Movements & Machinations — Chapter XXVII
Bridgehead
The discordant clip-clop of black boots and brown suede shoes quickened with each stride as Dr. Eric Hurley led the team from the corner rooms of the lower levels to the stairs leading to the administrative tower. His wrinkled white lab coat billowing behind him like a tempestuous flag that never touched his legs, showcasing an urgency he hadn't displayed since his intern days in the AVTR Program where all he did was shuttle coffee to whomever needed it. But today, especially on the final turn of the corridor where he almost broke into a sprint, he wasn't here to bring coffee. He had something better.
Tech Sergeant Hathaway felt the same excitement too. He even went out of his way to press and clean his SecOps uniform to make sure there wasn't the slightest hint of a crease to be had; going as far as securing boot polish from the black market, a place reeking of porno vids and liquor, and where valuables were traded for anything needed. And today, he selected the highest grade of polish they had in return for the most expensive watch that he bought back on Earth. It tickled everyone there to think anyone would trade that watch for some boot polish but here he was. Desperate. Because if they were going to get the greenlight from General Ardmore then he needed to make the most out of a good impression.
Though outward confidence portrayed a seasoned soldier who had faced death a dozen times over, the two months training alongside Dr. Hurley hadn't erased his anxieties. He was still on the edge despite having gone through every little detail possible in the past two months. He probably knew more than Dr. Hurley did but truthfully, he wasn't sure if he still qualified for the mission. He was a soldier. Not an avatar driver. More specifically, not an inversion driver of an avatar. If that made any sense. But just in case the General decided to give him a pop quiz on the spot, he would be ready to answer any of her questions she might have for him.
And to be completely thorough, he began with the "inversion" process itself. A complicated process that could render him brain-dead if they got it wrong. He understood that he would need several injections of drugs known to have side effects; side effects that, if they weren't careful, could paralyze him or turn him into a vegetable. Not exactly pleasant. Then, if everything went according to plan, he would be placed in a specially built link unit designed to kick Rayan Asher from his avatar. That part of the process hadn't been tested yet, but they believed it would work based on simulations and tests of other link units. By this point, if they managed to get everything right and he was still alive, Rayan Asher should be without an avatar to drive, and Tech Sergeant Hathaway would assume role of Asher's avatar.
That about summed up the whole inversion process. But it still made him nervous knowing he could die in the middle of it all. To ease any problems with accepting the mission, Ardmore told him that by removing Rayan Asher from the picture, it was going to pave way for the RDA's colonization efforts on Pandora.
If he succeeded that is.
It was going to be the biggest operation on this side of Alpha Centauri since Colonel Quaritch launched a raid on the Na'vi. Because of it and because this operation was deemed classified and utterly dangerous if anyone found out what he was going to do, he was given a personal guard detail who followed him at all times. Though, not just any guard detail. They were designated as 'Detachment λ'—or Lambda—a rumored force as ruthless as they were secretive, created solely for one purpose: to operate outside of the RDA rules. In other words, they were Ardmore's personal paramilitary who took orders only from her. A redundancy plan of sorts in the event the RDA decided to circumvent the four-star General and depose her power to someone like Charles Stringer. It was her way of having a ka-bar knife up her sleeve instead of some ace of spades that might sour on her.
These were the guards marching to the rear of Hathaway at the moment. If anyone had questions or concerns of who these men were, the patch above their right breast would offer a clue to who they might be with the words JANITOR spelled out in bold lettering.
So far, no one bothered to question them. Not because they thought they were janitors, but because these men exuded an aura of lethality. Their cold stares and confident strides suggested they could kill a thanator with their bare hands, and likely could.
Directly up ahead of the hallway was the frosted glass doors leading into the administrative offices that overlooked the Bridgehead City airport. A few figures hustled in and out, their hurried steps painting a picture of a normal workday. They passed the group as Eric swiped his security card against the access point. A solid green light granted them entry and with a firm tug, the door yielded, allowing Hathaway and the others to precede him before he clamped it shut behind them.
The light on the access point turning back to red.
Inside, the nerve center of Bridgehead City hummed with controlled activity. A dozen or so people, mostly administrative staff, sat at their desks, their fingers flying across digital keyboards or speaking through their headsets, coordinating unseen tasks. Some were far too engrossed to notice the men in grey and black, while others, with a hint of curiosity glinting in their eyes, peeked over their coffee cups or tablets as the group ascended the stairs towards the more private area of the tower, their footsteps thudding with a quiet purpose on the steps.
As soon as they disappeared, whispers abounded between employees. "Who are they?"
"Don't know," someone else answered. Truth is, no one knew everyone at Bridgehead to know who wanted to see the General. Let alone the man in the white coat that some recognized as Dr. Hurley, who everyone saw as Ardmore's personal scientist. But still, it was certainly strange and everyone could feel it in the air that something was happening. Something big.
And they would be right. For the first time, Eric and his team achieved the impossible: successfully link an avatar while the driver was still operating it. However, putting that theory into practice was another challenge altogether, requiring Ardmore's approval to move forward. Nonetheless, showcasing the nanites' progress—bridging the avatar's psionics between the avatar and a link-bed without a human driver present—represented a major hurdle crossed, and Eric was instructed to deliver the news once Asher's network device signaled the possibility.
There were doubts, of course. Everyone had them. Eric especially raised his concerns with Ardmore about these problems. Namely, the salt balance of the avatar, which was regularly exercised from the body. Without enough salt, the nanites wouldn't thrive, wouldn't be able to do their magic. It was one of the reasons they packed the avatar's MRE with high contents of sodium. It seemed to work. Then there was the network device itself—a ticking time bomb of malfunctions and glitches. A real concern given that Rayan Asher, the driver of the avatar, was a newbie on both fronts. No one knew for certain if any of it was going to work.
