Recombinant Bridgehead

Risk

"No, Spider!" Jake boomed. He paced angrily about his tent before the obstinate adolescent.

"It's the only way," Spider countered firmly. His boldness in staring down the Titan made their size difference almost unnoticeable.

"The answer is still no. I will not put you in danger like that."

"I'm a warrior, Jake. These are my people too. It's my duty to protect them."

Jake's scowl unsheathed his fangs, something he rarely did unless truly upset. "And I'm telling you, you can't sneak into Hometree."

"Jake, someone's got to learn more about these non-linkers. The mole hasn't said anything yet, and they're right in our territory. This might be our only chance."

"Spider..." Jake sighed.

The bold human wouldn't relent. "I'm willing to take this risk. I'm, what, eighteen? Nineteen? I'm not a kid anymore, Jake. I'm old enough to do this." He paused before adding firmly, "And you know I can do it."

He lowered his head and sighed again. He knew Spider was exceptional at spying and often succeeded in sneaking up on him despite his acute senses. Having observed the Na'vi his whole life, Spider absorbed all their ways, including their mastery in stealth. "You could—and you could also get caught."

"I'm a human. They'd spare me."

"You don't know that, kid."

"They spared the people at Hell's Gate."

Jake didn't reply. The truth was he didn't actually know. He betted on it being true for Spider's sake and his own peace of mind. "If you ever got discovered..."

Spider rolled his eyes. "Surrender."

"No!" Jake practically shouted. "You fight. This isn't about you getting caught. It's what they'll do to you afterwards. You know where High Camp is—everything we do is all in here." He tapped the boy's temple, then leaned over to warn in a low, grim whisper, "Do not underestimate what they'd be willing to do to you just to get that information out. They won't care if you're a human. They will torture you."

Spider was rarely, if ever, disquieted, but Jake's warning managed to halt his breath. He shrugged it away with his token grin. "Don't worry, Pops. They'd never be able to break me."

"You're not taking this seriously," Jake mumbled and returned upright. "The answer is no."

"But—"

"I said no. That's the end of it."

The young warrior was fuming, but he could tell by the stiffness of his guardian's back that no amount of reasoning would sway his decision.

Jake was ready to leave when he realized this was his tent and shooed the human out. He palmed his creased brow smooth, dwelling on all that had been said. Spider was right about one thing: he was no longer a kid. The olo'eyktan, who already had two children of his own, couldn't help but take up his songcord and reminisce over their years together.

It was August 24th, 2154, the night Jake returned to the avatar lab for one last video log. After finishing his log entry, Norman had called Jake aside about a discovery he made—a ninth level. Using a janitor's card key, Norman gained access to a strictly classified final floor. The underworld appeared as if a hurricane had gone through it; the whole place was sabotaged, from smashed computers to shredded data, along with unregistered link beds that Norman couldn't account for. As the anthropologist made futile efforts to uncover what research had been conducted, Jake rolled his wheelchair down the dark hall of flickering lights, following the faint sound of crying. It brought him to a locked room where he discovered a toddler huddled in the corner. The boy was petrified, exhausted from crying, and suffering from want of care. He noticed the chapped lips and pulled out a water bottle he carried on his wheelchair to coax the tyke over. Though he was emaciated, the boy still had the strength to scramble onto Jake's lap, where he greedily suckled the water. In that quiet moment, as the Marine doled the little man whispers of reassurance, Jake's heart opened up and then restitched itself with the boy now nestled inside it.