A new day broke upon the hero withering on the shores of a strange, distant land. The magnificent Polyphemus watched as the mortal drew an arm over his eyes to shield himself from the crepuscular rays that always emerge as the encore to a rain shower. Jake had been too fatigued to move out of the downpour. He had laid there with mouth open, choosing to let himself be drenched by the storm so long as he got a smattering more water than what his solar still collected. Now he was cold, wet, ringed by puddles, and half sunk in viscous sand, the grit of which clung to his arm till it dried and sprinkled down his tired face. Lingering in this state was fast losing him valuable warmth and energy—a fact that forced him to exit his inertia and resume the chore of living.
I have to get off this beach.
I have to get back home.
I have to help my family.
He had the resolve; he had the desire, but these sentiments dangled on a string that led nowhere, only beckoning his eyes to stare upon that which surrounded him utterly. How vast the ocean was, Jake thought, the unconquerable divider of worlds, sovereign and constant. Somewhere beyond its domain was the land of his family, and there he was on the wrong side of that border, unable to reach them.
His last memory of Neytiri was her throttled breath, reaching through his earpiece as Quaritch held her precious life in his grip.
Jake's face paled in horrible realization.
Is she even still alive? Neytiri!
He had to get back to her.
And how are you going to do that, Jake?
The inner voice—the only voice he had now—caused his head to droop, the shift reacquainting him with his shortened lifeline. What use was he without the one thing essential to life on Pandora?—the most crucial part of his existence—the defining trait that separated him from humans.
You're useless now…
You're no good to anyone…
You're back in that chair…
Exiled from love and duty, unable to serve and be needed, severed from his life as head of his family—Jake's shadow hid his face, and soon the man was sobbing uncontrollably on that lonely plane.
In and out, round and round—the world doesn't stop for the mourners. Against his wishes, Jake's mind stirred him from sleep. His eyes opened to darkness, where, after adjusting to the black, he perceived a delicate pattern of glowing dots.
Neytiri?
He reached out to stroke the naked back of his slumbering mate, seeking to pull her into himself and enjoy her laugh as she chided his presumptuousness; instead, his fingers landed in a puddle of muddy water. The enticing specks were only the shimmers of phosphorescent algae that enveloped his already chilled hands. This is when the castaway began noticing all the light that surrounded him. The nights he had been sleeping through were far more incredible than what the ugliness of his beach suggested. The stark black cliff face sparkled brighter than an engagement ring, and the spume that crept up and coated his side lit the moment it made contact. He'd been lost for so long he had forgotten where he was. Pandora.
Jake stood, and when he did, it felt like the magic around him heightened; whether his mind was spinning again or his eyes were just widening to the majesty of the bioluminescent world, being on his two feet suddenly felt profound. He roamed his beach to the extent of his domain and drank in the supernatural sensation that seeped through his skin. His awakened mind felt everything previously ignored, sensations beyond mortal. By a silent command that could not be dismissed, Jake looked beyond; and there, on the dark plain, was a lithe figure. He called out her name, and her hands raised. He spoke again, now racing towards, then suddenly, and without warning, he was engulfed by wet darkness. He thrashed about, trying to understand what was happening. Thousands of lights spun around him in chaotic disarray, and bitter water invaded his throat with such an unmerciful rush he felt like he was going to explode. The man was sinking when something began pushing him: a force from underneath. He was lifted to the surface, and he guzzled the air in frantic relief. Somehow, despite being surrounded by water, he was able to lie back, arms and legs out, and bob in a gentle float. His chest stopped heaving, and his heart calmed. Facing the night sky, Jake took in the world; it was cold and crisp and wonderful.
The warrior breached the calm basin with a lusty shake of his braided hair. Sunlight glistened off his black strands before the olo'eyktan dove again, this time for a touch longer, just lingering in the euphoria. His second breach was by the waterfall that his mate jumped through in playful attack. She submerged him completely for a slowed tumble that acquainted him with every flutter of her svelte, robust body. He sank further to outsmart her wrestle, then swam to the shallow end, where he stood up laughing. When she caught up with him, she was fully in his embrace after practically knocking him over in her jovial tackle, which ended in a kiss.
|"I love you."|
The sun turned in its heaven, and the breeze shifted in scents, but they remained in their private paradise unaffected by the world. The husband relaxed himself against a tree, enjoying the scintillating show of his wife wringing out her braids upon her throne of a water-kissed rock. Soon, she rose, and his loving eyes caught every droplet that curled down her leg. In excitatory skips, she made for where she hung two wraps of food. Unhooking both, she brought them to their smouldering campfire and began cooking.
