Part Ic -Opening the Box
[Master Post]
Part Ib
"Hey, come on, don’t be like that," Jensen starts after him, nearly tripping over a bush in the process, reaches out to grab him by the shoulder. "I’m trying to thank you, here."
The man whirls at his touch and Jensen finds himself involuntarily taking a step backward as he’s faced with a pair of glittering golden eyes. "You don’t thank for this," comes the curt answer, in heavily-accented English.
"Uh, okay then. Sorry," Jensen stammers, staring at him, fascinated in spite of himself. He never thought an alien could be good-looking before, but this one certainly is, tall and muscled, with large eyes and finely-drawn features. Then abruptly his study of this new face is brought to a halt when its owner turns to stalk back into the forest. "Come on, where you going?"
He tries to stop the man again, only this time to find himself laid out on his ass on the ground, ears ringing like a hundred church bells going off, jaw throbbing from where the man’s bow just landed him a solid haymaker.
"You don’t thank," the man repeats, anger evident in his tone. He gestures toward the animal carcasses with his bow. "This is your fault. These did not need to die. You are the cause of this."
Jensen rubs at his jaw, shocked at the unfairness of the accusation. "Hey, they attacked me! I was just trying to get out of here. How does that make me the bad guy?"
There’s a derisive snort, and the guy prods him none too gently in the chest with the tip of his bow. "You are stupid. All Sky People are stupid. You come, make noise, don’t know what to do. You light a fire and then you are surprised when the nantang attack you. You should stay in your metal buildings, not come out here. You make trouble, only."
Jensen glares. "Look, it’s not my fault some giant cat tried to eat me, okay? Besides, if you think I deserve this, that I brought it all down on myself, why did you bother saving me? Why not let your little forest buddies have me as a midnight snack?"
The man tilts his head, considering him, and a smile brushes his lips, curling them back to reveal very even, very white teeth. He’s got dimples, of all the disconcerting things. Then he shakes his head. "You want to know why I save you?"
"Yes."
The man makes a gesture Jensen interprets as a shrug. "You fight bravely. No fear. I think it not a fair fight, so I help."
"Right. Okay. So if you wanted to help, I could use it. I just need to find the closest way station so my people can come find me there later. If you can just help me get to one, I’ll be out of your hair in no time."
The man jerks his head in a clear dismissal. "You go home."
He sighs. "That’s the idea, but in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m sort of lost and you just put out my only source of light in the river. Look," he tries to make his tone more conciliatory. "We got off on the wrong foot. My name is Jensen. Jensen Ackles." He doesn’t try to extend his hand this time, figuring handshakes just aren’t part of the local culture. "Uh, this is the part where you would normally tell me your name," he prompts.
There’s a slight hesitation, then the guy says something indecipherable.
"I’m sorry, what was that?"
The guy very visibly rolls his eyes. "Your dok-tor Grace said my name in your language is Jared," he says, pronouncing the ‘j’ softly, barely a brush of the tongue against his palate rather than the harsh sound Jensen is accustomed to hearing even when his own name is pronounced. "You may call me that. It is simpler for you."
He chooses to ignore the fact that the guy basically just called him stupid. "Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jared. So, it turns out I really need your help. You think you could do me one more favour? Being as how even though you just saved my life -and believe me, I’m grateful for that- you also just dropped my only light source into the river."
Jared gives him another one of those considering looks, eyes glittering in the night, and Jensen has to concentrate kind of hard not to be distracted by the sudden reappearance of his dimples when he throws back his head and laughs.
"What’s so funny?"
"You," Jared points. "You are ignorant, like a child. You do not see," he says, jabbing a finger at Jensen’s chest.
"What’s that supposed to mean?" Jensen glares, folding his arms over his chest. "Nothing wrong with my sight."
"Fire is meant for cooking, not for seeing," comes the stern response. "You must learn to see for yourself. Look."
Jared gestures outward, and when Jensen tracks the movement with his eyes he can’t quite bite back a gasp of surprise. All around them the forest has come to life and is glowing brightly: spots and swirls, entire galaxies of pulsating blue-green light illuminating everything for miles. Every shift of his feet causes the moss on the ground to pulse and shimmer under his soles. In spite of himself, he feels a smile spread over his face.
"Wow."
Jared huffs impatiently. "Sky People do not see. That’s your problem."
This is an opportunity. Jensen would have to be blind not to see it, in spite of Jared’s insistence that he’s an idiot. "Okay, so teach me to see."
"No one can teach you to see."
"Oh, please. Are you going to feed me some stupid hippy crap about only being able to see with my heart, or whatever?"
Jared looks at him as though he’s lost his mind. "You see with your eyes. Sky People don’t see because they are too busy seeing what they already think is there."
Jensen sighs. "Okay, philosophy has never really been my strong suit, so I'm going to ignore that. Look, I really need your help, here. Take me with you. Just far enough that I can get my bearings again."
Whatever Jared is about to say is forestalled, though. He looks up, obviously startled by something, and when Jensen follows his gaze he catches sight of what look like tiny white motes of pollen or seed pods or something, floating on the wind toward them. They sort of remind Jensen of when he was kid, blowing dandelion clocks and having his mother yell at him that if he insisted on spreading the damned seeds all over her lawn, he was damned well going to do all the weeding later when they grew. Then again, this is Pandora, and for all he knows they could be flesh-eating seed pods from outer space.
"What are they?"
He flicks at one, only to have Jared smack his hand with an impatient hiss, clearly displeased that he tried to get rid of it. "Atokirina. Very pure. You don’t touch."
The spore things congregate around their heads, settle in Jensen’s hair and on his arms, where he can just barely feel them brushing against his skin. The sensation is odd, like a having a slightly electrified feather brush against him, and it raises goose bumps all over his body. He shudders, and the things lift away, float up again into the air, borne aloft on a breeze he can’t feel, disappear from view after only a few seconds.
Jared’s expression is indecipherable, but the next thing Jensen knows he’s been taken by one elbow and is being none-too-gently propelled forward.
"Come with me."
"Right, okay. Where are we going?"
"We are going to see my mother."
Whatever feelings of foreboding Jensen might have about going to see Jared’s mother end up being more than a little muted as he follows him through the forest, picking his way carefully along the path and trying to keep up at the same time. Now that he’s aware of it, it’s impossible to ignore the unearthly beauty of the rainforest all around him. The creatures of the night have adapted to their surroundings, many of them glowing with their own particular bioluminescence. He’s very proud of himself for remembering the word after several minutes of racking his brain, recalling Tommy mentioning it a few years ago while they were talking about marine life. Every time they take a step the moss beneath their feet pulses blue and green and purple, radiating outward like ripples in a pond. When Jensen lets his hand brush against the leaf on a bush light travels up through its veins with a slight shiver of movement. It’s so beautiful as to take his breath away.
Jared motions to him impatiently and so he tries to put on a burst of speed in spite of how tired he is after spending most of the day and part of the night fighting for his life. The next thing he knows, however, something has tangled around his ankles and sends him sprawling forward on his face with barely enough time to bring up his hands to break his fall. He hears an exclamation of surprise from Jared, followed by muffled thumping sounds and a chorus of yells. Jensen manages to twist onto his back in time to see what looks like a group of young hunters galloping toward him, mounted on what looks to him like armour-plated, six-legged horses. The thumping sounds, he quickly realizes, are from the horses’ hooves pounding against the mossy forest floor.
The riders pull up, which is when Jensen sees that they aren’t using any reins or halters at all. He can’t see exactly how they’re guiding their horses from his vantage point, but the animals all have long antennae the way he’s seen on many pictures of the larger mammals in the books he was given to read before coming to Pandora, and he figures that might have something to do with it.
There’s what sounds like an angry exchange of words between Jared and the leader of the group, who then raises his bow, nocking an arrow and aiming it straight at Jensen’s chest.
"Hey, woah there!" he wriggles desperately to get out of the way, though at this range he’s pretty sure it’s futile. If this guy wants him dead, then he’s going to end up pinned to the ground like a really grotesque-looking butterfly on a card. "There’s no need to be hasty. Watch where you’re pointing that thing!"
Jared barks something at the guy, who answers back in the same tones until Jared literally steps in front of Jensen, right in the guy’s line of fire. There’s another quick back-and-forth in Na'vi, during which Jared gesticulates emphatically until the new guy reluctantly puts away his bow and arrow. He does jerk his chin toward Jensen, though, who soon finds himself on the wrong end of a heavily-armed escort. If he had his gun it would be a different story, but then again shooting the natives has proved, historically, to be a really bad plan, even supposing that he'd be able to take out the whole group by himself, which would be a heck of a feat. So Jensen lets them chivvy him forward until they reach the base of the most enormous tree Jensen has ever seen. He finds himself craning his neck in a futile attempt to see to the top.
"Where are you taking me?"
Jared looks over his shoulder at him, one hand resting on one of the huge mangrove pillars that form the root system of the tree, stretching dozens of yards above the ground. "This is Home Tree. Be quiet, or Tsu'tey will make you be quiet."
