For the first time since its erection, Homestead was quiescent. On this day, it was occupied more like the typical homesteads of old when men were off doing what men do, and the womenfolk remained. Casey had her desired aloneness, but it was still not enough. She needed out. CJ kicked up her heels and jogged to Wainfleet's cabin. Knocking on the door, she greeted his missus with a smile. "Kaltxì, Säro."
"Kaltxì, Seezay."
|"I am getting restless here. I was going to take my ikran to the centre of activity and see Qiáo. I don't want to leave you here alone, so…care to come with me?"|
Säro was pleased. |"That is kind of you to offer. Yes, let us go. I will fetch my beadwork."| When she went back to collect the baby collar, the expectant mother lingered for a moment, dwelling on the happy reason for its existence.
CJ walked Säro to the hangers and whistled for Baby's Back, and like a loyal dog, the banshee perched before her master. "You're a sweetheart, aren't you, Baby?" CJ rewarded her mount with a jerky treat, then stroked the saurian brow.
|"She is much more behaved than Ly'il's ikran."|
|"I bet,"| she laughed. The women climbed on and flew for the deeper city.
Inside the hospital lobby, men, waiting in seats, were continually eyeing the two beautiful giantesses standing at the receptionist's desk.
"Casey Jones Zdinarsk. Here to see Zhâng Qiáo."
The receptionist typed in the name, then leaned over to see the other giant present, who was struggling with the unfamiliar breathing apparatus.
"And uh…Bridgette Walker," CJ lied.
The wrong name was typed into the computer, and the two were cleared for the recombinant ward.
|"Thank you for inviting me, Seezay."|
|"Don't mention it. It's nice to have company."|
|"I thought you minded that I was Na'vi?"|
|"Not anymore. I'm realizing your people are a lot more complicated than what I was taught. You know, my job, back on my star, was coalition warfare?"| Säro did not understand the term, so CJ clarified. |"It's when you work with the warriors of another clan—that was my training. I signed up for it because learning about other cultures has always been an interest of mine."|
|"Then why train to fight us?"|
|"It's complicated. Maybe it's a good thing I'm retiring. I don't think I could bring myself to point a machine gun at innocents anymore…"| Casey paused and stood before Säro with a heavy thought. She fished out something from her pocket. |"I received this as an award for helping take back Txintseng Sawtuteyä. I was shot right away, so I actually didn't help or anything. In fact, it was Qiáo who stayed by my side the whole time, compressing my wound. That's how we became friends. Everyone else carried out the mission, and I just lied there—not even a single kill…" she chuffed to herself. "I used to be upset about that…"| Säro was very quiet as CJ thumbed the medal in deliberation. The recom screwed her lips, bobbed her head, then tossed the token into the trash. |"Come on, let's go see Qiáo. He's right in this room."|
The Marine entered delicately as if she caught her comrade in the middle of a light nap. "It's me, Z-Boy," she said, coming over to tap her fingers in his palm. His face was closed, hidden behind the tubes necessary to keep him alive. "Säro?" she asked.
The mother had already sat herself on the floor to begin her beadwork. "Sran?"
|"Would forming the bond really help him?"|
|"Do you have something you wish to speak into him?"|
CJ stared into the face of her sleeping friend when she answered, |"Yes."|
|"Then you should make the bond,"| Säro affirmed with delighted cheeks.
Casey took a breath and brought around her queue. She sat on his bed and carefully manoeuvred Zhâng's braid out from under him. Despite being nervous, she had made up her mind; she knew herself now and would go back once more—go back into that memory and do it over again. She brought the kurus together, and the two became one. The shock of the bond collapsed CJ onto her elbows, and she breathed to steady herself while slowly lowering her head upon his chest.
His vitals danced.
Shutting her eyes, CJ let her mind drift out into the great beyond.
"I live upstream and you downstream.
From night to night, of you I dream."
Her vision opened to a familiar, heavenly meadow where Mother Nature was conducting a choir of mating calls. She was unable to believe where she was; it felt so real. Turning by small degrees, with so much to take in, CJ walked herself around the sensory panorama slowly so as to not faint from the mirific wonders deluging her eyes. If everything else was how she remembered it, would—
"Casey?"
