The clouds cracked open, and through the fissures came rays of light that glistened off the mud of Homestead. The wetness made chores difficult for the recombinants, and in the case of CJ, she had to balance her laundry bag over her shoulders instead of letting it hang by its pull-string. During the hum of her marching chant, she spotted Säro staggering towards their barracks, clutching herself in distress. Fike happened to lift his head at that exact moment. "Is that a serf?" He glanced at his mates for their reaction.

"That's Säro," CJ verified. "Lyle knows her." Detecting something was wrong, the recombinant sacrificed her bag to jog over as quickly as possible. |"Girl, what is wrong? What happened?"|

|"My father banished me from the camp…"|

|"What?! He can't do that."|

|"He knows of Ly'il… He says I am not Na'vi…"| Overcome with emotion, the drenched outcast drifted into the only available arms.

Brown was the first one to walk over. "What's going on with her?"

"Trouble with family."

"She can't stay here," he reminded.

"Do you think she has anywhere else she can go?" CJ snapped. "Her people kicked her out."

"But, CJ, the colonel—"

"I'll deal with him." CJ pulled herself away to look at Säro. "Come on, Baby. You can rest in my cabin." The recombinant woman boldly ignored the stares as she led the Na'vi into her home, where she invited her to sit on her cot, offering her services in any way she could.

|"I will be okay."| Säro sniffed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. |"I am sorry for burdening you so suddenly."|

|"No, no. It's okay. We're going to look after you, okay? So, what happened exactly?"|

Säro's ears flicked up anxiously. Caution had to be exercised; despite the fallout, she would still protect her father. |"I told him about Ly'il—who we really are to each other, and… and…"|

|"He kicked you out?"|

Säro did not know how to properly express it, so she set both hands over her womb.

"Oh my god… You're—?"

She dropped her head and brought it back up, linking eyes with the woman across.

CJ blew out a long breath. |"As crazy as this sounds, I can relate. My father kicked me out of my home when I was fourteen—that's not uncommon for us Skypeople—and I had to fend for myself. We're not going to let that happen to you—to either of you. I promise."| The recombinant sealed her oath by firmly clutching the tearful woman's clasped fists.

Säro gazed back and was met with a sister; she only needed shelter but was offered security. "Irayo."

"Oeru meuia."

Outside her cabin, all the team had collected, unified in their concerns.

Johnny scratched his head. "When the colonel comes back, what are we going to tell him?"

Although still sharing in his team's sentiments, Mansk wasn't as rattled. "It will be CJ delivering the news. You know how he is with her. He'll allow it."

"A Na'vi is still pushing it," remarked Walker, crossing her arms.

CJ's cabin door opened, and they all ceased their mingling in preparation for the altercation.

Walker captured the first step of CJ's porch. "Casey. I know you think you can get away with this, but it's not just the colonel you should be worried about here."

"This is more serious than you think, Bridgette. We're the reason the serfs kicked her out."

"What are you saying?"

"She's pregnant, and it's Lyle's."

Not a single mouth stayed closed.

"Wainfleet?"

"Holy s***," swore Fike, turning away.

"Brown, what's the protocol for this?" Walker demanded.

"The protocol," CJ started, "is that we stand by her and protect her from any of Bridgehead's s***."

"Why should we?"

"Because that's Baldy's wife inside my cabin, and by right, she is now our sister."

Walker gave one word in response: the name of their general, but CJ was prepared.

"That's where we leave it to the colonel. Maybe you guys all think he'll just shoot him for what he's done, and then her—but I know him better than that. He'll stick his neck out to protect Lyle, just like he would for any of us. So let's follow by his example and defend our family, alright?"

Walker's foot retreated from the porch step.

Swiftly, the hunters flew under plum-coloured skies of the retired day. White and emerald wings glided on wind currents straight up into the mouth of Txurseng. Neteyam hopped off and parted ways with Lew; his mind was elsewhere as he rushed through perfunctory courtesies on his way to his parents' tent.

Like matters of court, the weighted prince stood before the king's door. "Father? Are you there?"

"What is it?" a voice came through the cloth.

"It's—" Neteyam stopped and looked around cautiously. Leaning closer to the tent flap, he whispered, "I bring news of Josh."