Jensen goes very still as one of the other aliens tightens his hold on him. "I'm being quiet," he says to Jared. "See? Totally quiet. Got it."
They march him past the mangrove pillars until they're standing right at the heart of the huge tree. Looking up, Jensen can't help but feel a wave of dizziness as the pillars stretch up into a natural vault, like a living, phosphorescent cathedral. All around a small crowd of Na'vi is gathering, young men and women alongside elderly people and children, their expressions ranging from curious to outright hostile. He squirms, feeling more vulnerable and exposed even than when he was alone and unarmed in the rainforest. Jared reaches over and clamps a large hand on his shoulder, forces him to his knees and glares when he tries to protest.
"You wait," he says simply.
After a moment the crowd parts with a murmur. Jensen raises his head in time to see a man and a woman come forward. They're both tall, the man as tall as Jared, the woman only slightly smaller. The family resemblance is obvious, especially between the woman and Jared, and he guesses these must be his parents. He keeps his mouth shut, stays very still as the two of them circle him in opposite directions, examining him. The man speaks to Jared in Na'vi, a quick exchange of impatient-sounding words, and Jensen can't hold back any longer.
"Jared, what's happening?"
Jared's gaze flicks to him, flicks back to his father. "My father is determining whether or not to have you killed for trespassing and blasphemy."
"Uh, do I get a say in that?"
"No."
"Figures," Jensen mutters.
The woman is still circling him. She takes him by the jaw, turning his head to either side, traces a finger along his nose and forehead. He has to make an effort not to go cross-eyed trying to follow the movement of her finger.
"Your eyes are too small," she says, in an English that's even more heavily-accented than her son's. Then again, Jensen can't speak a word of her language, so that puts her a step ahead of him.
"Uh, that's because of the DNA mix, I think. I mean," he tries to clarify when she doesn't move away and looks to him to explain himself, "we have to keep something human about us so that we can transfer our consciousness into these bodies. So we look a little different than you, because you're pure Na'vi."
She snorts. "You try to be something you are not. You are unnatural. An abomination."
"Uh, Jared? You want to tell me what this is about?"
Jared's expression is inscrutable. "This is my mother, Mo'at. She is tsahik, who interprets the will of Eywa. You should be more respectful. My father will heed her advice."
"Right. I would really like to, you know, not die, so I can do that. Be respectful. Can't be respectful if I'm dead, can I?" Jensen bites his tongue to prevent himself from babbling. Mo'at stares down at him, and he tries not to shudder under the intensity of her gaze.
"What are you doing here?"
"Me? I just got lost, and your son saved me. I just want to get back to my people."
She turns to Jared, asks a question in Na'vi and gets a pretty long answer, complete with lots of gesticulating. Jared's father gets in on the discussion too, but it doesn't look like they're getting anywhere. Mo'at looks back to Jensen.
"You are not like the other Dreamwalkers. What are you called?"
"My name is Jensen Ackles." Name, rank, serial number. This he can do. Jensen forces himself to keep his eyes open, to breathe, to stay calm. Stay calm, and he's going to get out of this.
"So, Jensen Ackles," she says, pronouncing the 'j' in the same strange, soft tones that Jared used to pronounce his own name, "tell me why you have come to us."
Jensen isn't sure he knows the answer to that question, even after all this time. "I don't really know. I guess I came to learn. To see something other than everything I already knew."
She snorts. "Sky People do not learn. You say you wish to be taught, but it is difficult to fill a cup that is already full."
He shrugs. "My cup's empty. You can just ask Dr. Augustine. I'm not a scientist."
"If you are not dok-tor, as the other Dreamwalkers are, then what are you?"
"I don' t know anymore," he tries not to sound bitter. "I used to be a soldier. A warrior, I guess you guys would call it."
There's an angry outburst from some of the other Na'vi that Jensen can't understand, but he figures that must mean that there's a number of them who at least understand English, even if they won't speak in the language. He wonders what that's about, but doesn't have much of a chance to think it through before Mo'at speaks again.
"We have tried once before to have peaceful relations with your people. Why do they send a warrior now, if you do not intend violence?"
He grimaces. "I don't know how much you know about the science of what we do. My brother was meant to be here instead of me -he was a scientist. But he died." Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jared's head jerk toward him in surprise. "He died, and because we're the same genetically, they asked me to come in his place."
Mo'at folds her arms across her chest. "Caution would dictate that we kill you, Jensen Ackles. You are an enemy warrior in our midst."
"You're not in the habit of killing unarmed men, are you?" Jensen argues, hoping he doesn't sound as desperate as he feels. So much for staying cool under pressure. His drill sergeant would be very disappointed.
Mo'at seems to be inclined to listen to him, though, or maybe it was something Jared said to her, it's impossible for him to tell. She alleviates his doubts a moment later. "My son tells me there has been a sign, and so we will not proceed with the customary law of our people."
"Thank God," Jensen breathes. "So, uh, what are you going to do with me?"
She doesn't answer him. Instead she turns and raises her voice, speaking loudly in Na'vi. Immediately there's an outraged outburst from Jared, followed by a clamour of voices, almost as quickly silenced by a sharp order from Mo'at. Jared folds his arms mutinously across his chest and directs a glare at Jensen. Mo'at speaks again, in English this time.
"It remains to be decided. You will remain with us until we know what to do. We shall see if the Sky People can be taught after all."
"You want to teach me?"
She nods her head in assent. "The Sky People do not know how to talk with others. They do not see, they do not hear. If your cup is empty, as you say, then perhaps you will learn to see and hear for them."
"Well, that's good news, then."
Jared's father steps forward then, and his voice booms in a declaration that Jensen doesn't understand.
"What's he saying?"
Jared answers, but doesn't look at him. "My father Eytukan says that we will meet again tomorrow, when he and my mother will make their final decision. Until then, you are my responsibility. My guest."
"Your prisoner, you mean?"
Jared smiles a little. "Don't worry. I promise you will be safe for tonight. Tomorrow, we shall see."
It's a lot harder to explain the whole sleeping thing to the Na'vi than Jensen would have thought. Then again, he thinks it would be just as difficult to explain it to anyone else, even without the language barrier. After all, it's weird to think of his mind switching bodies just because he's going to sleep. He just doesn't want these people to kill him -or, rather, kill his avatar- or dump his body somewhere just because it looks like he's not in it anymore. Or whatever. It makes his head hurt just to think about the logistics of it. It's one thing to have a safe place back in the human compound to stash his avatar when he's not in it, but out here in the rainforest where he's essentially unprotected is a whole other kettle of fish.
Eventually Jared brings him to a more secluded part of Home Tree after what is probably the most awkward communal supper Jensen has ever had the misfortune of sharing with others. He has no idea how to handle the odd-looking bowls and utensils favoured by the Na'vi and quickly realizes that they have their own particular kind of table manners -not that they have tables, per se, but they still have what amounts to a pretty complex dining ritual- that he can't mimic at all. Jared rolls his eyes and shows him the basics, and isn't shy about cuffing him about the head when he does things particularly badly. It doesn't hurt -Jared is obviously being careful- but it is more than a little humiliating to be corrected like a little kid by a loincloth-wearing savage. Now Jared points to a bed laid out in a niche carved into the wood of Home Tree.
"You may sleep here. This is where the sick come to rest and heal, but no one is using it now."
Jensen lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Voluntary quarantine. Okay, I can live with that. What's going to happen tomorrow?"
Jared makes a face that suggests he finds whatever thought he's having distasteful. "My mother thinks I should be the one to teach you our ways, as I was taught by dok-tor Grace."
"I take it you're not thrilled at the idea?"
Jared shakes his head. "Not for me to decide. The tsahik and the eyktan decide tomorrow."
"Your parents?" Jensen asks, and Jared nods. "So does that mean you'll be the chief someday too?"
"No. I am to be tsahik, like my mother. It is why she wants me to do this, to learn to teach. If I teach you how to see, then I learn to see better myself." Jared plants a hand between Jensen's shoulder blades and gives him a shove. "Sleep now. I will come fetch you when it is time."
"Pushy." Jensen nonetheless lies down on the pallet made up on the ground, surprisingly softer and more comfortable than he expected. Maybe it's because all the excitement of the day is finally catching up to him, but he can barely keep his eyes open. "I suppose it would be pointless to wish you good night."
To his surprise, Jared's mouth quirks in a small smile. "Good night, Jensen."
Jensen finds himself smiling back. Then he lets his eyes drift shut, finds himself spiralling backward into the void. He can hear someone saying his name over and over, becomes aware of a bright, harsh light that wasn't there a moment before.
"He's coming round."
"Finally," he recognizes Grace's voice, gruff with concern. "Jensen, you awake? Come on, come on back, kid, that's it..."
He blinks painfully, waits for his eyes to adjust to the artificial light shining right into his eyes. He tries to raise his head, feels a hand cupping the back of his neck, can't quite bite back a soft moan as he becomes aware of just how stiff his body is. A light flashes in his eyes, making him squint.