She whipped around and beheld him. "Q-Qiáo?"
"What's the matter, Z-Dog?"
"N-N-Nothing." She sniffed, cupping her mouth.
"Was my poem that moving?"
"Yes!"
He smiled handsomely. "You don't normally react that strongly to my poems."
She did not respond with words, only powerful facial contortions from her struggle to believe this was truly happening. Zhâng, being the tenderly observant man that he was, wasn't sure what was happening either as he looked back at Casey. "You alright?"
"H-How does the rest go?" she urged suddenly.
His previous concern took flight and, with ardour, recited, "Unlike the stream, you are not in view, / though both we drink from River Blue. / When will the river no more flow? / When will my grief no more grow? / I wish your heart will be like mine, / then not in vain for you I pine."
"It's not in vain." She trembled.
His brows creased up. "What?"
"Qiáo, I've been an idiot. I was wrong. I had it all wrong. You're the best person I know—that I'll ever know. You're noble. You're kind. You're— You're too good to be true. What right do you have being this way!" she accused. "Who do you think you are?—choosing me…"
Her words enchanted him to a total stillness. "You know how I feel about you?"
"I know, I know—a total shock, right? I'm sorry I'm so dense."
He hurried forward. "No, no, no… I mean… Casey, you're my friend, and we're soldiers… We shouldn't…" Though he made the effort, he could not bring himself to finish the sentence; his heart was not in it; his eyes declared a different sentiment.
"All a load of bullcrap. I love you."
The shock went straight through his neurons and fired off within, igniting every dot of his bioluminescence. "Wǒ?" Zhâng's mouth fell open, and the next thing he knew, CJ was filling the void. His arms rushed across her back as he took in her adoration in the most unexpected and purest of kisses. It broke and resealed, broke and resealed—each spark: greater in fervour and growing sweeter upon every contact.
"I… I want you to come back to me…"
"But, Casey, I'm right here?"
"I know, but—"
He interrupted her with his lips, then broke away. "Trust me, Casey. I will always be with you from now on…" He lowered her into another kiss, this time, unbreaking, as he set her down gently, with their bed, the lush meadow, their serenade, the sweet songs, and all to be witnessed by the transcendent presence of Eywa.
The perfume of flowers, the supple touch of skin—he awoke from his dream.
"Kiri?"
The eyes were green, not yellow; the hair, copper instead of onyx, and the freckles he perceived did not shine—it was a beauty but not his Na'vi.
"Mr. Socorro."
It was Daphne. Spider assessed the strange room he was in—dim, due to the shade-drawn window. He sat up, still feeling a bit sore even after his nap. He had told the doctors what happened, not so much the reason for it, and the injuries done to him by Quaritch were taken care of—all except one, inside where no doctor could reach. Spider clasped his hands over his bent legs and let his head droop. "What are you doing here?"
"I was asked to remain."
"By who?"
"By the lady outside. I wasn't given a name, so I assumed her a relative. She heard about how I found you this morning and was thankful for my 'heroism,' but all I did was call for help."
"You downplay yourself, Daphne," he mumbled. "I know you treated my injuries. I wasn't completely unconscious."
She blushed, having been found out. "It was just some gauze. You were making a mess, bleeding all over the grass. And you decapitated my roses. That will cost you dearly."
Spider spat out one helpless chuff. "It already did…"
"I still cannot believe you were attacked by a recombinant. How could 'Humanity's Last Hope' do such a thing? To be so beastly…?"
"You mentioned a relative?"
"I did. She waits for you outside."
Spider released his grip on the blanket. "Does she want to see me?"
"She instructed me to wait here until you woke up. Now that you have"—she sat up and collected her personables—"I should probably let her see you, Mr. Socorro."
"Why do you call me that?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"'Mr. Socorro.'"
She faintly cocked a shoulder. "Because it is proper."
"I don't call you 'Mrs. Moria.'"
She repressed a snort. "Miss, not missus. I am not married."
"Oh… Sorry. I didn't know there was a difference."