Fortunately, none of those issues materialized, including the avatar's immune system, a serious potential threat Eric neutralized with a solution Danielle injected into the avatar. It kept the immune system from recognizing the nanites as foreign bodies and treated them as normal assets of the body instead. Despite this, the nanites were still too slow in infecting the avatar's body according to the feedback they received from the broadcasting signals of the network device. The problem was further hindered by the unobtanium rich environment of the Hallelujah Mountains. A problem that solved itself when the avatar left the mountains for the quarry for some reason.
It took time for the nanites to utilize the opportunity they were handed, but when they did, they spread exponentially, exceeding even the most optimistic projections Eric and his team had. They penetrated the blood-brain barrier and successfully linked into the brainstem, granting the team full access to the avatar. This was honestly quite the surprise, because after his talk with Ardmore about the possibility of initiating a remote hijack of the avatar, he stated that the nanites weren't fully operational and integrated just yet to do so. But the day after Eric's conversation with Ardmore? The nanites did their job and on this morning, he was coming with good news: the nanites had indeed succeeded.
Inside Ardmore's office, the woman stood alone, her hands fidgeting with a pen that had recently scratched across a notepad in a flurry of anxious scribbles. The notes detailed plans for extending operations to the uncharted Pandoran oceans, an ambitious and unapproved endeavor the RDA knew nothing about—yet. But approval was going to come, she was certain, because no one was going to deny the results of the anti-aging properties they found in… what did he call them? Tulkun. Easier to say whale by the looks of it. But just in case the RDA balked and got nervous at the idea of poaching precious whales, the notes would vanish in flames later, and their contents committed to memory.
Shifting her gaze to the four viewscreens dominating the wall, each a window to a different reality with one screen displaying the bustling chaos of Bridgehead's airport, another showing the exterior of her own office, and a third held a paused video of a technician aboard the Manifest Destiny, presumably about the report on the progress of the recombinant soldiers, and the fourth, she tapped on to resume.
"I would say nearly all the delegates are on our side with this one, General," Donald Yanick's voice, filtered through static and electronic hum, and compressed down to be sent through the superluminal network, crackled through the speakers. The result of the four-light-year degradation from Earth to Pandora. "The holdouts, of course, are from the usual suspects—the ever-moralistic and grandstanding country of France and some cautious East Asian countries. Their reservations about this operation stems from philosophical disagreements, not so much their tactical concerns. The good news is that they are open to the idea of a pacifying the Na'vi. That will definitely work in our favor. But, it's still a no. So far."
He paused, the faint sounds of other voices filtering through the connection before he continued. "And yes, Mr. Kovac did deliver your letter to the UNE Assembly. We got a few encouraging nods from the fence-sitters, but nothing concrete. But I wouldn't worry about it too much, General. The RDA board is firmly behind your plan, and we're confident we can sway those naysayers. In the meantime, we advise caution. Going in without their support would be like trying to fight a wildfire with nothing but a couple of broomsticks and a rabid raccoon. So… uh, for now, I guess we'll be waiting for your report about the development of the city. We do have some contractors who are desperate to make bids at the moment and as soon as the word comes down from you that the city is fully developed, then we'll begin the bidding war on our end. That's all. Stay safe out there, General Ardmore."
The message abruptly ends, leaving the woman alone once more with her thoughts and the silence of her office. She took a deep breath, her hand tightening around the pen. The RDA was on board, but the international community wasn't convinced. Her eyes flicked to the date of the last message on the screen. Almost two months ago. Had they approved her plan by now? Rejected it outright? Or were they still debating about it? The answer was going to remain a mystery for now.
Knock, knock.
The sharp rap on the door jolted her out of her contemplation, causing Ardmore to flex her jaw muscles. She wasn't expecting visitors today. In fact, she made it clear to everyone that she was very busy. But seeing that the interruption piqued her curiosity, her gaze darted to the corner viewscreen. The live feed from the exterior camera displayed four men, one instantly recognizable by the ugly white lab coat that seemed to glow under the harsh lights, and the others, she could barely make out.
Drawing a finger to the touchscreen, she tapped on it. A microphone symbol flickered to life, signifying her control over the communication channel.
"Come in," Ardmore's voice echoed through the speakers.
Eric opened the door and dipped in a respectful nod, accompanied by a curt, "Ma'am." He shuffled aside, making space for Hathaway who stepped forward and saluted the General. Following them were two men she recognized as Corporal Monk and Corporal Wilhite. Their synchronized salutes were followed by a routine retreat to their positions by the door, hands folding behind their backs in a display of military discipline. If anyone planned on barging through the door right now, they were going to find themselves in a world of hurt.
Eric's initial surprise at the utilitarian nature of Ardmore's workspace quickly morphed into mild inquisitiveness. Unlike most standard setups, her desk wasn't positioned to greet visitors directly. Instead, it sat at an angle, its focus partially aimed at the large picture window overlooking the bustling crossroads. The administrative tower and the half-completed civilian building intersected there, a constant reminder of the dual priorities of the colony: administration and expansion. A sliver of his attention, however, seemed to drift unknowingly towards the figure visible on one of the finished apartment balconies. He was standing outside, wearing a mask to breathe the Pandoran air and cooking something in a makeshift barbecue pit. White and black smoke rose from the pit, wafting to the east. The scene confirmed Eric's suspicions. He was really cooking… something.
Whatever that something was, Eric didn't want to think about.