Jake burst out, clutched his son's arm and yanked him inside.

Neteyam tumbled across the mat like a wrestler tossed into the ring. He came to a crouch where his father was already before him, balanced on the balls of his heel and panting with bated breath.

"What have you learned?"

"I have seen him."

"Where!"

The warrior brought up his hands, seeing the wisdom in relying on both speech and sign. "Near Sosul Syanan. My friend and I were hunting when we spotted Spider flying with—" he thumped his chest and drew a claw across his face.

The olo'eyktan was fast with his hands. "Was Spider healthy? Did he hurt him at all?

Neteyam reluctantly told him the truth. "They were laughing and having fun."

He paused, wondering if he should be happy or conflicted about the news.

"Lew and I followed them at a distance—to a floating mountain where I managed to talk with him."

Jake was aghast. "Why didn't you bring him back?"

"The clan."

"I lead this clan!"

"Yours is not the only voice. Too many are against him." His hands came up again. "But, I regret not bringing Spider back."

Jake's head fell with heaviness. "So what was spoken?"

"I— I do not know how to tell you this. He told me that Vrrtepeyktan was protecting him, but… They are not father and son."

"What?!"

"Spider claimed that the Chief of Demons was his friend."

When Jake watched Neteyam's fingers lock in a handshake, he felt faint. "Friends? That's their connection? They're friends?!"

"We had the chance to take Vrrtepeyktan's life, but he begged us to spare it. From the conversation we overheard, he was even learning Na'vi from him. Father, they do talk like friends."

Rubbing his mouth, he murmured, "This is a lot worse."

"Perhaps Spider is changing Vrr—"

"No. No, you don't change Quaritch. Neteyam, I knew— I know him. He has a way of making you feel safe—like you can trust him. Straight off the boat, the guy extended his hand to me, the kind of respect someone in a wheelchair doesn't usually get. Even when I knew my mission was wrong, the thought of letting him down was one of those stones in my heart. That's how powerful his hold is. Now imagine that influence over Spider."

"Then, what do we do?"

"I'm not losing the Omatikaya another home. I'll have your mother return to the Tawkami right away and inform your grandmother. We can't delay anymore."

"You think Spider talked?"

"Worse. He might not know he already has."

City in sight, the ever-confident colonel radioed the boys in the flight towers that he was coming back on a naked banshee. The kill zone made itself vulnerable, and the two flyers sped on through.

Humans walking about in their dome shelters gaped up in surprise at the two banshees gliding overhead. Wainfleet landed on a wing of Moore's Garden, letting Ballistic Missile roar impressively at the citizens, while his colonel and their charge for the day glided down to the entrance. People already outside, wearing EXO packs, backed away, with some even tumbling from the powerful beat of Gloria's wings.

"What's with all the slack jaws?" Quaritch yukked. "You people look like you've never seen an ikran before." With a devilish grin, he reared Glorious back and let her vocals thunder. Spider would have enjoyed the impish fun of scaring so many, but his mind was back on that floating mountain.

In good spirits after his little antic, Quaritch was the first to hop off and help down his passenger when he noticed the boy's mood. "Hey, why so blue?"

"It's nothing."

"Homesick?"

"Kinda."

"We can do this again if you want? I'll come up with an excuse. Go out, do whatever the hell you like. Maybe even go huntin'."

Spider's ivories were beginning to peak through the fading scowl. "You can't use a bow."

"You can teach me. We'll don loincloths, paint ourselves up and take down the mother-of-all-sturmbeests."

The visual triggered Spider to laugh. "You would look so stupid."

"Yup."

"The plan sounds good, but it's missing one thing."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"You want to make an impact?" he solicited.

"Scare the s*** right of Ardmore—if doable."

"Then next time, on a toruk."

"Hey, now you're talking!" A fist bump with the lad and the deal was sealed.

After a wave, the young man headed off. From the entrance of the vestibule, before joining the crowd inside, he bowed his eyes. "Oel ngati kameie, La'ang."

La'ang flicked his opening hands away from his brow. "Oel ngati kameie, Champ." His eyes lingered on Spider until he was completely out of sight.