"Come on, Jensen. Talk to me. You all right?"
He nods, still groggy. His link bed is surrounded by a crowd of people, none of whom he can really see clearly. He feels as though he's been thoroughly beaten with a bag full of bricks, all his muscles cramped and stiffening even worse than the last time he came out of the link. He wonders if he's going to feel this way every time this happens, or if it will get better with time. Maybe it's only him -he doesn't remember any mention of this in the manuals he was given to read.
"Yeah, yeah I'm okay."
"You gave us a hell of a scare, kid," Grace says, relief evident in her tone. "When I saw you go over that waterfall, well, let's just say I've had better days. You've been linked up for hours, dug in like a damned tick. Jensen, tell me about the avatar. Is the avatar safe?"
He grins up at the blurred outline of her silhouette, haloed by the laboratory lights. "Yeah, doc, it's safe, and you're not going to believe where I am."
Much to his dismay, Jensen has to be bodily lifted out of his link bed by one of the stronger lab techs, his back seizing too badly for him to be able to get himself up on his own. He's wheeled into the infirmary and put through a battery of tests -"Just to make sure everything's okay," Grace assures him- before he's finally declared fit to leave under his own power. By then, at least the stiffness in his muscles has eased up, thanks in part to some really good muscle relaxants administered by the infirmary staff, and he's able to sit up on his own and wheel his own damned chair out of there. His whole body feels like a dead weight, as though even after only a few hours of being away from it and in his avatar form, he's forgotten what it's like to be in it. Grace insists that he come to dinner.
"You haven't eaten all day, and you need to be up and about as much as possible," she says when he protests that all he wants is to go to sleep for a while. "Trust me on this, kid, it's easy to get caught up when you're an avatar driver. You have to stay grounded in our reality, too, even if the world out there is so much bigger and brighter and more interesting."
"To you, maybe."
She crosses her arms and gives him a sceptical look. "Oh, and I suppose I just imagined you bouncing around the forest like an overgrown kid today?"
He ducks his head and grins at her, a little abashed. "I never said it was all bad."
She rolls her eyes. "Okay, tough guy. I need a cigarette, and then we're going to get something to eat."
He spots Quaritch in the mess hall, surrounded by a handful of his hand-picked soldiers. The Colonel nods curtly in his direction, meets his eye just long enough for Jensen to understand that he's going to have to report to him sooner rather than later with a full account of everything that's happened. It's a small base -everyone knows by now that he's been AWOL for more than twelve hours, lost in the Pandoran rainforest. He's already scheduled for a formal debriefing with Grace first thing in the morning.
His own small group of scientists and avatar drivers is the centre of attention throughout dinner. Jensen isn't accustomed to having so many people focused on him at once, finds himself keeping his head ducked down and mumbling his answers. Luckily for him, Grace seems to have no problems whatsoever with this much adulation, and recounts her side of events with a lot more relish than is probably healthy.
"So the next thing we know, this guy has disappeared into the brush with an angry Thanator breathing down his neck," she says, her expression gleeful. "It's funny now, but at the time I thought for sure all we were going to find were scattered bones and maybe a bit of gristle when that thing was done with him."
"So how'd you get away?" someone wants to know.
"Got lucky," Jensen mumbles, staring at his hands, folded in his lap. "I jumped into the river, swam away."
"What he's not saying," Grace interjects, "is that he threw himself off the top of the damned waterfall. I've never seen anything like it. You've given a whole new meaning to 'brass balls,' Ackles."
Jensen shrugs but smiles a little under the praise. "Yeah, well. Mostly I was lucky. And if Jared hadn't come along..."
Grace shakes her head in disbelief. "That just takes the cake. I can't believe that, of all people, the Omaticaya decided to let you into their village. They haven't had any direct contact with us in years. What on earth did you do that convinced them to even talk to you? The last time I saw Ìla'rey, the last thing he wanted to do was talk..."
"Ila―" Jensen can't wrap his mind or his tongue around the world.
"Jared," Grace clarifies. "We're really going to have to work on getting your Na'vi up to snuff if you're going to be going back. They don't have a 'j' sound in their alphabet, but that's as close a translation as I could find. What did you say to him to make him take you back to his village?"
"I don't have the slightest clue. Maybe the guy thought I was cute?" Jensen jokes lamely, only to find himself on the receiving end of a look he can't quite figure.
"Didn't know you swung that way, Marine," Grace leers, and the whole room bursts into laughter as he flushes bright red and does a terrible job of trying to stammer his way through a denial. "All right, enough!" Grace waves them down. "I think we've tortured the new guy enough for one day, especially since he's done us all a favour and stuck his foot in the door with the Na'vi for us."
Jensen buries his head in his hands, mortified beyond words. "Please can I just go to bed now?"
Grace gives him a friendly whack on the shoulder. "Sure thing. You've earned it by now, I bet. Sweet dreams, Marine," she adds suggestively, making his face heat up even more.
He beats as hasty a retreat as he can manage in his wheelchair in the narrow spaces between the tables in the mess hall, seeking refuge in his quarters. It's only when he's sure he's alone and his door locked against outside intrusion that he finally allows himself to succumb to exhaustion. He collapses still fully-clothed onto his bed, falls immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.
"You can't ask this of me!" Ìla'rey brutally sweeps aside the skin covering the door to his father's chambers and storms in, not bothering with the formality of requesting entrance from the eytkan, even though he knows it's a breach of protocol bordering on insolence and, if he were anyone else, would be severely punished.
"You wish to see me, my son?" his father asks mildly, not rising from where he is seated by the brazier in which he is burning herbs, which only serves to enrage Ìla'rey further.
"I refuse!" he yells, pacing back and forth, his long strides taking him easily across the room and back. "You cannot ask this of me, not after everything those creatures have done. I won't do it, I won't have any part of this!"
"You will do as your mother tells you," his father stirs the herbs calmly. "She is tsahik, and her word is law. Besides, did you not say yourself there was a sign from Eywa?"
"There was a sign," Ìla'rey concedes, already feeling himself deflate in the face of his father's equanimity. "But it was not a sign that I should have to play nursemaid to this man. The sign only suggested that I spare his life rather than kill him on the spot. I don't see why I should have to be the one to teach him anything. They can't be taught, you know that. Why can't we just send him home? That is what he says he wants."
"Perhaps that is what will happen. No decision has been made, as you well know. But you have been given a sign that your mother believes is of great importance. Why would Eywa grant you such if she meant only for this Dreamwalker to be sent home?"
Ìla'rey shrugs. "How am I to know the will of Eywa?"
"It is your business to know," his father says sharply. "It is unbecoming for the future tsahik to speak in bad faith, Ìla'rey, and even more so when it concerns the will of the Great Mother."
Ìla'rey pauses in his pacing, feeling his face heat up. "But I don't want to," he says desperately, ashamed of the whine he can hear creeping into his tone. There's just something about being in his parents' presence that brings out behaviour in him that he knows would be unbecoming even in a child of three years.
"You are too old to complain of tasks you don't want," his father says, as though reading his thoughts. "Everyone must shoulder their burden one day, sooner or later, and your burden will be greater than most."
"I still don't see why it has to be me," Ìla'rey grumbles anyway. "There are many young women better suited to be tsahik in this village alone. Why can't it be one of them?"
His father scoops up a spoonful of herbs and spreads them on a slab of stones to cool. "Your mother has considered some of them, yes, and if you prove unequal to the task someone else will take your place. But she believes you can rise to the challenge, and I trust her judgement."
"What am I supposed to teach this Dreamwalker, anyway? He is a skxawng, father. He does not know the first thing about life." Ìla'rey resumes his pacing.
His father nods. "I am inclined to agree. He does seem slow, but then, how well do you think any of us would fare if our situations were reversed?"
"They wouldn't be," Ìla'rey feels compelled to point out. "We have never sought to interfere in the affairs of other races."
"Be that as it may," his father says sternly, "perhaps his slowness is a strength in this case, rather than a weakness. He will be less likely to make assumptions, the way the other Dreamwalkers did. If you can teach him to see as we do, then perhaps there is hope that we can reach an understanding with the humans, achieve something more than this uneasy truce which will not last much longer."
Ìla'rey looks sharply at his father, stopping in the middle of the chamber. "Do you suspect them of something?"
I suspect all our enemies of something," Eytukan says calmly, "but the humans have increased their mining activity of late. Something is happening there that we cannot see, and having this man in our midst can help us find out what that is."
"You want me to gain his confidence, find out what the human weaknesses are."
"If the tsahik decides it's not too great a risk to have him in our midst, then yes, that is precisely what I want you to do. The tsahik believes Eywa has sent him for a reason. Perhaps that reason is to foster understanding between our peoples, and I truly hope that is the case. If not, as chief of the Omaticaya, it is my responsibility to make sure that we have all possible knowledge of our enemies at our disposal. Can you do that for me?"
Ìla'rey nods. "Of course, father."
"Good. We will speak of this more tomorrow, once the final decision has been reached. You may go now."
