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Chapter Text

“So Mr Metzger, why do you want to go to Pandora?” the interviewer asked. Corporal Frank D Metzger of the Army of the European Union blinked and shifted in this chair, glancing around the grey, slightly too small, interview room.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he replied. He had not expected anything to come of it when he made the application. It had been an off the cuff decision when they sent round the call for volunteers for the United Nations Expeditionary Force. Several others in the unit had put their names forward but none of them had got so far as the screening process let alone an interview. 

The woman, a civilian in a clean pressed business suit who had asked the question leaned forward in her chair. “It is a simple question. This is no ordinary tour of duty you are volunteering for. The Pandora expedition is the first manned journey to another star system. You’ll be gone for something like twenty years, when you come back the world will be a totally different place, your friends and family won’t recognise you. This is not a decision a person takes lightly,” she said.

“I was aware of that when I put my name forward,” Metzger replied. Why was she questioning his resolve like this?

“No one is questioning your commitment, corporal,” another of the interviews a man in a military uniform interrupted. “Your service record speaks for itself. Quite a lot of action under your belt for so few years of service. The North African Safety Zone, the Barents flash war, the England intervention, the Lebanon emergency. Seems like you’ve been in the thick of it,” he listed off a couple of examples from a pad.

“The worlds an unstable place sir. I just go where I’m ordered to make sure it doesn’t get any worse,” Metzger replied. He was still in his early twenties with a full head of black hair with slightly intense eyes that betrayed despite his stiff formal posture, always gave away his intellect. 

“As don’t we all,” the military man replied with a smile.

The woman coughed, regaining control of the interview. “I am afraid you still have not answered my question. Why do you want to go to Pandora? What motivated you to do this? What do you desire out of this?” she asked again. Metzger stared at the collective panel for a few seconds thinking. Why had he put his name forward? Most of the others in the unit had done so when they saw the kind of money they had been offering but it wasn’t that.

“I remember watching all the old sci-fi tv shows when I was a kid. You know the type, the ones made before we knew how difficult it all was. They had that certain air of optimism about them. I want to see the stars like in those shows,” he said eventually. Before we all burn he mentally added but knew better to say out loud. The panel looked at each other for a moment.

“Thank you Corporal Metzger. I think you have answered our questions sufficiently,” the military man said, indicating the interview was over. “If you are selected for this expedition we will let you know.”

“I understand,” Metzger said, getting to his feet and heading to the door. As he walked through the packed waiting room he doubted he would get any further. The dream would remain a dream.

Later in a similarly grey office half a continent away. “What about Metzger? He has the experience required. Psychological evaluation reads well.”

“There is a potential external issue, his unit has shall, we say a history, this Sinawin business.”

“None of which has yet been proven. This is irrelevant to this discussion.”

“But it risks affecting media optics if anything does come up. There are other suitable candidates that are less risky. Better ones in fact.”

“Only in terms of experience. Too many just want their name in the history books or are looking at the pay we’re offering. I want people who want to be voyaging into the unknown. You applied much the same to the scientists on this mission, why shouldn’t I apply it to mine?”

“We are only talking about a corporal here.”

“Better such an attitude exists throughout the unit and not just the senior staff.”

“Well if it sounds like you’ve already made up your mind shall we make the call?”

“If no one has any other objections? Then let us vote.”   

He got the call on the dance floor of a packed disco in Hamburg. “Hello, who is this?” he said, jamming the cheap handset to his ear as he pushed his way to a quieter part of the building.

“Am I speaking to corporal Metzger?” the woman on the other end asked in a measured tone.

“Yes. Look, you will have to speak up.” Metzger manoeuvred around a group of drunk people carrying drinks.

   “I just wanted to let you know that you have been selected for the expedition,” the woman replied.

“What?” Metzger said, stopping suddenly, somebody almost running into him from behind.

“Congratulations. We will be sending a transport for you in the morning. I advise you to spend the time you have left wisely.”

“Yes, I will. Thank you,” Metzger muttered weakly and hung up. He stared around at the disco, filled with dancing happy people and made his way back to the dance floor.

After a few more songs and a sampling of the more obscure and expensive offerings at the bar he made his way out of the club and onto the streets of the Sternschanze. He could have taken a taxi or the metro back to the base but he walked instead. He wanted to see and hear the city, not speed past it. He walked through the crowds, looking around at the clubs, the bars, the neon sights, at the holograms flickering high above the streets. Around him a hundred groups pass, young friends experiencing their first night on the town together, old work colleagues blowing off steam one last time and amongst them the pickpockets and thieves. He walked the Reeperbahn and thought about sampling its many delights before settling for a synthetic bratwurst. He moved beyond the entertainment zones, past the places the wealthy went with their BMW’s and private security to the risky zones under the shadow of the new towering hab blocks where only the confident or the desperate went. He walked past the homeless and the destitute and flicked them the last of his coins. He watched the government ration lines and the charity food banks. He saw the greatest acts of kindness and the most savage crimes of violence and desperation. He saw it all and more in that glorious, half remembered night. He had experienced humanity itself, all its heady heights, it's sickening lows and its twisted complications, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Perhaps deep down he knew, even then, that he would never see any of it ever again. 

Chapter Text

In a darkened lecture theatre Metzger sat listening to a presentation on the observed plantlife of Pandora. It was all part of an effort to build bonds between the various parts of the expedition, the scientists, the support and mining team and the soldiers, sorry security force. Most of the soldiers found these talks a boring waste of time and would much rather be out on yet another training mission but Metzger found them at least interesting. While he couldn’t follow along entirely, knowledge was always useful. “Thank you Dr Augustine,” said Professor Sarah Donnets, the lead scientist as the surprisingly young doctor finished the presentation. There was polite applause from the room. Dr Augustine smiled slightly briefly before returning to her seat while Donnets took the podium.

Donnets turned her head to look at the image of a plant Augustine had left up on the screen. “Pandora is a once in a lifetime, nay a once in a existence opportunity for the human race. To explore and understand an alien planet. One with an ecosystem that has eclipsed even our wildest imaginations. This expedition has assembled some of the best and brightest minds of today for this historic mission.” She looked at her team on one side of the hall with pride. 

Metzger felt his eyes starting to glaze over, the scientists were so often congratulating each other like this. “But enough self congratulations,” Donnets suddenly said, turning to look at the rest of the hall. Metzger smirked a little, Donnets at least recognised it as a flaw, usually finding a way to crack a joke about it. “You are also part of this great mission which means you are also part of the science. Everything you will see when we hit the ground, from the tallest tree to the smallest bug is going to be totally unknown to us. While of course we will be doing surveying and fieldwork I expect us to be overwhelmed within the first day. That means it is often going to be you going out there and seeing the unknown first,” Donnets said, pointing out at the audience. “I want you to have some recognition for that fact. Which is why I have finally received authorisation to say that the first person to encounter or secure a sample of a specimen animal or plant will get full naming rights.” A great murmur went up around the room. “As long as it is appropriate and clean,” Donnets quickly added with a warning glance towards some of the military rows.

“Ah man,” Albert said quietly, clearly hoping to have named their discovery something quite rude. Sergeant Toledo turned her head and gave Metzger a look to keep his men under control. He nodded and silently elbowed Albert to get him to shut up. Albert looked at him with annoyance but stayed quiet. 

Major Curtis Stewart took the stage from Donnets now. Metzger now recognised him as the military man that had interviewed him months before. The major was a good commander, experienced, hard but fair and actually seemed to get along with people like Donnets and the other civilians. Rumour in the barracks was they were screwing but no one dared find out. “Yes Pandora certainly seems like a wonderful place,” Stewart mused, turning to look up at the screen of plants. “But we must remember it only seems that way,” he added, turning to face the room. “We have barely scratched the surface of this world. While we have a few clues, ultimately we have no idea what we will truly be facing when we hit the ground.”

Stewart flicked the screens to a new image of a six legged wolf like animal approaching a probe. Several more appeared to hang back in the undergrowth. “A case in point. Here we have an example of a known threat. I believe Professor Zakharov has a great lecture planned on this creature, classified as ELF-A-13. It looks like some kind of dog doesn’t it?” he activated a laser point and pointed it at the creature. “Not much of a threat, I’ve fought things like this on the streets you say. But remember the scale in these images can be deceptive.”

Stewart activated a hologram next to him which displayed a 3D approximation of the creature. The beast was larger than Metzger had expected, over a metre tall on weird ape-like hands and with a mouth of sharp teeth. “Not so friendly now is she?” Stewart commented, putting his hand down to the beast, causing the hologram to break up a bit. He would get his whole hand inside its jaw. “This thing will kill a man if it gets its teeth into him. Extrapolating from Earth creatures and its scale relative to its environment suggests this is not the apex predator. What that is we do not know but we must assume the worst.” He flicked up several grainy zoomed images of large mighty beasts from the probes too far away to make out much detail. “As such we must prepare for every eventuality. Whatever happens we must achieve our primary security mission. Protection of personnel and material.”

There was a moment of silence. “What about the aliens sir?” a soldier asked, raising his hand. Donnets sighed, getting up from her chair to stand next to Stewart. It was her most common response to a question from the military, Metzger always viewed it as a sign she didn’t respect them. Stewart simply smiled and let her take over, standing off to the left.

“I assume you are talking about sentient extraterrestrial life form one?” she asked and clicked the screen to a new image, of an alien face peering out of the foliage at the edge of a wider shot of the Pandoran jungle by a probe. A second image came up of two blue skinned humanoid figures stepping out of the jungle towards the probe, clad in primitive clothes made out of feathers and cloth, one looking very much like a human woman with longer hair and breasts suggesting a level of sexual dimorphism and carrying bows. One final image of the leader alien reaching out towards the camera. They’d all seen the images before, everyone had. The three images that had shattered a world view already shattered by the previous photos of Pandora. Intelligent alien life. 

