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Cruelty is a necessity, Quaritch has long since decided. You don’t get anywhere by being soft, except maybe an early grave.
Especially not here. Not on Pandora.
With that said, there’s no room for pleasure in what he does. Satisfaction, maybe. Pride, certainly. But not pleasure.
He’s not a sadist.
So when he meets Mick Scoresby, he feels a measure of disdain for the man who carries cruelty in his pocket. It’s not that he cares one way or another if the Tulkun live or die, but Scoresby has this way of burrowing under his skin and sticking there like a tick.
He’s inefficient and inelegant, a child granted access to his father’s arsenal for the first time.
While Quaritch sees the value in amrita, that’s not what he’s after.
He’s wasting time and he has a sneaking suspicion that that’s the idea. If Ardmore is looking to get him out of her hair, she’s been more successful than he’d like to admit.
But he’s not one to be deterred easily.
One way or another, he’s going to find a way to get what he wants.
That all changes when he spies the figures on the horizon, gathered atop a floundering Tulkun.
Na’vi children.
There’s seven of them altogether, three reef children. The other four- he smiles. They’re Omatikaya. No doubt about it.
Quaritch doesn’t believe in God, but someone up above must be smiling down on him today.
Looks like you didn’t run far enough, Jake.
“Round them up.” He lowers the spotting scope, turning to give the order. “I need those kids alive.’’
The boy is dumped, still dripping with seawater, onto the deck. In his hands, he holds the tracker they’d pried from the Tulkun’s fins.
What did he think he would accomplish by keeping it with him? Quaritch wonders. Was it all a ruse to lure them away from the others? If so, he’s incredibly brave- and foolish, considering it’s all about to be for naught.
Even if he doesn’t manage to round up the others, one will be enough to draw in Jake Sully.
There’s not much point in hanging onto it any longer; he lets it go and it clatters to the deck. Quaritch kicks it away. They won’t be needing it anymore. There will be other Tulkun.
It’s impressive, really. Those things are built to be near impossible to remove and yet, somehow, the kids have managed it.
But he never expected anything less than resourcefulness from Sully’s kids.
“You’re new.” Quaritch stands over him. “What’s your name, kid?”
The boy bares his teeth in a snarl, ears pinned flat against his skull, and doesn’t answer him.
Quaritch walks a slow circle around him.
He poses no threat to them. He’s surrounded. Outnumbered. There’s a knife sheathed at his hip, but there are even more guns trained on him. He seems to realize this and he doesn’t make a move for his knife.
“Well.” He comes to a stop, smiling. “You’ve got more sense than your brother, at least. I’m guessing you’re older?”
The boy hisses, ears pressed flat against his skull. His tail lashes against the deck.
And there it is.
It’s funny; he almost doesn’t look like Jake. No eyebrows, no extra fingers, he could almost be mistaken for a true N’avi. But it’s there, the family resemblance, when you look for it.
Quaritch snaps his fingers and the recoms move in, hauling him to his feet. “Cuff him to the railing.”
He’s already turning away, scanning the horizon for the rest of them.
Neteyam’s breath escapes him in a shaky exhale. He slumps against the railing, head down, and tries to catch his bearings.
He’s been taken to the center of the ship and left there for reasons that aren’t difficult to guess at. The restraints are tight, but not unbearably so.
He’s tested them. Enough to know he’s not getting free on his own.
Have his siblings escaped? Tuk? Lo’ak? Kiri? What about the other three? Have they made it to safety or are they still out there somewhere, being hunted in the middle of the ocean? Has he bought them enough time to get away?
He stiffens at the sound of footsteps walking up behind him.
“You don’t look much like your daddy, boy.” Quaritch leans casually against the railing, watching him. “Sure you’re his?”
He bristles. “What are you talking about?”
“Settle down.” A smile plays across his face, like Neteyam’s outrage is something that amuses him. “I’m just making conversation.”
Neteyam clenches and unclenches his fists. Calm down, he warns himself. Don’t let him goad you. By letting this man rattle him, he’s giving him too much power. But he won’t sit in silence and let his mother’s honor be insulted. “My mother is loyal to my father.”
