"Any damage to the queue can result in TBI—behavioural changes…mood swings…inhibited communication… Hmm…"

Quaritch rubbed his face with all of his hand as he lay on his bunk, gripping his book from the top as he dangled it in front of his face. Macabre interest had him spending his leisure time learning about the deeper meaning of the braid with that night still vivid in his mind. He continued down the page with her voice, as always, playing in his head.

So much can be said regarding the queue. What one might dismiss as an ostentatious braid is, in truth, the nucleus for thriving on Pandora. The Na'vi's very spiritual and physical well-being centres around the health of their queue, the loss of which is a fate considered worse than death. Denied the ability to connect to their deity, Eywa, some Na'vi would go so far as to perform a ritualistic suicide rather than live on without it.

Quaritch brought up his braid and inspected the pink filaments wiggling at the end, something he hadn't done since the day he was reborn. To him, the braid was just a keen advantage over Pandora, but was there something more? He flipped the page.

It does not simply link the Na'vi to the world; it weaves them into it—permanently. Nowhere is this more illustrated than in their love-making. The tsaheylu is an integral part of the Na'vi mating practice, for it enables them to not only share their exhilaration but create a life-long imprint on the other's psyche—a profoundly spiritual and highly erotic experience. We cannot begin to understand the magnitude of what such a transcended form of intercourse would feel like.

Quaritch's amused brows went up. His contemplations were interrupted when he saw a message coming in through his cabin's radio. He sat up and bobbed the field guide as he held the receiver to his ear.

"Go ahead, BH-3. Over."

His dull eyes were still running over the book when, all of a sudden, the dull eyes widened.

A flock of recombinants zipped over the jungles in the direction of River Styx. Quaritch, having recovered from the shock, was mentally rehearsing for the encounter. Seeing him in blue would, no doubt, have her howling at the delicious irony, and he would have to stomach the humiliation, but Quaritch still desired a meeting; she did, after all, have a hand in his resurrection, and he wanted to gloat about it.

There it was—the meeting point on the horizon. He waved to his men and brought them towards the grounds for their date with destiny. The shrieking banshees circled Sully's defectors being kept under duress in the centre of the fort. Perching on a spiked wall, both Quaritch and Gloria hissed at the insurgents in a show of force before coming in to land.

The SKEL suit operators gave a wide berth for the triangular formation strutting towards them, with #1 at the tip of the rack. Quaritch set his hands on his hip as he stood akimbo before the prisoners; his tail flowed from side to side, and his lips curled up in a fiendish smile. His entourage was just as smug.

"Hello, Quaritch," Norman greeted coolly from within the giant's shadow. "Wainfleet."

Lyle replied with a head cock and a purse of his smiling lips.

"Cute tails."

The colonel chuffed at the brazen remark, then, as if in reward, signalled the weapons to be lowered so Norman could stand. "When I got the call that Sully gave you all the boot,"—he readjusted his belt—"I almost didn't believe it. But then I remembered who it was we were dealing with. Looks like all your Na'vi sympathizin' didn't pay off in the end. So what happened?" He crossed his arms. "Have a little lover's spat?"

"The Omatikaya didn't want us anymore—thanks to you guys."

"Aww, I'm sorry to hear that." His posse behind him snickered. "So where's your boyfriend now?"

"If you want to know where Jake Sully's hideout is, it's in the Hallelujah Mountains." He let himself sigh in defeat. "In Mons Cocytus."

Quaritch slowly moved his head with a rather unsettling simper. He loomed over the man till his teeth were an inch from the brow, with nothing for Norm's protection but an acrylic shield. "And you expect me to believe Sully didn't move camp after kicking you out?"

Norman angled away to escape. "They left us in the jungle to die. We had to radio you guys for help."

The giant clamped Norman's head with one hand, then started to squeeze, forcing a cry out of his victim. "Where is Sully?"

"We told you what we know! He's—ngh! He was last at Mons Cocytus! You can check it out for yourself!"

Quaritch kept applying pressure that was nothing for his awesome strength; the only thing that stayed his hand was the invisible tether of Ardmore's orders. He released the man's head with a thrust. "Okay, team, pick a hippie and hoist them over your shoulders. We're shipping them back to Bridgehead."

"Wait, you're carrying us back on ikrans?"

"It's the Banshee Express." After his band finished cackling, the recombinants circled the indignant humans, getting ready to carry out orders. Quaritch stepped around the dwarfs, running his eyes over their faces, then again, and again, and again. He whipped to Norman. "Alright, where's Augustine?"

"What?"

"You claimed you were all kicked out?"

"We were."

"Well, I don't see her."

"Uh… I'm sorry, were— Were you hoping to pick her up?"

Wainfleet accidentally fumbled Max, who landed with a grunt.

