Part IVa -The Warrior's Choice
[Master Post]
Part IIIb
Part IV -The Warrior's Choice
Somehow, somewhere along the way Jensen deluded himself that making the decision to give Quaritch what he wanted would make everything easier. No looking back, no regrets. It's been that way all his life, ever since he was a kid and figured out that it was Tommy that everyone expected to succeed, Tommy who was so bright and so full of promise. Everyone liked Tommy, wanted him to do well, Jensen included. No sacrifice was too big, so long as it meant Tommy got to do his studies, got all his degrees, had that brilliant career he was always supposed to have. Jensen got used to being in the background. Hell, he liked the background, liked being where no one took any particular notice of whether he failed or succeeded, because there was no pressure there. All his life decisions were made for him by other people, and he's learned never to second-guess the few decisions he did get to make, no matter the outcome. So this? This should be no different. It was a tough choice, but it's been nothing but thirty years of tough choices, and you learn to live with it. Quaritch would get what he wanted, Jensen's parents wouldn't waste away on a patch of land that was slowly killing them, Jensen would go home, learn to walk again, and everything that happened here would fade like a particularly vivid dream.
Not surprisingly, nothing of the sort happened. All that's happened since he gave up the data chip is that he's been progressively twisting himself into increasingly complicated knots. Jared was the first to notice, badgered him to spill what's on his mind, but it's not like he can confide in the one person whose confidence he betrayed above all the rest. Shit. The more he thinks about it the sicker Jensen feels. He hasn't been back to Home Tree in nearly two days, lying to Grace about not feeling well, like a kid playing hooky from school, because he can't bear to look Jared in the eye anymore. Instead he's been skulking around the base, trying to avoid everyone and everything. Of course, the problem with that strategy is that he's been alone with his thoughts ever since, and not finding the experience a pleasant one. He wishes they could just pack up and go back in the mountains.
"You’re not gettin’ lost in the woods, are you son?"
Lost as he is in his thoughts, he never hears Quaritch come into the armour bay where he's been sitting, arms folded on a break table, watching the harsh artificial light bounce off the laminated surface like it might just hold all the answers he's been looking for. Quaritch pulls up a chair, turns it around and straddles it, facing Jensen. Jensen can feel his eyes on him, studying him, taking in the weight loss, the week's worth of beard growth, the dark circles he knows are now like permanent bruises under his eyes.
"Your last official report was two weeks ago," Quaritch says, and there's a world of meaning in those words. Jensen's been on-base for two days, now. Plenty of time for him to make up his reports. Instead he gave up the data chip with barely more than a couple of annotations.
Jensen can’t meet his eyes. "Sorry, sir. Had a lot on my mind. Worried about my parents, mostly. It's been months, sir, and nothing. Not even a message. I checked with Shirley in admin, and," he hesitates, then decides it's worth risking getting on the Colonel's bad side for this. "She never really gave me a straight answer. I don't suppose you know anything, sir? I know comm sec comes under your responsibility."
Quaritch's look is shrewd. "We've had to limit the transfer of messages through the relays lately. I haven't checked any of the messages personally, mind you. If you're waiting on something, it might be in the queue until we can release it. Operational needs first, Marine, you understand about that."
"Yes, sir." Jensen understands all too well. If his parents did send him a message -and it's nigh unthinkable that they wouldn't, not after all this time- then Quaritch is holding it hostage in exchange for his good behaviour. The Colonel isn't stupid, Jensen knows that, and he's probably figured out by now that Jensen doesn't care as much about getting his legs back as he might have done before he got here. So Quaritch is using a different emotional leverage now to keep him on the straight and narrow.
"I gotta say, you're spending so much time in the lab and out there that it's starting to look like you're avoiding being here, in the flesh, as it were." It feels like the Colonel's eyes are boring straight into his skull. "If I didn't know better, I’d be starting to doubt your resolve by now, son. From what I see, it’s high time we terminated this mission, before you lose yourself out there."
"What? No, sir. I'm not done, not by a long shot," Jensen protests, but the Colonel doesn't look to be in an open frame of mind.
"Out of the question. Look, Corporal, you’ve given me plenty of usable intel," Quaritch holds up the data chip between his middle and index fingers. "This 'Well of Souls' place you showed me, well, it means we've got them by the short and curlies with that with that, when it turns into a shit-fight. Which it will. No two ways about it." Quaritch tucks the chip away and slaps his palm lightly on the table. "So you’ll get your legs back, like I promised. I am a man of my word, after all. It's time to come in from the cold, son."
"I don't think it has to come to that, sir. I think we should try to talk to them, have an official parlay. Their leaders and you and Selfridge, see if we can't work it out that way. They'll respect that, they believe in the leaders of a tribe speaking the mind of all."
"We're not a tribe, and the sooner you remember that, the better. I'm pulling you out before you forget what colour your skin really is."
Jensen shakes his head. "I’ve gotta finish this thing, sir. I know you get that. I need to prove I can do this."
The Colonel's gaze doesn't waver, and although Jensen can see a look of understanding there, he's pretty sure Quaritch doesn't understand a damned thing. "All right, son, I get it. You need to prove to yourself what you've gotta prove, that's fine, but this is bigger than you, Corporal. I needed you to talk to those savages and make 'em see reason, and so far I haven't seen squat. So unless you can turn things around right here, right now, we're moving in, and I mean ASAP. I've got everyone ready, we can move out with a turnaround of less than thirty-six hours if we need to."
A chill runs down Jensen's spine. "They've already let me be part of the rite of initiation, and they're waiting for me to finish proving myself. It's just a matter of time...I’m practically one of them." He swallows hard. "They’ll trust what I say..."
"All the more reason for you to be the one to tell them they have to relocate."
"No, Colonel, you can't―"
"Don't you presume to tell me what I can and can't do, Corporal!"
Jensen fights the urge to throw up. It's all been for nothing, the months of learning, of training. Of falling in love. It all came down to one wrong choice, and now all the Omaticaya, maybe all the Na'vi, are going to pay for his mistake, unless he can fix this. He back-pedals as fast as he can, trying not to stammer.
"That's not what I meant, sir. No disrespect. I just, I think maybe we might be jumping the gun, trying to strong-arm them. They'll be open to talks, I know they will. You won't need to expend the resources on this. Let me talk to them, let me bring them to the negotiating table again and we'll make it work!"
"You think you can do what no one's been able to do for fifteen years, then?" Quaritch is openly sneering at him.
Jensen nods fervently. "I've managed the rest of it, haven't I?"
"All right, then. Get it done, Corporal. And get it done fast!"
Jensen runs. It feels a lot like the first day he arrived on the planet, a giddy feeling of racing headlong into the unknown, except that this time his heart is pounding with fear, adrenaline coursing through his body. He has no idea how long he has until this all goes to hell. All he knows is that this is it, his choice is made, that no matter what he does now it's going to be too little and very likely too late.
Jared meets him halfway up the great stairway, hurrying to greet him, his expression worried. "What is it? Jensen, what is wrong?"
He doesn't even know where to start, has to clamp down on a slightly hysterical laugh. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I should have told you before, but I didn't-I couldn't, and I'm so sorry."
Jared narrows his eyes. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
He can barely breathe, like there's a vise clamped firmly around his chest, but he forces himself to be calm. "I have to speak to Eytukan, and to the tsahik. About what...what my people want to do. What they're trying to accomplish. Please, we don't have much time left!"
"All right," Jared steps behind him, ushers him forward. "We will go."
Jensen races to the top of Home Tree, Jared scrambling to keep up for once, doesn't so much as wait for Jared to announce him before bursting in on what looks like an informal meeting of some of the elders of the tribe. Eytukan is there, as is Mo'at, and suddenly Jensen's mouth goes dry, his tongue trying to crawl its way back into his throat.
"I..."
Mo'at rises from where she was seated. "Jensen. You interrupt."
"I'm sorry, it's important," he stammers. "Please, I wouldn't have come unless it was important."
"Speak," Mo'at nods, as her husband comes to stand beside her, the necklace of Thanator claws clattering on his chest. For a moment Jensen can only stand there, thinks a little stupidly that he's never seen Eytukan without the necklace, that he's never seen him move without hearing the accompanying rattle.
"I..." he trips over his own tongue again. "My people want you to move. To leave Home Tree. They, uh, they want to mine under its roots."
There's silence, not that Jensen was expecting them to leap up and start packing, but the sudden stillness is unnerving.
"What else?"
Jensen blinks. "I don't...what do you mean?"
Mo'at folds her arms carefully. "We already know this. There have been offers. They ask us to leave before, but Home Tree cannot be left."
"No, I mean..." Jensen swallows hard. "I mean they're going to try to force you to leave. They want the mineral that grows under the forest, and they don't want to wait anymore."
"So they send you to tell us this?"
He shakes his head. "No. No, I came to warn you. I don't want this, you have to believe me. I don't...I didn't think this would happen. I didn't mean for any of this to happen, not like this. He's going to try to destroy the Vitraya Ramunong. The bulldozers can't be stopped, not by you. They're too big, even if you go up against them with all the warriors of the tribe."
An alarmed murmur goes up at the mention of the Well of Souls. "Jensen!" Mo'at snaps, interrupting him. "You say he knows the location of the Vitraya Ramunong? How is this possible?"
"Yes," he says desperately. "There's video footage. Um," he gropes for words to translate what he's trying to say into a language they'll understand. "The Sky People took cameras up with them in their ships, they took pictures, from high up. They can see where it is."
"You told them. You are the one who told them where it is."
It's Jared's voice, flat and accusing, from behind him. Jensen flinches, can feel his shoulders slump, but he can't bring himself to deny the truth. This is all his fault. "I didn't mean for this to happen," he repeats miserably.
"This is why you stay away. You lie and don't want to see the ones you lie to." Jared is staring at him, his eyes reflecting Jensen's betrayal like an accusing mirror.
"I want to fix this, Jared, please, you have to believe me, I don't want any of this."