Metzger stared at the screen, the image was hazy with compression from another star system away and the projector didn’t help either but even he could imagine the expression on the alien’s face was perhaps curiosity at what it had found. “Despite what some of you have heard in the media, we are not calling them the Pandorans. We have already let them name Unobtanium,” Donnets said the last word is contempt. Apparently it was somewhat of a bugbear amongst the scientific community that what had started out as a temporary name before classification had through media hype and repetition become the official name.

“Until which time as we can establish first contact they are to be referred to as SELF-1, especially to the media, do I make myself clear?“

“Yes ma'am,” the soldiers replied in unison.

“I wasn’t just talking to you,” Donnets responded, looking towards her fellow scientists who quickly murmured in agreement. Metzger cracked a smile.

“Does their existence complicate our mission?” someone asked. The discovery of SELF-1 when the probes delivered another batch of data had been an unexpected development in the mission, triggering another media frenzy and high level discussions.

“Not at this time. Our primary mission remains the same, scientific exploration. From a security standpoint SELF-1 simply means we may have to be more careful in our actions.” Stewart replied quickly.

“Correct,” Donnets added, nodding in agreement. “It has been decided that we will not seek out SELF-1. We don’t know the spread of this species. If there is any in our eventual mission area we will let them come to us.”

“And if they are hostile?” Metzger asked, it was probably the thing on the minds of all the soldiers in the room. The size of the arrow the alien had been holding when adjusted for scale. There was a moment of silence from the leadership.

“At this time we have taken the decision not to create directives for such a possibility,” Stewart replied, choosing his words carefully. “With luck such a situation will not arise but if it does we will seek to deescalate the situation without risking personnel or material.” He looked over at everyone in the room. “I suppose I don’t have to remind you that once we are at Pandora we will be on our own. Our directives, while extensive, are ultimately guidelines. Once we’re on the ground we will have to be playing everything by ear as the situation develops.”

“Which is why we are training for every eventuality so that when it comes we make the right split second decision,” Donnets added. Apart from if the aliens want to kill us, Metzger thought, that seems like a big oversight. Looking around he could tell others were thinking the same. Damn politics. 

In this moment of silence the final member of the leadership team, or the triumvirate as it was unofficially called got to his feet. “Before we all get excited by the thought of alien races and wondrous scientific discoveries we need to remember the other purpose of this mission,” Zhong Yong,  resource controller said, stepping up to the platform. Donnets gave him an annoyed look but withdrew from the stage. Stewart simply nodded and returned to his seat as well. While it was the United nations that was running the mission and the scientists who were setting the objectives, it was the Resource Development Agency that was paying the bills. They were the ones that had built the two massive interstellar vehicles in orbit with another two under construction. It was they who had been given an exclusive monopoly on anything they brought back to Pandora. It was a fact that Zhong Yong, their chief representative on the mission, would not let anyone ever forget.

Yong flicked the screen to another image, a spectroscopy graph. Metzger mentally groaned here with go again, it was the speech again. “I know you’ve seen it before,” Yong said with stunning irony. “This is the signature of a new mineral our probes detected on Pandora in vast quantities. We’ve called it Unobtanium.” He paused for a moment to smile wittily at Donnets before continuing.  “ It's the new wonder mineral. If our readings are correct Unobtanium is a naturally occurring room temperature superconductor. Some say that's impossible, but then there is a lot about Pandora that seems impossible.” He flicked the screens to a new image, of an island floating in the sky, a chain of smaller rocks floating away behind it. Metzger looked at it. They’d all seen the images of course, before SELF-1 had been discovered it had been the floating rocks that had captured the public's imagination, almost eclipsing the fact the alien eco-system for a time. “Such is the power of unobtanium in its natural form. Now imagine what could be done if it was put to proper use,” Yong said, pausing to let the room think about it. “I don’t need to tell you how much of a game changer this could be for the global economy. We are talking about quantum leaps in power, transportation and spaceflight.” 

Yong flicked on a video about the potential applications of unobtainium. “Think about it. Every city with its own fusion power plant,” he said. On the screen a power station was constructed from a polluted industrial wasteland, turning on the lights of a city, glittering prosperous skyscrapers springing up from the slums and drab concrete hab blocks. “A maglev network that barely costs a dime to run.” Maglev trains crisscross a map of the world carrying goods and raw materials past pot-holed highways and flooded ports. Another carrying passengers glides into a busy station, silently floating just above the ground. A departure board in the background offering destinations across the world. “The riches of the outer solar system finally unlocked.” A spacecraft without the usual bulky cooling radiators, its surface packed with cargo module undocks from an asteroid mining complex. “The future is within our grasp. All we need to do is take it,” Yong wrapped up, bringing up the RDA corporate logo. It was a good presentation Metzger had to admit, no matter how many times Yong repeated it. RDA had probably used it to sell the expedition to governments and investors. It was loaded with marketing speak and overly optimistic predictions but it spoke of something people hadn’t heard in a while, hope in the future. 

There was a reason why they had called the planet Pandora, it was a box far away filled with dangers but it had one thing. Hope, hope there was a way that mankind could dig themselves out of the mess they were in. The climate apocalypse, the agriculture crisis, resource shortfalls, the wars and the endless refugees, each feeding off each other, it was all taking its toll. No one ever talked about it of course. Things were always discussed in isolation as if they were separate. The bigger picture was too big, too scary to contemplate. So everyone kept marching on, hoping for a silver bullet to finally come. The truth was they needed this. They needed to break the downward spiral. They needed a win. They needed unobtanium, even if it meant enriching a lot of people like Yong.

Chapter Text

The sound of classical opera filled the luxurious preparation room. He was lying on a chaise lounge after a medtech had injected him with a mild sedative. Now all he had to do was wait comfortably for it to take effect and they would prepare him for cryo and the journey to Pandora. Despite all the decoration, real plants and simulated view of natural beauty Metzger couldn’t keep thinking that this was basically a euthanasism without the lethal injection.

He mentally changed his line of thought to something different. The leaving ceremony had been strange really, he mused. He’d expected a small meal with the entire exhibition as a social unit. Instead he had gotten a full course meal with hundreds of guests and speakers from some of the biggest names in politics, science and industry, all under the lens of the world’s media. It had been an exhausting process. Thankfully his interaction with the media had been brief, a few reporters going through the motions. Most of the cameras were focused on the mission leadership and the scientists. No one was really interested in a bunch of low level soldiers and miners. The questions were generic as they come, was he proud to represent the union on this mission? Was he truly prepared to be away for so long. He repeated the equally cookie cutter answers the PR people had briefed them to say. Of course he was happy to represent the union on this great mission and for him most of it would be in suspended animation. “As for the rest, it will be too much of an adventure to miss home,” he added to the last point with a twinkle in his eye. The reporter laughed at that one.

Then on the next day the entire expedition, dressed in crispy dress uniforms to the sound of trumpets, fanfares and fireworks, had boarded shuttles and took off into the sky, apparently to give the suggestion that they were going directly to the ships in orbit. In reality they had just flown to another base to prepare for cryo, all their equipment was already in orbit. Metzger, still slightly hung over from the night before, had felt the entire thing was ridiculous, staged only for the media. But then again whenever did the media make sense.

After they arrived they went through decontamination and had a final, almost sombre meal together and had been shown to their private preparation room, each to their tastes. Metzger had settled on something classical. Now he was just waiting around for the drugs to kick in. They were taking a while to kick in, he almost thought about asking if they had gone it right but felt foolish. They wouldn’t have screwed up like that. Not after all this planning and preparation.

Yeah but what if something does go wrong a part of his mind asked. What if the cryo pod fails or the ship blows up. These could be your last thoughts ever. That would be a horrible way to go. Is this really the last thing I am ever going to think about Metzger considered? Whether or not I am actually going to wake up again? God that would be so ironic. Damn it! Why can’t these bloody drugs get a move on? He closed his eyes in frustration.

When he opened them again he found himself staring at metal a few centimetres above his face. He jerked, only to realise that he had been strapped down to a bed. He looked around realising he was trapped inside a metal box with only a single dull light above his head. The cryopod, he remembered now. They had climbed inside them for tests. But why was he awake? Had something gone wrong? Was he trapped in this coffin? Panic started to build in his chest. He started to struggle. His muscles felt like they had been replaced by wet cement. Then he realised he was in zero-g.

There was the clack of locks snapping open and the hiss of seal being broken and the bed he was on trundled backwards into the blinding light of the ship. Metzger squinted up at the dull shapes of two medtechs. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” one of them commented.

“I take it, we made it?” Metzger asked, regaining his composure a little.

“We certainly did soldier. We are at the farthest mankind has ever gone and you have been revived from the longest period of suspending animation on records,” the man replied.

“Well, until we wake up the next in line,” his colleague joked. 

“When are you going to get me out of all of this?” Metzger asked, smiling weakly, looking down to notice the IV drips and sensor patches on his skin.

“The drugs are still wearing off, believe it from me you won’t be moving around much for an hour or so, so just lie back and relax.” The med techs floated out of sight towards the next pod.

“You awake yet Metzger?” Albert called out from somewhere down the row of pods.

“Yeah I made it,” Metzger replied. The cold, antiseptic cryo vault was starting to come alive with conservation as everyone waited to get unplugged. “Sounds like we all did.”

Turned out not all of them did. Sergeant Toledo never woke up. Major Stewart came personally to help break the bad news to them. “Failure in the heat exchanger three years into the flight,” a medtech explained.

“We all knew the risks,” Stewart commented.

“Correct, still we’ve had a better survival rate than we feared.”

“She didn’t wake up in there?” someone asked. The mental image flashed across Metzger’s mind.

“No. She just never woke up,” Stewart said quickly to cut off that exact train of thought.

“Better you’re all out of her before we extract the body. These things can be a little messy,” the medtech commented. Stewart shot him a dark look to say he wasn’t helping. The medtech got the hint and floated away a little. 

“Corporal Metzger?” Stewart asked, turning to the assembled men. 