There is no arguing with the dismissal. Ìla'rey lets himself back out into the common area, wondering just how he managed to lose that particular argument so quickly and so spectacularly. Across from him he can see Tsu'tey chatting easily with a group of the younger hunters he's been training. His friend doesn't look over at all, and although Ìla'rey knows he's not deliberately ignoring him, he still feels a little slighted even so, which is ridiculous. He's beginning to think that his parents might be right when they tell him it's time to get over some of his more childish fancies. Almost as bad as his misgivings about Tsu'tey, though, is the strange feeling he gets whenever he lets himself think of the stranger Jensen, whose body now lies abandoned on a makeshift pallet in an unpopulated corner of the village. What his father said made perfect sense: knowing one's enemy is the key to winning battles, and although the eytkan has on numerous occasions made it clear that the best way to win a war is never to begin one at all, sometimes fighting is inevitable.
It all makes perfect sense. That's why he's surprised when he realizes that the clenching sensation he feels in his chest when he thinks about the brave-hearted Jensen is guilt.
"Okay, try it again," Norm says patiently. "Repeat after me: 'Awve ultxari ohengeyä, Nawma Sa’nok lrrtok siveiy.'"
Jensen drops his head into his hands. "You have got to be kidding me. Are you sure I can't just learn sign language or something? That's a hell of a mouthful, Norm."
They've been at this for the better part of two hours while waiting for Grace to come and set up the links for the day. Jensen doesn't know exactly how he's going to convince the Na'vi to let her and Norm into the village, but he's damned well going to try. It'll be nice to have someone there who he already knows and can translate for him. Sure, Jared speaks English, and so do several of the other Na'vi, but no one seemed particularly inclined to translate for him whenever the arguing got a little too heated.
Norm rolls his eyes. "It's a formal greeting. It's meant to be a sign of good faith on your part, to show that you're willing to meet them halfway and learn from them. Come on, try saying it."
You're not getting me to say something really stupid, right? There's a reason I never let anyone tattoo Chinese symbols on me. There's way too many guys out there with 'stupid fucking white man' tattooed on their asses for my own comfort."
"I'm not asking you to tattoo it on your ass, Jensen, just to say it to the tsahik when you see her. Besides, I would never do that -it would sabotage everything we're trying to accomplish here."
"Wouldn't want that," Jensen mutters.
"Jesus," Norm throws up his hands in a gesture of impatience. "Of all the people who could have gotten this opportunity, it had to be the one guy who doesn't want it. You cannot screw this up, Jensen, you get that, right?"
"Of course I get it, I'm not stupid, contrary to what you seem to think!"
"Then stop acting like this is a goddamned inconvenience instead of the most fantastic thing ever to happen to you. I trained for three years for this, learned the language, gave up my entire life just to have the chance to set foot on this moon, knowing I probably wouldn't even get near the Na'vi―"
"What, you want a medal?"
"That's not the point!" Norm snaps. "You basically fell off the turnip truck and had this land in your lap. The least you could do is show a little gratitude and willingness to do the damned work you came here to do!"
The door to the lab opens before Jensen has the time to formulate a response and Grace strides in, cigarette dangling from her lips. "All right, kids, playtime's over. Jensen, I know you haven't had your talk with the Colonel yet, but I'm afraid there isn't going to be time for that until we get you back from the Na'vi. You sure you're up for this? No one's going to force you back in if you don't want it."
Jensen nods, pulls himself up to sit on the edge of his link bed. "I'm up for it, doc, don't you worry about me. You do realize that there is a chance -a slim one, but still- that they're going to kill me today, right? For trespassing on their land or whatever."
Grace smiles grimly. "I'm trusting you to sweet-talk your way out of that with that silver tongue of yours, Marine. Do whatever you have to, say whatever you have to, but do not let them cause harm to the avatar."
"I know, I know, they cost a fortune."
She purses her lips, takes a drag off her cigarette. "Don't be a smartass. For one, yes, they cost a fortune. More importantly, I don't want to have to ship you home in a straight jacket."
Jensen's eyes widen. "What?"
"If... something happens to you," Norm interjects quietly, "you know, while you're in your avatar body... if it dies, I mean...it doesn't always go well."
"The transition of your consciousness back into your human body is brutal if it's not done through sleep," Grace says bluntly. "We had it happen once, and the guy was a drooling mess afterward. So do me a favour and don't get yourself killed, got it?"
"Got it."
Chastened, Jensen pulls his legs one by one onto the link bed, settles himself into position, arms by his side. The techs bustle about, setting up the links for Grace and Norm, who are heading out ahead of him so that, if the Omaticaya decide to allow them into the conclave, they can arrive as quickly as possible. He waits, staring up at the sterile white ceiling, and wonders what would happen if the Na'vi have already, for reasons of their own, slit the throat of his avatar while he was here, in his own body. Would the transfer just not happen? Or would he find himself in a mind without the capacity to receive him? Would he die? He's about to open his mouth to ask the nearest tech when the lid of the link bed comes slamming down, and he forces himself not to think about any of it as he lets himself fall.
The closest Jensen has ever come to being on trial before this was when he had to testify during the court-martial of another Marine, some stupid ass who thought that the bars on his uniform entitled him to rape any woman he wanted to. It had been a pleasure to help drum that particular douchebag out of his unit, but it hadn't exactly given him a fondness for legal proceedings. For all that these are completely different circumstances, Jensen finds himself thinking back to that one day he spent waiting for his five-minute turn on the stand, to the gut-churning anxiety he'd felt the entire time. Today the stakes are much, much higher.
The Na'vi have refused to allow Grace and Norm access to the village, but they sent a few of the warriors to speak with them and to let them know what the verdict is, when the time comes. Jensen finds himself standing before Mo'at and Eytukan, the chief of the tribe, as Grace explained it to him. The Na'vi are separated into seven different tribes spread out all over the single continent on Pandora, each tribe split into multiple villages. The Omaticaya are the largest and most influential tribe of all, the ones who were most willing, in the beginning, to make contact with humans and participate in what Grace pretentiously calls a 'cultural exchange' and which sounds a lot to Jensen like the sort of thing that's designed to look really good on paper.
"So is this, like, a formality, or is there really a good possibility you guys are going to decapitate me and stick my head on a pole somewhere as a lesson to your enemies?" he jokes anxiously when Jared comes to fetch him. He gets a nonplussed stare in response. "Okay, really bad joke. I'm just nervous, okay?"
"Come with me," is all he gets in return.
"Yeah, I get it. No talking to the condemned. Do you guys have a Green Mile here? Okay, no, you wouldn't get that reference. Do you even have books? Like, do you read?"
Jared shrugs. "I have seen your books. We tell our stories differently."
"So you don't read."
Jared turns back to him, looking puzzled. "Why do you want to know this now? Do you not worry for yourself?"
It's Jensen's turn to shrug. "Sure, I'm worried, but there's not much I can do about it until I get there and try to talk to your parents, so in the meantime I'm just trying to take my mind off things."
As it turns out, Jensen needn't have worried too much about any of it. There's a very long and involved-sounding argument between several older-looking members of the tribe -some of whom, Jared takes the trouble to explain to him, travelled there during the night in order to participate in the deliberations, though Jensen never does get told just how they found out about him- and it all goes sailing over his head because Jared only translates a couple of the more salient points and doesn't bother with the rest.
"So should I be trying to run now?" Jensen asks quietly.
"Why?"
"If they decide to kill me, I kind of want a head start."
"They are not going to kill you. There has been a sign. They are deciding if you should stay."
"And if I stay you'd be the one showing me the ropes?"
"Be silent," Jared snaps as some of the older Na'vi turn to stare disapprovingly at him. "The elders speak."
"Right."
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of droning on and on, Mo'at stands, her robes rustling about her, and addresses Jensen. "It has been decided, Jensen Ackles, that reaching an understanding between our peoples is worth giving you a second chance. You will remain here, with us, and my son will teach you what you need to know."
Jensen shifts his weight uneasily. "Uh, no offense, your honour..." he's not sure what honorific to use, but figures it's worth a shot, "but in exchange for what? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm really glad you're not going to kill me and all, but it seems kind of one-sided, as these things go. Don't you guys want anything in return?"
There's silence. It stretches out for minutes, until Jensen is squirming under the scrutiny, but finally Mo'at nods once. "You are correct, Jensen Ackles. We do want something, but that is not for you to know now."
"Okay, glad we got that cleared up," he mutters under his breath. "So, uh. I mean, you know I don't stay in my body the whole time, right? Like, when I go to sleep, the link gets severed. I have to go back to my people every so often, you know?"
"Arrangements will be made. If dok-tor Grace wishes to come speak with us, she may do so now."
"Her and Norm are probably close by," Jensen supplies helpfully. "I'd offer to go get 'em, but I think I'd probably get lost along the way."
"They will be brought," Mo'at says. "Go with Ìla'rey, and he will show you."
"Show me what?"
But Jared is already pulling him away firmly by the elbow, and he never does get a direct answer to any of his questions.