Jared just steps away, his face screwed up with pain, though he's doing a pretty good job of keeping himself under control. "I should have known," he says, a sneer turning his voice hard. "You mean nothing of it. All the Sky People have done is lie, for years. They told me it would be so with you, but I thought you were different."
"I―" Jensen chokes. "I tried to be. I want to be, Jared. Please, we can still try to fix this. You have to talk to Selfridge, maybe there's a way out of this, some other way."
"No." Eytukan steps forward this time. He only has a limited grasp of English, but he uses the words that he has at his command now to make sure that he's well understood. "You leave, Jensen Ackles. Not of the People."
"Please," Jensen's not above begging, not if it'll mean that he can salvage some of what he's built in all this time. "Please, let me just try. Mo'at, please, I'm telling you, if we don't try something they're going to destroy all of it and I can't...I can't bear it if they do and it's my fault. Please let me try to make this right. Let me try to talk to them. They'll listen to you if you come and negotiate, I promise, we have to at least try. You can't do anything if Quaritch comes at you with his ships, they'll just burn the forest, raze everything to the ground if it means they'll get what they want."
"You want us to speak to the Sky People? And what do you think they will say if we tell them we do not move?" Mo'at wants to know.
He makes a helpless gesture. "I don't know. I don't know, this isn't anything I'm good at. I never learned how to do the whole politics thing. I'm a shitty liar and an even shittier negotiator and I didn't think, but we have to try. There's got to be another way around this. Maybe they can find a different way to get what they want from the forest."
Jared is glaring at him, and there's pure anger in his voice when he speaks, emotion making his grammar more stilted than usual. "You know this all along, but you come now and say you want this to change? Why should I believe you when all you say before is lies?"
"I'm not lying now! And it wasn't all lies," he turns to Jared, pleading silently with him for understanding that he probably doesn't deserve anyway. "Most of it wasn't. I just... I didn't know what I... I was just lost, okay? You're the only one who sees me," he adds softly, and he can see the moment in which Jared hesitates, the moment when his words sink home.
But Jared shakes his head. "Lies," he repeats.
Mo'at holds up both her hands. "Peace, Ila'rey. We will go speak to the Sky people, if that is what is needed. We are both peoples who have history and feeling. Let there be talks, if that is what is needed. Jensen, you will take us to the speaking place?"
Jensen nods frantically. "Yeah. Yes, I can do that. I need to talk to them first, let them know you're coming. We can meet in neutral territory. I mean, not Home Tree or the human base, but somewhere in between."
"A speaking place," Mo'at says again.
"Yeah, a speaking place. Give me a few minutes, I'll set it up, I still have a radio, I can call in and let them know we're coming. They'll talk to you, you're a respected elder here, and I can make them listen." He's grasping at straws, desperate and a little panicky, but there's nothing left for him now but desperation. He's probably signed his own metaphorical death warrant with this, but there's no way around it, now.
"Go do so. We will wait for you to return. Ila'rey will go with you, and Tsu'tey, to make sure you honour your word. The Sky People have lied too much now, your word is not good here."
"Thank you," Jensen says fervently. "Thank you, you won't regret this, I promise!"
"Do not make promises you cannot keep," Mo'at tells him, then points, her meaning more than obvious.
"I'll call it in, let them know," Jensen motions to his radio. "But I have to go back. They want me there. I'll come back as soon as I can. I will stand with you on this, I promise."
For the second time that day Jensen takes to his heels, this time back toward the human base. Only this time, he can't help but feel that he's running in the wrong direction.
The negotiations are a disaster.
"You've got to be kidding me," Selfridge is obviously out of place out here, even though the clearing has been set up to keep him and the other humans as comfortable as possible in light of the fact that they're in the middle of the rainforest. "Can someone please explain to me what the hell I'm doing out here in this mud-infested hell hole instead of watching the progress of our bulldozers on the screen from the safety of my nice, dry, air-conditioned office?" He squirms and tugs at the collar of his shirt, directs a glare at no one in particular.
Jensen can't help but think that the humans -swaddled in khaki uniforms that only make them stand out more among the brilliant colours of the forest, look puny and a little ridiculous next to the Na'vi who are twice their height their faces partially obscured by the rebreather masks- All the avatar drivers are there in their avatar forms, so at least Jensen doesn't feel like he's completely alone. Somehow it feels like it's evening things up a little, as though it's the humans who are at a disadvantage here instead of being those in the position of power.
Mo'at towers over Selfridge, her arms folded across her chest in a pose that fairly screams intransigence. "The Sky People do not understand the ways of the forest. Home Tree cannot be 'evacuated,' as you say. Jensen, you will translate?"
Jensen nods. "Uh, Norm can help, too. His Na'vi is much better than mine. Norm?"
"Of course," Norm places his hands together, fingertips barely touching, and bows slightly in her direction. "I am happy to be of assistance," he says in slightly stilted Na'vi, but it's better than anything Jensen can manage on short notice, and Mo'at appears mollified. Grace is there too, but Jensen knows first-hand that she's been forbidden to so much as open her mouth by Selfridge and Quaritch, under pain of being gagged and tossed in a holding cell. She's furious, though, that much is obvious, her anger directed at Jensen as much as any of the others who are responsible for this latest turn of events. Jensen can't meet her gaze, figures that if looks could kill he'd have been dead hours ago, doesn't know if she'll ever be able to forgive him. Hell, he's never going to forgive himself; it's a bit much to start asking others to do something he's unwilling to do.
Mo'at gathers herself. "You say your desire is for the rock that dwells under the roots," she says, in her language. "The Omaticaya can help you with this, but it must be done with care. The forest cannot be treated as you treat it. Where you go there is only death, and the life does not return. The Omaticaya will help you if you agree to stop your mining operation immediately."
Selfridge snorts derisively when the translation comes through. "Don't be stupid. We don't need your help when we have all the equipment we need. We just want a minimum of fuss, here, and the way that's going to happen is if you and your little friends find yourselves a different tree to perch in. I mean, is that so hard? There are millions of trees out there, don't tell me there aren't, I've seen them!"
"Mr. Selfridge," Jensen interrupts, "it's not the same. It's an ancestral home. They've lived there for generations. It's not just a tree, it's a whole-"
"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Ackles!" Selfridge snaps. "You can't spit out here without hitting a sacred tree or a sacred puddle or a sacred mosquito. It's ridiculous and frankly I'm a little tired of having to constantly make concessions, here. Tell your little buddies to move, or we'll make a point of doing the moving for them!"
It doesn't take a mind-reader to see that Mo'at has understood most of that little speech. Her eyes are smouldering with poorly-concealed anger. Jared's face has turned dark, and even Tsu'tey's hand has drifted toward the dagger he keeps at his belt, though Jensen is pretty sure none of them would violate the sanctity of this parley. If Selfridge meant to provoke them he couldn't be doing a better job of it, though.
"Sir, they're offering to bring you the mineral without your having to mine it. Wouldn't that cut down on costs by a huge amount?" he prods.
"Not at the quantities they're offering. How are they going to extract it, anyway, by digging? I don't recall seeing mining equipment hidden among the ferns here."
Jensen turns back and relays the message as best he can, relying on Norm for some of the harder words. "He wants to know how you can get the ore from under the earth without any equipment."
Mo'at's face has become impassive again. "The gift comes from Eywa, and it is all around, in the soil and the mountains, in the rivers. It can be done, but it takes time. The Sky People are too impatient."
"Impatient?" Selfridge explodes. "I'll give her impatient! I have a planet of ten billion people dying back there who are only waiting for us to deliver their salvation. What do you think that means? That means we deliver the damned mineral on schedule, or else this whole operation gets shut down from a distance."
Jensen can't even begin to translate that, and isn't sure he wants to. Sure, the Panderium has proved to be the single most effective means in helping Earth climb out of the hole it dug for itself, but he's pretty sure Selfridge is overselling it, here. Jensen doesn't know anything about corporate policy, but it sounds like the little bureaucrat has lost all perspective on the matter. Jensen wouldn't be surprised if Quaritch had a hand in helping to entrench Selfridge's views of the Na'vi, for that matter.
He steps back and lets Norm take over the translation, grateful at least that Norm is trying to tone down just how insulting Selfridge's words were. He tries to catch Jared's eye, but Jared is resolutely looking away, and Jensen can see a muscle working in his clenched jaw. He bites his lip, heart sinking in his chest, wonders how he ever thought that this was going to fix anything. Quaritch is standing off to the side, watching the whole proceedings with a steely look in his grey eyes. He looks like he's just waiting for someone to make a wrong move, Jensen thinks, just waiting for an opening, any excuse at all to lay waste to the whole place with a well-timed blast from his flagship's cannons.
The talks go back and forth for what feels like forever, but realistically can't be much more than an hour, since that's the size of the exopacks that they brought with them. Jensen thinks they should have brought bigger ones, but since it's obvious the humans don't actually want to negotiate at all, there wasn't much point. It's all just for show, he thinks miserably, a way to prove to the people back home that they tried to negotiate in good faith with the local indigenous population and it just didn't work out. A way to show that there was no other solution to the 'Na'vi problem' than a big show of force.
"Screw this noise," Selfridge says abruptly, and gets to his feet. "We're done here. There's no reasoning with these people, they're goddamned savages."
"Sir..." Jensen tries again, but there's no use. To his surprise, Grace breaks in.
"Parker, don't be a moron. They're offering you what you want on a platter! Are you seriously going to throw that away?"
Selfridge whips around where he is, eyes blazing. "What did I tell you about talking? Someone get her the hell out of here. Who even thought it was a good idea to let the bitch come in the first place, would someone answer me that?"
Jensen never sees what happens next. One moment Grace is shouting at Selfridge, Selfridge is shouting back, then there's a sudden movement among the Na'vi, and the next thing he knows Corporal Wainfleet -always the more trigger-happy of Quaritch's bunch- has opened fire, directly at Mo'at. Under Jensen's horrified gaze, Eytukan throws himself in front of his wife, his chest blossoming crimson, and crumples to the ground.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!"