“Sir!” Metzger replied, saluting but finding himself starting to spin in zero-g, a fellow soldier grabbed him to steady him.

“You were Toledo’s backup in this situation. Congratulations on the field promotion sergeant,” Stewart said, turning the salute while bracing himself against the cryopod.

“Thank you sir,” the now sergeant Metzger replied. Toledo had been a good sergeant, tough but fair and a blast when off duty. Hopefully he could live up to her memory. 

The men started filtering out the cryo chamber. Stewart discussed a few more details with the tech and floated away leaving Metzger and the awaiting med techs. “Hey Metzger, you’ve got to see this,” Albert called out, reappearing at the entranceway.

“Coming,” Metzger replied and turned to Toledo’s pod “Goodbye Toledo, you were a good comrade,” he muttered and saluted, bracing himself this time. He nodded to the med techs and floated away to let them extract her remains.

He found the rest of the men clustered around a window at the end of the corridor. Metzger nosed in, the men pulling back a bit to let their now NCO get a view. Metzger pressed his hands against the glass, finding it surprisingly cold. “There she is,” Albert said and pointed. Metzger looked around beyond the ship below them. Out in the blackness of space, illuminated by distant stars a bright blue orb. The gas giant Polyphemus or to give its original name Coeus. Just at the edge of it, framed in the blackness of space a small green and lighter blue dot. It kind of looked like earth but different. Metzger pressed his face up against the glass. There it was, Pandora.

Chapter Text

No one would ever know how the clearing in that steaming alien jungle was created. Forest forest maybe, all that mattered was the clearing existed. It was in the middle of a wide valley between two massive rocky hills. A stream flowed through it that weird alien animals drank from, pushing through the bushes and plants already reclaiming the break in the jungle. In a few years it probably won’t exist anymore. To an observer this place might have been paradise, or at least a good approximation.

A strange roar filled the skill, an unnatural, metallic whine that never seemed to end. The animals looked up, startled and scampered back into the jungle. A triangular shadow crossed the clearing. Up in the air a metal machine from another world hovered. The tranquillity of this world was about to be shattered, perhaps forever. 

Metal cylinders thud into the ground around the edge of the clearing. Hatches click open revealing sensors and cameras that slowly scan the environment for threats and scientific data. Quadcopter drones descend surveying the ground for signs of instability, pausing occasionally to examine a particular plant. Eventually the drones shift out of the way and the shuttle starts its approach, coming in low over the jungle. Special high resolution cameras track its approach, recording it for posterity. As the shuttle manoeuvres to the chosen landing spot the wash from its turbojets scorches the ground beneath it, turning green to black and brown. Landing gear clicks out as the shuttle drops the last few metres and there is a soft crunch as the first manned object on an alien world touches down. Barely noticed by the drone survey a small sapling with flowing white tentacles for leaves is crushed beneath a wheel.

There is a moment of silence as the shuttle’s engines power down. The drones move in taking up position around the shuttle’s rear ramp. There is the clack and hiss of seals being broken as the ramp unlocks and begins to lower. The air shimmers as the earth type atmosphere is vented and replaced by Pandoran air. Behind the ramp a large internal airlock has been established, separating off the rest of the cargo bay. In front of it stood three figures in bulky spacesuits. Donnets, Stewart and Yong, the mission leaders and the people selected to make the first human steps on Pandora. Stewart held a pole from which the flag of the united stations hung on a wire like the old Apollo landing flags. Yong held a similar pole from which hung another flag containing RDA’s logo. Donnets simply held a case of tools. Government, industry and science, the three pillars of the expedition, united as one. The symbolism dripped off the scene.

The drones shifted closer to the group as they made their way down the ramp, catching the scene with cinematic camera angles. The inevitable documentary soundtrack silently building to a climax as they paused at the very edge of the metal, alien soil only a step away. Donnets looked up at one of the floating drones in front of her. “This is a small step of a human, but a giant leap for mankind,” she said and all three of them stepped off the ramp together to the invisible crescendo of trumpets . It was a corny line but it had become a tradition. They’d said it when humanity got to Mars, to Ganymede and to Titan. Not saying it would have been sacrilege. 

They walked a short distance away from the shuttle, the drones hovering around them all the time. Donnets idly brushing her hand through an alien plant. Stewart gently coughed. They couldn’t begin the science yet. The three of them gathered around a clear patch of soil, the drones closing up for a close up as Stewart prepared his flag.  “We come in peace for all mankind. In the spirit of scientific discovery and exploration,” he declared, driving the UN flag into the ground, face straining for a moment still weak from cryosleep and struggling under the weight of the suit.

“And in the spirit of progress and commerce,” Yong added, driving the RDA flag into the ground. He struggled for a moment, encountering a stone before securing the flag at the correct angle. The drones captured the moment from several angles. Despite the RDA flag being several centimetres shorter than the UN flag from several of the angles it appeared taller, almost overshadowing the UN. 

The flag ceremony finished, Donnets made no time getting down to work. She knelt down on the ground and pulled a sample kit of her case. “Science team two deploy,” she ordered, barely slowing down as she took the first scientific sample of Pandoran plant life, a small glass life specimen that would eventually be called arrival grass.

“Acknowledged,” someone said over the radio and the shuttle’s airlock hatch opened to reveal another four spacesuited figures. They walked down the ramp carrying equipment trolleys. More samples were taken, a small flower-like plant, a centipede-like creature found moving across a job and a fluttering almost butterfly-like insect that landed on one of the scientist’s gloves. You couldn’t wish for a more cinematic moment if you tried.

More teams of scientists came out of the shuttle with even more equipment, foldable quadrats were set up to start an ecological survey for every centimetre of the landing site. A raft of sensor equipment was deployed, seismometers, magnetometers and a whole raft of atmospheric devices. If it could be measured it was. 

A geologist walked forward swinging a bulky scanning device across the ground in front of him. As they approached a large rock sticking out of the ground the device began to beep. They paused, swinging the device towards the rock listening to beeps increase. “Sir, I’m getting a strong return on the scanner here,” they reported over the radio.

“Coming,” Yong responded, walking over to them. “This is rock?” he asked, pointing at the rock as he approached.

“Scanner says so,” the geologist said, showing him the screen.

“Alright let's see if we’re right.” Yong pulled out a rock pick and started to hack at the stone, breaking off a chunk to reveal a silvery metallic core. The geologist ran a more sensitive hand scanner over the core.

“The returns match the data from the core sir,” they reported with an excited smile.

“Only one way to be sure outside of a lab,” Yong replied and hacked out a small chunk of the metallic rock. Taking out a small metal sample plate he placed the rock on it and flicked a switch that powered on the electromagnet built into it.

For a moment nothing happened but then the rock literally levitated into the air just above the surface of the plate. Yong looked at it in stunned amazement for a second before moving the plate closer to his face and running his gloved hand underneath the rock just to make sure it was real. He turned to look up at one of the ever present hovering drones capturing their every move. “Well I’ll be. It really does float,” he commented as he pushed at the sample. Feeling it shift backwards and forwards in the magnetic field. Here it finally was. Unobtanium. The so-called impossible material, the grey gold, that people said couldn’t possibly exist let alone gotten at. Sitting in the palm of a human’s hand.  

There was a crackle as someone cut onto the general radio loop from the shuttle. “Alright people, we’ve hit all the required points. We’re shutting down the cinematic cameras. The world is no longer watching you,” a PR officer from inside the shuttle reported. Some of the larger cameras clicked back into their housings and the drone moved away from filming b-roll and returned to conducting scientific and general surveillance. One of them buzzed and fell to the ground with a wet splat. 

The demeanour of everyone changed now that the cameras weren’t on them. Once proud, confident men and women become nervous and afraid. They shifted back towards the shuttle shiflying, getting into tight groups, staring nervously at the jungle treeline. Who knew what dangers lurked out there. “Ok relax people, your protectors can come out now,” Steward announced over the general loop. He and the squad that had been waiting on the other side of the hatch hidden from the cameras came out. The scientists looked a bit more confident now they had someone to protect them as the squad started setting up machine guns to cover the general area.

Yong handed the unobtanium sample back to the geologist and started stomping back to the shuttle. “When are we supposed to be able to take off these damn suits?” he asked, pressing his head against a foam pad in his suit. “The air is breathable afterall.”

“Once we’re done a complete toxicology analysis of it and that the plant life isn’t lethal to the touch,” Donnets replied, looking up from her team who were gathered around a collection of blue stone like polyps. “Even once that's done the exopacks will need to be calibrated with the best filters and settings.”

“Seems a lot,” Yong replied, clearly annoyed at Donnet’s rigorousness.

“Well if you’re that impatient you can volunteer to skip all that and try coming out here without the suit.”

“No thank you.” Yong clanked up the shuttle ramp, leaving a trail of mud on the metal.

“A reminder to keep things civil on comms. We are still being recorded even if it's not for the public,” Stewart reminded everyone. Yong flicked his comms off, muttering to himself in the privacy of his helmet.  

Metzger moved out of the way to let Yong enter the airlock and took a few steps down the ramp towards the surface. He looked out across the clearing to the jungle all around them. So this was Pandora. It didn’t look that alien, you could almost fool yourself that you were still on earth, well until you noticed the scale of the trees were all off and the very unearth like plants dotted around. The roar of some distant animal sounded from the jungle. Everyone stopped for a moment, looking around for its source. Metzger tightened his grip on his weapon. The CARB was a good weapon, a little retro compared to what he’d had in the AEU but it was simple and reliable and that was considered the priority for this mission. No personal exoskeletons or high tech guns here, just some older model AMP suits still in crates. This security operation would be done old school, hell it would be practically historical reenactment. 