He smiled and came over. "What do you got?"
She crushed a dried leaf that unlocked its spice and sprinkled it atop the searing meat, heightening its delicious appeal. "Txta ne'wll sa paykxi." She winked.
He was famished and drew his nose over the fire to take in the wonderful smell and proceeded to gag.
Jake was fired awake like an emergency avatar disconnect. He dry-heaved and spat out a mouthful of disgusting slime, his eyes trailing the gelatinous line of spit descending from his lips to a bloated carcass branded with his face imprint.
Oh, that's nice.
On doing a shoulder check while simultaneously scrubbing his tongue with his finger, Jake scoped his alien beach. Nothing was out of the ordinary, which only highlighted the strangeness of how this new element had come to be there. Did he make this kill himself, drag it ashore, then pass out from fatigue? Given his reduced abilities of late, it wasn't hard to believe. Jake took a cautious sniff.
Agh. Blech. Well, whether this was my doing or the ocean, it wasn't recent, that's for sure.
The Marine picked his teeth and grimaced the longer he contemplated; he couldn't ignore the fact that, whatever it was, it was still a viable source of protein.
Well, here goes nothing.
Sully reached over to peel a strip, then closed his eyes as he dropped it into his mouth. What resulted was him violently reeling to expel the bad flesh.
Oh, god, why did I think that was a good idea? If I'm gonna get anything out of this, it'll be after I burn it to hell and back. Guess it's time to start a fire.
Getting to work, Jake gathered as much dry tinder as he could and made a pile; that was easy enough, but finding something that would burn for a long time would be a challenge. The fallen trees were too thick to pull apart, and what did give way was too mollified for burning. If everything above surface was no good, maybe kindling could be had just beneath the first layer of beach. He crouched and began sweeping around him, but during his haphazard swipes, a sharp pang arrested his hand, his palm now bleeding from a laceration across the middle. Sully quickly ripped off what was left of his loincloth to bandage the gash.
This just keeps getting better…
Curious as to what caused the injury, Jake very carefully brushed the spot and unearthed a knapped teal crystal. Perplexed, he dug further and discovered it was a spearhead still attached to its broken shaft. Jake was overcome: it meant civilization! If there was a tribe nearby, he could get help, but hope began to wane on consideration that the spear might be old.
No… This edging isn't worn. But how far did it travel?
Jake freed the artifact to gain a feel for the craftsmanship; the sharp-as-obsidian crystal was worked artfully around its shaft, denoting the maker as a skilled weaponsmith—the hallmark of a powerful tribe. To be equally decorative suggested they were affluent as well, but he couldn't attribute it to any of the great clans, telling Jake he was much farther from home than he originally figured.
Wisely equipping the weapon, the scavenger returned to the dead animal with a budding idea. He sliced off a section, then took that meat and waded into the water.
Okay, mates. Eat up. With a cast of his hand, he sprinkled bits of chum to attract customers, then stood in wait. It was a long wait.
Occasionally, he was distracted by the sound of a geyser in the distance, but each time he looked up, all was calm—his mind was playing tricks on him; the ocean's reflection was unbearably bright and would sporadically blanch his vision with dancing fairies. He was considering leaving the water to prevent drowning in the event of a fainting spell; but, fortunately for him, an eclipse arrived.
It's night already?
The dark cool was more than just a beneficial relief; it revealed a bioluminescent pattern moving towards his bait—he had attracted game. Its many legs moved in kinetic tandem as it skulked over to the decaying flesh. Its body was like a centipede's and, at first glance, with its various grisly appendages, might've been mistaken for a creature out of Lovecraft's imagination.
Jake thought it looked delicious.
He poised his fishing spear and, being careful not to alert his prey, aimed between the head and thorax. His throw was perfect, evident by the distinct "crunch" and following stillness, but because Jake had disturbed the seabed, the murkiness prevented him from confirming success, so the hungry man reached into the water to retrieve the prize: his second bad idea that day.
The "kill" jolted, and Jake was flung forward. This was no arthropod; Sully thought he was tangoing with a crocodile. Determined to eat, the fisherman clutched the spear still lodged in the wriggling carapace and pitch-pulled the creature right for the beach where it landed with a thud.