Part IIa
Part Ib
"Hey, come on, don’t be like that," Jensen starts after him, nearly tripping over a bush in the process, reaches out to grab him by the shoulder. "I’m trying to thank you, here."
The man whirls at his touch and Jensen finds himself involuntarily taking a step backward as he’s faced with a pair of glittering golden eyes. "You don’t thank for this," comes the curt answer, in heavily-accented English.
"Uh, okay then. Sorry," Jensen stammers, staring at him, fascinated in spite of himself. He never thought an alien could be good-looking before, but this one certainly is, tall and muscled, with large eyes and finely-drawn features. Then abruptly his study of this new face is brought to a halt when its owner turns to stalk back into the forest. "Come on, where you going?"
He tries to stop the man again, only this time to find himself laid out on his ass on the ground, ears ringing like a hundred church bells going off, jaw throbbing from where the man’s bow just landed him a solid haymaker.
"You don’t thank," the man repeats, anger evident in his tone. He gestures toward the animal carcasses with his bow. "This is your fault. These did not need to die. You are the cause of this."
Jensen rubs at his jaw, shocked at the unfairness of the accusation. "Hey, they attacked me! I was just trying to get out of here. How does that make me the bad guy?"
There’s a derisive snort, and the guy prods him none too gently in the chest with the tip of his bow. "You are stupid. All Sky People are stupid. You come, make noise, don’t know what to do. You light a fire and then you are surprised when the nantang attack you. You should stay in your metal buildings, not come out here. You make trouble, only."
Jensen glares. "Look, it’s not my fault some giant cat tried to eat me, okay? Besides, if you think I deserve this, that I brought it all down on myself, why did you bother saving me? Why not let your little forest buddies have me as a midnight snack?"
The man tilts his head, considering him, and a smile brushes his lips, curling them back to reveal very even, very white teeth. He’s got dimples, of all the disconcerting things. Then he shakes his head. "You want to know why I save you?"
"Yes."
The man makes a gesture Jensen interprets as a shrug. "You fight bravely. No fear. I think it not a fair fight, so I help."
"Right. Okay. So if you wanted to help, I could use it. I just need to find the closest way station so my people can come find me there later. If you can just help me get to one, I’ll be out of your hair in no time."
The man jerks his head in a clear dismissal. "You go home."
He sighs. "That’s the idea, but in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m sort of lost and you just put out my only source of light in the river. Look," he tries to make his tone more conciliatory. "We got off on the wrong foot. My name is Jensen. Jensen Ackles." He doesn’t try to extend his hand this time, figuring handshakes just aren’t part of the local culture. "Uh, this is the part where you would normally tell me your name," he prompts.
There’s a slight hesitation, then the guy says something indecipherable.
"I’m sorry, what was that?"
The guy very visibly rolls his eyes. "Your dok-tor Grace said my name in your language is Jared," he says, pronouncing the ‘j’ softly, barely a brush of the tongue against his palate rather than the harsh sound Jensen is accustomed to hearing even when his own name is pronounced. "You may call me that. It is simpler for you."
He chooses to ignore the fact that the guy basically just called him stupid. "Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jared. So, it turns out I really need your help. You think you could do me one more favour? Being as how even though you just saved my life -and believe me, I’m grateful for that- you also just dropped my only light source into the river."
Jared gives him another one of those considering looks, eyes glittering in the night, and Jensen has to concentrate kind of hard not to be distracted by the sudden reappearance of his dimples when he throws back his head and laughs.
"What’s so funny?"
"You," Jared points. "You are ignorant, like a child. You do not see," he says, jabbing a finger at Jensen’s chest.
"What’s that supposed to mean?" Jensen glares, folding his arms over his chest. "Nothing wrong with my sight."
"Fire is meant for cooking, not for seeing," comes the stern response. "You must learn to see for yourself. Look."
Jared gestures outward, and when Jensen tracks the movement with his eyes he can’t quite bite back a gasp of surprise. All around them the forest has come to life and is glowing brightly: spots and swirls, entire galaxies of pulsating blue-green light illuminating everything for miles. Every shift of his feet causes the moss on the ground to pulse and shimmer under his soles. In spite of himself, he feels a smile spread over his face.
"Wow."
Jared huffs impatiently. "Sky People do not see. That’s your problem."
This is an opportunity. Jensen would have to be blind not to see it, in spite of Jared’s insistence that he’s an idiot. "Okay, so teach me to see."
"No one can teach you to see."
"Oh, please. Are you going to feed me some stupid hippy crap about only being able to see with my heart, or whatever?"
Jared looks at him as though he’s lost his mind. "You see with your eyes. Sky People don’t see because they are too busy seeing what they already think is there."
Jensen sighs. "Okay, philosophy has never really been my strong suit, so I'm going to ignore that. Look, I really need your help, here. Take me with you. Just far enough that I can get my bearings again."
Whatever Jared is about to say is forestalled, though. He looks up, obviously startled by something, and when Jensen follows his gaze he catches sight of what look like tiny white motes of pollen or seed pods or something, floating on the wind toward them. They sort of remind Jensen of when he was kid, blowing dandelion clocks and having his mother yell at him that if he insisted on spreading the damned seeds all over her lawn, he was damned well going to do all the weeding later when they grew. Then again, this is Pandora, and for all he knows they could be flesh-eating seed pods from outer space.
"What are they?"
He flicks at one, only to have Jared smack his hand with an impatient hiss, clearly displeased that he tried to get rid of it. "Atokirina. Very pure. You don’t touch."
The spore things congregate around their heads, settle in Jensen’s hair and on his arms, where he can just barely feel them brushing against his skin. The sensation is odd, like a having a slightly electrified feather brush against him, and it raises goose bumps all over his body. He shudders, and the things lift away, float up again into the air, borne aloft on a breeze he can’t feel, disappear from view after only a few seconds.
Jared’s expression is indecipherable, but the next thing Jensen knows he’s been taken by one elbow and is being none-too-gently propelled forward.
"Come with me."
"Right, okay. Where are we going?"
"We are going to see my mother."
Whatever feelings of foreboding Jensen might have about going to see Jared’s mother end up being more than a little muted as he follows him through the forest, picking his way carefully along the path and trying to keep up at the same time. Now that he’s aware of it, it’s impossible to ignore the unearthly beauty of the rainforest all around him. The creatures of the night have adapted to their surroundings, many of them glowing with their own particular bioluminescence. He’s very proud of himself for remembering the word after several minutes of racking his brain, recalling Tommy mentioning it a few years ago while they were talking about marine life. Every time they take a step the moss beneath their feet pulses blue and green and purple, radiating outward like ripples in a pond. When Jensen lets his hand brush against the leaf on a bush light travels up through its veins with a slight shiver of movement. It’s so beautiful as to take his breath away.
Jared motions to him impatiently and so he tries to put on a burst of speed in spite of how tired he is after spending most of the day and part of the night fighting for his life. The next thing he knows, however, something has tangled around his ankles and sends him sprawling forward on his face with barely enough time to bring up his hands to break his fall. He hears an exclamation of surprise from Jared, followed by muffled thumping sounds and a chorus of yells. Jensen manages to twist onto his back in time to see what looks like a group of young hunters galloping toward him, mounted on what looks to him like armour-plated, six-legged horses. The thumping sounds, he quickly realizes, are from the horses’ hooves pounding against the mossy forest floor.
The riders pull up, which is when Jensen sees that they aren’t using any reins or halters at all. He can’t see exactly how they’re guiding their horses from his vantage point, but the animals all have long antennae the way he’s seen on many pictures of the larger mammals in the books he was given to read before coming to Pandora, and he figures that might have something to do with it.
There’s what sounds like an angry exchange of words between Jared and the leader of the group, who then raises his bow, nocking an arrow and aiming it straight at Jensen’s chest.
"Hey, woah there!" he wriggles desperately to get out of the way, though at this range he’s pretty sure it’s futile. If this guy wants him dead, then he’s going to end up pinned to the ground like a really grotesque-looking butterfly on a card. "There’s no need to be hasty. Watch where you’re pointing that thing!"
Jared barks something at the guy, who answers back in the same tones until Jared literally steps in front of Jensen, right in the guy’s line of fire. There’s another quick back-and-forth in Na'vi, during which Jared gesticulates emphatically until the new guy reluctantly puts away his bow and arrow. He does jerk his chin toward Jensen, though, who soon finds himself on the wrong end of a heavily-armed escort. If he had his gun it would be a different story, but then again shooting the natives has proved, historically, to be a really bad plan, even supposing that he'd be able to take out the whole group by himself, which would be a heck of a feat. So Jensen lets them chivvy him forward until they reach the base of the most enormous tree Jensen has ever seen. He finds himself craning his neck in a futile attempt to see to the top.
"Where are you taking me?"
Jared looks over his shoulder at him, one hand resting on one of the huge mangrove pillars that form the root system of the tree, stretching dozens of yards above the ground. "This is Home Tree. Be quiet, or Tsu'tey will make you be quiet."