A fellow soldier walked out from the shuttle away from where the scientists were working until he was a hundred metres out, getting close to the treeline. After a brief scan of the treeline the man hammered a pole he had been carrying into the ground and hung a cardboard range target on it. Stewart stood at the foot of the ramp and switched to the general radio loop. “Alright general weapons calibration test is about to start. All personnel remain out of the firing area,” he announced, pointing to the taped line another soldier was laying out, sectioning off the area right of the shuttle from where the scientists were working. Stewart picked up a clipboard and made a few notes before using it to wave Metzger over. “Alright Metzger, you won the draw. You get to fire the first shot on this planet,” he said as Metzger approached.

“Yes sir,” Metzger replied. Some of the other troopers had been jealous that Metzger had won the draw to do this but he didn’t see it as anything special. Winning a place on the first shuttle to the surface had been the real prize.

Stewart pointed to the machine gun they had set up on the right side of the ramps to cover the area. “Man the weapon,” he ordered. Metzger nodded and manned the weapon, checking it was cocked and loaded. Like the CARB it was an old but reliable design. “You see the target?” Stewart asked.

“Yes sir!” Metzger replied, swinging the gun around to aim at it. The sights were bulky, non-standard issues. An armourer's sight designed to zero the weapon.This wasn’t really target practice, more a test to see how much the atmosphere  and gravity was going to screw up their aim and ballistics. The weapon had supposedly been zeroed back on earth via simulations but they needed to be sure.

“Good. Five rounds rapid. Semi-automatic.” Stewart flashed a warning siren through the general loop. Metzger’s finger tightened on the trigger and pulled.

Crack. The first shot on an alien world. Flocks of some kind of alien birds leap up from the trees around them in surprise. The scientists looked up, chattering on the general loop as they tried to get a look at them. The bolt shams home and returns with a clack as the next cartridge is loaded. Metzger pulled the trigger four more times. Four more cracks. The tracers go high over the target and bounce off into the jungle beyond. “Too high,” Stewart observes, noting everything down on the clipboard. “Adjust.” Metzger did so, shifting the sight a notch or so.

“Permission to adjust the gas feed sir, she didn’t feel right when feeding,” he observed.

“Granted. To be expected.” Stewart noted it on the clipboard as Metzger tweaked the gas regulator slightly. “Right. Another five, rapid.” Metzger fired again, resisting the urge not to manually correct as the shots went just low off the target. The final round clipped the bottom of the cardboard. “Adjust. Nearly there.” Metzger adjusted the sight again by a hair's breadth. “Five rounds rapid,” Stewart ordered yet again. The five rounds hit the centre of the target this time, blowing holes in it.

Stewart  slapped the clipboard against his suit in triumph. “Good shooting Metzger! What you’ve done here today will keep us all safe,” he congratulated Metzger.

“Just doing my job sir,” Metzger replied.

“I like your attitude, sergeant,” Stewart said with a quick smile before handing the clipboard to his adjutant. “Make sure these adjustments are done to all weapons,” he added. The adjutant saluted and went over to the other gun. Metzger flipped up the flap on the ammo box to check how much was left.

“Still over half a box left sir, permission to expend it?” he asked, pointing out to the treeline. It seemed a shame not to use it on something real. Stewart shrugged.

“Might as well,” he said and fiddled with his radio. “Science, permission to expend remaining ammo on one of the trees.”

“Granted,” Donnets voice came over the general loop. Metzger turned to see her standing with her back to them. “With luck we can get some samples out of it.”

“Permission to expend the box granted,” Stewart said.  

Metzger got back on the gun, flicked the selector to full auto and scanned the treeline for a target. He settled on a large stocky tree with mangrove like roots and a slanted trunk, its crown towering over the trees around it. There wasn’t anything else like it in the area. If they want samples, that is the best option Metzger decided. “Clear!” he said to everyone around him and fired. The stream of tracer lanced across the clearing and smashed into the tree sending splinters flying. Metzger adjusted his aim, slowly tracking across the trunk, adjusting the recoil to keep it on target. There was a clack as the gun ran dry. The ringing of the gunfire echoed through the clearing for a second. Then there was a crackling creaking groan and the tree collapsed under its own weight. Thudding to the ground with a swishing sound as its canopy thrashed around. Metzger became very aware that everyone was looking at what he had done.

“Well we know we can kill trees,” Stewart observed casually. “Science, is that enough samples for you?” he asked on the radio.

“More than enough. Saves us having to get the ladders out,” Donnets almost joked.

Everyone returned to what they were doing, Stewart walking around to organise the first perimeter sweep and see what was moving around at the edge of the jungle. Metzger simply stared at what he had done. He felt weirdly guilty. They had come to this place to explore and his fire action had been to blow it up just so he didn’t have to deal with the hassle of refilling a belt. It didn’t feel in the spirit of the mission. Sod it he thought, reaching down to replace the box. It was only a bloody tree after all, there was always another tree.

Chapter Text

Three figures trudge through the alien jungle stopping every few metres to scan their surroundings. Two of them are male soldiers in full body armour and carrying rifles. The other is a woman in civilian clothing, struggling under the load of the scientific equipment she was carrying. All of them are wearing masks over their faces. While it is an improvement over the spacesuits of the first weeks, it is an ever present reminder to all of them that the air is lethal to them. “You’re sure you can’t carry this thing?” the woman asked, nodding to the large core sample drill hanging over her shoulder.

“Sorry Dr Augustine, you know the new rules. Two guards per expedition member and on alert at all times,” Metzger replied with a sigh. Dr Augustine muttered something and continued moving. 

Their early optimism about Pandora hadn’t lasted long, with five already dead they were no longer taking any chances. Out had gone early plans to use the security element as a labour and exploratory force and in had come the perimeter fence, gun turrets and armed patrols for everything. The whole thing was causing friction with both the scientists and the miners but as major Stewart had pointed out to everyone they were there to protect them and they were doing what was necessary. Even so Metzger could tell that people like Augustine smarted under the new restrictions, she wanted to get out there and explore not be shepherded around by people like him. Such foolhardiness would get her killed. 

Upon reaching a slight clearing in the jungle between the tree roots Augustine put down her case and started unpacking her tools. Metzger scanned the jungle around them. There was a rustling and both men spun around to see the backside of something disappearing into the undergrowth. Metzger breathed a sigh of relief, it looked like one of those tapir-like creatures they had encountered, those were harmless, even edible. “Perimeter clear,” he said to his fellow soldier Albert who fiddled with his comms. 

“Command this is field expedition seven seven, we have arrived at the research site. No encounters with hostile lifeforms,” Albert said into them.

“Understood you are clear to proceed with the assigned task within the allotted time. Comms check every five,” the radio operator on the other end replied.

“Confirmed, over and out,” Albert replied, setting the timer on his watch.

“Hostile lifestorms?” Augustine asked sarcastically  as she got down to work. “They are called animals you know.”

“They aren’t just animals we have to watch out for. Remember that plant that shot out that spin that nearly hit Danilovich?” Metzger pointed out.

“Fine you have a point,” Augustine admitted, running a scanner over the base of the rather alien looking tree she had intended to sample.

She put the scanner down and fiddled with her tablet computer. “Expedition seventy seven scientific audio log one. Have reached the research site without incident or encountering new animal or plant life. Have performed an initial scan of the target tree in preparation of core samples to determine if it shows signs of ring based growth similar to previously sampled earth like trees,” she said into her audio log. Metzger idly listened to her rattle of details as she started screwing the sampler into the tree as he continued watching the jungle. He didn’t really like all these audio logs everyone had to do, a simple journal was always better. It allowed for more private introspection. Albert gave up pacing around and sat down on a root, his weapon still at the ready.

“You know this science lark isn’t what I expected. I’d thought you’d be all off running through the jungle, discovering new wonders” he commented to Augustine.

“Sorry to disappoint you GI  but this is what science really is about, slow and methodical research,” she replied.

“We’re not GIs maam,” Metzger pointed out, he hated when americanism were applied to them.

“Apologies. Still I’ll freely admit I want to be out there just as much,” Augustine replied, looking around at the jungle , showing a rare moment of warmth. 

She paused for a second, apparently fascinated by some lichen-like growth on the side of the tree. “Well that’s worth getting a sample of,” she muttered, to the audio log as much as anything and bent down to pick up a sample tube. Something thudded into the tree just where her head had been.

“Down!” Metzger yelled and jumped over, pushing Augustine to the floor. “We have hostiles!” he shouted into the comms.

“Understood, response is a minute out,” the radio operator replied.

“Its the fucking natives!” Albert shrieked. Metzger looked up at whatever had hit the tree. An arrow almost as long as he was tall was sticking out of the tree.

“Repeat!” the radio operator demanded.

“Confirmed we have a first contact situation,” Metzger replied. No other explanation, the Pandorans had found them.

“I can’t see anything!” Albert said, scanning the jungle through his rifle scope.

“What is happening? Report!” Stewart said over the radio.

“We have been fired upon by the indigenous, unknown numbers and position,” Metzger replied.

“Take no offensive action. Fifty seconds out,” Stewart replied.

“Get off me!” Augustine protested trying to get up. Metzger pushed her back down.

“Stay down! For your own protection,” he hissed.

There was movement in the jungle. Albert snapped around and opened fire. “Suppressing!” he said, firing off another burst into the jungle. Metzger couldn’t see what he was shooting at.

“What's happening! I said no offensive action,” Stewart came in over the radio.

“Crease fire!” Metzger demanded. He had to regain control. Albert stopped shooting and turned to him, clearly realising he had snapped under the pressure. Then an arrow sailed out of the jungle and hit him in the chest. Albert was knocked off his feet and impaled to the side of a tree. 

Metzger cried out in shock and his training took over. “Man down! Man down!” he shouted into the radio, rising to his feet and readying his gun.

“30 seconds!” Stewart replied but Metzger was barely listening as he scanned the jungle. There were hostitles out there trying to kill him. Something at the edge of his vision made him snap up to see movement in the canopy, indistinct figures moving.

“They’re in the treeline,” he shouts a warning to no one and opens fire. If there were hostitles in your sights you kill them. He kept firing until he ran dry. He scrambled for another mag. There was a thud off in the distance as something fell from the trees.