It's pandemonium. For a few seconds the air is filled with the sounds of screaming and a few rapid bursts of gunfire, quickly silenced as the officers get the men back under control and order them back to the transports. Jensen can't make heads or tails of any of it, can't figure what just happened out of the corner of his eye. He finds himself lunging at Selfridge, hauling the tiny man up by both arms. It's ridiculously easy to do, Selfridge is so small, his feet kicking as he wriggles in Jensen's hands.
"Put me down, Corporal! What are you thinking?"
"You stupid son of a bitch!" Jensen snarls. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" There's no reasoning with him now, though. Jensen half-expects the Na'vi to retaliate, now that the peace has been broken, but they seem just as shocked as he is. They're crowding around Eytukan's prone form, their voices raised and anxious. Jensen all but shoves Selfridge at Quaritch. "Take him!" he snaps. "You've declared war, so you'd better be prepared for it now!"
He doesn't stop to see whether or not his message has been received, turns on his heel and sprints toward the small crowd of Na'vi, shoves his way through. The chief is on the ground, bleeding from a wound in his abdomen, but he's still alive, and that's something. "Ìla'rey!" he uses Jared's Na'vi name to make sure he gets his attention. "We have to get you guys out of here. Let me help!"
Jared turns, but it's Tsu'tey who steps in front of him with a snarl, his knife drawn. "Go back, human! Or I will open you up so that your innards spill and replenish the earth."
He skids to a halt. "Tsu'tey, brother―"
"You are no brother of mine! You are not of the People! Have you not done enough?" Tsu'tey's face crumples with anger and pain.
"I'm sorry," Jensen pleads. "I can't take it back, I can't make it better, but let me help at least with this!"
Jared is already gently pulling his father to his feet. Eytukan lets out a groan of pain, and at a gesture from Jared, Jensen pulls the chief's other arm over his shoulder. This may all be his fault, but he can at least shoulder part of the burden of getting him back. The others in the small party fall in behind them, wary of the predators in the forest that will doubtless be attracted by the smell of fresh blood.
The trek back through the forest feels like forever, but they're close enough to Home Tree that Jensen knows it can only have taken a few minutes. Already one of the younger hunters has been sent ahead to run and warn the healer of their arrival, and when he and Jensen carry the now almost-unconscious Eytukan in, she is already there, waiting.
"Stand back," she tells them sternly, but even before she kneels to examine the wounds, Jensen can tell it's a lost cause. Even a team of surgeons probably wouldn't be able to repair all three bullet wounds, and Jensen knows enough about being shot in the abdomen to know that infection is likely to set in. Worst of all, though, is the chief's tswin, which has been all but severed from his head by a stray shot. The sight makes Jensen want to vomit.
Jared is kneeling by his father's side, well out of the way of the healer, clasping one of Eytukan's hands in both his larger ones, whispering a desperate prayer, and Jensen can see tears spilling down his cheeks.
Then Eytukan coughs weakly, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth, tugs Jared closer in order to speak to him. "Ma'itan," he manages, and Jared only shakes his head.
"Kehe.. ."
"Ma'itan, tskoti munge, " his free hand gropes for the great bow that he always carries, now laid at his side. With a great effort he manages to lift it, tries to press it into Jared's hands. "Omatikaeru tìhawnu sivi."
"Ma Sempul.. ." Jared is sobbing openly, as are most of the others in the room, and Jensen finds himself scrubbing at his own eyes as the man who welcomed him into the tribe as one of them slips away, one drop of blood at a time.
The healer rocks back on her heels, shakes her head. "He returns to Eywa."
Jensen risks stepping forward, puts a hand on Jared's shaking shoulder. "I'm so sorry..."
He half-expects Jared to turn around and hit him, but it's never been the Na'vi way to express sorrow with violence. Instead Jared just keens harder until Jensen pulls him into his arms, hugging him as tightly as he can, even knowing that it's too little, too late.
"Take my son outside," Mo'at says, her voice breaking over her own tears. "There will be time for grieving later, but our people are in peril. Ìla'rey, you must, lead our people through these dark times. Give your father's bow to Tsu'tey, it is his to take up now."
"Sa'nu.. ."
"Now!" she orders, and there's no arguing with her tone.
Jensen tugs gently on Jared's arm, his other arm still around his shoulders. "Come on. They're not going to stop now. I can help, but I don't know how much time I have left, Jared." He gets an uncomprehending look at that, realizes that, in spite of everything, Jared still doesn't understand how impermanent this avatar body is. "Jared, they're not going to let me stay with you. The minute I wake up back in the lab, they're not going to let me link up again. They're going to lock me up for treason, for siding with you. So you need to be ready for when they come because I won't be around to warn you. Okay?"
Jared nods, follows him outside, wiping the tears from his face. "I must tell our people that we are at war. We have not had a war in five generations," he says dazedly. "Where is Tsu'tey?"
"I am here, Ìla'rey," Tsu'tey steps forward. "What do you want done with the traitor?"
Jared shakes his head. "He will be gone soon. There is nothing to be done. Assemble all the warriors, we need to prepare. Jensen..." he falters, still in shock, and it's all Jensen can do not to pull him close again, to try to kiss away the tears he can see welling in his eyes.
"I'll tell you everything I know," he promises. "All of it, as much of it as I can manage. I promise. This is my fault, but I want to at least try to help, as much as I can, anyway."
"We need to know what we are fighting against, what their weaknesses are. We don't have such machines as you do. What hope do we have against them?"
Jensen winces. "Not much, but they're not invincible. You'll need to get everyone out of Home Tree, though, at least temporarily. They'll come straight for it, try to use fire or bombs to knock it down, use the deaths of the weak and defenceless against you. I know Quaritch, he'll want to do this as fast as possible, so he'll strike for Home Tree first, and when you're reeling from that shock he'll threaten the Vitraya Ramunong so you'll surrender."
Jared is shaking his head in denial, as though he simply can't wrap his mind around such a way of thinking. "Why would they do this? Why, when we offer what they wanted? What purpose is there in such killing as this? There is no reason to it."
"I..." Jensen shrugs helplessly. All the reasons he can think of are nigh unexplainable, each of them worse than the last.
"Why are you here?" Jared rounds on him so quickly that he reels.
"I don't -I had to come. I made a mistake," he stammers. "I made a mistake and I can't fix it, but this is where I belong. With you. If you'll let me, I mean. I want to stay, as long as I can."
Jared lets out one last, quiet sob before pulling himself together. "Come," he says, and motions to Jensen to follow him. "Tell me everything you know."
He's obviously not forgiven, but at least it's a start.
Jensen gets even less time than he feared with the Na'vi. He's mid-sentence when the world suddenly tilts and swirls into darkness. He comes to with a sickening lurch as the shell cover of his link bed is wrenched open. For a moment nothing makes sense, the whole room spinning and rocking, and all he can do is lie where he is, trying desperately not to throw up. The next thing he knows his hands have been zip-tied together and he's being bodily hauled out of the unit by Corporal Wainfleet, who simply tosses him over his shoulder and drags him out and into the hallway before he can even think of trying to defend himself. By then, of course, it's too late, and he can only stare helplessly at the floor moving past, gritting his teeth as the movement jostles his already-sensitive spine. His stomach roils, and he considers letting himself puke down Wainfleet's back just out of spite, ends up swallowing hard and just bearing it until he gets dumped unceremoniously on the floor of the operations deck, nearly breaking his nose in the process. He stifles a groan and wriggles a bit, managing to turn over just far enough to find himself staring up into the cold eyes of Colonel Quaritch.
"You disappoint me, son," Quaritch tells him. "You want to tell me what you were thinking, telling those savages all our classified secrets? That's treason, soldier, and you know it."
"They're not savages," Jensen protests before he can stop himself.
"Oh, you're going to play that card, are you?" Quaritch sneers. "Tell you what, boy: if it walks like a savage and talks like a savage, odds are good you've just gone soft. I hear you went and found yourself some native tail -literally. I never figured you for a queer, Ackles, but I guess looks are deceiving."
Jensen bites his tongue. There's nothing he can say now that's going to help him. It's ironic, he thinks with something like grim amusement, that it's only now that he's getting in trouble for getting involved with Jared, now that it looks like Jared wants nothing to do with him anymore.
"So here's what's going to happen, boy. You are going to tell me everything, and I do mean everything, that you told them. And then you are going to be extra-specially forthcoming about everything that the Na'vi have planned. You can't pretend they aren't planning some sort of full-on assault. The whole damned forest has been crawling with activity-so much activity it's been impossible not to notice it, even if they do like to blend in with their fucking trees."
Jensen shakes his head. "No."
Even though he's expecting it, the brutal kick to his kidneys still catches him unprepared. Tied up and twisted around on the floor like he is, with no leverage at all, he can't brace himself for the impact. He lets out a pained cry in spite of his best intentions to stay quiet.
"'No' is not an acceptable answer!" Quaritch bellows. "Look at what your little sympathy for the aliens has cost us."
He points at a monitor, which Wainfleet is obligingly setting up for him. The camera pans across the hulks of what looks like they might have once been bulldozers and the toppled remains of a charred ampsuit. Jensen can't help but wince when he sees the bodies of dead soldiers sprawled on the ground, enormous arrows jutting obscenely from their chests.
"I don't understand," Jensen stammers, breathing hard. When he left the Na'vi they hadn't so much as formed a plan of attack, let alone put one into action. He has no idea how much time has passed, why he didn't awaken the moment the link was severed. None of it makes any sense.
"They hit with banshees first," Wainfleet is saying, not bothering to hide the loathing in his voice. "Set the ampsuit on fire. Driver’s toast."
"The rest of the squad?" Quaritch asks, though it's obvious enough what happened to them. Jensen gets the feeling that this is a movie reel being put on entirely for his benefit.
"Six bodies. That’s all of ‘em. And the equipment is totalled."
"Christ." Another voice joins in -Selfridge. Jensen didn't see him when he was brought in, but he figures that he must have been standing off to the side, willing to let Quaritch do all of the dirty work. It's obvious from his tone that he's more upset about the loss of the equipment than the men.