He immediately snapped his attention back to Ardmore, only to catch himself staring at the impressive arsenal that held court on her wall. It was a daunting collection of firearms, each meticulously cleaned and displayed, speaking volumes about their owner's expertise and preparedness. Yet, amidst the lethal hardware, one object stood out like a sore thumb—a broken spear. Its intricate design, alien yet oddly familiar with swirling patterns etched across the smooth wood, hinted at Na'vi origins. The haft was jaggedly snapped near the base, leaving a raw, uneven edge that looked like it could pierce the skin if touched at the wrong angle.
Ardmore's sharp eyes immediately caught Eric's lingering gaze, a faint amusement flickering across her features as she acknowledged his silent observation. "Fon. African." she told him as she shuffled papers around her desk to make way for her attention to be fully on Eric. "I take it that you've got some news for me since you've brought Tech Sergeant Hathaway here with you."
Eric nodded. A tug of a smirk wanting to form but he held it back. "We did it."
Ardmore quirked a brow. "Are you certain?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Show me," Ardmore commanded, her eyes narrowing, not in disbelief, but in anticipation of what she believed will turn the tide of this miserable moon in the favor of humanity.
Eric's hand waved over the link bed as he explained the process of what he called 'inversion' to General Ardmore. He knew she understood some aspects, having gone over it many times before, but just in case she didn't, he emphasized key elements of the process and explained in depth what they did. This included how the specially modified neural interface would allow Hathaway to seamlessly take over the avatar's biological functions once the link was completed.
She seemed to grasp most of the concepts Eric laid out but there was a twinkle of uncertainty lingering in her eye about the inversion process. "But will it work?" Ardmore finally asked.
Eric's reply was measured, confidence woven with just a hint of humility as he answered, "Well… we need to test it to be sure, but the simulations we ran looked promising. Of course, nothing beats the real thing as there is always unknowns when running it live."
"Then… how do you know it will work?" she pressed, her gaze unwavering, challenging.
Eric met her gaze head-on, "because I trust my calculations, and because I wouldn't be pushing so hard for this if I didn't believe in its potential."
"You seem pretty damn sure of yourself, doctor, but that doesn't tell me anything." Ardmore remarked. There was a small hint of annoyance at play with her words.
He kept his tone relaxed, but there was a bit of stress underlining his words. "Listen, General," he said while his hands naturally reverted back into their pockets. "I've been in this program since I graduated from MIT. I was part of the pioneering team who developed the avatar's capabilities to… pass their genes to their offspring when Chimera was still a thing."
Chimera. The doctor closed his eyes at the word. Remembering all the faces of those on the team who helped him. Nostalgia was a very strong drug and to bring up Chimera again took him back to a time when the Avatar Program was advancing on many fields, up until there was a man named Jake Sully who ruined it all.
No matter. His brainchild, Janus, was going to resurrect the program as a serious, scientific endeavor. Not some toy to galivant and knock a Na'vi up with. Even if that was the intent behind Chimera in the first place. Although that project was meant to pacify the Na'vi at a much slower rate than Janus was going to do. In any case, the avatar program wouldn't be buried anymore. It would rise again, stronger and more advanced than ever before.
As for Jake Sully? He would become an irrelevant footnote in the program's glorious history. More like a mistake that no one should regard or accept as a true avatar driver. "But if you don't think this can work, then we can do a short test."
"A test? What kind of test?"
"Yes. A test for connection—to see if we can execute the inversion. Good thing is, it will be about a minute long. This way, if anything happens, and we're unable to pull Hathaway out, the redundant systems will kick in and do it for us. As for Rayan, he'll be kicked out from the avatar, believing it's a simple connection drop."
"Will he have any idea of what's going on?" Ardmore inquired.
Eric shook his head. "Not at all. Danielle, my assistant, told him beforehand that the connection between Ticonderoga and where he currently operates is spotty at best. He won't think anything of it."
"And this minute long connection with Mr. Hathaway. Will anyone on the other end realize it's Hathaway?"
"As long as he doesn't try to do anything out of character. No one will notice. He can be in the body. Operate it like an ordinary avatar and even talk if he wants to. It will sound like Rayan. Though… I have told him he shouldn't talk." Eric shared a look with Hathaway that meant he really shouldn't try.
Ardmore bit at her lip and took a casual look around the room. Her thoughts shuffling on various concerns and their consequences about pushing forward with Janus. She still didn't have the word from the higher ups to proceed, and without their permission, it would be reckless, not to mention dangerous to do it without their permission. If there were to be any trouble, that is. Though she didn't think there would be much trouble if they just conducted a one-minute test. They already stood precariously close with having a war with the Na'vi, and if she did anything outside the boundaries she was given, then she would be held responsible for it. But… if Janus proved they could sneak around those blue bastards and pull the wool over their eyes, then it was going to stand to be a major win for the RDA.
In her search for an answer, Ardmore's gaze darted between Eric, his face radiating self-assured ambition; then to Tech Sergeant Hathaway, lying serenely in the link bed, seemingly oblivious to the tension; and Spall, who sulked by the table, arms crossed and expression brooding. Finally, scratching her eyebrow in a gesture of indecision, Ardmore rolled her head side-to-side before giving Eric a hesitant nod. The die was cast. Janus would be activated.
"Okay. Then let's test it."
Eric grinned and Hathaway seemed more pleased by the fact they were finally doing this. It was a long time coming.
"So," Eric said to Hathaway, "it's going to take a while for the connection to successfully link with the avatar. You'll feel tingling throughout your body as the connection attempts to boot Rayan out of the avatar. Once that happens, you'll blink into the avatar as though nothing ever happened. Just stay cool, remain calm, and if anyone asks you what happened, don't answer. We'll pull you out before anything serious happens. Got it?"