There was the sound of boots and machines moving through the jungle. Metzger twisted around to see an AMP suit pushing its way past a bush, men on foot following behind, its cannon pointing at him for a split second before shifting away. The soldiers fanned out, guns covering every direction. Stewart marched up, face stern and authoritative “Report sergeant!” he said, fixing Metzger in a steely stare.

“Sir, we were ambushed by the indigenous,” Metzger began.

“I gave you a direct order not to open fire. Why did you disobey?” Metzger’s eyes flicked around trying to justify himself.

“They’d already killed Albert, sir. I had to protect the doctor,” he stammered, looking over to Augustine being hauled up by a soldier. A medic was tending to Albert but it was already too late. Bodies don’t survive that kind of blunt force trauma, the pool of blood seeping from his chest simply confirmed it

Stewart gave him a look of contempt and turned to Augustine. “Are you alright doctor?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied, before turning to Metzger. “Did you see them clearly?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t see them fully,” he muttered. In truth he’d only really seen shadows moving. Augustine seemed like she was about to ask another damn scientific question when there was a shout from the way he’d been shooting.

“Sir! You better come and have a look at this!” someone called.   

Everyone scrambled forward towards the voice, pushing through the undergrowth. The man in front of Metzger just stopped and he pushed past him as well before coming to a deadstop. “Oh fuck,” he muttered. A humanoid creature, over two metres tall with blue striped skin and a tail lay dead in a pool of its own red blood. The soldier that had discovered the body reached down to pick up the bow that was clutched in its three fingered hand.

“Don’t touch it!” Augustine warned. The soldier paused as Augustine talked on her comms asking for scientists to get over here immediately. Metzger took a step towards the body, taking in the bullet holes slashed across its back.

“Do you know what the hell you’ve fucking done?” Stewart was asking, nay demanding but Metzger wasn’t listening. All he could do was stare at the corpse. This was first contact, the dream of humanity for a hundred years, the thing they had trained for and he’d gone and fucked it up.

Chapter Text

The corpse of the SELF-1 was carried back to the treeline on a makeshift litter to a waiting excavator that carried it back to the base. There the waiting scientists dragged it into the science lab for examination. Its personal items were examined. A bow as big as a man, a arrow found in the mud nearby with feather fletching and sharpened bone arrowhead, a loincloth made from handspun fibres with decoration along the belt, a long string covered in beads and other items attached to the belt, a knife and sheath the blade made from a crystal, a hand guard made from leather of some unknown source and a necklace made up of teeth and beads. The first tantalising glimpses at an alien culture.

Donnets stepped into the examination area of the lab and stared at the creature through her mask. The room had a Pandoran atmosphere to preserve life specimens. The body was placed on the largest specimen table they had which proved insufficient, its arms propped up on trolley. She made a self-conscious glance up at the science team crowded around the viewing windows and then looked at the team tending to the SELF’s artefacts on trays on a side table. “Alright Phred, what are we looking at here?” She asked Phred Palmer, the mission’s designated anthropologist who was examining the string of beads, whether it clearly had some cultural significance.

“These items confirm our initial hypotheses,” Palmer explained, putting the item back on the tray. “I see no evidence here that they are no more technologically advanced than the stone age. I would need to see their settlements to say if we are looking at mesolithic or neolithic,” he replied.

“Is there much else the body can tell you?”

“Not much. I want to study how the hair is braided a bit more,” Palmer pointed to the tight braiding that ran down the back of the alien’s head and along what they were calling the neural whip which seemed ubiquitous to all creatures on Pandora.

“Very well. Do that and then we can get on with the autopsy.” Donnets turned away, working on her tablet.

“Autopsy? You mean cut it up?” Palmer appeared almost shocked. “It's a sentient creature.”

“Of course it is. But we have to know more about them and as we currently lack a live subject that corpse is the best way of doing that. It ain't going to get any deader.”

“I don’t know if that is advisable, we have no idea how they will react if we violate one of their own like this,” Palmer pointed out, his colleague voiced his concerns as well. Donnets looked up to see similar disquiet on some of the science team faces. She instinctively tried to put her hand to her brow and mashed against the glass. Everyone had known that SELF-1 was going to cause ethical quandaries like this but actually facing them was proving harder than expected. She looked at the SELF’s face wracked in pain, it was more human than she had expected.

“Alright, we’ll take a vote on it.”

There was a quick show of hands between the team, coming down pretty evenly split on the issue. “Grace? What about you? Seems like you are going to swing this” Donnets asked Augustine when it came down to the final vote. She stared through the glass down at the corpse for a moment.

“I vote for dissection,” she decided with her usual frosty attitude.

“Alright, we have a majority for autopsy. Let's get this over with,” Donnets said, turning away from the window. She was already thinking about what they could learn about SELF-1. Had it evolved in a similar way to humans or not. While she respected Palmer and the anthropologist angle the biological aspect couldn’t simply be ignored.

Metzger entered the command centre and adjusted his uniform. He wished there was a mirror nearby and approached major Stewart who was looking at the situation screens that filled one side of the room. Metzger noted that the alert status was a notch higher than its now standard heightened. “Reporting as ordered sir,” he said, saluting. Stewart turns to look at him with disapproval. 

“My office sergeant,” he simply said and walked towards it, expecting Metzger to follow which he did. 

They walked in said office, Metzger closing the door behind him. Stewart sat down at his desk, not signalling Metzger to sit down. “You know what I have summoned you?” Stewart asked, pulling something up on his computer.

“Yes sir,” Metzger replied flatly and shifted uncomfortably , trying to keep the dejection from his voice and. While this was the commanders office it was a plastic and metal walled cubicle with an inflated tent and offered only limited privacy.

“Good that you understand the seriousness of the situation.” Stewart turned the screen so that Metzger could see a formal report with a large office typeface. “This is a formal reprimand. You failed to exercise proper command of your men in application of mission directives in regard to first contact with SELF-1 and personally failed to comply with said directives. As such you have placed the operation in a potentially dangerous situation that we are not prepared for. Your actions have put us all in peril.”

“I am sorry sir,” Metzger said. He had not wanted things to turn out like this, it had just happened too fast for him to think about what he had been doing.

“Your regret is noted. However the fact remains that you did make these mistakes and as such this will have to go on your personal record.” 

Stewart tapped on the computer which beeped to confirm that it had been filed. He sat back in his chair and studied Metzger for a second. Metzger remained passive and at attention, expecting his punishment. Probably being busted down back to corporal. “However I want to make it clear that I don’t hold this against you,” Stewart said, his tone of voice softening noticeable. “First contact with the indigenous was never going to be easy, especially given the security environment we’ve found ourselves in. Perhaps if it had been decided we could seek them out first things would have been different. But given the circumstances I’m pretty sure all of us would have done the same.” He appeared to wink for a second.

“Even you sir?” Metzger half joked. Stewart raised an eyebrow, warning him he was getting too close to the line. 

“Perhaps. But what’s done is done, we can’t change that.” 

“Sir! We have a situation!” someone called out from the command centre. Stewart scrambled to his feet and headed out, Metzger following behind him.

“What is it?” Stewart asked even before he was out of the door.

“Sir, we have a group of aerial targets incoming. Looks like those banshee things,” the radar operator explained.

“We’ve seen them do that before,” Stewart replied, obviously annoyed at being dragged out of his office for such a minor issue.

“But they are flying in a tight military formation at high speed and have made several sharp course corrections. We’ve never seen them fly like this before.” The radar operator flashed up the radar image onto one of the secondary screens. The group of contacts was almost on top of them. 

Stewart stared at the screen for a split second and turned to the main screen. “Get me a camera on them now,” he ordered. An operator fiddled with his joystick, moving one of the observation cameras around the base. On the main screen a camera feed opened, spinning and jerking around as the operator tried to get the incoming banshees into focus.

“This is observation post one, those banshees have riders. Those banshees have riders!” a voice suddenly boomed out over the radio as the operator finally caught the banshees as they started to bank around for another pass. Every single one of them had a rider on some kind of harness, all dressed like the corpse they dragged in, all carrying bows.

“This is mining site! I’ve got movement from the jungle! They're goddamn riders!” another voice came in over the radio. Stewart barely had to turn his head before the operator was punching up another camera feed from the exploratory mine they had open. More indigenous, mounted on those horse like creatures were charging out of the jungle  towards the work crews. Archers on foot appearing behind them.

“I’ve got movement across the perimeter!” someone reported. The map of the area around the base was lighting up with contacts. Oh god Metzger thought, his stomach tightening. This was what they had all feared, after killing one of their own, the indigenous had come out in force, and it was all his bloody fault.

Stewart stared at the images for a split second and then snatched up a microphone. “Set condition red!” he ordered in a calm, controlled but determined manner. “All personnel fall back to base immediately. All security forces to the perimeter.” Outside the command centre there was the sound of sirens and running feet. “Do not fire unless fired upon. Repeat, do not open first unless fired upon first! This is a direct order.” 

Stewart clicked off the mic and turned his head to the defensive weapons officers that controlled the gun turrets along the wall. “Switch all guns to fail deadly and assign targets,” he ordered. 

“Sir,” the operator replied, flicking a couple of switches on his console as his screen lit up with targets and gripped the two large trigger handles on his console. A red alert light flicked on on the console. Metzger knew what it meant. If both triggers were released the guns would engage its assigned targets autonomously.  

At the mining site men were scrambling out of the trenches, abandoning tools and light vehicles. The perimeter guards lobbed smoke grenades into the path of the oncoming riders as they retreated. Someone turned the main excavator around and barreled for the main gate. As Metzger watched, the driver braked for a moment to allow several stragglers to clamber on board before gunning the engine again. The riders either because of the smoke or roar of the engine pulled away, starting to circle around the base. 

