mumbled.

Janine's thoughts drifted into nostalgia. "One of the last things she told me was how she finally understood why we stayed behind… Oh, Pam. I think she'd rather go out early than live her life out here. At least she's free."

The testimony was too much, and Spider was suffocating with the urge to do something. "I have to get you guys out of here."

"No!" she scolded. "Right now, you need to take care of yourself. That's the only way you can help us."

"Yeah, but—"

"It's not easy, I know. But you have to, Josh."

"Okay, Mom… I will. I will." He wanted to end their meeting with a course of action, not a promise to do nothing. Hurt as it did, he spoke the words, and his shoulders drooped under the invisible burden descending upon him.

Mr. Para took a step forward, the loudness of which broke the contemplative moment. "Josh. I noticed you were brought here by the Deja Blus…"

"What?" Janine panicked.

"Mom, don't worry. Those guys have actually been helping me, even helped me find you," he explained, but the way his father maintained the frown deeply bothered him.

"You know they're led by Quaritch's clone?"

"Yeah, but he's not a clone, Dad. That really is him."

"He only thinks he is. He has his memories and everything. Same attitude. Same desire to kill. You be very careful around that recom."

"Yeah… Sure thing..."

"You better go," Mr. Para insisted. "You don't want to test their patience."

Spider thought of explaining that it wasn't an issue but opted not to; he would share only as much as they did. He once again expressed his condolences, regrets for not doing more, and, ultimately, his goodbye, leaving his old family to return to his new one.

The panel shut behind Spider, and the hapless pair were once again alone. Janine turned to her husband with a scowl. "Why didn't you tell him it was that monster's fault Pam died?"

"Have you forgotten how hot-hearted Joshua can be? You tell him that, and he'll mean it to take action. Just look at what Jake did—a guy who betrayed his own race for a 'good' cause, and we let him train our son."

Now, it was her turn to be aghast. "I thought you respected what he did!"

"That was before I found out he sent the last of his own species to a dead planet. That Sully's a bloody traitor. Imagine the garbage he's put into our son's head."

"Imagine the garbage Quaritch will put into his head!"

"I'm not siding with that murdering psychopath, either! They can both go to hell." The hardness in his face vanished, and his brows raised. "I'm scared for our son, Jan. Let him go along with the recoms if it'll make him forget his years with Jake. That's his only hope now. Ours, too."

Farther away, in the peripheral vision of Bridgehead's eye, rain clouds materialized, and the dirt plains were transformed into mire. Droplets cracked against the blue tarp of Zwefnawo's tent, where he and several serfs were having a meeting. No fire illuminated the space that was dingy from the overcast weather; the mood of the men was as grim as the grey pall suffocating the sky.

|"They have not given us trouble,"| spoke one attendant who was missing his ear.

|"Not yet, but I do not trust these rekoms,"| replied another, his back crisscrossed with scars healed over by violet wrinkles.

|"Still. Some have become our friends. An enemy struck in the face is less violent than a friend stabbed in the back."|

"Reyneyat," began Zwefnawo. |"Rekoms are not the issue. It is the Skypeople we hate. They serve them the same way we do."|

|"A loyal pet can still bite. You take on the Skypeople, and the rekoms will attack us. And your daughter—you know she has grown fond of one."|

Zwefnawo exhaled pensively. |"He is family friend and family friend only. I keep it at that. But it is true, Reyneyat. She is fond. And I do not like the attention he gives her. That is why I won't have her involved with our plan."|

Their third member interrupted. |"Have you sent another message on to Rider of Last Shadow?"|

|"Not yet. Only when Ker-nel leaves this wicked land can I risk it. I do not like his astute eyes. He is as sharp as a war axe. I always hear for when he means to go. Only then do I send my messages by drum."|

|"Will you tell him we mean to—"|

|"Hush, Tung'tay! Even our own tents cannot be trusted. I will not allow this plan, not yet. Not until my time serving Rider of Last Shadow is done, and I see no other life for us. For now, I have my daughter to think about. You know what this plan could do."|

|"Fire burns everyone…"| he murmured darkly.