"You going to talk now, boy?" Quaritch nudges Jensen's hip with the toe of his boot. "How about you start with what you told that alien who's been fucking you up the ass!"
"No!"
"Don't be a martyr, Ackles," Selfridge breaks in. "No one likes those, they're just annoying and all holier-than-thou. Look, up until recently you've been a fine asset to the team. You gave us all the intel we needed to take out their damned tree, and they're still fighting us on this. We already got corporate approval for your surgery months ago. So as far as I'm concerned, our contract still holds, if you're willing to keep your end of the bargain. You tell us what we need to know and we're even: you get up off that floor, we put you back in your quarters, rotate you back out to Earth on the next flight out."
In another life, Jensen in quite sure he would have been tempted. As it is, he wriggles a little ineffectually on the floor, turns his head far enough that he gets a good view of Selfridge's boots, and spits at his feet. Selfridge steps back with a muted cry of disgust.
"Well, I can see living with the savages hasn't improved your manners. Let it not be said that I didn't try."
Quaritch's boot connects with Jensen's kidney a second time, and a third. The kicks come faster after that, and Jensen instinctively brings up his arms to shield his face, isn't surprised when blows start falling thick and fast from all sides, as though others have joined in, determined to exact revenge on him for their fallen comrades. By the time something hard and heavy connects with the back of his skull, he's only too glad to be able to lose consciousness.
Jensen comes to in semi-darkness, finds Grace and Norm sitting to either side of him, cross-legged on the cold, hard floor of one of the holding cells on the base, their expressions grim. They sit, staring in silence, each at something he can't see. He thinks it might be night-time, but they're obviously wide awake. He's been there before, in the past, when things got bad: too wired to sleep, too wiped out to move, as though the life has been drained right out of you.
He opens his mouth, finds his throat has closed up almost too tightly to speak, swallows gingerly. "I'm sorry."
He's never felt this much pain since the day the anti-personnel mine blew his spine to shreds. Every part of him that he can still feel throbs and burns, and when he tries to turn his head stars spark in his vision.
Grace looks down, as though she's not surprised that he's awake. "They never wanted us to succeed," she says softly. He's never seen her like this before, the expression on her face too much like defeat, as though the level of betrayal she's experienced has surpassed even her wildest fears. "They fed us lies for years. From the start."
He doesn't know what to say to that. Norm just reaches over and squeezes her shoulder, then looks down at him, makes a sardonic-looking peace sign. "How many fingers?"
"At least one too many," Jensen feels like his tongue is trying to fuse with the roof of his mouth. "How long was I out?"
"Can't tell the time in here, but about a day. We've been here longer, and God only knows what Quaritch has managed to do while we're shut up in here. You think you can sit up if I help you?"
He nods gingerly. "Won't know until I try."
He can't help the groan of pain as Norm hauls him upright -it feels like someone has poured molten lead down his spine- but once he's up and has pulled in a few steadying breaths he finds that the pain becomes bearable again. He coughs, tastes copper in his mouth even as more pain lances down his spine, and Norm helpfully holds up a tin mug with water in it so he can drink.
"So, you got a plan, Mr. Marine?" Norm asks a little drily when he's caught his breath again, and Jensen grimaces at the thought.
Before he can formulate an answer, though, there's movement at the desk outside. The lone soldier set to guard them looks up from where he's been twiddling his thumbs as none other than Trudy approaches along the corridor, pushing a stainless steel trolley with what looks like the evening meal for the prisoners.
"Yo," she greets the guard amiably enough. "These fuckwits giving you any trouble?"
"Nah. You know scientists," comes the derisive reply. "All soft. They've been sitting where we told them to sit, just like dogs."
"Except dogs don't talk back as much," Trudy nods in agreement. "Maybe we should get 'em de-barked, what do you think?"
The guard laughs. "Hell, yeah, especially Augustine. She's got a real mouth on her, don't you, bitch? I bet I could make some different noises come out of that mouth. Better ones."
Trudy snorts. "I got orders to bring food, anyway. Apparently we still have to feed them, traitors or not. Personally I think steak’s too good for them, but that's just me.
"They get steak? That’s bullshit. I haven't had anything but the damned slop from the mess hall since I got here. Let me see that..."
He bends over to look into the hot cart, still bitching about traitors getting better treatment than him, then freezes as the muzzle of Trudy’s pistol presses behind his ear.
"Yeah, that's right," she says softly, pushing him first to his knees, then to his stomach. "All the way down, pendejo."
She grins at Jensen, Grace and Norm, all of whom are staring at her with identical expressions, mouths hanging open, then puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles. Right on cue, none other than Dr. Max Cullimore trots around the corner and helps himself to the unfortunate guard's key card while Trudy blindfolds him, binds his hands and feet with his own zip ties, then cold-cocks him for good measure. Max fairly bounces to the cell door, swipes the card, then makes an elaborate, sweeping bow.
"Gentlemen, ma'am, this way if you please."
Jensen lets out a pained laugh. What with everything else that's been going on, he let himself forget about Grace's right-hand man in the lab, the guy behind the clipboard. He feels a little bad about it, since apart from Norm, Max was the first person here to actually be nice to him.
"Service with a smile. Max, you are a sight for sore eyes."
Max makes a show of rolling his eyes. "Oh, sure, now that I'm saving your asses you talk to me. I was beginning to feel ignored, there. I got your wheelchair, left it in the hallway while we were busy taking out G.I. Joe, here."
"You're a lifesaver, literally," Norm tells him.
Norm is the first out the door and retrieves Jensen's wheelchair from where Max left it. He's helping Jensen into it when the sound of heavy boots coming down the hallway alerts them to the arrival of another soldier. Trudy takes him out neatly with a well-placed blow to the jugular and a knee to the crotch that has Jensen, Max and Norm all wincing in sympathy. Norm pulls her in for a kiss, which she returns enthusiastically.
"Babe, you are kick-ass."
There's a resounding clang, and Jensen turns in time to see that Max has soundly clocked their guard -who obviously tried to make a move- using the coffee urn that came with their meal. Max puts the urn down, wipes his hands on his lab coat.
"That was unexpectedly satisfying."
Gritting his teeth against the pain in his back and arms, Jensen wheels forward, grabbing the sidearm from the second soldier while Trudy binds his wrists. He meets Trudy's eyes, sees nothing there but resolve. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
He checks the ammunition in the sidearm, puts the clip back in place, then turns his chair so that he's facing them all, feels his face pull into a mirthless smile. "So what do you say? Time for a revolution?"
Grace shrugs. "Why not? My schedule just unexpectedly freed up."
They make pretty decent time, with Norm taking over pushing Jensen's chair when it becomes obvious that the beating he took earlier has made it all but impossible for him to move faster than a slow crawl. Jensen clenches his jaw in frustration, but he's not so stubborn that he's going to choose to put them all in jeopardy because of his damned pride. They sprint down the utility corridor under the base, commandeer as many sets of exopacks as they can take with them before hurrying to the airlock closest to where Trudy's Samson is parked.
"Think you can get your ship fired up before anyone figures out what we're doing?"
Trudy nods. She grabs Norm, pulling him with her through the airlock. Jensen turns to Max.
"I know this is a lot to ask, but I need somebody on the inside I can trust. Someone who can feed us information and tell us when the shit's about to hit the fan. Those two soldiers never got a good look at you. If you make yourself scarce now, they won't suspect you. Think you can do it?"
"Of course," Max nods, and Jensen grips his hand hard, his chest and throat unexpectedly tight.
By the time Grace and Jensen are in sight the Samson, Jensen can see Norm helping Trudy race through the pre-flight checks as the turbines spool up. For a split-second he allows himself the optimistic thought that they might be able to get out of here entirely undetected. Of course, that's when a searchlight hits the Samson, bathing it in bright white light and leaving them all exposed.
"Shut down your vehicle! I repeat, shut down your engines and step out of your vehicle, or I will be forced to open fire!" The soldier, one of the newer recruits whose name Jensen never bothered to learn, is very obviously nervous, his assault rifle unsteady in his hands. "I need you to shut down and step out of the chopper now!"
Jensen rolls up behind him casually, aims his pistol at the base of the guy's spine, ignoring the pain in his back as he does so. Poor kid never stood a chance, he thinks, and wonders if he was ever this clueless when he was a nameless, faceless grunt back on Earth. "Take it nice and easy, trooper. Now," he continues quietly, "on the ground, face down. Hands behind your head. Do it!" he snaps when the soldier hesitates.
Norm leaves Trudy to her prep, jumps down and grabs the trooper’s rifle and side-arm, giving them to Grace so she can cover the guy. Norm lifts Jensen out of his chair, staggering a little under his weight, and carries him to the back bay of the chopper. There's no time for niceties, no time even for Jensen to feel humiliated at having to be hauled around like a useless sack of potatoes. Grace follows them, throws the chair in while Norm is helping him to strap in, then jumps in herself. Over her shoulder Jensen catches sight of a small platoon of soldiers coming toward them at a run, weapons already pointed. He twists a little in his seat, thumps the side of the chopper.
The Samson lifts off in a blast of rotor-wash just as the soldiers open fire and rounds rake the ship. Trudy banks hard, using the bottom to shield them from the worst of it, the movement jolting Jensen painfully. He can hear the sound of bullets whacking into the hull of the ship as she climbs-out over the tree-line, mercifully undamaged. He lets out a whoop of exhilaration and pumps his fist.
"Oh yeah, baby! Everyone all right?" he asks belatedly.
There's a moment of silence, and when he looks over he sees Grace staring at her hand, which is covered in blood. There's a large stain spreading across her abdomen, soaking her white t-shirt. She looks up, the colour draining from her face, eyes wide with shock and more than a little fear.
"Crap," she says quietly. "This is...going to ruin...my whole day."
"Jesus," Jensen can't move from where he is, yells over the comm. "Grace is hit!" He leans forward as far as he can manage, grabs hold of her hand. "Hang on, Grace. We'll get you patched up as soon as we land, okay? We're nearly there. Just hang on for me..."