Quaritch brought Glorious into the banshee rookery, where she was properly outfitted with new gear that would allow her to come and go as she pleased. Once the harness was tight, Quaritch slapped her meaty neck. "There you go, Buttercup. Now you're all ready for the ball." The beast growled in response and went off to roost. With her and Ballistic Missile nestled comfortably among the other sleeping ikrans, the riders locked the entrance doors and headed home.

Night had completely fallen, with Polyphemus guarding all his twinkling young as they came out to play. It was a surprisingly pleasant evening, and the two recombinants savoured the quiet, trading smiles instead of words over the happy news still running strong. When Homestead came into view, the cheer ended, for all their team was disturbingly gathered outside, agitated and looking in the direction of the serf camp. There was no need to advance, as CJ ran up once she noticed they had returned.

"What's going on, Casey?"

"It's Ardmore, sir. She showed up less than ten minutes ago and started rounding up all the serfs. She seems to be looking for someone." Quaritch's ears went back, and Lyle feared the worst, but CJ quickly followed up with, "There's more. Lyle," she addressed before softening her tone, "Säro's safe in my cabin."

The sheer relief the man felt was immeasurable.

"What's she doing there?" Quaritch demanded.

"She showed up an hour before Ardmore did—said her father banished her from the camp."

"What?!" Lyle interjected; he then turned to Quaritch. "Her father must've found out about us."

"It gets worse. When she saw the convoy, she panicked. She revealed to us that they were after her father for…"

"For what?"

"Sir, he's been sending out coded messages to Sully. She admitted it, saying she didn't know till today and begged us to stop Ardmore. She went hysterical. Brown had to give her a sedative."

The colonel was dumbfounded. The first thing that popped into his mind was not that he let a mole slip past his attentions but that this was how Sully most likely knew about their link bed mission.

Wainfleet grimaced, trying to understand. "Zwefnawo was a spy?"

"Have you been talking with him?" Quaritch interrogated.

"No, sir, I only knew him as Säro's father."

"What do we do? Säro begged me to help."

Quaritch bared his teeth and snarled. "That Na'vi is probably the reason Zhâng's in a coma! Ardmore can hang him."

"Sir!" Lyle interrupted, but he was struggling to find the words, for his mind was in such turmoil. "Think of what it'll do to Säro, sir. If she finds out her father was killed, she might—" He gulped.

"Miscarry," CJ finished gravely.

The man's eyes looked up at his comrade, then over to his colonel.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, the leader of the Deja Blus had to make a decision. "Does Ardmore know she's in your cabin?"

"No. We got her back in before anyone noticed. It was a close call. She almost ran right into their camp."

"All right," he growled. "Lyle, go fetch her and set her up in your cabin. Have Brown on standby to keep her calm. I'll go deal with Ardmore."

"What are you going to do, sir?" CJ called ahead.

"To go rescue a goddamn spy! Now get to your cabins—all of you. Parties over. Get inside!" he ordered and marched over to take on the tigress.

At a brisk pace, he passed through the soy-vein fields and espied Ardmore in her SKEL suit, strutting before the Anurai. They were shoved onto their knees with hands behind their heads. The headlights of the vehicles shined into their eyes, and the blinding light bounced off the false limbs of Ardmore's skeletal frame.

"There's only one of you who can be the mole," she stated, then held out her hand. A member of her heavily armed entourage came over and gave her a digital pad that displayed Zwefnawo's picture. "This will be over and done soon enough, boys. Would go a lot faster if they didn't all look alike." With her suit's bony hands, she gripped each serf by the queue to force back their head and compare it with the picture.

Her narrow eyes glanced left and discovered Quaritch casually approaching. He was tense as he saluted her and bowed his head. The many soldiers accompanying the general paid close attention to their leader's movements. She stepped over with a deadpan stare that exuded disappointment. "Were you aware one of these serfs was sending out messages to Sully?"

Quaritch feigned surprise. "A mole?"

"That's right, Honey. A mole."

Next thing Quaritch knew, he was flat on his back, having been struck in the face by her SKEL suit's powerful fist. Ardmore was collected in her outrage as she loomed over the vavasour. "The serfs don't fear you, recom. You failed to keep them in line. I'm going back to the old way of doing things since you weren't bright enough to even search their stables and discover the drum one of them built to send out the messages."

She returned to her previous occupation of scrutinizing their faces when she at last identified the culprit. With a satisfied leer, she reached for her pistol.