|"What will you tell Rider of Last Shadow?"| asked Reyneyat.

|"He must know about this Skyperson who thinks like Na'vi. He says he serves Rider of Last Shadow and has been asking my daughter about new arrivals. He somehow knows of my purpose here, but, thank Eywa, he does not know my name. Säro was smart to say nothing, for it was queer of him to speak to her."|

|"Are you saying this boy is untrustworthy?"|

|"I have seen how well this boy is treated. How can he be a friend of Rider of Last Shadow and also be a friend of Ker-nel? You do not blow hot and cold. I must warn the Omatikaya of this Skyperson, for he may have told our enemies much."|

|"Speaking of your daughter,"| Reyneyat brought up. |"Where is she now?"|

|"In the centre, where all the activity happens. She often travels there to trade her creations for supplies."|

CJ was abstracted as she watched the horizontal trails of water flow across the glass, blurring the grey view outside the brightly lit ward. Her hand was cupped in his, and her head pressed against his beating chest. Behind her was a vase of Angel Bells, and standing before it was a little wooden direhorse. Leaning against the table was a black baseball bat, big enough for a recombinant with eleven names decorating it. On the shelf sat a copy of Journey to the West that Mansk would come by to read aloud when Lopez wasn't busy singing a ballad. Hanging off the wall were even more mementos like the camouflage baseball cap gifted by its previous owner or the series of artistic sketches that Johnny drew of their fly-overs, but the most grabbing of all, and balanced right in the centre, was a team photo that Quaritch himself hung.

As CJ let her head rise and fall, her ears swivelled back when she picked up the sound of footsteps. The door opened, and Wainfleet poked his head inside.

"Hey, CJ. How's he doing?"

"Asleep. Still."

"I brought someone."

"Who?"

He beckoned his hand and in walked, to her surprise, a serf.

"This is Säro," Lyle said proudly. "Säro, this is CJ."

"Oel ngati kameie." Säro bowed her eyes politely.

Casey rose to her feet, unsure about the Na'vi. "Wainfleet, what were you thinking? Is a serf even allowed here?"

"It's all cool. She was signed in under Walker's name. Would've used yours, but the receptionist knows you."

"You idiot! I'm going to tell her that." She then pointed to the unwelcome stranger. "Why did you bring her?"

"She wants to see if she can help Zhâng."

"He is trappt asleep?" Säro interjected.

CJ's eyes ran suspiciously up and down the Na'vi woman. "Furia new srung sivi 'eylanur oeyä ngaru seiyi irayo, slä tsun hivum."

Lyle's eyes bugged out. "S***, you speak Na'vi?"

She casually cocked her right shoulder. "I took a DLAB and was given a CAT IV. Na'vi's a piece of cake."

"Let me guess, Chinese?"

"No, Japanese…" she mumbled with some disappointment.

|"Please do not send me away,"| Säro pleaded. |"I wish to help the sister of Ly'il."|

|"I'm not his sister. I'm his brother."|

Säro's lids fluttered. "ìì~?"

|"Look, again, I thank you for coming, but you cannot help my friend. Please go."|

CJ unfolded her arms and was about to show her to the door when Säro promptly asked, |"Does your friend still have his kuru?"|

She paused and gave her a suspicious stare. "Sran…"

|"Then you may help him."|

Lyle, who only scored a 50 in DLAB, heard CJ exclaim, "Fyape ngal omum fì'uti?"

Säro continued, |"Where I come from, when someone is trapped asleep, a loved one forms the bond."|

Casey instinctively grimaced. |"You mean, join our braids? Uh, wouldn't that be assault?"|

|"You would not be hurting him. You would be helping him—letting him know you are still there."|

CJ's eyes went to Zhâng, and she fidgeted. |"But isn't that, like, mating for you guys?"|

Säro blushed and cupped her mouth to hold back a snicker. "Lì'upe? Kehe, kehe!" She started giggling. |"Who taught you that? No baby is ever made by forming the bond. Only children think that."|

"What's she laughing about?"