Part IVb
Part IIIb
Part IV -The Warrior's Choice
Somehow, somewhere along the way Jensen deluded himself that making the decision to give Quaritch what he wanted would make everything easier. No looking back, no regrets. It's been that way all his life, ever since he was a kid and figured out that it was Tommy that everyone expected to succeed, Tommy who was so bright and so full of promise. Everyone liked Tommy, wanted him to do well, Jensen included. No sacrifice was too big, so long as it meant Tommy got to do his studies, got all his degrees, had that brilliant career he was always supposed to have. Jensen got used to being in the background. Hell, he liked the background, liked being where no one took any particular notice of whether he failed or succeeded, because there was no pressure there. All his life decisions were made for him by other people, and he's learned never to second-guess the few decisions he did get to make, no matter the outcome. So this? This should be no different. It was a tough choice, but it's been nothing but thirty years of tough choices, and you learn to live with it. Quaritch would get what he wanted, Jensen's parents wouldn't waste away on a patch of land that was slowly killing them, Jensen would go home, learn to walk again, and everything that happened here would fade like a particularly vivid dream.
Not surprisingly, nothing of the sort happened. All that's happened since he gave up the data chip is that he's been progressively twisting himself into increasingly complicated knots. Jared was the first to notice, badgered him to spill what's on his mind, but it's not like he can confide in the one person whose confidence he betrayed above all the rest. Shit. The more he thinks about it the sicker Jensen feels. He hasn't been back to Home Tree in nearly two days, lying to Grace about not feeling well, like a kid playing hooky from school, because he can't bear to look Jared in the eye anymore. Instead he's been skulking around the base, trying to avoid everyone and everything. Of course, the problem with that strategy is that he's been alone with his thoughts ever since, and not finding the experience a pleasant one. He wishes they could just pack up and go back in the mountains.
"You’re not gettin’ lost in the woods, are you son?"
Lost as he is in his thoughts, he never hears Quaritch come into the armour bay where he's been sitting, arms folded on a break table, watching the harsh artificial light bounce off the laminated surface like it might just hold all the answers he's been looking for. Quaritch pulls up a chair, turns it around and straddles it, facing Jensen. Jensen can feel his eyes on him, studying him, taking in the weight loss, the week's worth of beard growth, the dark circles he knows are now like permanent bruises under his eyes.
"Your last official report was two weeks ago," Quaritch says, and there's a world of meaning in those words. Jensen's been on-base for two days, now. Plenty of time for him to make up his reports. Instead he gave up the data chip with barely more than a couple of annotations.
Jensen can’t meet his eyes. "Sorry, sir. Had a lot on my mind. Worried about my parents, mostly. It's been months, sir, and nothing. Not even a message. I checked with Shirley in admin, and," he hesitates, then decides it's worth risking getting on the Colonel's bad side for this. "She never really gave me a straight answer. I don't suppose you know anything, sir? I know comm sec comes under your responsibility."
Quaritch's look is shrewd. "We've had to limit the transfer of messages through the relays lately. I haven't checked any of the messages personally, mind you. If you're waiting on something, it might be in the queue until we can release it. Operational needs first, Marine, you understand about that."
"Yes, sir." Jensen understands all too well. If his parents did send him a message -and it's nigh unthinkable that they wouldn't, not after all this time- then Quaritch is holding it hostage in exchange for his good behaviour. The Colonel isn't stupid, Jensen knows that, and he's probably figured out by now that Jensen doesn't care as much about getting his legs back as he might have done before he got here. So Quaritch is using a different emotional leverage now to keep him on the straight and narrow.
"I gotta say, you're spending so much time in the lab and out there that it's starting to look like you're avoiding being here, in the flesh, as it were." It feels like the Colonel's eyes are boring straight into his skull. "If I didn't know better, I’d be starting to doubt your resolve by now, son. From what I see, it’s high time we terminated this mission, before you lose yourself out there."
"What? No, sir. I'm not done, not by a long shot," Jensen protests, but the Colonel doesn't look to be in an open frame of mind.
"Out of the question. Look, Corporal, you’ve given me plenty of usable intel," Quaritch holds up the data chip between his middle and index fingers. "This 'Well of Souls' place you showed me, well, it means we've got them by the short and curlies with that with that, when it turns into a shit-fight. Which it will. No two ways about it." Quaritch tucks the chip away and slaps his palm lightly on the table. "So you’ll get your legs back, like I promised. I am a man of my word, after all. It's time to come in from the cold, son."
"I don't think it has to come to that, sir. I think we should try to talk to them, have an official parlay. Their leaders and you and Selfridge, see if we can't work it out that way. They'll respect that, they believe in the leaders of a tribe speaking the mind of all."
"We're not a tribe, and the sooner you remember that, the better. I'm pulling you out before you forget what colour your skin really is."
Jensen shakes his head. "I’ve gotta finish this thing, sir. I know you get that. I need to prove I can do this."
The Colonel's gaze doesn't waver, and although Jensen can see a look of understanding there, he's pretty sure Quaritch doesn't understand a damned thing. "All right, son, I get it. You need to prove to yourself what you've gotta prove, that's fine, but this is bigger than you, Corporal. I needed you to talk to those savages and make 'em see reason, and so far I haven't seen squat. So unless you can turn things around right here, right now, we're moving in, and I mean ASAP. I've got everyone ready, we can move out with a turnaround of less than thirty-six hours if we need to."
A chill runs down Jensen's spine. "They've already let me be part of the rite of initiation, and they're waiting for me to finish proving myself. It's just a matter of time...I’m practically one of them." He swallows hard. "They’ll trust what I say..."
"All the more reason for you to be the one to tell them they have to relocate."
"No, Colonel, you can't―"
"Don't you presume to tell me what I can and can't do, Corporal!"
Jensen fights the urge to throw up. It's all been for nothing, the months of learning, of training. Of falling in love. It all came down to one wrong choice, and now all the Omaticaya, maybe all the Na'vi, are going to pay for his mistake, unless he can fix this. He back-pedals as fast as he can, trying not to stammer.
"That's not what I meant, sir. No disrespect. I just, I think maybe we might be jumping the gun, trying to strong-arm them. They'll be open to talks, I know they will. You won't need to expend the resources on this. Let me talk to them, let me bring them to the negotiating table again and we'll make it work!"
"You think you can do what no one's been able to do for fifteen years, then?" Quaritch is openly sneering at him.
Jensen nods fervently. "I've managed the rest of it, haven't I?"
"All right, then. Get it done, Corporal. And get it done fast!"
Jensen runs. It feels a lot like the first day he arrived on the planet, a giddy feeling of racing headlong into the unknown, except that this time his heart is pounding with fear, adrenaline coursing through his body. He has no idea how long he has until this all goes to hell. All he knows is that this is it, his choice is made, that no matter what he does now it's going to be too little and very likely too late.
Jared meets him halfway up the great stairway, hurrying to greet him, his expression worried. "What is it? Jensen, what is wrong?"
He doesn't even know where to start, has to clamp down on a slightly hysterical laugh. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I should have told you before, but I didn't-I couldn't, and I'm so sorry."
Jared narrows his eyes. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
He can barely breathe, like there's a vise clamped firmly around his chest, but he forces himself to be calm. "I have to speak to Eytukan, and to the tsahik. About what...what my people want to do. What they're trying to accomplish. Please, we don't have much time left!"
"All right," Jared steps behind him, ushers him forward. "We will go."
Jensen races to the top of Home Tree, Jared scrambling to keep up for once, doesn't so much as wait for Jared to announce him before bursting in on what looks like an informal meeting of some of the elders of the tribe. Eytukan is there, as is Mo'at, and suddenly Jensen's mouth goes dry, his tongue trying to crawl its way back into his throat.
"I..."
Mo'at rises from where she was seated. "Jensen. You interrupt."
"I'm sorry, it's important," he stammers. "Please, I wouldn't have come unless it was important."
"Speak," Mo'at nods, as her husband comes to stand beside her, the necklace of Thanator claws clattering on his chest. For a moment Jensen can only stand there, thinks a little stupidly that he's never seen Eytukan without the necklace, that he's never seen him move without hearing the accompanying rattle.
"I..." he trips over his own tongue again. "My people want you to move. To leave Home Tree. They, uh, they want to mine under its roots."
There's silence, not that Jensen was expecting them to leap up and start packing, but the sudden stillness is unnerving.
"What else?"
Jensen blinks. "I don't...what do you mean?"
Mo'at folds her arms carefully. "We already know this. There have been offers. They ask us to leave before, but Home Tree cannot be left."
"No, I mean..." Jensen swallows hard. "I mean they're going to try to force you to leave. They want the mineral that grows under the forest, and they don't want to wait anymore."
"So they send you to tell us this?"
He shakes his head. "No. No, I came to warn you. I don't want this, you have to believe me. I don't...I didn't think this would happen. I didn't mean for any of this to happen, not like this. He's going to try to destroy the Vitraya Ramunong. The bulldozers can't be stopped, not by you. They're too big, even if you go up against them with all the warriors of the tribe."
An alarmed murmur goes up at the mention of the Well of Souls. "Jensen!" Mo'at snaps, interrupting him. "You say he knows the location of the Vitraya Ramunong? How is this possible?"
"Yes," he says desperately. "There's video footage. Um," he gropes for words to translate what he's trying to say into a language they'll understand. "The Sky People took cameras up with them in their ships, they took pictures, from high up. They can see where it is."
"You told them. You are the one who told them where it is."
It's Jared's voice, flat and accusing, from behind him. Jensen flinches, can feel his shoulders slump, but he can't bring himself to deny the truth. This is all his fault. "I didn't mean for this to happen," he repeats miserably.
"This is why you stay away. You lie and don't want to see the ones you lie to." Jared is staring at him, his eyes reflecting Jensen's betrayal like an accusing mirror.
"I want to fix this, Jared, please, you have to believe me, I don't want any of this."