Jensen goes very still as one of the other aliens tightens his hold on him. "I'm being quiet," he says to Jared. "See? Totally quiet. Got it."
They march him past the mangrove pillars until they're standing right at the heart of the huge tree. Looking up, Jensen can't help but feel a wave of dizziness as the pillars stretch up into a natural vault, like a living, phosphorescent cathedral. All around a small crowd of Na'vi is gathering, young men and women alongside elderly people and children, their expressions ranging from curious to outright hostile. He squirms, feeling more vulnerable and exposed even than when he was alone and unarmed in the rainforest. Jared reaches over and clamps a large hand on his shoulder, forces him to his knees and glares when he tries to protest.
"You wait," he says simply.
After a moment the crowd parts with a murmur. Jensen raises his head in time to see a man and a woman come forward. They're both tall, the man as tall as Jared, the woman only slightly smaller. The family resemblance is obvious, especially between the woman and Jared, and he guesses these must be his parents. He keeps his mouth shut, stays very still as the two of them circle him in opposite directions, examining him. The man speaks to Jared in Na'vi, a quick exchange of impatient-sounding words, and Jensen can't hold back any longer.
"Jared, what's happening?"
Jared's gaze flicks to him, flicks back to his father. "My father is determining whether or not to have you killed for trespassing and blasphemy."
"Uh, do I get a say in that?"
"No."
"Figures," Jensen mutters.
The woman is still circling him. She takes him by the jaw, turning his head to either side, traces a finger along his nose and forehead. He has to make an effort not to go cross-eyed trying to follow the movement of her finger.
"Your eyes are too small," she says, in an English that's even more heavily-accented than her son's. Then again, Jensen can't speak a word of her language, so that puts her a step ahead of him.
"Uh, that's because of the DNA mix, I think. I mean," he tries to clarify when she doesn't move away and looks to him to explain himself, "we have to keep something human about us so that we can transfer our consciousness into these bodies. So we look a little different than you, because you're pure Na'vi."
She snorts. "You try to be something you are not. You are unnatural. An abomination."
"Uh, Jared? You want to tell me what this is about?"
Jared's expression is inscrutable. "This is my mother, Mo'at. She is tsahik, who interprets the will of Eywa. You should be more respectful. My father will heed her advice."
"Right. I would really like to, you know, not die, so I can do that. Be respectful. Can't be respectful if I'm dead, can I?" Jensen bites his tongue to prevent himself from babbling. Mo'at stares down at him, and he tries not to shudder under the intensity of her gaze.
"What are you doing here?"
"Me? I just got lost, and your son saved me. I just want to get back to my people."
She turns to Jared, asks a question in Na'vi and gets a pretty long answer, complete with lots of gesticulating. Jared's father gets in on the discussion too, but it doesn't look like they're getting anywhere. Mo'at looks back to Jensen.
"You are not like the other Dreamwalkers. What are you called?"
"My name is Jensen Ackles." Name, rank, serial number. This he can do. Jensen forces himself to keep his eyes open, to breathe, to stay calm. Stay calm, and he's going to get out of this.
"So, Jensen Ackles," she says, pronouncing the 'j' in the same strange, soft tones that Jared used to pronounce his own name, "tell me why you have come to us."
Jensen isn't sure he knows the answer to that question, even after all this time. "I don't really know. I guess I came to learn. To see something other than everything I already knew."
She snorts. "Sky People do not learn. You say you wish to be taught, but it is difficult to fill a cup that is already full."
He shrugs. "My cup's empty. You can just ask Dr. Augustine. I'm not a scientist."
"If you are not dok-tor, as the other Dreamwalkers are, then what are you?"
"I don' t know anymore," he tries not to sound bitter. "I used to be a soldier. A warrior, I guess you guys would call it."
There's an angry outburst from some of the other Na'vi that Jensen can't understand, but he figures that must mean that there's a number of them who at least understand English, even if they won't speak in the language. He wonders what that's about, but doesn't have much of a chance to think it through before Mo'at speaks again.
"We have tried once before to have peaceful relations with your people. Why do they send a warrior now, if you do not intend violence?"
He grimaces. "I don't know how much you know about the science of what we do. My brother was meant to be here instead of me -he was a scientist. But he died." Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jared's head jerk toward him in surprise. "He died, and because we're the same genetically, they asked me to come in his place."
Mo'at folds her arms across her chest. "Caution would dictate that we kill you, Jensen Ackles. You are an enemy warrior in our midst."
"You're not in the habit of killing unarmed men, are you?" Jensen argues, hoping he doesn't sound as desperate as he feels. So much for staying cool under pressure. His drill sergeant would be very disappointed.
Mo'at seems to be inclined to listen to him, though, or maybe it was something Jared said to her, it's impossible for him to tell. She alleviates his doubts a moment later. "My son tells me there has been a sign, and so we will not proceed with the customary law of our people."
"Thank God," Jensen breathes. "So, uh, what are you going to do with me?"
She doesn't answer him. Instead she turns and raises her voice, speaking loudly in Na'vi. Immediately there's an outraged outburst from Jared, followed by a clamour of voices, almost as quickly silenced by a sharp order from Mo'at. Jared folds his arms mutinously across his chest and directs a glare at Jensen. Mo'at speaks again, in English this time.
"It remains to be decided. You will remain with us until we know what to do. We shall see if the Sky People can be taught after all."
"You want to teach me?"
She nods her head in assent. "The Sky People do not know how to talk with others. They do not see, they do not hear. If your cup is empty, as you say, then perhaps you will learn to see and hear for them."
"Well, that's good news, then."
Jared's father steps forward then, and his voice booms in a declaration that Jensen doesn't understand.
"What's he saying?"
Jared answers, but doesn't look at him. "My father Eytukan says that we will meet again tomorrow, when he and my mother will make their final decision. Until then, you are my responsibility. My guest."
"Your prisoner, you mean?"
Jared smiles a little. "Don't worry. I promise you will be safe for tonight. Tomorrow, we shall see."
It's a lot harder to explain the whole sleeping thing to the Na'vi than Jensen would have thought. Then again, he thinks it would be just as difficult to explain it to anyone else, even without the language barrier. After all, it's weird to think of his mind switching bodies just because he's going to sleep. He just doesn't want these people to kill him -or, rather, kill his avatar- or dump his body somewhere just because it looks like he's not in it anymore. Or whatever. It makes his head hurt just to think about the logistics of it. It's one thing to have a safe place back in the human compound to stash his avatar when he's not in it, but out here in the rainforest where he's essentially unprotected is a whole other kettle of fish.
Eventually Jared brings him to a more secluded part of Home Tree after what is probably the most awkward communal supper Jensen has ever had the misfortune of sharing with others. He has no idea how to handle the odd-looking bowls and utensils favoured by the Na'vi and quickly realizes that they have their own particular kind of table manners -not that they have tables, per se, but they still have what amounts to a pretty complex dining ritual- that he can't mimic at all. Jared rolls his eyes and shows him the basics, and isn't shy about cuffing him about the head when he does things particularly badly. It doesn't hurt -Jared is obviously being careful- but it is more than a little humiliating to be corrected like a little kid by a loincloth-wearing savage. Now Jared points to a bed laid out in a niche carved into the wood of Home Tree.
"You may sleep here. This is where the sick come to rest and heal, but no one is using it now."
Jensen lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Voluntary quarantine. Okay, I can live with that. What's going to happen tomorrow?"
Jared makes a face that suggests he finds whatever thought he's having distasteful. "My mother thinks I should be the one to teach you our ways, as I was taught by dok-tor Grace."
"I take it you're not thrilled at the idea?"
Jared shakes his head. "Not for me to decide. The tsahik and the eyktan decide tomorrow."
"Your parents?" Jensen asks, and Jared nods. "So does that mean you'll be the chief someday too?"
"No. I am to be tsahik, like my mother. It is why she wants me to do this, to learn to teach. If I teach you how to see, then I learn to see better myself." Jared plants a hand between Jensen's shoulder blades and gives him a shove. "Sleep now. I will come fetch you when it is time."
"Pushy." Jensen nonetheless lies down on the pallet made up on the ground, surprisingly softer and more comfortable than he expected. Maybe it's because all the excitement of the day is finally catching up to him, but he can barely keep his eyes open. "I suppose it would be pointless to wish you good night."
To his surprise, Jared's mouth quirks in a small smile. "Good night, Jensen."
Jensen finds himself smiling back. Then he lets his eyes drift shut, finds himself spiralling backward into the void. He can hear someone saying his name over and over, becomes aware of a bright, harsh light that wasn't there a moment before.
"He's coming round."
"Finally," he recognizes Grace's voice, gruff with concern. "Jensen, you awake? Come on, come on back, kid, that's it..."
He blinks painfully, waits for his eyes to adjust to the artificial light shining right into his eyes. He tries to raise his head, feels a hand cupping the back of his neck, can't quite bite back a soft moan as he becomes aware of just how stiff his body is. A light flashes in his eyes, making him squint.