"General!" Quaritch called, wiping the blood from his nostril. Ardmore studied her servant, who dared return to a stand. "You said I was in charge of administering punishment. Let me do it."

Her curious eyes ran up and down his straight frame. She stepped back and gestured to go ahead.

The recombinant, fresh from his flight, was without his boots, and his bare soles touched the earth as he walked towards Zwefnawo. Through the ground, he felt the collected fear and anger of the serfs. He could almost hear their thoughts, the injustice they felt, the terror, the hate; but, most of all, he felt the lack of regret in Zwefnawo, who starred back in calm defiance. They saw into one another, with neither gaze containing hatred but an understanding that the other was the natural enemy.

Quaritch shot forward, held him down with his foot, grabbed him by the queue, then whipped out his tactical knife. With one fell swoop, he robbed the man of his spiritual wellness. The Na'vi who dared to look screamed at the horrific sight as Zwefnawo doubled over from the maddening loss of his kuru. His blood-curdling wails rattled even the humans, all except Ardmore. Quaritch's hand shook as he held the limp braid, and his mind went racing back to his fight with Anotang—when he could not discern between himself and the enemy warrior. Zwefnawo's cries circled in his head and caused his thoughts to buzz erratically like frenzied hornets. His chest began to tighten, and his heart felt ready to implode. Quaritch had no choice but to drop the braid and massage his breast.

"Too much for you?" Ardmore commented.

He only looked at her and returned to his normal composure.

With a single finger, the general signalled a soldier. "Throw him into the truck. We're carting him off. As for that—" She pointed to the braid lying in a pool of blood and brain matter. "Have that thing nailed to that storm siren post." Her attention returned to Quaritch, and she chuffed in approval. "Queue cutting, eh?"

"The Na'vi consider it worse than death," he said without looking her in the eye.

"I know. Frankly, I think you rushed it, but it gets the message across all the same since we can't just send them a written note. I was just going to dump his corpse on the reservation, but I admit, I like this more. You had one good idea today, recom. I'd give you a gold star, but I'm all out. You're dismissed."

"General Ardmore?"

"What?"

"I request that my team continue managing the serfs."

"Why? So your men can keep mating with them?"

Quaritch flinched.

"Surprised? You better keep up, recom. I seem to always be one step ahead of you. Yes, I know about that too. Luckily for you, I've been asked to allow it. Bridgehead doesn't seem to mind. Just remember, the serfs are here to work. I'll give you one more chance to screw up, and when you do, I'm rolling in."

Lyle sat on the steps of his porch with his head low and eyes sombre. He picked up the sound of the convoy moving on and anxiously watched as their headlights succumbed to the dark abyss. To his left, he heard his colonel plodding back to Homestead. He jogged over to him and read the gravity in his expression. "What happened?" he breathed.

"Where's your woman?"

"Säro's inside."

"She awake?"

Lyle nodded.

"Bring her out here."

"Sir?"

"I said bring her out here!"

Lyle ran into his cabin and reemerged, delicately guiding his groggy wife down the steps. When her eyes saw the dark figure, she flinched, but Lyle coaxed her into advancing. The comforting press of her mate's fingers released from her elbow, and Säro stood, unsupported, before the daunting man.

With a flick of his head, Quaritch ordered Wainfleet away; the husband was reluctant, but he trusted his commander.

The strangers were now alone with each other, far from the cabins and surrounded by night. Quaritch could read on her tight face the hell she had been through in the past hour.

"Sempul ngeyä rey (Your father lives)."

Säro's lips parted in shock.

|"He is being return to reservation. He cannot connect to Eywa here—he agreed to that. Nothing changed when he cannot connect to Eywa out there. Do you understand?"|

Säro, to her horror, understood exactly what he was saying. Her palm pulled to her mouth, but she had no more voice to cry.

|"Because of you, he lives. Live on here and forget what happened."|

She shivered as she nodded twice.

|"Go back inside and sleep."|

Mechanically, she turned her feet and shuffled back to the cabin. When she stumbled, falling onto her knees, her mate rushed over to assist, and together, they returned home.

The smell of her sickness filled the air and matched the queasiness Quaritch felt in the pit of his stomach.