"Apparently, our colonel needs to update his guidebook," CJ relayed to the ceiling.

|"However,"| Säro pressed her lips as she composed herself, |"no baby is made without it. The bond has many, many meanings. Your reason for the connection changes what it does."|

Upon this extra bit of information, CJ was curious. |"I never heard of that."|

|"All Na'vi understand this. Take the ikran. Do you consider yourself mated to your ikran?"|

"Hell no!" she belted with a snort. |"That's different."|

|"But why is it different? The bond is also for life, but it is not the same. Because our minds are in a different state when tackling a beast. The rush of aytsana'eyn is the fuel. The bond is the match. Together, they form a lifetime connection."|

"Aytsana'eyn?"

"Ay-tsa-na-'eyn," she repeated slowly. |"Rush. Excitement. Energy."|

"You are talking about adrenaline," the Marine spoke in awe.

|"That is the word."| The woman humbly explained, |"This is my own theory based on what our Skyperson teacher tells us. Their understanding is always so incorrect, but I choose to let myself see the world through a new set of eyes. Aytsana'eyn and txolameyn are things in Skyperson brains, correct? I think such things are also in ours."|

A faint smile grew on CJ's face as she said to Lyle, "Your friend's very intelligent."

"I know." He beamed with pride, and Säro blushed.

|"So what would be the prerequisite—or the fuel—for forming a life-bond with a mate?"|

|"Love, txolameyn and the presence of Eywa."|

The gifted linguist broke into English to decipher the new word. "Let's see. 'Txo' is used to replace 'D,' so do-la-meyn... Oh! Dopamine! 'Love, dopamine and the presence of Eywa.' Sounds like an album."

Säro congratulated her perspicacity. |"But next to these factors, mating for life requires just one more small detail."|

|"I think I can take a guess,"| she replied, and the two women shared in a knowing snicker until CJ caught the certain way Säro's eyes nervously shied away from Lyle.

"Hey, Baldy…"

"Yeah?"

"What exactly is your relationship with Säro?"

He rolled his tongue in his mouth and clucked, "What do you think?"

"You dirty dog!"

"What? It's legit. Just ask the colonel."

"He knows about this?"

Wainfleet rubbed his jaw. "Yeah…"

"Does Ardmore?"

"No, and she won't."

"Oh, that'll work." She huffed sarcastically. "You risked bringing her here with you. You think Ardmore won't catch on?"

"Not with my stealth skills."

As CJ strained her face at her brazen comrade while rubbing her temple, she wasn't sure whether she should rescind her comment on Säro's intelligence or feel sorry for her, but in the end, she trusted there was something to her idea of seeing through a new set of eyes, no matter how dim.

"What are you thinking?" he accused.

"Nothing. You two better keep these dates to a minimum and return to Homestead before anyone else finds out."

"Yes, Mom. But you can't make us leave till we get what we came here for."

"And what's that?"

"That's private, Private." He smirked, then unlatched his arm fold to saunter over. "We'll say goodbye to Zhâng first."

The recombinant woman changed her position to the foot of the bed, making room for the mated pair as they came in to stand respectfully next to her friend. The native Na'vi tenderly observed the resting man before she began in a low voice. "You make like this," she said and took up her husband's hand to gently place it on Zhâng's chest, then had him bring his forehead to his. The bridges of the brothers' noses tapped, and CJ was captivated as she watched.

"Oel ngati kamia, ma tsmokhan. Eywa nahu livu ulte ee—" He faltered, for he forgot what to say.

"'iveyk ngat ne kelku," Säro whispered.

"'Eeveyk naht nee kelkoo."