"Come on, Jensen. Talk to me. You all right?"
He nods, still groggy. His link bed is surrounded by a crowd of people, none of whom he can really see clearly. He feels as though he's been thoroughly beaten with a bag full of bricks, all his muscles cramped and stiffening even worse than the last time he came out of the link. He wonders if he's going to feel this way every time this happens, or if it will get better with time. Maybe it's only him -he doesn't remember any mention of this in the manuals he was given to read.
"Yeah, yeah I'm okay."
"You gave us a hell of a scare, kid," Grace says, relief evident in her tone. "When I saw you go over that waterfall, well, let's just say I've had better days. You've been linked up for hours, dug in like a damned tick. Jensen, tell me about the avatar. Is the avatar safe?"
He grins up at the blurred outline of her silhouette, haloed by the laboratory lights. "Yeah, doc, it's safe, and you're not going to believe where I am."
Much to his dismay, Jensen has to be bodily lifted out of his link bed by one of the stronger lab techs, his back seizing too badly for him to be able to get himself up on his own. He's wheeled into the infirmary and put through a battery of tests -"Just to make sure everything's okay," Grace assures him- before he's finally declared fit to leave under his own power. By then, at least the stiffness in his muscles has eased up, thanks in part to some really good muscle relaxants administered by the infirmary staff, and he's able to sit up on his own and wheel his own damned chair out of there. His whole body feels like a dead weight, as though even after only a few hours of being away from it and in his avatar form, he's forgotten what it's like to be in it. Grace insists that he come to dinner.
"You haven't eaten all day, and you need to be up and about as much as possible," she says when he protests that all he wants is to go to sleep for a while. "Trust me on this, kid, it's easy to get caught up when you're an avatar driver. You have to stay grounded in our reality, too, even if the world out there is so much bigger and brighter and more interesting."
"To you, maybe."
She crosses her arms and gives him a sceptical look. "Oh, and I suppose I just imagined you bouncing around the forest like an overgrown kid today?"
He ducks his head and grins at her, a little abashed. "I never said it was all bad."
She rolls her eyes. "Okay, tough guy. I need a cigarette, and then we're going to get something to eat."
He spots Quaritch in the mess hall, surrounded by a handful of his hand-picked soldiers. The Colonel nods curtly in his direction, meets his eye just long enough for Jensen to understand that he's going to have to report to him sooner rather than later with a full account of everything that's happened. It's a small base -everyone knows by now that he's been AWOL for more than twelve hours, lost in the Pandoran rainforest. He's already scheduled for a formal debriefing with Grace first thing in the morning.
His own small group of scientists and avatar drivers is the centre of attention throughout dinner. Jensen isn't accustomed to having so many people focused on him at once, finds himself keeping his head ducked down and mumbling his answers. Luckily for him, Grace seems to have no problems whatsoever with this much adulation, and recounts her side of events with a lot more relish than is probably healthy.
"So the next thing we know, this guy has disappeared into the brush with an angry Thanator breathing down his neck," she says, her expression gleeful. "It's funny now, but at the time I thought for sure all we were going to find were scattered bones and maybe a bit of gristle when that thing was done with him."
"So how'd you get away?" someone wants to know.
"Got lucky," Jensen mumbles, staring at his hands, folded in his lap. "I jumped into the river, swam away."
"What he's not saying," Grace interjects, "is that he threw himself off the top of the damned waterfall. I've never seen anything like it. You've given a whole new meaning to 'brass balls,' Ackles."
Jensen shrugs but smiles a little under the praise. "Yeah, well. Mostly I was lucky. And if Jared hadn't come along..."
Grace shakes her head in disbelief. "That just takes the cake. I can't believe that, of all people, the Omaticaya decided to let you into their village. They haven't had any direct contact with us in years. What on earth did you do that convinced them to even talk to you? The last time I saw Ìla'rey, the last thing he wanted to do was talk..."
"Ila―" Jensen can't wrap his mind or his tongue around the world.
"Jared," Grace clarifies. "We're really going to have to work on getting your Na'vi up to snuff if you're going to be going back. They don't have a 'j' sound in their alphabet, but that's as close a translation as I could find. What did you say to him to make him take you back to his village?"
"I don't have the slightest clue. Maybe the guy thought I was cute?" Jensen jokes lamely, only to find himself on the receiving end of a look he can't quite figure.
"Didn't know you swung that way, Marine," Grace leers, and the whole room bursts into laughter as he flushes bright red and does a terrible job of trying to stammer his way through a denial. "All right, enough!" Grace waves them down. "I think we've tortured the new guy enough for one day, especially since he's done us all a favour and stuck his foot in the door with the Na'vi for us."
Jensen buries his head in his hands, mortified beyond words. "Please can I just go to bed now?"
Grace gives him a friendly whack on the shoulder. "Sure thing. You've earned it by now, I bet. Sweet dreams, Marine," she adds suggestively, making his face heat up even more.
He beats as hasty a retreat as he can manage in his wheelchair in the narrow spaces between the tables in the mess hall, seeking refuge in his quarters. It's only when he's sure he's alone and his door locked against outside intrusion that he finally allows himself to succumb to exhaustion. He collapses still fully-clothed onto his bed, falls immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.
"You can't ask this of me!" Ìla'rey brutally sweeps aside the skin covering the door to his father's chambers and storms in, not bothering with the formality of requesting entrance from the eytkan, even though he knows it's a breach of protocol bordering on insolence and, if he were anyone else, would be severely punished.
"You wish to see me, my son?" his father asks mildly, not rising from where he is seated by the brazier in which he is burning herbs, which only serves to enrage Ìla'rey further.
"I refuse!" he yells, pacing back and forth, his long strides taking him easily across the room and back. "You cannot ask this of me, not after everything those creatures have done. I won't do it, I won't have any part of this!"
"You will do as your mother tells you," his father stirs the herbs calmly. "She is tsahik, and her word is law. Besides, did you not say yourself there was a sign from Eywa?"
"There was a sign," Ìla'rey concedes, already feeling himself deflate in the face of his father's equanimity. "But it was not a sign that I should have to play nursemaid to this man. The sign only suggested that I spare his life rather than kill him on the spot. I don't see why I should have to be the one to teach him anything. They can't be taught, you know that. Why can't we just send him home? That is what he says he wants."
"Perhaps that is what will happen. No decision has been made, as you well know. But you have been given a sign that your mother believes is of great importance. Why would Eywa grant you such if she meant only for this Dreamwalker to be sent home?"
Ìla'rey shrugs. "How am I to know the will of Eywa?"
"It is your business to know," his father says sharply. "It is unbecoming for the future tsahik to speak in bad faith, Ìla'rey, and even more so when it concerns the will of the Great Mother."
Ìla'rey pauses in his pacing, feeling his face heat up. "But I don't want to," he says desperately, ashamed of the whine he can hear creeping into his tone. There's just something about being in his parents' presence that brings out behaviour in him that he knows would be unbecoming even in a child of three years.
"You are too old to complain of tasks you don't want," his father says, as though reading his thoughts. "Everyone must shoulder their burden one day, sooner or later, and your burden will be greater than most."
"I still don't see why it has to be me," Ìla'rey grumbles anyway. "There are many young women better suited to be tsahik in this village alone. Why can't it be one of them?"
His father scoops up a spoonful of herbs and spreads them on a slab of stones to cool. "Your mother has considered some of them, yes, and if you prove unequal to the task someone else will take your place. But she believes you can rise to the challenge, and I trust her judgement."
"What am I supposed to teach this Dreamwalker, anyway? He is a skxawng, father. He does not know the first thing about life." Ìla'rey resumes his pacing.
His father nods. "I am inclined to agree. He does seem slow, but then, how well do you think any of us would fare if our situations were reversed?"
"They wouldn't be," Ìla'rey feels compelled to point out. "We have never sought to interfere in the affairs of other races."
"Be that as it may," his father says sternly, "perhaps his slowness is a strength in this case, rather than a weakness. He will be less likely to make assumptions, the way the other Dreamwalkers did. If you can teach him to see as we do, then perhaps there is hope that we can reach an understanding with the humans, achieve something more than this uneasy truce which will not last much longer."
Ìla'rey looks sharply at his father, stopping in the middle of the chamber. "Do you suspect them of something?"
I suspect all our enemies of something," Eytukan says calmly, "but the humans have increased their mining activity of late. Something is happening there that we cannot see, and having this man in our midst can help us find out what that is."
"You want me to gain his confidence, find out what the human weaknesses are."
"If the tsahik decides it's not too great a risk to have him in our midst, then yes, that is precisely what I want you to do. The tsahik believes Eywa has sent him for a reason. Perhaps that reason is to foster understanding between our peoples, and I truly hope that is the case. If not, as chief of the Omaticaya, it is my responsibility to make sure that we have all possible knowledge of our enemies at our disposal. Can you do that for me?"
Ìla'rey nods. "Of course, father."
"Good. We will speak of this more tomorrow, once the final decision has been reached. You may go now."