Jared just steps away, his face screwed up with pain, though he's doing a pretty good job of keeping himself under control. "I should have known," he says, a sneer turning his voice hard. "You mean nothing of it. All the Sky People have done is lie, for years. They told me it would be so with you, but I thought you were different."
"I―" Jensen chokes. "I tried to be. I want to be, Jared. Please, we can still try to fix this. You have to talk to Selfridge, maybe there's a way out of this, some other way."
"No." Eytukan steps forward this time. He only has a limited grasp of English, but he uses the words that he has at his command now to make sure that he's well understood. "You leave, Jensen Ackles. Not of the People."
"Please," Jensen's not above begging, not if it'll mean that he can salvage some of what he's built in all this time. "Please, let me just try. Mo'at, please, I'm telling you, if we don't try something they're going to destroy all of it and I can't...I can't bear it if they do and it's my fault. Please let me try to make this right. Let me try to talk to them. They'll listen to you if you come and negotiate, I promise, we have to at least try. You can't do anything if Quaritch comes at you with his ships, they'll just burn the forest, raze everything to the ground if it means they'll get what they want."
"You want us to speak to the Sky People? And what do you think they will say if we tell them we do not move?" Mo'at wants to know.
He makes a helpless gesture. "I don't know. I don't know, this isn't anything I'm good at. I never learned how to do the whole politics thing. I'm a shitty liar and an even shittier negotiator and I didn't think, but we have to try. There's got to be another way around this. Maybe they can find a different way to get what they want from the forest."
Jared is glaring at him, and there's pure anger in his voice when he speaks, emotion making his grammar more stilted than usual. "You know this all along, but you come now and say you want this to change? Why should I believe you when all you say before is lies?"
"I'm not lying now! And it wasn't all lies," he turns to Jared, pleading silently with him for understanding that he probably doesn't deserve anyway. "Most of it wasn't. I just... I didn't know what I... I was just lost, okay? You're the only one who sees me," he adds softly, and he can see the moment in which Jared hesitates, the moment when his words sink home.
But Jared shakes his head. "Lies," he repeats.
Mo'at holds up both her hands. "Peace, Ila'rey. We will go speak to the Sky people, if that is what is needed. We are both peoples who have history and feeling. Let there be talks, if that is what is needed. Jensen, you will take us to the speaking place?"
Jensen nods frantically. "Yeah. Yes, I can do that. I need to talk to them first, let them know you're coming. We can meet in neutral territory. I mean, not Home Tree or the human base, but somewhere in between."
"A speaking place," Mo'at says again.
"Yeah, a speaking place. Give me a few minutes, I'll set it up, I still have a radio, I can call in and let them know we're coming. They'll talk to you, you're a respected elder here, and I can make them listen." He's grasping at straws, desperate and a little panicky, but there's nothing left for him now but desperation. He's probably signed his own metaphorical death warrant with this, but there's no way around it, now.
"Go do so. We will wait for you to return. Ila'rey will go with you, and Tsu'tey, to make sure you honour your word. The Sky People have lied too much now, your word is not good here."
"Thank you," Jensen says fervently. "Thank you, you won't regret this, I promise!"
"Do not make promises you cannot keep," Mo'at tells him, then points, her meaning more than obvious.
"I'll call it in, let them know," Jensen motions to his radio. "But I have to go back. They want me there. I'll come back as soon as I can. I will stand with you on this, I promise."
For the second time that day Jensen takes to his heels, this time back toward the human base. Only this time, he can't help but feel that he's running in the wrong direction.
The negotiations are a disaster.
"You've got to be kidding me," Selfridge is obviously out of place out here, even though the clearing has been set up to keep him and the other humans as comfortable as possible in light of the fact that they're in the middle of the rainforest. "Can someone please explain to me what the hell I'm doing out here in this mud-infested hell hole instead of watching the progress of our bulldozers on the screen from the safety of my nice, dry, air-conditioned office?" He squirms and tugs at the collar of his shirt, directs a glare at no one in particular.
Jensen can't help but think that the humans -swaddled in khaki uniforms that only make them stand out more among the brilliant colours of the forest, look puny and a little ridiculous next to the Na'vi who are twice their height their faces partially obscured by the rebreather masks- All the avatar drivers are there in their avatar forms, so at least Jensen doesn't feel like he's completely alone. Somehow it feels like it's evening things up a little, as though it's the humans who are at a disadvantage here instead of being those in the position of power.
Mo'at towers over Selfridge, her arms folded across her chest in a pose that fairly screams intransigence. "The Sky People do not understand the ways of the forest. Home Tree cannot be 'evacuated,' as you say. Jensen, you will translate?"
Jensen nods. "Uh, Norm can help, too. His Na'vi is much better than mine. Norm?"
"Of course," Norm places his hands together, fingertips barely touching, and bows slightly in her direction. "I am happy to be of assistance," he says in slightly stilted Na'vi, but it's better than anything Jensen can manage on short notice, and Mo'at appears mollified. Grace is there too, but Jensen knows first-hand that she's been forbidden to so much as open her mouth by Selfridge and Quaritch, under pain of being gagged and tossed in a holding cell. She's furious, though, that much is obvious, her anger directed at Jensen as much as any of the others who are responsible for this latest turn of events. Jensen can't meet her gaze, figures that if looks could kill he'd have been dead hours ago, doesn't know if she'll ever be able to forgive him. Hell, he's never going to forgive himself; it's a bit much to start asking others to do something he's unwilling to do.
Mo'at gathers herself. "You say your desire is for the rock that dwells under the roots," she says, in her language. "The Omaticaya can help you with this, but it must be done with care. The forest cannot be treated as you treat it. Where you go there is only death, and the life does not return. The Omaticaya will help you if you agree to stop your mining operation immediately."
Selfridge snorts derisively when the translation comes through. "Don't be stupid. We don't need your help when we have all the equipment we need. We just want a minimum of fuss, here, and the way that's going to happen is if you and your little friends find yourselves a different tree to perch in. I mean, is that so hard? There are millions of trees out there, don't tell me there aren't, I've seen them!"
"Mr. Selfridge," Jensen interrupts, "it's not the same. It's an ancestral home. They've lived there for generations. It's not just a tree, it's a whole-"
"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Ackles!" Selfridge snaps. "You can't spit out here without hitting a sacred tree or a sacred puddle or a sacred mosquito. It's ridiculous and frankly I'm a little tired of having to constantly make concessions, here. Tell your little buddies to move, or we'll make a point of doing the moving for them!"
It doesn't take a mind-reader to see that Mo'at has understood most of that little speech. Her eyes are smouldering with poorly-concealed anger. Jared's face has turned dark, and even Tsu'tey's hand has drifted toward the dagger he keeps at his belt, though Jensen is pretty sure none of them would violate the sanctity of this parley. If Selfridge meant to provoke them he couldn't be doing a better job of it, though.
"Sir, they're offering to bring you the mineral without your having to mine it. Wouldn't that cut down on costs by a huge amount?" he prods.
"Not at the quantities they're offering. How are they going to extract it, anyway, by digging? I don't recall seeing mining equipment hidden among the ferns here."
Jensen turns back and relays the message as best he can, relying on Norm for some of the harder words. "He wants to know how you can get the ore from under the earth without any equipment."
Mo'at's face has become impassive again. "The gift comes from Eywa, and it is all around, in the soil and the mountains, in the rivers. It can be done, but it takes time. The Sky People are too impatient."
"Impatient?" Selfridge explodes. "I'll give her impatient! I have a planet of ten billion people dying back there who are only waiting for us to deliver their salvation. What do you think that means? That means we deliver the damned mineral on schedule, or else this whole operation gets shut down from a distance."
Jensen can't even begin to translate that, and isn't sure he wants to. Sure, the Panderium has proved to be the single most effective means in helping Earth climb out of the hole it dug for itself, but he's pretty sure Selfridge is overselling it, here. Jensen doesn't know anything about corporate policy, but it sounds like the little bureaucrat has lost all perspective on the matter. Jensen wouldn't be surprised if Quaritch had a hand in helping to entrench Selfridge's views of the Na'vi, for that matter.
He steps back and lets Norm take over the translation, grateful at least that Norm is trying to tone down just how insulting Selfridge's words were. He tries to catch Jared's eye, but Jared is resolutely looking away, and Jensen can see a muscle working in his clenched jaw. He bites his lip, heart sinking in his chest, wonders how he ever thought that this was going to fix anything. Quaritch is standing off to the side, watching the whole proceedings with a steely look in his grey eyes. He looks like he's just waiting for someone to make a wrong move, Jensen thinks, just waiting for an opening, any excuse at all to lay waste to the whole place with a well-timed blast from his flagship's cannons.
The talks go back and forth for what feels like forever, but realistically can't be much more than an hour, since that's the size of the exopacks that they brought with them. Jensen thinks they should have brought bigger ones, but since it's obvious the humans don't actually want to negotiate at all, there wasn't much point. It's all just for show, he thinks miserably, a way to prove to the people back home that they tried to negotiate in good faith with the local indigenous population and it just didn't work out. A way to show that there was no other solution to the 'Na'vi problem' than a big show of force.
"Screw this noise," Selfridge says abruptly, and gets to his feet. "We're done here. There's no reasoning with these people, they're goddamned savages."
"Sir..." Jensen tries again, but there's no use. To his surprise, Grace breaks in.
"Parker, don't be a moron. They're offering you what you want on a platter! Are you seriously going to throw that away?"
Selfridge whips around where he is, eyes blazing. "What did I tell you about talking? Someone get her the hell out of here. Who even thought it was a good idea to let the bitch come in the first place, would someone answer me that?"
Jensen never sees what happens next. One moment Grace is shouting at Selfridge, Selfridge is shouting back, then there's a sudden movement among the Na'vi, and the next thing he knows Corporal Wainfleet -always the more trigger-happy of Quaritch's bunch- has opened fire, directly at Mo'at. Under Jensen's horrified gaze, Eytukan throws himself in front of his wife, his chest blossoming crimson, and crumples to the ground.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!"