“I’m sure she is.” Quaritch falls silent. The only sound is that of the ship’s engines- and the waves crashing against its hull. “Sully has that… way about him. I always wondered what it was. When I met him, he was a washed up Marine begging for handouts.”
Neteyam watches him warily. He’s heard the stories of his father’s victory, his unification of the clans against the sky people. To hear it told from another’s point of view is unsettling.
“He wouldn’t know loyalty if it was painted on the broad side of a barn,” he continues. “He betrayed his own people.”
“They told me about you,” Neteyam grinds out, hands wrapped- white-knuckled- around the railing. “You’re a monster. You killed so many Na’vi.”
The destruction of the Home Tree, the murder of his grandfather- it’s all on him.
“It was war, kid. Nothing personal.”
And he doesn’t understand it. It makes him sick. How can someone be so irreverent in the taking of life?
Life is precious. Even the animals his people don’t kill lightly and, when they must kill them at all, they honor the lives they gave up.
Quaritch smiles, as if at some private joke, playing with the safety of his gun.
It’s unsettling to Neteyam, raised to handle such weapons only out of necessity.
But he doesn’t lift the gun, doesn’t point it at Neteyam’s head.
Instead, he steps forward, stripping the comm from around his neck and taking his ear piece as well.
Neteyam bares his fangs, ears flattening, but Quaritch ignores him, palming the comm instead. “Should be enough to bring your daddy running. What do you think?”
Neteyam bristles, glaring at him, but he doesn’t dignify that with a response. It’s what Quaritch is looking for, to get under his skin.
Quaritch pats him on the shoulder. “Hang tight. This is gonna be a long one.”
“Neteyam!”
Neteyam jerks, lifting his head, eyes flitting about frantically.
“Down here.”
There: he spies Lo’ak, clinging to whatever handholds he’s managed to find in the hull of the ship.
“What are you doing here?” Neteyam hisses. He looks over his shoulder, but Quaritch and the other recoms remain unaware. For now. But all it would take is one of them deciding to check on the prisoner. “You need to leave.”
“No way. Not without you.” Lo’ak’s eyes are wide. His hair is wet and plastered to his temples, but there’s a grim set to his jaw Neteyam knows all too well.
“Hurry up then.” Neteyam tugs at the restraints, casting another glance over his shoulder. If the recoms spy his brother, the best case scenario is that he ends up cuffed to the rail beside him, a pair of hostages meant to lure their father to his doom. The worst case scenario…
Neteyam doesn’t even want to think of it.
Lo’ak hauls himself the rest of the way up. “Tsireya and Aunung are here too. They’re waiting for us.”
Neteyam’s heart is pounding too fast. He stares at Lo’ak in bewilderment. “You’re crazy, you scxawng.” The fear in his voice means the reprimand falls flat. He wonders if Lo’ak hears it, but Lo’ak is already sawing at the restraints.
They fall away.
Lo’ak grabs his hand, hauling him to his feet. “Come on, bro. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Naturally, this is when it all goes to shit.
Someone shouts.
There’s a gunshot.
Or maybe it happens the other way around.
Neteyam grabs his brother. They topple over the railing together.
There’s blood in the water.
True to Lo’ak’s word, Tsireya and Aonung are waiting for them.
Neteyam breaks the surface, coughing up salt water.
Lo’ak flounders, struggling to keep his head above water. It doesn’t make sense; out of the two of them, Lo’ak is the better swimmer.
And then he sees the blood.
“He’s been shot!”
Tsireya dives off her ilu, surfacing on Lo’ak’s other side. She meets Neteyam’s eyes, fear and determination present in equal measure.
“We’ve got to get him back.”
She nods, her face pale, but resolute. “We must get him to my mother,” she says. “And we must do something to stop this bleeding.”
“We need to get out of here first.” The longer they stay put, the greater the risk of being recaptured becomes. And while the son and daughter of the Metkayina olo’eyktan and tsahik would make for valuable hostages, the recoms won’t know who they are. He doesn’t trust them not to shoot on sight.
And what about Lo’ak? Would they take a wounded hostage? Or would they throw him back into the sea after finishing the job?