Hathaway flashed a thumb's up.
"Good. Alright. Spall, I need you at your station."
"Got it," Spall said begrudgingly, as though he didn't want to do this but pulled himself to do it anyways. He was, after all, being paid more than ten years' worth of what an avatar technician would normally be paid in a single year. But, something about this simply didn't sit right with him and he wasn't sure what their plan was to do with Rayan's avatar.
Dr. Eric Hurley moved himself by the computer attached to the link bed. His fingers clicking on several programs to execute. When they were all loaded, he pressed enter and then…
High Camp — …Twenty Minutes Earlier
The word wouldn't form on Amanti's tongue. It refused. Sealed shut behind a mouth that trembled at the very thought of hurting her daughter with it. A word she had spoken a million times, even without the slightest infinitesimal guilt to stab her with had become a poison blade against her will, twisting and turning until her insides was as hot as the surface of the sun. An impossible pain she could never avoid, no matter how much she tried. No matter where she turned to. The pain would be there, serving as a reminder of who she wasn't—a mother.
She curled her hand into a fist. Say it! She shouted to herself again. But she couldn't. The word turned to ash, choking her with the forgotten love that she once knew of. She started to believe that the others were sensing her cowardice and bowed her head in retreat. The cascading curtain of dark hair hiding the tremors on her lips, as though someone around her was going to find out that she was nothing more than a failure of a mother.
I am.
Her tail felt limp and her ears folded at the acknowledging thought. She was showing weakness before the Tipani. She couldn't do that. She needed to be strong for the People. But her cowardice was making it difficult on the Olo'eykte. To maintain some semblance of strength, she gripped the staff harder, its sturdy structure keeping her from tilting over as the prevailing thoughts swirled around her, trying their hardest to kick her out from underneath. But she held still, even as the beads and shells adorning the staff rattled like tiny, frantic voices, subconsciously telling everyone that Amanti wasn't who she said she was.
The reality was, no one caught Amanti's anxiety. No one except Srìlo and he was concerned for her wellbeing. Not because she was a bad mother or a bad Olo'eykte. He was a son who dearly loved his mother that he felt it was imperative to be by her side when her injury to her head threatened to take her away from him. So when he heard the staff rattle, he turned to look at her but couldn't find her eyes as the hair made it impossible. He took a step around and faced his mother instead. And with pleading eyes, he said, "mother, please, sit down, rest."
But Amanti wouldn't yield—wouldn't answer his request. She had to stand tall, face the fear head-on, like a true mother should.
A mother? That I am not. She gritted her teeth and started to sob.
Tsmupxa began to notice that his mother was shaking against him as he held onto her with his arm. It was slow at first, thinking it was just a tremor here or there because honestly, seeing Kxeyìn in her condition was… abhorrent to the Tipani. Even he couldn't escape the emotional wrath and sadness that subsided within the warrior to be. But after each decimating attack she committed to herself, she started to unravel, and fast. He glanced over and saw her paleness, the dots on her face gone. He hesitantly asked if she wanted to sit, but his words bounced off her like wind against stone. Unanswered and unacknowledged.
Meanwhile, Fmilam wasn't quite finished with Kxeyìn. Since arriving with the Olo'eykte, she had been painstakingly examining the young woman's leg, carefully assessing where it was broken and where it wasn't while trying her hardest to minimize additional pain for Amanti's daughter. One might assume that the brace would be a dead giveaway as to where her leg was broken. But Fmilam was no healer who took her job by visual analysis alone. Especially when it came to Sky People devices. She asked earlier of Jake if it was possible to remove this contraption and he said yes. She had assumed as much since this thing that Jake referred to as a 'brace', was merely there to serve as a way to hold her bones in place. Similar to a splint. At the same time, it didn't tell her much about the precise severity of the fractures. Only her fingers, the instruments of healing now turned into harbingers of agony, could diagnose that. Even the lightest touch was causing Kxeyìn to cry out in pain, which seemed to stab Fmilam with guilt every time.
"I am sorry, Kxeyìn," she said against her ear. "But I must do this."
After several seconds of closing her eyes to hear Kxeyìn's breaths, Fmilam pursed her lips into a thin line, and began guiding her fingers up the injured leg, starting with her foot. "If it hurts," she warned, "tell me."
Kxeyìn closed her eyes, signifying she understood.
"You listen wonderfully, Kxeyìn. This is why you belong with the Olo'eykte. You are both strong. I thank you."
After gently brushing Kxeyìn's hair, Fmilam proceeded, moving slowly but steadily, with immense patience, from her ankle and up her leg. Whenever Kxeyìn hissed, Fmilam would stop, look at the young woman, and wait patiently until she was ready again. It was a delicate dance, one that required an almost supernatural understanding of the injured and the wounded to know when to stop and when to press on. But eventually, she found a new kind of swelling around the shins, just beneath the knee.
Her ears flattened against her skull in a posture of quiet observation as she applied just enough pressure to gauge Kxeyìn's response. The hiss and flare of fangs confirmed her suspicion: she had found the fracture the humans had missed. She glanced at Tsmupxa, who was watching with reserved trepidation, and informed him of her discovery.
The humans, with their advanced medical tools, were able to identify the major breaks to put the brace around the affected site but had forgotten that Na'vi bones were of a carbon-fiber material, and as such, the hairline fractures were much more difficult to see on an x-ray.
"You will be healed soon enough, young Kxeyìn," Fmilam soothed as she brushed her hair. "But to walk will require… training again."