It's pandemonium. For a few seconds the air is filled with the sounds of screaming and a few rapid bursts of gunfire, quickly silenced as the officers get the men back under control and order them back to the transports. Jensen can't make heads or tails of any of it, can't figure what just happened out of the corner of his eye. He finds himself lunging at Selfridge, hauling the tiny man up by both arms. It's ridiculously easy to do, Selfridge is so small, his feet kicking as he wriggles in Jensen's hands.
"Put me down, Corporal! What are you thinking?"
"You stupid son of a bitch!" Jensen snarls. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" There's no reasoning with him now, though. Jensen half-expects the Na'vi to retaliate, now that the peace has been broken, but they seem just as shocked as he is. They're crowding around Eytukan's prone form, their voices raised and anxious. Jensen all but shoves Selfridge at Quaritch. "Take him!" he snaps. "You've declared war, so you'd better be prepared for it now!"
He doesn't stop to see whether or not his message has been received, turns on his heel and sprints toward the small crowd of Na'vi, shoves his way through. The chief is on the ground, bleeding from a wound in his abdomen, but he's still alive, and that's something. "Ìla'rey!" he uses Jared's Na'vi name to make sure he gets his attention. "We have to get you guys out of here. Let me help!"
Jared turns, but it's Tsu'tey who steps in front of him with a snarl, his knife drawn. "Go back, human! Or I will open you up so that your innards spill and replenish the earth."
He skids to a halt. "Tsu'tey, brother―"
"You are no brother of mine! You are not of the People! Have you not done enough?" Tsu'tey's face crumples with anger and pain.
"I'm sorry," Jensen pleads. "I can't take it back, I can't make it better, but let me help at least with this!"
Jared is already gently pulling his father to his feet. Eytukan lets out a groan of pain, and at a gesture from Jared, Jensen pulls the chief's other arm over his shoulder. This may all be his fault, but he can at least shoulder part of the burden of getting him back. The others in the small party fall in behind them, wary of the predators in the forest that will doubtless be attracted by the smell of fresh blood.
The trek back through the forest feels like forever, but they're close enough to Home Tree that Jensen knows it can only have taken a few minutes. Already one of the younger hunters has been sent ahead to run and warn the healer of their arrival, and when he and Jensen carry the now almost-unconscious Eytukan in, she is already there, waiting.
"Stand back," she tells them sternly, but even before she kneels to examine the wounds, Jensen can tell it's a lost cause. Even a team of surgeons probably wouldn't be able to repair all three bullet wounds, and Jensen knows enough about being shot in the abdomen to know that infection is likely to set in. Worst of all, though, is the chief's tswin, which has been all but severed from his head by a stray shot. The sight makes Jensen want to vomit.
Jared is kneeling by his father's side, well out of the way of the healer, clasping one of Eytukan's hands in both his larger ones, whispering a desperate prayer, and Jensen can see tears spilling down his cheeks.
Then Eytukan coughs weakly, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth, tugs Jared closer in order to speak to him. "Ma'itan," he manages, and Jared only shakes his head.
"Kehe.. ."
"Ma'itan, tskoti munge, " his free hand gropes for the great bow that he always carries, now laid at his side. With a great effort he manages to lift it, tries to press it into Jared's hands. "Omatikaeru tìhawnu sivi."
"Ma Sempul.. ." Jared is sobbing openly, as are most of the others in the room, and Jensen finds himself scrubbing at his own eyes as the man who welcomed him into the tribe as one of them slips away, one drop of blood at a time.
The healer rocks back on her heels, shakes her head. "He returns to Eywa."
Jensen risks stepping forward, puts a hand on Jared's shaking shoulder. "I'm so sorry..."
He half-expects Jared to turn around and hit him, but it's never been the Na'vi way to express sorrow with violence. Instead Jared just keens harder until Jensen pulls him into his arms, hugging him as tightly as he can, even knowing that it's too little, too late.
"Take my son outside," Mo'at says, her voice breaking over her own tears. "There will be time for grieving later, but our people are in peril. Ìla'rey, you must, lead our people through these dark times. Give your father's bow to Tsu'tey, it is his to take up now."
"Sa'nu.. ."
"Now!" she orders, and there's no arguing with her tone.
Jensen tugs gently on Jared's arm, his other arm still around his shoulders. "Come on. They're not going to stop now. I can help, but I don't know how much time I have left, Jared." He gets an uncomprehending look at that, realizes that, in spite of everything, Jared still doesn't understand how impermanent this avatar body is. "Jared, they're not going to let me stay with you. The minute I wake up back in the lab, they're not going to let me link up again. They're going to lock me up for treason, for siding with you. So you need to be ready for when they come because I won't be around to warn you. Okay?"
Jared nods, follows him outside, wiping the tears from his face. "I must tell our people that we are at war. We have not had a war in five generations," he says dazedly. "Where is Tsu'tey?"
"I am here, Ìla'rey," Tsu'tey steps forward. "What do you want done with the traitor?"
Jared shakes his head. "He will be gone soon. There is nothing to be done. Assemble all the warriors, we need to prepare. Jensen..." he falters, still in shock, and it's all Jensen can do not to pull him close again, to try to kiss away the tears he can see welling in his eyes.
"I'll tell you everything I know," he promises. "All of it, as much of it as I can manage. I promise. This is my fault, but I want to at least try to help, as much as I can, anyway."
"We need to know what we are fighting against, what their weaknesses are. We don't have such machines as you do. What hope do we have against them?"
Jensen winces. "Not much, but they're not invincible. You'll need to get everyone out of Home Tree, though, at least temporarily. They'll come straight for it, try to use fire or bombs to knock it down, use the deaths of the weak and defenceless against you. I know Quaritch, he'll want to do this as fast as possible, so he'll strike for Home Tree first, and when you're reeling from that shock he'll threaten the Vitraya Ramunong so you'll surrender."
Jared is shaking his head in denial, as though he simply can't wrap his mind around such a way of thinking. "Why would they do this? Why, when we offer what they wanted? What purpose is there in such killing as this? There is no reason to it."
"I..." Jensen shrugs helplessly. All the reasons he can think of are nigh unexplainable, each of them worse than the last.
"Why are you here?" Jared rounds on him so quickly that he reels.
"I don't -I had to come. I made a mistake," he stammers. "I made a mistake and I can't fix it, but this is where I belong. With you. If you'll let me, I mean. I want to stay, as long as I can."
Jared lets out one last, quiet sob before pulling himself together. "Come," he says, and motions to Jensen to follow him. "Tell me everything you know."
He's obviously not forgiven, but at least it's a start.
Jensen gets even less time than he feared with the Na'vi. He's mid-sentence when the world suddenly tilts and swirls into darkness. He comes to with a sickening lurch as the shell cover of his link bed is wrenched open. For a moment nothing makes sense, the whole room spinning and rocking, and all he can do is lie where he is, trying desperately not to throw up. The next thing he knows his hands have been zip-tied together and he's being bodily hauled out of the unit by Corporal Wainfleet, who simply tosses him over his shoulder and drags him out and into the hallway before he can even think of trying to defend himself. By then, of course, it's too late, and he can only stare helplessly at the floor moving past, gritting his teeth as the movement jostles his already-sensitive spine. His stomach roils, and he considers letting himself puke down Wainfleet's back just out of spite, ends up swallowing hard and just bearing it until he gets dumped unceremoniously on the floor of the operations deck, nearly breaking his nose in the process. He stifles a groan and wriggles a bit, managing to turn over just far enough to find himself staring up into the cold eyes of Colonel Quaritch.
"You disappoint me, son," Quaritch tells him. "You want to tell me what you were thinking, telling those savages all our classified secrets? That's treason, soldier, and you know it."
"They're not savages," Jensen protests before he can stop himself.
"Oh, you're going to play that card, are you?" Quaritch sneers. "Tell you what, boy: if it walks like a savage and talks like a savage, odds are good you've just gone soft. I hear you went and found yourself some native tail -literally. I never figured you for a queer, Ackles, but I guess looks are deceiving."
Jensen bites his tongue. There's nothing he can say now that's going to help him. It's ironic, he thinks with something like grim amusement, that it's only now that he's getting in trouble for getting involved with Jared, now that it looks like Jared wants nothing to do with him anymore.
"So here's what's going to happen, boy. You are going to tell me everything, and I do mean everything, that you told them. And then you are going to be extra-specially forthcoming about everything that the Na'vi have planned. You can't pretend they aren't planning some sort of full-on assault. The whole damned forest has been crawling with activity-so much activity it's been impossible not to notice it, even if they do like to blend in with their fucking trees."
Jensen shakes his head. "No."
Even though he's expecting it, the brutal kick to his kidneys still catches him unprepared. Tied up and twisted around on the floor like he is, with no leverage at all, he can't brace himself for the impact. He lets out a pained cry in spite of his best intentions to stay quiet.
"'No' is not an acceptable answer!" Quaritch bellows. "Look at what your little sympathy for the aliens has cost us."
He points at a monitor, which Wainfleet is obligingly setting up for him. The camera pans across the hulks of what looks like they might have once been bulldozers and the toppled remains of a charred ampsuit. Jensen can't help but wince when he sees the bodies of dead soldiers sprawled on the ground, enormous arrows jutting obscenely from their chests.
"I don't understand," Jensen stammers, breathing hard. When he left the Na'vi they hadn't so much as formed a plan of attack, let alone put one into action. He has no idea how much time has passed, why he didn't awaken the moment the link was severed. None of it makes any sense.
"They hit with banshees first," Wainfleet is saying, not bothering to hide the loathing in his voice. "Set the ampsuit on fire. Driver’s toast."
"The rest of the squad?" Quaritch asks, though it's obvious enough what happened to them. Jensen gets the feeling that this is a movie reel being put on entirely for his benefit.
"Six bodies. That’s all of ‘em. And the equipment is totalled."
"Christ." Another voice joins in -Selfridge. Jensen didn't see him when he was brought in, but he figures that he must have been standing off to the side, willing to let Quaritch do all of the dirty work. It's obvious from his tone that he's more upset about the loss of the equipment than the men.