He isn’t willing to find out.
“I’m fine,” Lo’ak gasps. His fingers are splayed against his shoulder.
“No, you’re not.” Neteyam grips him tighter, grabbing hold of Aonung’s ilu when he maneuvers it close to them.
Tsireya hauls herself atop her own, reaching for Lo’ak.
Neteyam doesn’t want to ride separately from Lo’ak, but he doesn’t have a choice. They only have two ilu.
With his help, Tsireya manages to hoist his brother onto her ilu. “The clan is coming,” she says, “but we must hurry.”
“My sisters?” He slides his arms around Aonung’s waist.
Kiri’s not a warrior. Tuk is too small, no matter how fierce her spirit is. And they’re out there somewhere.
“When I saw them last, they were with Rotxo.” Aonung gives him a meaningful look. “And your sister is strong. Stronger than them.”
Neteyam’s not sure he’s forgiven Aonung for abandoning Lo’ak at the reef, but Aonung is the elder son too. If nothing else, he understands this at least.
“We’ve got to find them.”
“We have to get your brother back to the village.”
It’s a terrible position to be in, to have to choose between one sibling or another.
He’s not dying.
The bullet went through Lo’ak’s shoulder, missing his lung by inches. He’s going to be out of commission, but he’s alive.
It should be a relief, but all Neteyam can think is that it should have been him. He’s the older brother.
How many times has Dad told him it was his job to protect the others?
The Awa’atlu is empty. The warriors have gone- the only ones left behind are those unfit for battle, children and elders- to confront the RDA.
“You should have more faith.” Aonung approaches from behind. He stops at several paces, keeping a respectful distance, like he’s still not certain what terms they’re on.
“I should be out there with them,” Neteyam says, without looking back. “My father raised me to be a warrior.”
Instead, he is here. His brother is wounded. His sisters are still out there.
“So did mine.” Aonung comes to stand beside him, looking out over the ocean. “I know what you are feeling now. You think you should be out there. With them.”
Neteyam spins to face him. “I got my brother shot.”
The Metkayina have numbers, but the humans have guns. Have any of them ever faced guns before? How many will die today?
He doesn’t want to know.
Aonung meets his eyes squarely. “That is not what I saw.” When Neteyam says nothing, remaining stonily silent, he keeps going, emboldened. “I saw someone who would throw himself into danger to lead it away from his family. The son of Toruk Makto.”
Neteyam jerks away from him. The son of Toruk Makto. He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m going to see my brother.”
“Wait!” Aonung catches his arm before he can go. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” Neteyam pauses. “You didn’t.” He tugs his arm free and Aonung lets him go without issue.
Lo’ak is sitting up when Neteyam enters the marui. His face is wan, but he’s alive. Alive. That’s the most important thing.
“I did the best I could,” Tsireya says, sitting beside him, “but my mother will still need to see him when she returns.”
When she returns. Not if. The tsahik has ridden to war with the rest of them, which means Tsireya, being the tsakarem, is all they have.
“You did good,” Lo’ak says encouragingly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” To prove it, he tries to rotate his arm, despite the sling meant to keep his arm immobilized.
“Keep still!” Tsireya stops him with a hand on his wrist. “This is no time to be acting foolish. You must rest and allow your body time to heal or you will make it worse.”
Neteyam, who doesn’t miss Lo’ak’s chastened expression nor the look that passes between the two of them, drops to a crouch. “Hey.” He flicks Lo’ak in the forehead. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Ow!” Lo’ak rubs his head, shooting him an injured look. “Of course I should have. What are you talking about?”
“It wasn’t worth your life,” Neteyam presses. And all he can think of is that gunshot ringing out, of Lo’ak’s blood in the water. Of how easily it could have been fatal. A few inches to the left and Neteyam wouldn’t have a brother anymore.
And, depending on how this day goes, they may not have parents by the end of it. Or sisters.
No. Don’t think like that.
That isn’t a path that’s worth venturing down.
“It was worth yours,” Lo’ak counters.
“No,” Neteyam says tightly, “it wasn’t.”