You're sushi now, you stupid bludger. Sully strutted out of the water, but confidence didn't keep the creature dead—far from it. The thing righted itself, spear and all; and if that didn't consternate the Marine already, it certainly did when the demon turned around. What Jake had mistaken for the head was actually the tail, and when the real mouth flung open to whorls of yellow teeth that vibrated in an undead shrill, the Australian flinched.
With incredible speed, the beast dashed over the shore for the foolhardy hunter. Jake doubled back and kept doubling back, trying to outrun its frenzied pursuit, only to slip on some seaweed, serving him right up to the predator. With seconds left to live, he madly reached for a stone; and, just as the nightmare catapulted itself into the air, he chucked his attack.
Bits of exoskeleton flew off as a blur skidded across the shore in a splattery mess. A tide washed over the remains, and the Marine finally breathed.
Forgot—this is Pandora. Everything wants you dead.
Not to be fooled again, Jake approached with extreme caution, but on confirming its twitches were just rigor mortis, he dropped the precautionary boulder.
Jake's lūʻau of mangled mystery meat was surprisingly filling. He sucked clean every cavity while casting aside the dissected pieces as the remainder smoked and sizzled on a bed of dying embers. He stoked the chips that disintegrated with a poke, attempting to keep the fire going in preparation of the long, windy night, when the darkness around him suddenly dissipated. Jake twisted his head around, confused by the phenomenon of day's sudden return, then shielded his brow as he squinted up at Polyphemus pulling away from the sun—his brain finally connected the dots. He was more bushed than he thought. Sully applied a few face massages to recalibrate his mind when he was arrested by a sound—a gushing sound. He aligned his sensitive ears to the open ocean, this time his eyes catching it too: a distinct tower of spray, half a klick out.
Something is out there!
Jake had to remind himself he was not on Earth lest he mistake the culprit for a whale.
Two more jets of water rose.
Well, it definitely ain't a seal. Maybe Pandora has its own whales? Makes sense. Maybe. I don't know.
The man came to a stand and hobbled into the shallows where the tide poured around his knees. Three more geysers fired into the air, the next not waiting till the first one finished, with the last one more impressive than all before. He hoped to see the actor do an encore, but the show had concluded. Still playing spectator, he squatted till the salty water was up to his neck, a coolant for his body, and wondered for a long while on whether or not—whatever it was out there—was friend or foe.
"We just had a sighting! Over there! We just had a sighting! What do you think it could be?"
The excited, overlapping voices of the crew drifted out of the television. The footage of the first ocean voyage on an alien world was playing out, on schedule, for the captivated nine-year-olds who would tune in every week to catch the next installment of this six-part documentary. Two boys, mirror copies of each other, sat side by side as the people on screen hugged the gunwale despite the SecOps' reprimand, but the scientists were eager to classify this first-time sighting.
"Think they have whales on Pandora?"
The other brother chuffed, finding the comment stupid. "They wouldn't have whales."
"They have people."
"'Humanoids,'" he corrected with attitude.
"Then it's a whaleoid."
"That's stupid."
"Well, what would you call it?"
"We don't even know what they saw. It looked like a pod of aquatic reptilia coming up to feed, not a marine mammal."
The younger brother was well-seasoned in condescending treatment, but in this moment, he rebelled, firing back with, "What do you know?"
"More than you, dumbass."
"No, you don't."
"Yeah, I do," he bragged, and there was truth in that.
"Maybe I'll go to Pandora, and you'll have to learn about it through me."
"No, you won't!" he hotly countered, intimidated by the idea.
"Why not?"
"They only want smart people."
The younger had enough. He sent a fist to smack his brother's side, and the contest devolved into who was physically stronger, to which the younger was the victor. He was over his other, corkscrewing a sleeve till his knuckles were white. Tiny fists fought back, trying to pummel him off, when it all ended with the loser's scream that instantly sent in reinforcements—a hulking body, a looming shadow, heavy stomps, and a telling gait that would enerve any child.
The pugilist was seized, and the next thing the young boy knew, he was being bodily tossed across the room into the television set. His head smacked into it, causing damage to both screen and skin before the weight of it all toppled over him.
"You broke the f***ing TV!"
The father's boom rattled the little bungalow, including the two innocents trapped inside. The child staggered up, clutching his bleeding head in a tearful seethe, then moved to cower behind the overturned table to escape the impending wrath.
"How are we going to pay for that? How are we going to pay for that? What are you going to do?!"
The accusations rattled the boy to his core, with the nine-year-old having no solution to the demands being yelled at him; all his mind registered was fear.
"Get to your room, you little s***!"