Unimpressed with Norman's insinuation and on the cusp of forgetting orders, he faced the scrawny man. "You aren't answering me…"

"Why do you care if Grace is here or not?"

"Because I have explicit orders to bag all of you, so I'm gonna ask once more since I'm so patient. Where is the doctor?"

"The Omatikaya allowed her to stay."

"Why?"

"She has ties there."

"What kind of ties?" Quaritch droned and then snorted as he thought about it more. "Her and Sully also an item? Running a little harem there, isn't he?"

Norman squinted at the remark. "Actually, Quaritch, Augustine did find someone. She even had a daughter."

A second human was accidentally dropped.

"E-Excuse me-he-he?" He laughed without restraint. "You expect me to believe"—Quaritch sniffed back from the gushing amusement—"that anyone would settle down with that banshee of a woman? You tell me it was something and not someone, and I'd be more inclined to believe you."

Norman crossed his arms brazenly.

"Oh, don't tell me…"

Norman swayed from side to side.

"You?"

"What's hard to believe?" he threw back.

"You know, I guess I could buy it. I remember her from the old days, and, believe me, I know there was one thing she wasn't getting. Guess the old girl got desperate. So why'd you abandon the kid?"

"You mean like the way you abandoned yours?"

A third human hit the asphalt as even the recombinants dared to "Ooo..."

"What's this about my boy?"

"I'll take that as a confession," Norman quipped.

"You're playing a dangerous game here, Mr. Augustine."

"You know, I think you're just jealous. Jealous because you got competition."

Quaritch was rather more amused than insulted. "Go on," he permitted with a roll of his hand, thinking he'd give the man more rope to hang himself with.

Norman was about to retort again when it suddenly struck him. "Oh my god…" A smile grew. "I think I get it now."

"Get what?"

The jungle man placed his hands on his hips as his threadbare floral shirt flapped in the breeze. "Arguing with Grace… All those fights you two had… It was sexual tension, wasn't it?"

The colonel's brows shot up so fast they would have broken the sound barrier. In his awestruck pause, he was highly conscious of the mumblings behind him, with the most damning one of all being, "He does like that book…"

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Lyle moved in. "Do you want me to subdue him, sir?"

"Did I give the order?" he growled under his breath and shooed him back.

"So all this time, you had a thing for Augustine," the victor taunted. "Well, well, well. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Quaritch was genuinely taken aback. "What?"

"Guess who your son fell in love with?" Next thing the anthropologist knew, his feet weren't touching the ground.

"Kiri is Augustine's kid!"

"Oh, so he told you about her?"

"He didn't tell me who her mother was!"

"Does that make a difference?" The sneer Quaritch threw at him positively disgusted the romantic; it offended every high and noble view Norman cultivated about love. "What's the matter with you, Quaritch? Can you not stand the idea of Kiri being the one who makes Spider happy? So what if she's her daughter? Grace is the most amazing woman you'll ever know—a privilege you didn't deserve." He calmed down to deliver one last sentiment, this time, a genuine appeal. "You should be honoured she chose your son." And in those few seconds of silence, as he hung in the air, Spellman was elucidated. He saw the drama as a whole, beyond the war, beyond the races, beyond the moon itself—a cosmic understanding. This was all about a red string called Fate, like the one that had bound Jake to Neytiri, but this one went tragically unfulfilled—a fate so strong it extended beyond the non-starters and passed on to their shadows. What should have remained untouched was tampered with the day Quaritch returned, and now, like a ghost haunting the world, he drifted about, unaware that he was still being affected by its pull. Norman almost felt sorry for Quaritch; for now, there were two of him but only one of her. He was damned to live out a life of loneliness: a fitting perdition for having ever despised his soul mate in the first place.

"Ravings of a madman," was all Quaritch hushed. Having heard enough, he balled the sun-cooked prophet under his arm and marched off for Gloria.

The flock of dragons returned to the hive with their prey, where miles of desolate black tarmac awaited the nature lovers. Ardmore and her convoy were ready and waiting; she wasn't going to send a subordinate to deal with the traitors—small fish that they were—for these new slaves were also evidence of Sully's crumbling empire. The recombinants flew in and tossed the humans onto the tarmac as offerings to their militant queen. She glanced at them with the same indifference she viewed all life.

"General Ardmore. These are the last of the defectors smart enough to come back. The only one that wasn't was Dr. Grace Augustine."

"They didn't bring anything with them?" she asked Quaritch.

"No, ma'am. Just the clothes on their back."

"What about Sully's hideout?"

"They say it's located in Mons Cocytus, but it's likely already abandoned."

"Check it out."

"Yes, ma'am. On that note, I'd like to request to bring someone with me."

"Who?"

"Miles Socorro."

"What for?"

"My guess is that the entrance is hidden. He can confirm to me where it is. Two—if Sully's planning an ambush, I can use him as a bargaining chip."