Kxeyìn gulped back the pain, unsure what brought her greater discomfort: the news of the additional fracture or the prospect of walking again. Through tears, she peered up at Fmilam and asked weakly, "When?"
Fmilam wasn't sure, and she wouldn't answer Kxeyìn, let alone Amanti. This required time, much more time because right now, Fmilam's focus was on making Kxeyìn feel better. She reached into her weathered pouch and produced a small, brightly colored fruit. The same one she had offered Amanti earlier.
Kxeyìn recognized it instantly. Hunger gnawed at her, and the thought of food momentarily eclipsed her pain. Fmilam, noting her greedy eyes, smiled as she placed a dry sample on Kxeyìn's tongue to chew on.
"Eat," she said.
The flavor was sweet on her taste buds and warm going down, making her feel relaxed after a while. She wanted to doze off, but not before Fmilam took care of the ugly fabric hugging young Kxeyìn's body.
She removed a blade from her chest guard and began to cut the shirt from the collar down, which revealed more bandages that were not noticeable at first glance. Fmilam didn't think anything of it until Amanti finally let out a gasp, her hand cupping her mouth as she felt her knees give way. The healer stopped to look over her shoulder, to make sure Amanti was alright. But she wasn't. The Olo'eykte fell with Srìlo and Tsmupxa barely catching their mother.
"Mother!" Tsmupxa cried. Srìlo, overwhelmed by her weight, sank to the ground with her.
"Maite!" Amanti finally cried out, the word escaping her lips at last.
She crawled until she was able to reach out and touch her broken daughter's form. She suckled back on a sob, believing she wasn't that terrible in shape when they first arrived to see her. But when she touched a part of Kxeyìn's wound and looked at the pads of her fingers to find the crimson stain of her daughter's blood, Amanti fell apart.
"Maite. Maite." She reached out with her hand out to grab Kxeyìn's. "Please. Take my hand."
Through the haze of the fruit-induced drowsiness, Kxeyìn heard her mother's plea. Her voice, faint and flickering, came from the corner of her vision. She had waited to hear her mother and now, mustering the last dregs of strength, Kxeyìn reached out, her hand trembling as it met her mother's hands.
The pressure was immense, but Amanti would have borne it a thousand times over if it eased her daughter's suffering. "I am sorry. Your ears will not accept my excuses. But.. I am…" Amanti's voice started to tremble as tears trickled down each cheek. "…a mother that has failed you, maite."
"No..." Kxeyìn rasped, the word barely escaping her lips.
"I am," Amanti insisted.
Kxeyìn squeezed her eyes shut, the self-accusation slashed deeper than any flesh wound or broken bone could ever do to her.
No, she thought. It was not true.
She was the one who soothed her with lullabies sung under the starlight, the one who cheered her victories and cradled her wounds. To be the one to welcome her from long hunts and to laugh with her at her poor jokes. Without her, there was no Kxeyìn. And to hear her mother say this… it was wrong. Absolutely wrong.
But when Kxeyìn opened her eyes to refute the lie, a glimmer caught her attention. It was a familiar glint hung from Amanti's neck that silenced her mouth as its dull hues pulled her gaze deeper. Unsure if it was, she squinted, the blurry vision sharpening. Her ears stood up. It was indeed her necklace—the one she'd crafted as a child with her tiny fingers. But I thought... her mind fumbled, thoughts tangled like the necklace's intricate beads, unable to say what was at the tip of her tongue as the words she so desperately sought, quickly deserted her, replaced by a fresh wave of tears. With her trembling finger, she traced the pad along the familiar pattern as she said: "Ma... fkxile..."
Amanti met her daughter's gaze and for a heartbeat, the world around them dissolved, leaving only a mother and daughter, their souls bared beneath the light of the cave. "Yes..." she choked and brought the necklace up for Kxeyìn to touch. The mother's lips curved into a faint smile when she grabbed it. Amanti couldn't hold it back any longer. Tears welled up, blurring her vision as she mumbled, "Yes... it is, maite," the words heavy with unspoken apologies and a lifetime of unspoken love.
"I love you, mother."
Amanti clung to that single word, 'love,' for a fleeting moment before burying her head in her daughter's hand, her own sobs wracking her body. "I love you, maite!" she cried, the words a torrent of relief, regret, and the fierce, unwavering love that bounded them together.
Neytiri's composure shattered upon seeing the raw joy on Amanti's face. Unwilling to crumble in front of the Omatikaya or Tipani, she spun away, crouched down, and cried quietly. The fear of possibly losing a child, let alone not knowing their fate, was unimaginable. This, compounded by the realization of Amanti's powerlessness to save Kxeyìn, struck a deep chord with the tsakarem. Such an ordeal was something Neytiri never desired to endure in any life, neither for herself nor her children, because the pain, she believed, would be too much to bear, perhaps even fatal for the mother.
With a shuddering breath, the last tremor escaping in a silent sob that left a glistening track down her cheek, Neytiri stood up and just as she brushed it away, Jake appeared at her side, his warm hand reaching for hers. Her eyes found his as their fingers intertwined, a familiar comfort after the harrowing experience.
"Are you okay?" Jake asked gently.
In the warmth of his hand and the comfort of his gaze, the fear that had gripped her heart moments ago began to fade into nothingness. She reached up and cupped his cheek, the touch lingering for a moment before she leaned in and pressed her lips into his. The kiss was longer than intended, fueled by her immense gratitude for their survival.
Pulling away, she breathed against him, "I am, ma Jeyk."