Along the base’s perimeter troops were rushing into the crude trenches just beyond the main wall or crowding into the wall towers. Magine guns were slotted into place giving interlocking arcs of fire. Orders were barked as everyone took aim at a target as the banshees came overhead again, one of the indigenous letting out a whooping war cry or something. Men flinched guns pointed into the air but no one fired. A squad, the only squad, of armed AMP suits prepared to sally forth to cover the still retreating mine workers. “Keep the AMPs out of sight. They could be treated as a formal challenge.” Stewart ordered over the radio. The mechs paused, still out of sight behind the main gate.

Donnets’s voice suddenly cut in over the intercom. “What is happening out there? Why the alert?” She asked, clearly unaware of the gravity of the situation.

““The indigenous just flew over us on banshees and launched a cavalry charge on the mine. I’ve got movement all around us. Get your anthropologist team on the job now and get yourself up here,” Stewart explained quickly.

“Fuck. Coming.” She hung up.

Yong burst into the command centre, buckling on a military helmet he had grabbed from somewhere. “What’s the situation?” he asked as if he didn’t know.

“The indigenous SELF-1s have overflown our position and sent a mounted unit towards our mine,” Stewart reported. The riders were regrouping now, falling back towards where they had come from, the banshees circling at the edge of the treeline.

“I know that. Why haven’t you engaged them?” Yong asked.

“As yet they have taken no hostile action. We are initiating planned procedure and falling back to a defensible position.”

“Screw that.” Yong pointed at the screens showing a zoom in of archers with bows drawn. “They are clearly hostile. They’ve chased us out of our own damn mine. So when are you going to do your damn job and protect this operation? Deal with them!”

“I did not come 4.3 light years to start a war on this moon!” Stewart snapped, the first time Metzger had ever heard anger creep into his voice. “If we start shooting now they’ll be hostile to us forever and we don’t have the resources for that.” 

Donnets appeared at the entrance still in her clean room attire, a splatter of red visible across its white service. “What's going on?” she asked, looking at Stewart and Yong.

“Nothing,” Yong muttered, taking a step back. “Just discussing what we should do.”

“Alright then,” Donnets said, clearly not convinced, stepping forward to look at the screens. “What are we looking at?” Stewart stared up at the screens. One of the cameras had zoomed in on the largest group of indigenous, milling out at the edge of the treeline. Metzger watched one of them dismount from his horse-like ride, breaking some kind of connection to the creature and his ponytail. Could they control them through those neural whip things?

“Clearly it is a response to the killing of one of their own. A show of force to show to prove they aren’t afraid of us. Probably for their own benefit as much as ours.”

“Sir, I think I have located a leader,” the camera operator interrupted.

“Show us,” Donnets ordered. One of the camera views shifted to a small group of figures, clicking to a higher level of magnification. An indigenous in a different dress than the others was standing as if looking directly at the camera, he was dressed in a large shoulder pad like things made of fathers and had a headband containing what looked like a white shell and carried an elaborate bow. The tribal chief perhaps? Another warrior, plainer than the others but still with additional accessories, was pointing towards the base he appeared to be in heated if one sided discussion with the chief who mainly starred forward, only occasionally opening his mouth to speak.

Donnets pulled up more cam feeds on a secondary monitor. Shots of archers or warriors with spears moving around, the tap and single “Palmer you getting all this?” she asked over the comms.

“Oh yes! So much to take in,” Palmer replied, almost sounding like an excited little kid. “Can you move the camera to the right slightly?”

“The cameras are currently for security use only,” Stewart quickly replied.

“So, you think this was all planned?” Donnets asked

“No, I don’t think any of this was planned. This feels more like an unplanned reaction to events. They didn’t plan to ambush the expedition. The attack was too sloppy to be planned.” Thank god for that Metzger thought. “They have probably been observing us for some time now. You get some young hothead rookie that misinterprets something and jumps the gun.” He looked over pointedly at Metzger for a second. “Suddenly there is dead on both sides and they then have to respond.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Because that's exactly how things would probably have turned out if I were in their shoes.” Stewart tapped on the screen to emphasise the point. 

“Alright, while you’re in their shoes that they aren’t wearing, how do we resolve this?” Yong asked.

“That's where it gets tricky,” Stewart admitted. 

Metzger thought about the situation, trying to put himself into that alien chief. He wouldn’t back down if mysterious aliens turned up and started killing his people, no matter the circumstances. He would need something to claim a victory. Yet there wasn’t anything they could give him. They didn’t have anywhere to pull back from, no territory to cede. Hell they couldn’t even evacuate with the indigenous covering the landing zone. So eventually the chief would have to give in to his subordinate and adopt a more aggressive response, try to pressure them and they would have to return fire and so things would spiral into a general conflict.  “Which is why we need to retake the initiative and deescalate the situation now before they make another move,” Stewart declared, as if reading his mind. .He pointed at the screen as the alien leader turned away from the warrior waving his hand dismissively. “The leader seems to be unconvinced. If we can prove we are not a threat to them we might be able to salvage this situation.” He turned to Donnets “We have to return the body now.”

“What right now? Do you know what state it's in?” Donnets protested.

“It has to be done.”

“What if they attack when they see what we’ve done to one of them?” Yong pointed out.

“We have to take that risk. I'd rather try and fail than do nothing and accept an inevitable conflict,” Stewart declared. Donnets and Yong looked unconvinced.  

“Sir, the perimeter trenches are hearing something from the jungle,” a radio operator reported.

“Can you pipe it in?” Stewart asked. The operator fiddled with the system for a moment. The sound of a dull yet regular beat echoed through the speakers and around the room. Metzger looked up the speaker nervously, the sound was unsettlingly alien like it was set to an unnaturally fast heartbeat. “It's a freaking wardrum!” Yong spluttered, his usual controlled demeanour collapsing into fear. “Don’t you see? They’re going to attack! You’ve got to attack now!” He grabbed Stewart’s arm. 

“Get a hold of yourself man!” Stewart snarled, pushing him away. “You're jumping to conclusions. For all we know that's their signal to hold position and not attack.”

“He’s right, we have no idea of their cultural cues yet,” Donnets pointed out. Yong looked at both of them and pulled his hand over his face.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, starting to calm down from the monetary panic attack. “I’m sorry I broke there, all this death, it's been getting to me. None of this is working out like it does in the movies is it?” he nodded up at the screen.

“What do you expect? they’re aliens. They were never going to react the way we expected,” Donnets pointed out. 

“She's right, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of people outside are feeling the same way,” Stewart added, patting Yong on the arm. “So I think it's best if you get out there and show them they aren’t getting to you. Be an inspiring presence.”

“But they are getting to me,” Yong replied. “Can we turn that damn thing off?” he asked, the radio operator cut the war drum off mid thud.

“So what? I’m just as scared as you. I know how to hide it better,” Stewart admitted, giving an encouraging smile. Yong looked at his feet for a second before nodding.

“Easy for you to say but alright,” he muttered heading for the exit. “This is playing hell with the development timeline”

“Have someone escort Mr Yong while he is outside.” Stewart signalled to an aide, clearly knowing what would give Yong a bit more spine.    

Donnets and Stewart waited until Yong was out of the commander centre and then gave each other withering glances. “Hardly the spirit of scientific exploration and discovery,” Donnets observed.

“What do you expect? You know the corporation didn’t bankroll this expedition to discover new plants and animals,” Stewart observed in a rarely unguarded moment. It seemed all was not well at the top of this expedition.

“He could at least pretend to care more.”

“You should have seen the other candidates. Yong is at least curious enough to listen to you. Anyway you better get down to the lab and get that body back into something we can give back. I don’t care if you have to stuff the organs back in with sellotape,” Stewart said, glancing around and adopting a more formal leadership tone.

“We’ll have to use stitches,” Donnets replied heading for the door.

“Right then in the meantime inform the ISVs of the situation, have them prep the shuttles for an emergency evacuation,” Stewart said, turning to the radio operator. “And start handing out weapons to all personnel in case this all goes to hell.” There was a bustle of activity as people started giving orders on comms. Donnets paused in the doorway

“Just one thing. Who’s going to return the body?” she asked.

“I’ll select a team, but lead it myself,” Stewart replied resolutely.

“Sir. I request to volunteer!” Metzger suddenly said, stepping forward.

Stewart turned to look at him. “Why soldier?” he asked. Metzger paused for a moment. He was stunned as well that he’d volunteered.

“I got us into this mess sir. It's only right that I get us out of it,” he eventually replied. Stewart made a pleased smile like Metzger had passed some kind of test.

“Thank you Metzger,” he said, using Metzger’s name for the first time. “I was about to order you to take part for the same reason but I am grateful you see the necessity too. Now get yourself down to the armoury and get them to find the best armour we have.”

“Sir!” Metzger saluted and headed out of the command centre, half sure that he had talked himself into getting killed.

He was waiting in the armoury as the armourers stuffed plates into the thickest vests they could find. Given the size of the arrow that had killed Albert he doubted they would do much good but the idea of wearing them made him feel better. He watched the line of miners, scientists and techs queue up to be given a weapon. “One vest, one rifle, 3 mags, 90 rounds. Only use it when ordered,” the quartermaster was saying as he handed a scientist the weapon. Metzger recognised Dr Augustine as next in line.

“I know I was ordered here but I really don’t need a gun,” she protested as she stepped forward. The quartermaster gave her an exasperated look as if to ask why she was even standing in line.

“You’re choice, please stand aside. Next.” Augustine shrugged and walked away while the nervous looking tech behind her practically snatched the gun out of the quartermaster’s hand. Metzger shook his head, Augustine was either a fool or supremely confident in their ability to defuse the situation, a fool most likely. She was probably equally responsible for getting them into this. She’d chosen the damned tree afterall and he hadn’t seen her getting a dressing down. Then again she didn’t shoot one of them, his brain pointed out. He mentally grumbled and started pulling on the vest the armourer was holding out for him.

They gathered at the main gate, Stewart and two other men, Nuur and Domen along with Donnets and a couple of the scientists. The corpse had been wrapped in a bag and was just being manhandled into the litter. “Here are the vests sir,” Metzger said, handing over the vests. The other two soldiers hurriedly put them on. They would carry no weapons, just the vests for protection. They wanted nothing that could be misinterpreted.