Ardmore tightened her features. "You are not, under any circumstances, allowed to hand Miles Socorro over to Sully."

"I know. I'm just saying Sully might think twice about attacking if he sees a knife pressed against his ward's throat."

Even she was struck. "Threatening to cut a child now? Impressive. Very impressive. So, not even family ties will stop you…"

"He's not my son."

Ardmore's pleased eyes lingered on him; even the potential smell of blood aroused the shark. "In that case, go ahead. Just remember, though. No actual killing. But I know you have it in you to make it look good." She waved the recombinant away and returned to the humans. Folding her arms behind her back, she addressed the bunch, "You bandits should have taken my first offer. Since I don't ever repeat myself, the only thing I'm offering now is your lives." Her glazed eyes ran over the solemn captives and discovered one discreetly trying to get her attention. She turned to her men. "Alright, throw 'em in the vans."

Meanwhile, Quaritch walked back to his team; he could breathe again. "Well, that request went better than I thought. Okay, let's go fetch Spider and head on out. I don't think we'll run into any trouble, but just to be safe, I want all of you to return to Homestead and switch out to the heavy artillery." Quaritch finally registered one very uneasy expression. "What is it, Casey?"

"Did you mean what you said back there?"

He smirked and looked over to Lyle. "You know, maybe I should've been an actor instead? I fooled even her."

CJ's tense muscles loosened with relief.

Light reflected off the dome of Moore's Garden as it crowned itself with light. Snippets of its lush interior were visible past the sections of blinding sparkle as Quaritch glided Gloria down to the entrance. At the great arch of its vestibule, he pressed the intercom, stating he was a recombinant here on business. The jaws opened, and the giant proceeded inside. Waiting for the go-ahead, he donned his breathing apparatus in preparation of entering man's idyllic garden. His body shifted from red to green, and he was cleared to enter. This was his first time standing in the courtyard of Spider's new home, and it was even more stately than he figured. He nodded at the impressive step-up. Quaritch strolled past the stone pines and around the cypress trees, taking a pause at the rose bush. He saw a crouched figure. "You, there."

Daphne was startled out of her task, and then even more so when she saw who it was trying to get her attention. "Y-Yes, sir?"

"You work here?"

"I'm the groundskeeper."

Quaritch pointed to the upper levels. "Can you run up to door 802 and notify the occupant that Officer Quaritch is here for Miles Socorro?"

Her worried eyes ran between him and where his finger aimed. "Yes, sir." She set down her trowel, feeling rather tense with having to see the young man again.

Quaritch called ahead. "Make sure you tell him directly that I want to see him. He'll be the one with the dreadlocks."

"I know him," she said while walking away.

"Oh?"

She climbed up the steps and made a turn, stripping her garden gloves like a proper lady and tucking them into her dirty overalls. After which, she smoothed out her eyebrows, making sure nothing besmirched her complexion. She stood before the vermilion door and prepared herself for the humiliation. After a knock, the door slowly opened. Delicate pale fingers pushed it back even more to reveal their owner: Mrs. Harvey. The first thing Daphne perceived was the sound of young girls crying, echoing from somewhere within the apartment, and then the look of fear on the good wife's face. Daphne cleared her throat. "I was sent up by Recombinant Officer Quaritch. He requests to see Mr. Socorro." She pointed down the balcony as proof that a recombinant was, indeed, somewhere in that direction. The woman's dark brows hovered up inquisitively, then, after taking a discreet swallow, looked back inside her apartment to only appear more skittery when she returned. Mrs. Harvey left the door ajar and walked past the groundskeeper to slope forward conspicuously, as timid women usually do when they want to look around a bend without being seen. She saw the blue giant pacing about and hurriedly doubled back.

"Harvey? That recombinant is here. He wants to see Miles."

Daphne couldn't see past the woman, but she heard, over the high-pitched cries of miserable children, the heavy steps of a grown man. The next thing she knew, a voice emerged—unmistakably, the man of the house. "He at the door?"

"No, he's in the garden. He sent up—" The wife looked over her shoulder and noticed Daphne stretching for a better look.

The young woman spoke up when caught. "I am the groundskeeper. He asked me to tell Mr. Socorro directly," she relayed with confidence, disliking the glare that assessed her character.

"Well, invite her in," Harvey instructed, then turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

Her delicate hands never left the brass knob when the unsure wife opened the door for the emissary. Daphne composed herself as well as she could in the living room that was in complete shambles. Her subtle eyes picked up the skid marks by the sofa feet and the broken glass mixed with hair, half-swept up in a pile. There was a broom nearby, propped against a mullion that was missing its panes. The tragedy of whatever occurred here gave Daphne some insight for the still ongoing wails in the background. The missus was about to offer her guest some explanation when the cries of her children ceased without warning, distressing the mother far more than a stranger judging her home. The man returned and commanded Daphne to come with him. Reluctantly, she tailed the belt up the stairs, around the corner, down a narrow hall and stopped when it did before a door. A silver cufflink disappeared from her view, and a short rap followed.