He smiled back, relieved. He might never know what transpired during her attempt to fly out of the mountain crevasse, but that didn't matter. She intended to forget it. It wasn't a problem. Her primary concern now was Kxeyìn, the young Tipani woman. Glancing over her shoulder, Neytiri signaled to Jake with her eyes that she wanted him to accompany her as they checked on Kxeyìn's condition.
Turning back, they stepped forward between her ikran and Kxeyìn lying on the ground.
Kxeyìn was still clinging to her mother's hand and smiling with thankfulness to her mother when Neytiri spoke, her tone trembling with gratefulness. "You are a brave warrior, young Kxeyìn," she said, a ghost of a smile gracing her tear-streaked cheeks.
"Irayo, Neytiri," Kxeyìn said weakly. Amanti also thanked Neytiri.
Minutes later and Kxeyìn was carefully transported back on a makeshift cot towards the Tipani camp. Jake looked on, his arm around Neytiri's waist and her head against his chest.
"We need a vacation," Jake suddenly said, perking Neytiri's ears at the words. "Va…ca…tion?" She carefully pronounced it before turning up to look at him. "What do you mean?"
He glanced down at her, grinning. "You know—a vacation. Somewhere to get away from all this. Just you, me, the kids, and the road. Somewhere sunny. By the coastline. With martinis in our hands."
"The… mar… I am confused, Jeyk," her tail flicked in annoyance. What were these words of his?
He simply smiled again. "I'm just glad to be with you."
She furrowed her brow, then, with a sigh, nestled her head against his shoulder once more, watching as Kxeyìn and the Tipani disappeared back to their tents.
"Let's go see our kids, huh?" Jake tugged on Neytiri's arm gently.
Light returned to her eyes. She had been waiting all day to see them again. Now that Kxeyìn was safe with the Tipani, her mind returned to her own family.
The metal chair, scavenged from the corner of the tent, screeched under Jake's hand as he dragged it across the uneven rock floor, mimicking nails to a chalkboard, until he saw Rayan blinking up towards him. The diplomat of course winced and cupped his ears, wondering what the hell Jake was doing as the Marine spun the chair around to have the backrest facing the avatar before slamming it as hard as possible to establish that this meeting was serious, but also to spook Rayan into showing dominance between the two. It didn't really work but Asher was glad that Jake came back in time before he had fallen asleep and disconnected. Then, with the comfortable ease of a man who'd dealt with countless interrogations in the past, sat down and crossed his arms over the chair's back before putting on an expression that suggested he was well pass any kind of BS Asher was cooking up behind those groggy eyes of his.
"So… Rayan," Jake began, his voice gravelly with fatigue as he pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging the part that had not felt sleep in a while. "It's been a very long day. My dogs are barking, my wife is emotionally drained and my sons are annoyed with me. So how 'bout we just cut to the chase? Hmh? I ask the questions and you answer. Got it?"
Asher batted away sleep clinging to his lashes. It was funny, really. The jarring noise, the intimidating posture from Jake—none of it fazed him, and to show it, Asher stretched languidly into the air while releasing a yawn that poked at Jake's annoyance. After he had his fill, he laid down his arms and met the Marine's gaze; a flicker of amusement twinkling faintly in his tired eyes.
"Took you long enough," Asher said with a hint of sarcasm that was difficult to extrapolate under his yawn.
"That's what happens when you have a family," Jake retorted. "You want to spend time with them but assholes like yourself tends to really screw with the flow. And trust me. I had a really good flow going on."
How long did it take him anyways? Judging from his broken watch, Asher must've waited at least a good fifteen minutes before anyone resembling Jake came back. Around the five-minute mark of waiting around to see what would happen, Asher started to stare at the ground, contemplating striking up a chat with Norm. But seeing how the scientist looked utterly disinterested, Asher moved on. But after ten minutes, lo and behold, he started to hear Norm drone on and on about plants, fungi cultures, or whatever other scientific rabbit hole Norm had fallen into to Asher. He was also just about to reach the good part concerning the neural network of Pandora when Jake arrived.
Business. Finally. I can go back to my body soon. Asher thought.
Except, he didn't expect Jake to really put a thorn in Asher's side by dragging the damn chair against the ground. At least he was here. If not tardy.
"Interesting but uh, sure, I'll answer your questions." Asher then lifted an index finger. "But just so you know—I can't answer anything that might endanger RDA personnel. Alright?"
Jake leaned back; his gaze sharp. "What about the Na'vi? Are you willing to endanger them?" He was curious, genuinely curious as to where Asher leaned towards in helping the Na'vi—if he was here to help the Na'vi at all.
As if on cue, Asher's jaw clenched. He hated being pressured to choose sides. That included the mere subtlety in acknowledging where he sat on. Just because he was human didn't mean he sided with RDA, and his commitment to helping the Na'vi had its limits. But neither Ardmore nor Jake seemed to grasp the nuances of being a diplomat. Neutrality, however frustrating, was the name of the game and sometimes the game played him. Which was why he tried really hard not to pick a side. Even if, he was kinda leaning towards the Na'vi on this one.
Licking his parched lips, Asher answered anyways. "I've told General Ardmore the same thing I'm telling you now. I don't divulge any information that could harm or hurt the Na'vi or RDA."
The answer frustrated Jake, but he grudgingly respected it. "Fine," he conceded. "First question: what happened after you were captured?"
"We were picked up by the RDA."
"No shit. I mean. What happened?"