“Splendid,” Stewart declared, adjusting his vest slightly. “Alright everyone switch to channel forty two. Is everything in position?” he asked over comms.

“Confirmed,” the radio operator replied, metzger switching to the channel just in time to hear the reply.

“This is so stupid,” Donnets said.

“Perhaps, but it will get their attention,” Stewart said to her with a smile. “Alright play it,” he added into the comm. 

The fives tones from Close Encounters Of The Third Kind boomed out of loudspeakers set up along the perimeter, overwhelming the sound of the distant alien drum. Then the drum returned the fives notes, they sounded almost hesitant, uncertain. Then nothing.

“We have increased movement at the treeline. The leader has returned,” someone reported over the radio. 

“Well that certainly got their attention,” Stewart observed. “Alright AMP suit forward.”

With a clank the main gate opened and a single AMP suit advanced out waving a large white sheet tied to a pole as a makeshift flag. A sign of peace and parley. Metzger braced himself, now let's hope it didn’t mean anything in the indigenous’s own culture. “I see no negative reaction. They are just looking at us,” the same person reported.

“Alright this is our moment to shine,” Stewart said as they gathered around the litter. They hauled it up and walked to the entrance. “Alright we carry it to within fifty metres of them. Unit, move out,” Stewart declared and so they started walking towards them and into history. 

It was a long walk across the clearing to the treeline. The corpse was surprisingly heavy even split between the four of them and Metzger started to tire but kept moving forward. He knew that every camera on the base was probably pointed their way and he wasn’t going to humiliate himself or the human race by asking for a breather. Stewart looked over at him. “Slow down a bit,” he ordered, clearly seeing his exertion. Metzger looked him in the eye and gave a silent nod of thanks and continued walking at the slower pace.

They were approaching the treeline now. The indigenous were gathering in front of them, the chief and his subordinate at the head of them. Several of the warriors had their arrows knocked in their bows but they weren’t aimed at them yet. One of the banshee riders overhead swooped down to get a close look at them. “Don’t duck,” Stewart warned over the open comms, barely moving his lips to be picked up by the throat mic. Metzger resisted the urge as the creature passed overhead. “Just keep your head tall and keep walking. Remember this moment will be recorded for posterity so make yourself look dignified.” Metzger looked over to the mine next to them, one of the camera pods was tracking them. A new indigenous had appeared, the group stepping back to make way for them, a female wearing a red shawl and an elaborate headdress that stood next to the chief pointing at the group, speaking to him quickly. A queen perhaps or some kind of priest?

 They got to within fifty metres of the indigenous when the chief stepped forward and put his hand out in front of him. Stop. Instantly Stewart raised his hand and everyone stopped moving. Stewart looked at the chief for a second before nodding to them, they lowered the litter to the floor and formed up behind Stewart. As he did so Metzger got a good look at the aliens, at a distance they looked pretty mean but up close they were almost scary. The way they towered over them was unsettling. The chief barked something towards the group. Metzger couldn’t understand it but he got the jist of it. What/who are you?

Stewart straightened himself and took a step forward. “We are humans,” he said in his most eloquent voice, clearly reading the chief’s statement the same way. “It is unfortunate that our two people have to meet in such circumstances. He pointed to the body bag on the litter. “We return your kind to you as a gesture of goodwill in the hope that this will ensure peace between us.” He paused for a moment. “Open the bag,” he whispered on the throat mic.

“Sir,” Metzger whispered similarly and knelt down by the bag and pulled out a utility knife. Keeping the blade hidden from the indigenous he cut open the bag and pulled out a blue arm to make it clear to them what it contained and got back to his feet. There was a great deal of murmuring from the indigenous, fingers and stars, a general clouding of expressions. 

“We hope that this can be the start of a wonderful relationship of cooperation and understanding,” Stewart continued. The chief stared back at him in what appeared to be mild confusion, eye shifting between Stewart and the arm hanging out of the bodybag. “Bow,” Stewart said over the throat mic and took a theatrical bow of respect towards the chief. The others followed suit, Metzger feeling a little foolish. “Alright, withdraw, nice and slowly.” As one they turned their backs to the indigenous and slowly walked back towards the base.

It was a long walk back to the base. In some ways it felt longer than the walk there. With every step the tension increased a notch as they all thought about what the indigenous reaction was going to be, especially when they looked in the body bag. Metzger wanted to turn his head and look behind them but was too afraid that might set them off and so kept walking forward. “What are they doing?” Stewart asked over the comms, voicing the entire group’s thoughts.

“They are approaching the litter,” Donnets reported from the command centre. “A lot of chatter between the leader and the high ranking female. Wait, one of the others, a female, is pushing forward ahead of them. They are at the bag.” A howling shriek of anger and grief erupted from behind them. They’d seen what they’d done to the corpse.

“Run!” Stewart ordered but Metzger was already moving. 

The men dashed forward madly, not even looking behind them. Domen stumbled over a patch of uneven ground and nearly fell. Metzger caught him by the arm and hauled him upright and kept on running. Every second he expected an arrow to strike him in the small of the back.”Report!” Stewart said over the comms.

“One hostile female coming towards you with a knife,” a soldier reported from the command centre. “She looked inside the bag and snapped. Don’t know why yet. The others are chasing after her. Looks like they are trying to stop her. She is gaining on you.”

“Fire a warning burst between them and us. Make sure you don’t hit anyone.”   

There was the crackle from one of the gun turrets up on the wall and tracers flashed over Metzger’s head slamming into the ground behind them. “She’d stopped,” the soldier reported. “The group has caught up to her and are dragging her back to the treeline. There appears to be a full blown argument going on.” The running group reached the nearest perimeter trench and dived into it. Stewart got up to look back at the now distant group of figures.

“Understood. Everyone remain at their posts for the time being but take the guns off fail deadly,” he ordered. The moment of maximum danger had passed.

“What do we do now sir?” Metzger asked, breathing heavily as he lay at the bottom of the trench. Damn these masks did not provide enough airflow to do this kind of thing.

“Well then it's time for the scientists to learn how to talk to them,” Stewart replied, overing a hand to pull Metzger to his feet.   

Chapter Text

The next few days were tense. The indigenous, no one was calling them the SELF-1s anymore, remained at the edge of the jungle. A few new figures came and viewed the clearing, possibly fellow chiefs and priests no one was really sure. They would point at the perimeter wall or the mining site and the light equipment that had been left and then disappear back into the jungle in heated discussion with the chief and his queen. It was clear the stand off had brought their presence to the local community. Stewart was worried that another chief might just for a violent solution. For Metzger it meant several hours standing in a slit trench that was always crawling with some potentially deadly creature with the flood light of the base behind him, looking out at the dark, faintly glowing jungle, hoping that a horde of indigenous warriors wouldn’t suddenly rush them. He didn’t get much sleep.

Then, come sun up on the fourth day the indigenous were gone with no explanation. Well that wasn’t quite right, when they went out to reoccupy the mining site a group of them came out of the treeline. Clearly they had placed there to overtly monitor them. Finally after begging to be able to interact with the indigenous during the stand off and being blocked by Stewart, Donnets, Palmer and the other scientists finally got to get up close to them and start to try and learn their language.

Metzger got a front row seat of this process, acting as security at a respectful distance, this time finally with a rifle in his hand. It mainly involved bringing an object or concept on a whiteboard and getting one of the aliens to name it. “It's called monolingual fieldwork,” Palmer explained the plan during the briefing before the first attempt. “The idea will be to build up a dictionary of object names. From there we can go to actions , to pick up and drop a rock etc and therefore relationships between objects. From there we can start building out their grammar and sentence structure.” 

“Why not teach them english?” Yong asked.

“That will come in time,” Renne Frommer, a woman with a blonde ponytail and part of Palmer’s team explained. “Trying to force them to understand us when they currently show no desire to learn would be counterproductive to both the exercise and relations. Plus it's easier to teach if you can both communicate first.” Yong looked annoyed but accepted the logic. 

The indigenous themselves were reluctant to cooperate as the scientists carried out rocks, plants and various sundry items and pointed to them, encouraging them to name them. Eventually, if only out of annoyance the indigenous started playing along, describing the various items and actions just as Palmer had hoped. Over the days the makeup of the indigenous guard shifted a little, burly sullen warrior types were replaced by more inquisitive types who were more willing to play along. Even the red shawled queen turned up a couple of times. That was a big deal amongst the scientists, her presence showed the tribe wanted to open up communications with them as well. They even finally got a name for them, the na’vi.

With the foundations of relationships with the na’vi being laid and under pressure from Yong, Stewart ordered the treeline to be cut back. The reasons were many, to provide more security to the base against the more armoured predators they had encountered like the newly discovered, a cursed Thanator, to allow further mining work and to prepare for the construction of the planned larger colony. This drew an almost immediate and forceful response from the indigenous. Another low level overflight of banshees and warriors on what had been decided to be called direhorses, surrounded them. Stewart had everyone fall back to the perimeter while the scientists tried to talk down the chief who had come out himself. He shouted a long diatribe at them, pointing accusingly at the felled and uprooted trees even as Donnets and Palmer tried to explain that they could barely understand him.

Behind the chief the queen led a procession of more indigenous to the felled trees. As Metzger watched, some of them appeared to break into tears at the sight of them. The queen performed some kind of ritual over one of the trees as the group broke into a lyrical chant like something out of a church. It was almost as if they were mourning the dead trees. It was clear that the scientists would much rather be observing that but Palmer kept his attention on the much more pressing issue of talking down the chief. He tried to explain to the chief why they had done what they had done. Illustrating the problem he clasped a freshly cleaned skull of a ELF-A-13, now called a viperwolf around his throat and mined choking, then pushed his hand forward to bring across the idea that they wanted to push back the jungle to protect themselves. The chief looked unconvinced, going off on another speech that the scientists weren’t able to understand. It was only when Stewart came out and with the help of a scientist speaking through comms declared that they would respect his wishes that things started to defuse a little. The chief clearly recognised Stewart’s authority, even if he didn’t trust him. Eventually the indigenous’s anger seemed to subside and they withdrew back into the forest.