"Socorro. Officer Quaritch is waiting for you in the gardens. He sent a girl up to fetch you. Now, come out and meet your guest."

There was a pause, then footsteps. The door opened, and Daphne briefly thought she had the wrong person. The face was the same, ruddy and wild as she remembered, if not tight with stress, but his hair—it was all gone, shaved down to an inch until he resembled the man standing in the hall.

"Quaritch sent you?"

She nodded. Spider exhaled heavily, then exchanged daggers with Mr. Thurston before killing the silence with, "Give me a moment." The last thing she wanted was to be left alone, but as promised, Spider returned; he had only left to grab his EXO pack. Ignoring the consequences, the taller man marched past the stern eyes as Daphne followed ensue. He hoofed it down the staircase and rushed through the ruined living room to escape out the door. He was still speeding his way down the balcony, with Daphne trying to keep up, when he suddenly halted and turned around. "Hey."

She blinked at him.

"Thanks for getting me out of there."

It was not her business to ask what transpired, it was not even her business to speak, but having shared in that experience with him, no matter how bit her part, she felt equal enough to reply with, "It wasn't me, it was the recombinant. But you're welcome."

"Kìyevame, Daphne." He gave her a smile and headed down to see Quaritch.

"Key-ah-vamee…" she repeated slowly after he was gone.

Quaritch was scanning the roses in boredom when he heard Spider approach. He turned around while taking a sip of his breather, so his mouth was covered when he saw the young man. He didn't waste time. "Come on, we're getting out of here."

Spider was surprised. "Where to?"

"You'll see. Come on."

Framed between two columns of military uniforms, Nagata was escorted down the halls of an architectural monster. To him, the fortress looked like a lovechild between a rajah's palace and a state prison. Barren cement walls screamed their might, too egotistical for decorations of any kind. The humans stopped at a black door; and, with a hiss that did not ease the scientist, the panels slid back. He was suddenly shoved forward and, as he hobbled back to his feet, found himself on the other side, left alone to face whatever lurked ahead.

The brutalist architecture of the office, with its sharp angular lines, all seemed to point to the black desk where the general sat. Behind the woman was Rubens' The Tiger Hunt; it was the only colourful thing in the whole room. The xenogenomicist shuffled towards her, still dressed in his jungle-tarnished clothes, for the only new attire they gave him was a set of snap bracelets, inconveniently stuck together. The woman in his direction wasn't even facing him with all her body; only the side of her frame was presented as she leaned back in her chair while tapping her finger. The marble slab she rested her arm on was mostly bare save for one extravagant piece: a Chinese statue of a tiger with its twin image reflected in the mirror-black finish of the desk. As Nagata silently approached, he caught his bedevilled face staring right back.

"So what is it you want to tell me about Sully?" she finished with an exhale, already bored.

"Not Sully."

That got her attention. "You have something else for me?"

"First, what can I get in exchange?" He held up his cuffs.

"A full pardon? A cushy job? Money? Women? Drink? What's your kink?"

"I want a ticket back to Earth."

One eyebrow cocked. "Yeah, we can send you back to Earth. If that's what you'd like?"

"I would like. The sooner I am off this world, the better," he growled with a sputter; the very thought of Pandora was starting to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"What have you got for me?"

He leaned forward, and a string of beads that held up his bun came loose and dangled against his sweaty face. His mouth pulled open to utter with such deliberation, "Immortality."

Even Ardmore had to give herself a moment to process the level of stupid she just heard. "'Immortality'? You do the potty dance to get my attention… I have your unclean ass dragged into my office…all so I can hear you tout 'immortality'?" She sneered on that last word, then stood up, both palms planted on the marble. "I don't have time for this, Honey." She was about to press her intercom when Nagata erupted.

"I am telling the truth! Grace Augustine was secretly researching a way to create new avatars recombined with an immortal plant specimen. She birthed her own clone that is biologically capable of cell rejuvenation."

Her eyes were so unimpressed they were practically shut. "The head of the avatar program did that? The botanist? You have proof?"

"It is in my pocket."

"I've heard that one before."

Frustrated, Nagata thrust his cuffed hands into his coat pocket and fought to wriggle something out. He then set his fists down upon her desk, and, when raised, there, rolling around on the surface, was a vial of blood. "There's your proof."

The little cylinder arched, ineluctably, before the chief of staff. "What is this?" she said upon bringing it up for inspection.

"The blood of her clone. A Na'vi child named Kiri."

Ardmore's eyes immediately shot at Nagata but then relaxed again as she let her sight linger on the liquid. She reached for the receiver. "This is General Ardmore…"