Asher knew he had to tread carefully. There wasn't anything in the pile of memories that might hurt him or the RDA but if he spilled the beans that they were holding the Na'vi as workers in some quarry against their will, then Jake would have every reason to attack and if he did, the peace treaty that may or may not happen, was for certain going to die. That, in turn, would give Ardmore the perfect excuse to unleash the RDA's might on the Na'vi. And he wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea of being the progenitor of a genocide.
So, he went with the simplest option: denial. "I don't know."
"Don't bullshit me," Jake snapped, but Asher interrupted before the accusation fully formed.
"I remember waking up in the avatar, inside a room, with her," he continued, referring to the captured Na'vi woman. "They found us. I don't know how, but they did."
"From the beginning, Rayan," Jake urged, curiosity battling annoyance.
"We were headed back to camp. I was by the Samson's open door as there were no seats left. Next thing I know, I was falling. Then I was disconnected. I tried reconnecting soon after, but nothing. We had to wait. I had to wait. We weren't sure if the avatar was alive to be connected. But we tried and tried and it wasn't until the next morning that I could finally access the avatar again. That's when I found myself in that clean room of sorts. It was like a hospital and she was there too, unconscious of course but alive. It seemed like they patched her up as best they could and fixed the avatar too."
"Why did they help her?"
"Beats me."
Jake sighed and slumped over the backrest. "The RDA doesn't help the Na'vi."
"Well they did here."
"Why? Who the hell wants to help the Na'vi? They would sooner kill them than help them."
A flash of Sato's face crossed Asher's mind as he thought about the next words to say. "I can tell you that a man by the name of Sato wanted to help out."
Jake chuckled. "Help out?"
"He said he wanted to help us both out. He wanted to show that the RDA wasn't here to hurt the Na'vi. But to help them."
Careful, Rayan.
"In what way?"
"Don't know. I guess… he was kind? Different? Couldn't really tell you. No mind reader, y'know?" Asher tapped on his temple for emphasis.
Jake glanced up to Norm who was hovering behind Asher and asked, "does the name ring any bells?"
"Sato?" Norm repeated, his mind searching through a series of faces and names to match. There was one Sato. Some old, wrinkled man. Norm thought he died. Guess not. He had a niche for messing with the Na'vi, last Norm heard anyways. "Uh yeah. One of the RDA's officers who oversees mining operations on Pandora. Just, one of many I think. Wasn't really paying much attention to the roster, Jake."
"Mining operation?" Jake inquired further.
Norm nodded. "Yeah. I mean, he was one of many. I guess he came back to finish what he started?"
Jake let his gaze fall back on Asher. "You said you were in a room, right?"
Asher nodded.
"Where exactly?"
Asher shrugged. "After I was granted permission to return, we both just took a Kestrel and flew back."
The eyebrow over Jake's right eye lifted. "So you're tellin' me you have no idea where you were? Even though you had to walk outside to get into a Kestrel?"
"Jake. This is my first time on Pandora. You really think I know every RDA installation on this moon?"
Find a way out of this, Rayan.
"Tell me what the outside looks like. In detail."
Asher scrunched his flesh brow. Now it was starting to feel like an interrogation.
"Ordinary RDA building. Grey. Unimaginative—"
"Was it massive?"
"The building?"
"The site. C'mon Rayan. Don't be an asshole."
"Couldn't say. I didn't have a tour around the place if that's what you're asking." His tail twitched and Norm noticed.
"How many personnel?"
"I didn't stop to count."
"You say you're some combat medic but wasn't trained to spot how many enemies there are?"
"They're not my enemies, Jake."
The Marine snorted. "You haven't seen what the RDA does to the Na'vi."
Norm gestured behind Asher and pointed to the avatar's tail to Jake. An indication that Asher was likely lying. Spotting this from the corner of his eye, Jake tilted his head, his gaze studying the face of the avatar. Wondering if it was true that he was lying. The only way to know was to trap him in a convoluted mess of lies.
Pretty easy.
"Alright," Jake said. "Fine. You don't know how many there are. Do you know, at least, where you were when the Kestrel lifted from the landing pad? Could you see the floating mountains? Any discernable detail you could pick out?"
Asher lifted his chin, a soft shadow playing across his brow. "Like I said, Jake, I don't indulge in those kinds of details. Even if I tried. My job is communication."
"So you do remember," Jake pressed, the words sharp.
"I—" Asher started, but the sentence fractured. Suddenly, he slumped forward and collapsed to the side of the chair, falling on the ground as his body twitched and his limbs spasmed uncontrollably.
"Whoa!" Jake roared, leaping from his chair. Norm was already there, kneeling beside the fallen figure. His hand pressed under Asher's nose as he spoke. "He's breathing and I can feel a pulse."
"What the hell happened?" Jake asked.
The avatar ceased convulsing and after a few seconds, the avatar coughed.
"Hey-hey, are you okay?" Norm asked as he curled an arm underneath Asher's avatar to help him up.
The avatar's wide, luminescent eyes darted around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings with a mix of shock and disbelief. It had worked. He could see, hear, feel... everything.
Norm's own confusion was written all over his face as he repeated his question. "Ryan. Do you know where you are?"
The avatar breathed deeply and finally tried to stand up. His legs felt wobbly and the body felt heavy. He looked at both his hands, much to Jake's unnerving observation that he shared with Norm.
"Thi-this is… funny," the avatar said unknowingly. He believed it was his inner-voice but somehow, that inner-voice came out from his lips and when he heard himself talk, the avatar stared up to Jake.
Norm's tail flicked. "What's funny?"
"Rayan? A-are you okay?" Jake asked.
Blinking, the avatar realized who was talking to him.
Jake Sully
Before anyone could question him, the avatar's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed. This time, Norm caught him.