There is no arguing with the dismissal. Ìla'rey lets himself back out into the common area, wondering just how he managed to lose that particular argument so quickly and so spectacularly. Across from him he can see Tsu'tey chatting easily with a group of the younger hunters he's been training. His friend doesn't look over at all, and although Ìla'rey knows he's not deliberately ignoring him, he still feels a little slighted even so, which is ridiculous. He's beginning to think that his parents might be right when they tell him it's time to get over some of his more childish fancies. Almost as bad as his misgivings about Tsu'tey, though, is the strange feeling he gets whenever he lets himself think of the stranger Jensen, whose body now lies abandoned on a makeshift pallet in an unpopulated corner of the village. What his father said made perfect sense: knowing one's enemy is the key to winning battles, and although the eytkan has on numerous occasions made it clear that the best way to win a war is never to begin one at all, sometimes fighting is inevitable.
It all makes perfect sense. That's why he's surprised when he realizes that the clenching sensation he feels in his chest when he thinks about the brave-hearted Jensen is guilt.
"Okay, try it again," Norm says patiently. "Repeat after me: 'Awve ultxari ohengeyä, Nawma Sa’nok lrrtok siveiy.'"
Jensen drops his head into his hands. "You have got to be kidding me. Are you sure I can't just learn sign language or something? That's a hell of a mouthful, Norm."
They've been at this for the better part of two hours while waiting for Grace to come and set up the links for the day. Jensen doesn't know exactly how he's going to convince the Na'vi to let her and Norm into the village, but he's damned well going to try. It'll be nice to have someone there who he already knows and can translate for him. Sure, Jared speaks English, and so do several of the other Na'vi, but no one seemed particularly inclined to translate for him whenever the arguing got a little too heated.
Norm rolls his eyes. "It's a formal greeting. It's meant to be a sign of good faith on your part, to show that you're willing to meet them halfway and learn from them. Come on, try saying it."
You're not getting me to say something really stupid, right? There's a reason I never let anyone tattoo Chinese symbols on me. There's way too many guys out there with 'stupid fucking white man' tattooed on their asses for my own comfort."
"I'm not asking you to tattoo it on your ass, Jensen, just to say it to the tsahik when you see her. Besides, I would never do that -it would sabotage everything we're trying to accomplish here."
"Wouldn't want that," Jensen mutters.
"Jesus," Norm throws up his hands in a gesture of impatience. "Of all the people who could have gotten this opportunity, it had to be the one guy who doesn't want it. You cannot screw this up, Jensen, you get that, right?"
"Of course I get it, I'm not stupid, contrary to what you seem to think!"
"Then stop acting like this is a goddamned inconvenience instead of the most fantastic thing ever to happen to you. I trained for three years for this, learned the language, gave up my entire life just to have the chance to set foot on this moon, knowing I probably wouldn't even get near the Na'vi―"
"What, you want a medal?"
"That's not the point!" Norm snaps. "You basically fell off the turnip truck and had this land in your lap. The least you could do is show a little gratitude and willingness to do the damned work you came here to do!"
The door to the lab opens before Jensen has the time to formulate a response and Grace strides in, cigarette dangling from her lips. "All right, kids, playtime's over. Jensen, I know you haven't had your talk with the Colonel yet, but I'm afraid there isn't going to be time for that until we get you back from the Na'vi. You sure you're up for this? No one's going to force you back in if you don't want it."
Jensen nods, pulls himself up to sit on the edge of his link bed. "I'm up for it, doc, don't you worry about me. You do realize that there is a chance -a slim one, but still- that they're going to kill me today, right? For trespassing on their land or whatever."
Grace smiles grimly. "I'm trusting you to sweet-talk your way out of that with that silver tongue of yours, Marine. Do whatever you have to, say whatever you have to, but do not let them cause harm to the avatar."
"I know, I know, they cost a fortune."
She purses her lips, takes a drag off her cigarette. "Don't be a smartass. For one, yes, they cost a fortune. More importantly, I don't want to have to ship you home in a straight jacket."
Jensen's eyes widen. "What?"
"If... something happens to you," Norm interjects quietly, "you know, while you're in your avatar body... if it dies, I mean...it doesn't always go well."
"The transition of your consciousness back into your human body is brutal if it's not done through sleep," Grace says bluntly. "We had it happen once, and the guy was a drooling mess afterward. So do me a favour and don't get yourself killed, got it?"
"Got it."
Chastened, Jensen pulls his legs one by one onto the link bed, settles himself into position, arms by his side. The techs bustle about, setting up the links for Grace and Norm, who are heading out ahead of him so that, if the Omaticaya decide to allow them into the conclave, they can arrive as quickly as possible. He waits, staring up at the sterile white ceiling, and wonders what would happen if the Na'vi have already, for reasons of their own, slit the throat of his avatar while he was here, in his own body. Would the transfer just not happen? Or would he find himself in a mind without the capacity to receive him? Would he die? He's about to open his mouth to ask the nearest tech when the lid of the link bed comes slamming down, and he forces himself not to think about any of it as he lets himself fall.
The closest Jensen has ever come to being on trial before this was when he had to testify during the court-martial of another Marine, some stupid ass who thought that the bars on his uniform entitled him to rape any woman he wanted to. It had been a pleasure to help drum that particular douchebag out of his unit, but it hadn't exactly given him a fondness for legal proceedings. For all that these are completely different circumstances, Jensen finds himself thinking back to that one day he spent waiting for his five-minute turn on the stand, to the gut-churning anxiety he'd felt the entire time. Today the stakes are much, much higher.
The Na'vi have refused to allow Grace and Norm access to the village, but they sent a few of the warriors to speak with them and to let them know what the verdict is, when the time comes. Jensen finds himself standing before Mo'at and Eytukan, the chief of the tribe, as Grace explained it to him. The Na'vi are separated into seven different tribes spread out all over the single continent on Pandora, each tribe split into multiple villages. The Omaticaya are the largest and most influential tribe of all, the ones who were most willing, in the beginning, to make contact with humans and participate in what Grace pretentiously calls a 'cultural exchange' and which sounds a lot to Jensen like the sort of thing that's designed to look really good on paper.
"So is this, like, a formality, or is there really a good possibility you guys are going to decapitate me and stick my head on a pole somewhere as a lesson to your enemies?" he jokes anxiously when Jared comes to fetch him. He gets a nonplussed stare in response. "Okay, really bad joke. I'm just nervous, okay?"
"Come with me," is all he gets in return.
"Yeah, I get it. No talking to the condemned. Do you guys have a Green Mile here? Okay, no, you wouldn't get that reference. Do you even have books? Like, do you read?"
Jared shrugs. "I have seen your books. We tell our stories differently."
"So you don't read."
Jared turns back to him, looking puzzled. "Why do you want to know this now? Do you not worry for yourself?"
It's Jensen's turn to shrug. "Sure, I'm worried, but there's not much I can do about it until I get there and try to talk to your parents, so in the meantime I'm just trying to take my mind off things."
As it turns out, Jensen needn't have worried too much about any of it. There's a very long and involved-sounding argument between several older-looking members of the tribe -some of whom, Jared takes the trouble to explain to him, travelled there during the night in order to participate in the deliberations, though Jensen never does get told just how they found out about him- and it all goes sailing over his head because Jared only translates a couple of the more salient points and doesn't bother with the rest.
"So should I be trying to run now?" Jensen asks quietly.
"Why?"
"If they decide to kill me, I kind of want a head start."
"They are not going to kill you. There has been a sign. They are deciding if you should stay."
"And if I stay you'd be the one showing me the ropes?"
"Be silent," Jared snaps as some of the older Na'vi turn to stare disapprovingly at him. "The elders speak."
"Right."
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of droning on and on, Mo'at stands, her robes rustling about her, and addresses Jensen. "It has been decided, Jensen Ackles, that reaching an understanding between our peoples is worth giving you a second chance. You will remain here, with us, and my son will teach you what you need to know."
Jensen shifts his weight uneasily. "Uh, no offense, your honour..." he's not sure what honorific to use, but figures it's worth a shot, "but in exchange for what? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm really glad you're not going to kill me and all, but it seems kind of one-sided, as these things go. Don't you guys want anything in return?"
There's silence. It stretches out for minutes, until Jensen is squirming under the scrutiny, but finally Mo'at nods once. "You are correct, Jensen Ackles. We do want something, but that is not for you to know now."
"Okay, glad we got that cleared up," he mutters under his breath. "So, uh. I mean, you know I don't stay in my body the whole time, right? Like, when I go to sleep, the link gets severed. I have to go back to my people every so often, you know?"
"Arrangements will be made. If dok-tor Grace wishes to come speak with us, she may do so now."
"Her and Norm are probably close by," Jensen supplies helpfully. "I'd offer to go get 'em, but I think I'd probably get lost along the way."
"They will be brought," Mo'at says. "Go with Ìla'rey, and he will show you."
"Show me what?"
But Jared is already pulling him away firmly by the elbow, and he never does get a direct answer to any of his questions.
Part IIa