"All the same," she said, readjusting her fingers on the handles of her bag—it was old and faded but still charming. "I do prefer 'Daphne.'"
A weak grin was made. "I prefer 'Spider.'"
"Then, if you like, I shall call you that when others are not around. I can't risk being called out for forgetting rank."
"Sure. Will I see you around?"
"A crew will arrive to repair my mangled garden, so you won't see much of me until then. My job is only to maintain the grounds."
"Where will you be in the meantime?"
"Back with family. I have a father and mother who live deeper in the city. I'm lucky I can still reunite with them."
"What's the address?"
Her cheeks flushed from the question. She opened her bag, then stopped. "Uh, if I can be rude?"
"What is it?"
Her breathing became tight. "I would rather you didn't visit us. Please. But, if you like, it can be elsewhere, if… If you would like?"
"Please," he begged. "You're the only sane person in this whole city."
"So are you." Her shy eyes returned to her bag, where she lifted out some paper and penned something down. "This is my secondment. It would be impossible for you to get in, but you might catch me on the way out—in the evening time, around six."
He took the paper. "Kìyevame."
"Does that mean goodbye?" she asked earnestly.
"It can. It means, 'May I see you again soon.'"
She smiled as she placed the strap over her shoulder. "You have the oddest dialect of Spanish I have ever heard. Kìyevame, Spider."
He bowed his fingers from his eyes and watched as she left.
Daphne stepped across the peach-tiled floor, inlaid with ancient mosaics lifted from a city whose ruins had no more use for it. The hall was Mediterranean in its rich hues and love of hanging plants. The groundskeeper bowed her head to Miss Vandervelde.
"He awoke."
"You have done a service to me, dear child. Thank you."
"You are most welcome, madam. I shall take my leave."
"May our paths cross again, Miss Daphne Moria." Debora smiled at the young woman departing, then fixed her sights on the door to the patient's room. She reached for the handle, but it turned on its own accord—the boy known as "Spider" stepped out.
"Who are you?"
She grinned at his ignorance. "I am Ms. Debora Vandervelde."
"Is this your home?" he asked, taking a second to look around.
"You are in my temporary penthouse."
His shifting eyes kept her in his side view. "Why am I here?"
"It is the least I can do for my protégé."
"Protégé?"
"I am your benefactor. A pleasure to meet you at last, Miles."
"You're…" His finger raised in question. "You're my sponsor? I thought that was my father."
She paced the opulent room, gliding fingers over furniture. "Your father? Hmm… Interesting. Would you mind telling me who you think that is?"
"I have no idea."
"But you do know."
"I do?"
She inhaled with anticipation. "It's Miles Stephen Quaritch."
Spider looked away with an eye roll, tired of the old, worn-out theory. "No, it's not. He told me himself it wasn't."
"Because he doesn't know the full story."
He looked at her fiercely. "What do you know about me?" he demanded.
"All babies are called miracles, but you truly were one. The RDA did much more than just mining. They conducted research—important research—that I, and many others, funded. Our venture was noble—crucial. You might have even heard this phrase, 'Building a better tomorrow'? We were, Miles. We were building, planning and securing our future—the future of the human race. And it starts with clones."
It was the very last word that caused Spider to stagger.
"You see, with clones, it becomes possible for us, humans, to cheat death. But why stop there when you can strengthen the results with a modicum of Na'vi sRNA? Some might call it 'assisting evolution.' I like to think we were building an Adam for Pandora. The donors were selected by the adage 'survival of the fittest'—the ones who survived Pandora the longest, like your father, for example. Unfortunately, every clone made terminated before they reached the second trimester—the ones grown in vitro, that is. It was theorized that a womb would be more successful, so an outsider was solicited. The selected carrier agreed to all terms. I guess the thought of being a mother is really all it takes for some women."
Even when Spider backed away, holding out his hand in plea and falling onto a divan, Debora only continued her assault. "When Hell's Gate was raided, those cowards destroyed all that vital information in order to protect themselves. But you still lived, Miles! And not only did you survive on Pandora, you thrived! What everyone else dismissed as a futile effort, you have proven them wrong with your very existence!—You!—The first true Pandoran!" She reached out to touch his face.