"You going to talk now, boy?" Quaritch nudges Jensen's hip with the toe of his boot. "How about you start with what you told that alien who's been fucking you up the ass!"
"No!"
"Don't be a martyr, Ackles," Selfridge breaks in. "No one likes those, they're just annoying and all holier-than-thou. Look, up until recently you've been a fine asset to the team. You gave us all the intel we needed to take out their damned tree, and they're still fighting us on this. We already got corporate approval for your surgery months ago. So as far as I'm concerned, our contract still holds, if you're willing to keep your end of the bargain. You tell us what we need to know and we're even: you get up off that floor, we put you back in your quarters, rotate you back out to Earth on the next flight out."
In another life, Jensen in quite sure he would have been tempted. As it is, he wriggles a little ineffectually on the floor, turns his head far enough that he gets a good view of Selfridge's boots, and spits at his feet. Selfridge steps back with a muted cry of disgust.
"Well, I can see living with the savages hasn't improved your manners. Let it not be said that I didn't try."
Quaritch's boot connects with Jensen's kidney a second time, and a third. The kicks come faster after that, and Jensen instinctively brings up his arms to shield his face, isn't surprised when blows start falling thick and fast from all sides, as though others have joined in, determined to exact revenge on him for their fallen comrades. By the time something hard and heavy connects with the back of his skull, he's only too glad to be able to lose consciousness.
Jensen comes to in semi-darkness, finds Grace and Norm sitting to either side of him, cross-legged on the cold, hard floor of one of the holding cells on the base, their expressions grim. They sit, staring in silence, each at something he can't see. He thinks it might be night-time, but they're obviously wide awake. He's been there before, in the past, when things got bad: too wired to sleep, too wiped out to move, as though the life has been drained right out of you.
He opens his mouth, finds his throat has closed up almost too tightly to speak, swallows gingerly. "I'm sorry."
He's never felt this much pain since the day the anti-personnel mine blew his spine to shreds. Every part of him that he can still feel throbs and burns, and when he tries to turn his head stars spark in his vision.
Grace looks down, as though she's not surprised that he's awake. "They never wanted us to succeed," she says softly. He's never seen her like this before, the expression on her face too much like defeat, as though the level of betrayal she's experienced has surpassed even her wildest fears. "They fed us lies for years. From the start."
He doesn't know what to say to that. Norm just reaches over and squeezes her shoulder, then looks down at him, makes a sardonic-looking peace sign. "How many fingers?"
"At least one too many," Jensen feels like his tongue is trying to fuse with the roof of his mouth. "How long was I out?"
"Can't tell the time in here, but about a day. We've been here longer, and God only knows what Quaritch has managed to do while we're shut up in here. You think you can sit up if I help you?"
He nods gingerly. "Won't know until I try."
He can't help the groan of pain as Norm hauls him upright -it feels like someone has poured molten lead down his spine- but once he's up and has pulled in a few steadying breaths he finds that the pain becomes bearable again. He coughs, tastes copper in his mouth even as more pain lances down his spine, and Norm helpfully holds up a tin mug with water in it so he can drink.
"So, you got a plan, Mr. Marine?" Norm asks a little drily when he's caught his breath again, and Jensen grimaces at the thought.
Before he can formulate an answer, though, there's movement at the desk outside. The lone soldier set to guard them looks up from where he's been twiddling his thumbs as none other than Trudy approaches along the corridor, pushing a stainless steel trolley with what looks like the evening meal for the prisoners.
"Yo," she greets the guard amiably enough. "These fuckwits giving you any trouble?"
"Nah. You know scientists," comes the derisive reply. "All soft. They've been sitting where we told them to sit, just like dogs."
"Except dogs don't talk back as much," Trudy nods in agreement. "Maybe we should get 'em de-barked, what do you think?"
The guard laughs. "Hell, yeah, especially Augustine. She's got a real mouth on her, don't you, bitch? I bet I could make some different noises come out of that mouth. Better ones."
Trudy snorts. "I got orders to bring food, anyway. Apparently we still have to feed them, traitors or not. Personally I think steak’s too good for them, but that's just me.
"They get steak? That’s bullshit. I haven't had anything but the damned slop from the mess hall since I got here. Let me see that..."
He bends over to look into the hot cart, still bitching about traitors getting better treatment than him, then freezes as the muzzle of Trudy’s pistol presses behind his ear.
"Yeah, that's right," she says softly, pushing him first to his knees, then to his stomach. "All the way down, pendejo."
She grins at Jensen, Grace and Norm, all of whom are staring at her with identical expressions, mouths hanging open, then puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles. Right on cue, none other than Dr. Max Cullimore trots around the corner and helps himself to the unfortunate guard's key card while Trudy blindfolds him, binds his hands and feet with his own zip ties, then cold-cocks him for good measure. Max fairly bounces to the cell door, swipes the card, then makes an elaborate, sweeping bow.
"Gentlemen, ma'am, this way if you please."
Jensen lets out a pained laugh. What with everything else that's been going on, he let himself forget about Grace's right-hand man in the lab, the guy behind the clipboard. He feels a little bad about it, since apart from Norm, Max was the first person here to actually be nice to him.
"Service with a smile. Max, you are a sight for sore eyes."
Max makes a show of rolling his eyes. "Oh, sure, now that I'm saving your asses you talk to me. I was beginning to feel ignored, there. I got your wheelchair, left it in the hallway while we were busy taking out G.I. Joe, here."
"You're a lifesaver, literally," Norm tells him.
Norm is the first out the door and retrieves Jensen's wheelchair from where Max left it. He's helping Jensen into it when the sound of heavy boots coming down the hallway alerts them to the arrival of another soldier. Trudy takes him out neatly with a well-placed blow to the jugular and a knee to the crotch that has Jensen, Max and Norm all wincing in sympathy. Norm pulls her in for a kiss, which she returns enthusiastically.
"Babe, you are kick-ass."
There's a resounding clang, and Jensen turns in time to see that Max has soundly clocked their guard -who obviously tried to make a move- using the coffee urn that came with their meal. Max puts the urn down, wipes his hands on his lab coat.
"That was unexpectedly satisfying."
Gritting his teeth against the pain in his back and arms, Jensen wheels forward, grabbing the sidearm from the second soldier while Trudy binds his wrists. He meets Trudy's eyes, sees nothing there but resolve. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
He checks the ammunition in the sidearm, puts the clip back in place, then turns his chair so that he's facing them all, feels his face pull into a mirthless smile. "So what do you say? Time for a revolution?"
Grace shrugs. "Why not? My schedule just unexpectedly freed up."
They make pretty decent time, with Norm taking over pushing Jensen's chair when it becomes obvious that the beating he took earlier has made it all but impossible for him to move faster than a slow crawl. Jensen clenches his jaw in frustration, but he's not so stubborn that he's going to choose to put them all in jeopardy because of his damned pride. They sprint down the utility corridor under the base, commandeer as many sets of exopacks as they can take with them before hurrying to the airlock closest to where Trudy's Samson is parked.
"Think you can get your ship fired up before anyone figures out what we're doing?"
Trudy nods. She grabs Norm, pulling him with her through the airlock. Jensen turns to Max.
"I know this is a lot to ask, but I need somebody on the inside I can trust. Someone who can feed us information and tell us when the shit's about to hit the fan. Those two soldiers never got a good look at you. If you make yourself scarce now, they won't suspect you. Think you can do it?"
"Of course," Max nods, and Jensen grips his hand hard, his chest and throat unexpectedly tight.
By the time Grace and Jensen are in sight the Samson, Jensen can see Norm helping Trudy race through the pre-flight checks as the turbines spool up. For a split-second he allows himself the optimistic thought that they might be able to get out of here entirely undetected. Of course, that's when a searchlight hits the Samson, bathing it in bright white light and leaving them all exposed.
"Shut down your vehicle! I repeat, shut down your engines and step out of your vehicle, or I will be forced to open fire!" The soldier, one of the newer recruits whose name Jensen never bothered to learn, is very obviously nervous, his assault rifle unsteady in his hands. "I need you to shut down and step out of the chopper now!"
Jensen rolls up behind him casually, aims his pistol at the base of the guy's spine, ignoring the pain in his back as he does so. Poor kid never stood a chance, he thinks, and wonders if he was ever this clueless when he was a nameless, faceless grunt back on Earth. "Take it nice and easy, trooper. Now," he continues quietly, "on the ground, face down. Hands behind your head. Do it!" he snaps when the soldier hesitates.
Norm leaves Trudy to her prep, jumps down and grabs the trooper’s rifle and side-arm, giving them to Grace so she can cover the guy. Norm lifts Jensen out of his chair, staggering a little under his weight, and carries him to the back bay of the chopper. There's no time for niceties, no time even for Jensen to feel humiliated at having to be hauled around like a useless sack of potatoes. Grace follows them, throws the chair in while Norm is helping him to strap in, then jumps in herself. Over her shoulder Jensen catches sight of a small platoon of soldiers coming toward them at a run, weapons already pointed. He twists a little in his seat, thumps the side of the chopper.
The Samson lifts off in a blast of rotor-wash just as the soldiers open fire and rounds rake the ship. Trudy banks hard, using the bottom to shield them from the worst of it, the movement jolting Jensen painfully. He can hear the sound of bullets whacking into the hull of the ship as she climbs-out over the tree-line, mercifully undamaged. He lets out a whoop of exhilaration and pumps his fist.
"Oh yeah, baby! Everyone all right?" he asks belatedly.
There's a moment of silence, and when he looks over he sees Grace staring at her hand, which is covered in blood. There's a large stain spreading across her abdomen, soaking her white t-shirt. She looks up, the colour draining from her face, eyes wide with shock and more than a little fear.
"Crap," she says quietly. "This is...going to ruin...my whole day."
"Jesus," Jensen can't move from where he is, yells over the comm. "Grace is hit!" He leans forward as far as he can manage, grabs hold of her hand. "Hang on, Grace. We'll get you patched up as soon as we land, okay? We're nearly there. Just hang on for me..."
Part IVb