"Norm, what the hell is wrong with him?" Jake demanded.
Norm looked up. "I haven't a clue. We better get him in the compound. Max might have an idea."
F.O.B. Ticonderoga
The klaxon's wail shattered the dawn stillness, a digital screech that yanked Danielle from her chair and sent Wade scrambling away from the cluttered mess on the table. He scooped her up in a hurried armful, their panicked breaths mingling as they raced towards the link unit room. Inside the dimly lit room, a bank of monitors near the link unit flickered like an ominous tableau. One screen, emblazoned with a medical display, screamed in red, the EEG sputtering wildly. Danielle's stomach lurched; her breath hitched in her throat. "Shit! He's gone epileptic!"
Wade pushed past her and practically slid across the floor towards the console like a man possessed. His fingers flew across the keyboard, faster than they ever had before, fueled by a desperation evident in his ragged breaths and the wild glint in his eyes. He darted between the monitor and the link unit, his voice tight with urgency. "Heart rate's erratic... brain waves all over the place... we're losing him!"
"I'm opening the link unit," Danielle echoed, pushing her fingers under the clamp and forcing it open.
In it, Rayan Asher writhed. His body convulsed in a violent dance; his muscles locked in a horrifying spasm.
"Oh shit!" Wade shoved Danielle aside and scooped Rayan into his arms. He didn't say anything else. He took Asher into the next room to his cot.
"Get the AED!"
Without hesitation, she sprinted back through the link room and into the ambient room. It took her a while for the gate to do its usual slow chore of the air exchange, but as soon as the light above the doorway turned green, she sucked in the remaining oxygen and held her breath as she poured into the ambient room to search for the AED drug. She looked about on the shelf, this time more orderly, and when she found the anti-seizure medication, she reached into the container and pulled it out. It was a tiny syringe. It would have to do. She then sprinted back onto her feet, went through the exchange gate again, and came back running until she was on her knees against the cot, trying to remove the safety cap of the syringe.
"Come on!" Wade shouted.
She plunged the needle into his arm and released her held breath.
Asher was still convulsing. They weren't sure if he was going to make it.
Bridgehead
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile, white glare on the sweat dripping down Tech Sergeant Hathaway's hairline. He stood stiffly at attention, despite the adrenaline still buzzing through his veins. General Ardmore loomed over him; her gaze as sharp as the knife at her hip.
"Report, Tech. Do it work or not?" she barked; her voice devoid of warmth. Standing next to her was Dr. Hurley, who believed it did in fact work by the way Hathaway was still with them.
Hathaway cleared his throat. "Operation went smooth, ma'am. But… there's somethin' you gotta know."
Ardmore's posture snapped rigid. The room, already tense, seemed to shrink further. "And what will that be, Tech?"
He swallowed hard. "Ma'am, I had visual confirmation on HVT Jake Sully."
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Ardmore's fists clenched, knuckles turning white against her olive fatigues. "Repeat that," she commanded, her voice low and dangerous.
"I saw Jake Sully, ma'am. If you want, I can go back in and kill him."
"No," Ardmore cut him off sharply, shaking her head with a finality that brooked no argument.
"Ma'am?"
Ardmore released a sigh that seemed to shake the very walls. "This operation," she said, her voice low and measured, "is about more than just eliminating Jake Sully."
"But ma'am—"
"You'll get your chance," she interrupted, her gaze unwavering. "But for now…" She paused, her eyes flashing with a steely glint. "I need you to understand the final phase of this operation."
She turned to the others in the room, her voice hardening like ice. "I need you all to vacate immediately. This is classified information, and none of you white coats have the necessary clearance."
Eric quickly moved to get everyone else out of the room and as soon as the door hissed shut, sealing them in their own sterile bubble, Ardmore spun back to Hathaway, her expression unreadable.
"Tech Sergeant Hathaway. From this moment forward, if you say anything about this detail. I will have you personally killed. Is that understood?"
Hathaway swallowed hard, the stark threat hanging heavy in the air. "Yes, ma'am."
"I mean it, son."
"Yes, ma'am. I do."
"Okay… okay," Ardmore nodded curtly, wasting no time on pleasantries. "Your new objective," she said, her voice cold and clinical, "is to infiltrate the Omatikaya's hide out. You are to mark the coordinates by the GPS on the watch that Asher has with him. Then, once you have the information, remember it. Afterwards, and this is the most critical step of the operation so pay attention."
Hathaway nodded.
"You are to find and locate the Tree of Souls. Once there, you will use the neural queue of your avatar to connect with the tree. The nanites embedded within the avatar will then infect the tree, spreading through its vast network and ultimately crippling the entire neural network of Pandora. Once that's achieved," she concluded, her voice laced with chilling triumph, "the Na'vi will be subdued without firing a single shot."
Hathaway stood stunned, the gravity of her words settling on him like a lead weight. The cold, sterile room suddenly felt suffocating, the fluorescent lights buzzing louder in his ears. He had signed up to fight, to kill, but this… this was something different, something far more… ingenious.
"Do you understand?" Ardmore asked.
He looked her in the eye, stood at complete attention and saluted. "Yes ma'am."
"Good. Once we have approval, I will call you over the landline in your quarters. If I say, 'green'. You are to go ahead and proceed with Dr. Eric Hurley. If I say, 'red'. You will stand down until further notice. Is that clear?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Excellent. And good job on the test, Tech Sergeant Hathaway. If this works…" she leaned into him. "You're going to go home with a massive pay package that will set you and your children and your children's children. For life."
A slow mischievous smirk spread across Hathaway's face. He honestly couldn't wait. "Understood, ma'am."