Recombinant Bridgehead

Concealment

|"Can we not kill that one from here?"| another asked.

|"You do that, and you bring all of them upon us."| Jake handed him his binoculars to explain. |"You see those things that look like drums? They are turrets. One shot of a turret is equal to five hundred and twelve shots from my gun."|

The Na'vi lowered the binoculars with a deep exhale. |"The power these aliens harness is impossible."|

|"They are compensating."| Äi'ut snorted.

|"Neteyam, you are part of this group. What are your words? Neteyam?"|

Neteyam's eyes were not on the fort; his back was to his team, watching the skies despondently. He whistled several times to no response. His father pressed his shoulder. |"She still has not returned."|

|"I'm sorry, son. Before the day is over, we can look for her again."|

|"She has never been away this long before."|

|"You must trust in her survival instincts."|

|"She is white,"| Neteyam sighed.

|"Hey, hey, hey. I know for a fact that you can be white and still survive on Pandora."|

Neteyam eyed him curiously, not understanding his point.

|"Come, we need to meet with the others to plant the next field cabin. It won't be long before they all have ikrans, so we must act fast."|

⊕

A few miles away, at Sosul Syanan, a white streak soared across the sky. White Flower carried in her mouth a dead zawrtsyìp while fending off the tetrapterons that wanted her kill. Diving away from the pesky flock, she entered the forest, where she glided her way down into a darker section of wood. Reverently, she approached a shadowy den that emitted a low grumble. White Flower dropped the food onto the ground and, with a flick of her head, sang an invitation to dinner. From its shadows, the occupant slowly emerged. Exposure shed light on her perforated wings, and she approached the tribute with a limp. Using her nose to inspect the fresh kill, she approved the offering, then downed the hairless monkey in one swallow. White Flower crawled towards the matriarch and nudged the bottom of her snout with hers. Upon receiving the approval, she lovingly rubbed her head and licked her wounds clean. Together, the dark and light ikrans returned to the den for a nap and, in their huddle, formed a yin and yang.

White Flower had not forgotten her rider and would return, but not until her mother could fly again.

⊕

A Samson tiltrotor hovered over the glade as it lowered a field cabin. Several Na'vi jumped off their ikrans to undo the harnesses, and Jake signalled to Norman, piloting the craft, that the drop was detached. The xenoanthropologist, who never went through flight school, had taught himself how to fly after first receiving lessons from his lady love. With her image painted on the side of the Samson, Norman flew the "Trudy" back to High Camp.

Two SciOp defectors exited the cabin to receive a bag of plastic explosives from Jake. "Be careful with these babies," he warned them. "They pack a punch. Easy. Easy. Careful now."

"You're a worrywart, Jake," sang the blonde.

"Don't make me sedate you, Charity." He grinned.

They took the bags and reentered the musty shack, going to work cleaning everything so it appeared to be recently used. Once polished, they wired up the detonators and planted a hidden camera system, cobbled together using scraps of leftover technology.