“So what was I supposed to do? Let him shoot you instead?” Outraged, Lo’ak scrambles to his feet before Tsireya can stop him. “You sound just like Dad.”
That startles him so much so that he can’t think of a response until Lo’ak has already stormed past him and out of the marui.
Tsireya shoots him a significant look, the kind that doesn’t need words to be cutting. He feels the sting of her reprimand as strongly as if she had spoken aloud.
He picks himself up. “I’ll get him.”
“He tries to live up to you,” Tsireya says, lips tightly pursed. “Both of you.”
“Yeah.” Neteyam casts one look over his shoulder before he pushes past the marui flap. “I know.”
The tsahik’s marui is located near the center of Awa’atlu. Lo’ak is unlikely to have gone far, but, even injured, he can move quickly when he wants to. But he’ll head for the beach, where he can see the warriors when they return.
Neteyam spies him- standing alone at the edge of the water.
He approaches carefully. He’s not used to finding himself in such a position when it comes to his brother. It’s not like they never argued before, but it had always been over trivial matters. Not this.
Perfect soldier.
It’s what Lo’ak had called him before running off after Payakan.
Is that really how his brother sees him?
“Lo’ak.” He stops, just an arm’s length away. He takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you. You saved my life.” He clasps Lo’ak’s uninjured shoulder, turning him around to face him, and is surprised when Lo’ak throws his arm around him, burying his face against his shoulder.
He doesn’t hesitate to return the hug, all while being careful of his brother’s injury.
Lo’ak doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. Neteyam can feel the tremors running through his body and holds him tight.
“You should go back,” he says eventually, without relinquishing his hold. “I think Tsireya is worried you’ll injure yourself more.”
“I won’t,” Lo’ak defends himself, but bringing Tsireya up had been the right call. He looks at him worriedly. “Do you think she’s mad?”
“Nah, I wouldn’t worry about it.” But, unable to resist needling him, he adds, “Unless, of course, you hurt yourself worse.”
It’s an immediately sobering statement.
His brother was shot. He could have been killed and how terrifying that is to contemplate.
“What about you?” Lo’ak asks anxiously. “Did they hurt you? While you were on the boat?”
“No.” Neteyam shakes his head. And it’s the truth, but Lo’ak looks at him skeptically. Still, there isn’t much he can do when there’s no visible injuries. “I’m okay, little bro.”
“It was my fault.”
“Lo’ak.”
“No. It should have been me on that boat.”
Neteyam grabs him by the elbow, surprised by his own vehemence. “Don’t ever say something like that again. You hear me?”
“But it’s true.” Lo’ak snatches his arm back. Only his injury keeps Neteyam from grabbing at him again. “You wouldn’t have been out there in the first place if you hadn’t followed me.”
“I followed you. That was my choice. Mine.” He ruffles Lo’ak’s hair, ignoring the younger’s indignant squawk.
Lo’ak sobers, pushing Neteyam’s hand away. “I’m not sorry for helping Payakan. You saw what they were going to do to him. He’s outcast. No one was going to warn him. I had to go.”
Neteyam thinks of Payakan, struggling in the water, speared by the humans’ awful device. A murderer, according to his people, even if he had taken no lives himself. By the Tulkun way, he bore those deaths.
And they would have let him die for it.
He doesn’t understand the Tulkun way, but he thinks he understands Lo’ak. Of course Lo’ak, who can never sit still and accept things the way they are, would be drawn to Payakan.
“You’re right,” he says finally. “Payakan needed to be warned.”
They fall silent.
Lo’ak asks, “Do you think they’ll be okay?”
“They’re smart. And strong.” The platitudes that would satisfy Tuk won’t work on Lo’ak. “Look, they weren’t expecting to fight anything other than an injured Tulkun, right?” Obviously, they know now that Jake Sully has been sheltering in this area, but did they have enough time to call for reinforcements? Or will they be caught off guard when the Na’vi attack? “Dad’s fought them before. He and Mom both. They’ll be okay. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.” Lo’ak tries to smile, but it falters before it reaches his eyes.
Neteyam understands; the guilt in his heart won’t lessen until the rest of their family comes home.
Until then, nothing he says will assuage it.