"Stop!"
Debora stared into the bloodshot eyes of a man whom she pushed too far. "Are you upset to learn that you have Na'vi in you?"
"You're freaking me out, lady. I don't know who the hell you are, or what the hell you are talking about, but I— I—" Spider was rubbing his hair and pacing the room when he caught his reflection in a Baroque mirror. "I am not him!"
"No. You are Miles."
"I'm Spider!"
"A better version than your predecessor."
He wheezed with a murderous sputter. "Stop…"
Debora inched forward. "Embrace it, child. You will do better than that monster—a monster who beats his own son. You can right his mistakes—be a hero for humanity. You—the first man who truly deserves Pandora!"
"I said that's enough!" Spider snatched a Grecian urn and hurled it at his disgusting image, reflection and terracotta clay creating a new mosaic at his feet.
"Do you not think you deserve Kiri?"
Spider went pale and utterly, utterly still.
"Miles…you can have her. We can make that happen."
"What are you getting at?"
"Grow here on Bridgehead. If you please us, I will share with you more."
"You're lying… You're lying!"
"You're his clone, Miles." She tenderly smiled after gently walking past. "And drivers can only link to bodies of their genetic equivalent." She stopped at the door and said over her shoulder, "We will meet again."
She left him there, the most conflicted man on all of Pandora, there, in her private ward.
To let slip the dogs of war is to never leash them again; their wrath and vengeance will wage till there is nothing left to devour and flames die out of themselves. Insurgencies are the wildfires of a populace, with their aftermath much the same: smouldering grounds filled with charred bodies and collapsed homes. Both believe in equality, making no distinction between classes, young or old, guilty or innocent; all fall victim to its wave. They strip the past and pave the way for the future—this is how they're justified—but in the end, when one honestly looks upon all the violence, death and devastation, they would humbly concede that this "positive" outcome was only a silver lining to an avoidable tragedy.
Gathered ominously around the nailed-up kuru stood the serfs. Reyneyat was gnashing his teeth as he paced before his clan. |"This is our fate!"| he roared, pointing to the gruesome display, and the riled Na'vi murmured their discontent as he continued to preach. |"We can't stand by any longer!"|
|"We should never have come here."|
|"What can we do?"|
In a commanding voice, the speaker carried on. |"Zwefnawo knew this day would come. He had planned a retaliation, but with his loss, it is up to us to carry it out!"|
"Reyneyat!" shouted Tung'tay. |"Zwefnawo's plan was sabotage—among us three!"| he stressed. |"You cannot bring in the whole tribe. Think of our clan outside these walls! Think of what the Skypeople will do to our families."|
|"Tung'tay. Since Zwefnawo's disgrace, our Anurai no longer come into this land. Do you not know what that means? For all we know, the Skypeople banished them from our homeland—or worse!"|
His insinuations caused many to cry out in fear, |"That is true. The caravan has not shown."|
|"What if Reyneyat is right? That we are the last of the Anurai?"|
|"Our clan is dead…"|
|"Then, their spirits shall ride with us into battle! The pact is broken, brothers and sisters. We owe no more debt to the Skypeople. It is now they who owe us. And we shall make them pay!"|
|"What of the rekoms?"|
|"I just came from there,"| Reyneyat revealed. |"The rekoms have all left camp! Nothing stops us now."|
Some of the crowd murmured in shock.
|"But how can we battle the Skypeople?"|
|"My clan!"| Reyneyat roared. |"Remember Rider of Last Shadow! Remember the Na'vi he led to battle against all odds! They held their lives cheap for the sake of their children's children! To know this story is to repeat it!"|
|"Sivako!"| shouted a woman. |"We have no future in this wicked land. We will end it as true Na'vi!"|
|"For Zwefnawo! Death to the Skypeople! Death to every alien!"|
|"We will send a message to every Skyperson! To every demon! And to that woman with the rotten queue who betrayed her father!"|
With raised arms, they roiled themselves into a mad fury. The Na'vi who lost connection to Eywa had only their injustice to guide them. The green they once knew was gone, and all the orphans saw was red.