He took the opening to run—run past his brother, run past his father, run past his mother, who was watching with remorse but doing nothing to stop, and to his room, where he hid.
They never did finish the series. By the time the set was replaced, public interests had moved on, never mind the new rule that barred them from being near the TV, as their father was in constant need of it, owing to all his hard work outside the home, and everyone had to be cognizant of his needs.
One night, sleep overtook the breadwinner sooner than expected, and his unmanned remote drifted him to an educational channel that held the focus of one viewer hidden at the top of the stairs, and his younger brother took notice. It had been a few years, and maturity mixed with empathy had smoothed out the chip on his shoulder enough to come down and sit, once more, next to his twin and learn about their favourite subject.
"Hey," he whispered as he sat down on the step.
"Hey."
"What's this one about?"
"The Na'vi," he whispered back.
He listened. He watched. He nodded. "Which tribe?"
"The Omaticaya."
Genuine interest retained the latecomer's eyes, watching as the screen switched to an academic-looking redhead being interviewed.
"We're still learning so much about them. Honestly, I don't think we'll get everything. Each time I'm with them, I'm saturated with so much new knowledge that I wish I had two lifetimes to learn it all."
The female interviewer laughed. "Are you an anthropologist or a botanist?"
She smiled innocently. "My résumé says, 'botanist.'"
And so, the two pairs of identical eyes were once more filled with wonder, once more under the protecting shroud of night—the only time the house was peaceful—as they stole glances into the nurturing world they could escape to.
"I'm going there one day," declared Tom in a hush.
Jake nodded, eyes not leaving the woman on screen. "You will."
Light crawled over his face in another new day, another day of slurping back the scant water in his solar still, another day of picking the last bit of meat from his shellfish, another day of wasting on a shore in periods of waking and fainting.
All my days are blurring together.
Jake was hitting a point where the monotony was furthering his sense of disconnect from reality and had to do something before he went insane. In his old days as an avatar operator, he would record himself after sessions through video logs: a supposedly essential aspect of "doing science." Pointless as it sounded at first, talking into a camera proved cathartic, helping him navigate his feelings on an experience that was happening all too fast. If he had the option, Jake would do the same thing here; the only problem was he didn't pack a webcam.
Wish I had one.
Then it struck him that he didn't actually need one. Yes, it was admittedly stupid, but that didn't stop him from setting a fist-sized stone upon a rotted log.
Good as any. He half-smiled and sat before his "computer" setup.
"Shi-ish ey-ak."
What the hell?
Jake paused and smacked his mouth several times, trying to force feeling back into his lips, but his next attempt at talking was just as bad as the first. He sounded several vowels, yet none exited his throat coherently. The discovery of this new disability puppeted him to drag his fingers down his hair to that severed kuru, and his petrification returned with vengeance.
Don't lose yourself again, Jake.
He slowed his panting down into several controlled puffs and, lastly, did a long inhale through the nose. He wasn't going to drown in self-pity again. So, he couldn't talk, but neither could his daughter.
That's right. Why don't I just do what Kiwi does?
Stretching his fingers in preparation, he straightened his posture and began.
"Hello—"
The moment he waved, Jake stopped, arm stalled mid-wipe.
I'm signing to a rock.
A force quickened to him that time he prayed to a tree, and Jake got over himself.
"Alright, alright. My name is J-A-K-E, and I'm talking to a rock using sign language. I know I must look stupid, but this is because…" Here, he hesitated. He wasn't with any therapist—there was no one watching—and yet the amputee was still reluctant to be completely honest. He settled for the following: "My mouth is stuck. It has been this way for as long as I have been stranded on this beach, which has been a while, I guess. I keep forgetting things, so if I just act like I'm recording myself, maybe I'll remember more. Maybe. That's only a guess of mine."
The more Jake signed, the more attuned he felt, and thus, his gesticulations went from tight to flowing.
"How I got here…" Jake then shrugged. "Most I can guess is I drifted on some debris. I remember floating for…forever. Wound up here…" His fingers fanned the beach. "In this…trap. I made a…thing to catch water. Then after that, I killed this…thing, and I ate it. Fascinating, I know. Look, rock, I don't have much to talk about."
For a moment, he pondered drawing a face on it, then shrugged away the notion: he wasn't that crackers—yet.