Watching Lyle allow himself to be so close to Zhâng's face and speak a prayer of another tongue was a lot for Casey to take in; it was far more than some polite gesture; it was the first time CJ had ever known Wainfleet, or any fellow grunt for that matter, show such a vulnerability for the sake of another's spiritual well-being.

Abruptly interrupting her thoughts, Lyle stood back up and addressed her. "Catch ya later." He then bobbed his arm in salute before using it to swing over his wife's shoulder as they exited the ward.

Back to where she started, Casey was, once again, sitting alone in a chair next to Zhâng. She reached out to clasp his five remaining fingers and pondered the muffled prayer, even attempting to recite what she recalled when she noticed the rhythmic beeping of his heart rate monitor pick up in speed or, rather, strength.

"Eywa?"

Norman's cabin was filled with voices of discontent. The olo'eyktan of the Dreamwalker clan was holding council with his warriors, and their breasts were filled with justified complaints. The avatars' only other link bed had just broken down, and they were now down to one.

"We're screwed over."

"If we can't link to our avatars anymore, the bodies will die."

"I know. I know," Norman groaned while rubbing his eyes.

"Why did we go along with Jake's plan?" Ilram complained.

"Because those recombinants are a threat to us too."

"So we've sacrificed what little we had just to take out—what—maybe one recom?" Ilram observed, then huffed. "Now we can't risk disarming the other field cabins because the RDA is actively hunting them. Every one they find is blown up on the spot."

Max rubbed his lips. "Can we risk taking back at least one to repair Aurora?"

"Can't…" Norman admitted reluctantly. "I don't have the fuel to airlift another cabin. Trudy's grounded." When his men heard that, their hearts dropped into their stomachs; it was clear now, to every human living in Sully's Grotto, just how serious the situation was.

"Can you not fly her at all?"

"Sparingly," he clarified.

"We can't all feasibly use one link bed," another said. "Our avatars are atrophying by the minute."

"What about putting them in stasis?" Charity suggested.

"We only have one tank," Max answered. "And Grace is using it."

Ilram walked forward with an authoritative gait. "Remind me why again?"

"That's Grace's avatar, Ilram. And Kiri's mother," their leader told the room as he came to a stand.

"She's dead, Norman. That energy-sucking avatar is just an extravagant memorial. Why are we wasting resources because some kid has attachment issues?"

"I made a promise to Jake."

"Well, Jake isn't leading us!" Ilram fired back. "You are! And now we're ruined because you went along with his stupid plan. How much longer are you going to keep putting your friend before us?"

"We are living in his grotto, Ilram. We are indebted to the Omatikaya every day for giving us shelter."

Ilram spun on his heels with his arms out in an angry shrug before they dropped and smacked his sides. "So were obligated to shoot ourselves in the foot? We don't have it like the Na'vi do—they can easily call the shots and can complain every day about our 'blindness' while we're forced to make do with crumbs. For all their 'I see you' philosophy, have they ever seen us?"

Too many voices agreed, Norman observed; and, worst of all, so did his inner monologue, to an extent.

"What do we do?" moaned Charity.

"We're stranded on this moon."

"Pamela was right…" Max murmured, pushing his palm up the side of his head.

"We're good as dead out here."

Norman addressed his entire clan. "Listen, we're not going to die. And we're not putting the avatars on ice, either. We're going to move them all to the clinic, where we will keep them sustained on IVs until it's the next person's turn to link. I'll also offer up my bed for communal use. We'll take turns linking, and when we do, we'll put them through high-intensity training." He stopped and noticed someone was missing. "Where's Nagata?"

"He's in his cabin doing…" Max rolled his fingers to jog Norman's memory, but to no avail. "Uh, research," he finished.

"Into what?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Fine. But these meetings are supposed to involve everyone. Forget it. I'll send him a memo."

"Norman," Ilram started again, but this time with a more sympathetic tone, "with these plans…you're only delaying the inevitable."

"Do you want to go to Bridgehead?" he challenged.

"We might not have a choice…"