"I also found this." He held up his spearhead for his "camera" to see. Despite it being a nonsense action, bringing the spearhead into view felt undeniably sane. Of course, he had to set it back down to keep talking. "I'm hoping there are people around here—a peaceful clan, I hope. Hard to say when my only evidence so far is a spear. It came in handy when I hunted for food. Angered this one ugly mother—" The broadcast was temporarily interrupted before resuming with a family-friendly mindset. "Thing. Now, I ate some of that, but I'm not getting much on this beach. My water collection is scant too. I'm surrounded by rock walls, as you can see." He plucked up the stone and oscillated it before said geography.
What the hell am I doing?
Regardless, he continued his panning, documenting the monotonous expanse, when animation in the distance halted everything: the geysers had returned! Amazed, he held the rock steady to let it focus on the anomaly before realizing what he was doing and tossed it.
The blowholes played once, twice, then three more in quick succession, followed by the magnificent finale with great impetus.
It's a…pattern?
Determined to get to the bottom of this, he sat and waited, a hunch telling him he had not seen the last of it.
There it is again!
He squinted, this time to keenly study the blasts, and lo and behold, the sequence was perfectly replicated.
It is a pattern!
Jake bolted to his feet, wobbled, for the action was too fast, and let his burgeoning theories catch up with him.
Is it trying to communicate?
Thinking it over, he did wonder how he ended up so far from his native shore or how on earth he survived in the first place, but if the answers to those questions were out there, he knew what he had to do.
Jake doubled back to re-equip his gear, took that dead palm he'd been wallowing under and shoved it across the beach to be his buoy out to sea. It wasn't long before the waters were up to his neck, and his sunburnt skin tingled from the brine. Letting his feet release from the swirling sands that offered support, he leapt into a gentle paddle towards the mysterious guest lying in wait. Slowly, he kicked against the tide, getting closer to his target, but exhausted himself in the try. Movement of any kind was transforming into agony, including those chest contractions necessary for breathing. Sully realized too late he wasn't capable of making this journey but was now dangerously far from shore and drifting further by the second. Insidious undercurrents chose just then to bite down on his feet. Jake reached to grip his buoyancy aid, but his quaking hand accidentally smacked the log into an irreversible spin that sent it away. Adrift in dangerous waters, losing consciousness, and unable to breathe, Jake knew he was going to die. A wave knocked him under, and a scream of bubbles was let loose. Before he could form thoughts of regret, his mind powered down, and he descended to the depths. He could not hear his own voice; he couldn't hear anything but the pounding strength of an almighty ocean suffocating him. And then, beyond the hum of nothingness, came a song of hope. A peaceful reverberation entered him on all fronts—on all levels; it affected his very soul. It called him to open his eyes and behold.
A whale!
A long, sharp fin tapped Jake's feet, and he was risen gently back to the surface. He was still refuelling on air when all the seawater churned white around him, giving way to a massive ridge of Aegean blue skin. When the last curtain of water rolled off, Jake beheld sentient pupils focusing on him as he clung to the edge of a giant's great flipper.
"You're big…" he wanted to say just for the sake of it as he studied the impressive ravine-deep scars before inevitably landing upon the eye of the leviathan. Jake paid careful attention to its movements that were doubling towards the fin; interpreting this as a signal to fully climb aboard, Jake did. The rubbery appendage was steadier than a raft, and as the warrior knelt on the wet surface to better learn the aquatic stranger, he felt the body rumble. The wise set of eyes were doubling again, this time upwards. Unsure if he understood him right, the Marine pointed to the creature's back, and the eyes closed in contentment.
I'm being ordered by a whale. Okay then.
Knowing better than to question the strangeness of Pandora, the alien swallowed, gripped the creature's brow that was as tough as steel, and hoisted himself up and over the colossal back. The moment Jake felt that terrain of skin, the vaporous days before arriving on that beach solidified into a cohesive memory.
I had a feeling I was saved. It was you, wasn't it? He patted the rescuer in thanks, and the whale replied with a geyser. For the first time in too long, Jake smiled. It was brief but powerful, for he just discovered a much-needed friend.
You've gotta be friendly, right? According to the cliché, you should be.
The tail raised high, displaying an impressive array of four-pointed flukes that slapped the water as if to signal boarding phase had ended and the ride would soon begin. Suddenly, Jake lost his footing, and he tumbled down the head that bucked out of the water mightily, framing the brilliant sun in the crux of its V-shaped red crown.
Holy s***!
Lastly, the beast blared its signature boat horns, the blasts of which narrowly missing its passenger by an inch, and Sully laughed. Soon, salty wind was pouring around the castaway's weathered face as they picked up speed. Jake cast one last look at that loathsome pocket shore, shrinking from view, then returned to facing dead ahead.