Yong flew off the handle when he’d found out about what Stewart had done. “You agreed to what!?” he said.

“Strictly speaking we didn’t agree to anything specific. We simply said we would respect their wishes,” Donnets pointed out.

“It was a necessary decision to protect the security of the operation,” Stewart said, clearly both of them had prepared for Yong’s protest.

“Fine, fine. But there is no way we can continue this operation without expanding that mine. You’ve seen the nearby deposit,” Yong pointed out, pulling up a tablet showing off a nearby unobtainium deposit that dwarfed the seams around the base. “How are you going to get them to give us that when we can’t even cut down a few trees?”

“We’ll find a way, one way or the other” Stewart replied, not elaborating on what he meant by that.

“You are still overstepping your damn authority and letting the indigenous dictate our operations. What next? You let them establish a permanent armed presence inside the walls?” Yong clearly wasn’t satisfied.

“We aren’t strong enough yet, I have final say on all security matters and this is my decision.”

“Frankly I don’t think your decisions are in keeping with primary mission objections.”

“Fine. If you feel that way, why don’t you file a formal complaint to the trilateral commission back on earth. It should only take you nine years to get a response,” Stewart snapped, turning his back on Yong.

“I shall!” Yong flounced off to his office, slamming the door so hard the whole wall rattled. Metzger couldn’t resist a surreptitious smirk, the spectacle seemed to sum up Yong’s impotent over affairs. For all RDA’s lobbying clout back on earth it was Stewart that held all the real cards.

Everyone had expected the indigenous to no longer come after the tree felling incident but the next day there they were as usual. Well not quite usual, the rarely seen queen was there and this time she had something very interesting to say. “You’re saying they want a meeting?” Stewart asked when Donnets brought the news to the command centre.

“Yes. I think they want to do a reverse of what we are currently doing. Instead of them coming to us and we asking them questions we go to them instead. This is a clear sign that they want to understand us,” she explained.

“And this involves going to their village?”

“We’re not sure yet. Definitely a location of their own. She used a lot of new words we aren’t sure of yet. Either way this is a big step forward.”

“I am aware of that but you are still taking an awful risk. If they really want you to travel to their village, we won’t be able to mount a rescue operation if things head south,” Stewart warned.

“I know that, but if we want to continue building a relationship with them this is the kind of risk we need to take,” Donnets replied. Stewart looked at the floor and flexed his hand, clearly deciding something.

“Did they say how many of us could come?”

“Eight.”

“Ok I’ll lead the escort myself. Four scientists, four security.” Once again Stewart stepped up to take the risk.

“I assume sir you would like the usual faces?” Metzger asked from the back of the room. Him, Nuur and Domen were often the security escort for the scientists interacting with the indigenous, he still wasn’t sure if this was a continued punishment or whether it had been felt similar faces would be less threatening. The barracks had started to jokingly refer to them as the blue squad.

“You read my mind,” Stewart replied. Metzger nodded, realising he had once again volunteered himself to possible death. It was starting to become a habit, then again going outside the perimeter was proving just as dangerous. Stewart turned back to Donnets “Who do you want from your side?”

“Myself of course, Palmer, Frommer and Augustine,” she replied.

“Augustine? I thought she was a botanist?” Stewart commented.

“She’s proving good at the language. Everyone’s chipping in a little on this.”

Metzger mentally nodded in agreement about Augustine. That was definitely true from his limited experience. He’d overheard them talking in the canteen when they’d finally got the potential name for the indigenous. “So the question is, is Na’vi the name of their tribe and the Omatikaya is the name of their race?” Palmer mused between sips of coffee.

“Don’t be so foolish,” Augustine protested, putting down her own cup. “Na’vi is clearly the name of their race. It is logical that the name of their race would be shorter than the name of a tribe.”

“Is the word human any more complicated than British, Greek or Chinese?” Palmer countered.

“Of course we could be barking up the wrong tree here. Na’vi may simply mean people as a collective group,” Frommer interjected.

“Ok so next session we will attempt to confirm which hypothesis is correct,” Palmer declared, clearly trying to avoid a full blown argument over dinner. Eventually Augustine would be proved right. Na’vi was what the indigenous called themselves, though Metzger understood Frommer would get some satisfaction from when it was discovered that for the indigenous na’vi simply meant ‘the people’ as a concept. There was also great debate about whether Omatikaya was spelt with a c or a k. Amongst the scientists it would drag on for years. For Metzger it was all an amusing scientific distraction.

“If you think she’s the right fit for the job,” Stewart said, returning Metzger to the present. “When do they want this meeting? If you could work that out.” Donnets looked a little apprehensive.

“That's the thing I haven’t told you yet. If we’re right they want to meet us tonight.”

“Nighttime?” Stewart looked shocked. No one dared to go outside the perimeter after dark, even the eclipses had them pulling out of the dig site.

“Probably should have said it from the beginning, I know.” Donnets waved her hand before Stewart could protest further. “But if we’re being escorted by the na’vi how much danger could we be in?” If things go sideways and we’re forced to flee, going into the jungle at night who knows how far away from the base is a death sentence Metzger thought but didn’t say anything.  

So they assembled at the meeting spot where they usually engaged with the indigenous as the sun was setting, staining the sky a little orange. Metzger looked up at it apprehensively, soon it would drop below the mountain tops, already the shadows were lengthening. Soon it would be dark and much to his much to his chagrin Stewart had decided on no weapons, only side arms. “We will be guests not interlopers. That means we will have to trust them to protect us,” he had explained, Metzger thought differently. He half hoped that the scientists had gotten it wrong and there would be no one waiting for them. But to his disappointment a group of indigenous appeared from the treeline at their approach. Palmer stepped forward “Greetings,” he said and followed up with something similar in the indigenous’s language. The group’s leader, the queen, acknowledged it with her own reply. She ran a familiar eye over the scientists and then pointed a finger towards Metzger and the soldiers, saying something that sounded accusing. “They are our protectors,” Palmer explained to her, dropping back into the alien language, trying to explain who they were. The queen looked unimpressed, exchanging pointed looks with another of her party. Eventually she said something and turned to head back into the jungle. When they didn’t move she turned to them and repeated herself, beckoning with her hand.

“I think that means follow,” Donnets observed, walking after her.

The group started walking into the jungle. “I’m surprised the queen greeted us. You’d expect royalty to be a bit more hands off,” Metzger observed as the two warriors of the group took up station to the sides of them.

“You know she has a name right?” Augustine hissed at him.

“Yeah I know,” Metzger replied. Mo’at, not moat as Metzger had made the mistake of saying initially. The apostrophes in the written reports were important.

“Yeah I advise we start using them, it helps build respect,” Stewart said.

“Yes sir,” Metzger acknowledged. He would still call her just the queen for the moment. 

He stood on a small fallen twig that snapped under his feet. One of the warriors berated him. “He says we’re making too much noise. Something about attracting danger,” Palmer explained.

“We’re doing our best,” Metzger retorted, he felt the comment had been made towards him specifically. He was trained in jungle terrain but these damned indigenous moved through the terrain like it was nothing, by comparison the humans must have sounded like a brass band. No wonder they could sneak up on them so easily.

They walked a little further on until the sun finally dipped below the horizon, plunging the forest into darkness. “Halt, lights,” Stewart ordered. All the humans paused, fiddling with chest mounted lights or hand torches. The queen turned and covered her eyes as Metzger accidentally shined his light in her face. She hissed something in annoyance and gested at Palmer. “She says to turn them off,” he said. Metzger looked over to Stewart who reluctantly nodded. Everyone cut their torches. 

The Queen muttered something to one of her companions and continued forward, jumping up onto a branch that led up into the canopy, clearly intending that the group use it to travel through the jungle easier. Stewart signalled for everyone to stop. “We can’t go up there. The risk is too great,” he cleared. Metzger turned to look at the branch. It was a wide branch that could take them, but if it got any narrower and if there was a jump and someone slipped.

“Understood,” Donnets said, nodding in recognition of the danger and spoke to the Queen, trying to explain they couldn’t go that way. The Queen looked irritated but returned to the ground and pointed the new way to go.

As they kept moving Metzger kept looking around nervously, he hated the jungle at night. During the day you could kid yourself into believing you were still on earth but at night when the bioluminescence came on you couldn’t avoid it. Everything took on a bluish haze that strained the eyes to focus on anything. Changing contrasts would make things appear to jump out at you before receding into the distance. Every plant took on its own unique hue, green, blues, purple and the occasional distracting orange and red that tugged at the eye. In between it all moved the animal life, a ten thousand fireflies buzzed overhead and in the bushes a million little glowing bugs clicked or whizzled. It was like being trapped in a never ending disco, surrounded on all sides by alien life. It had been almost overwhelming the first time Metzger had experienced it. He didn’t know how the indigenous could stand it, then again perhaps they saw the world differently, probably in infrared or something, who knew.

Something with glowing red lines on its back darted through the undergrowth off to their left, leaving behind a trail of green glow. Metzger turned his head and stared , his hand itching down towards his pistol. Was there something out there stalking them? He glanced up at the native on their left, he didn’t seem overly concerned. Then again would they care if something attacked them and they would just disappear up into the trees? His hand started to subconsciously slide towards his gun. He glanced across at Domen who already had his hand wrapped around the trigger ready to pull at a moment's notice. Metzger was feeling the same way.

Something moved up ahead, one of the plants was turning towards them. It kind of looked like a face. It was one of those zooplantae things, a mix of plants and animal features the scientists explained. Those really creeped him out. The uncanny way they were able to move, even react to you felt wrong. They were dangerous too, one of them had spat out a spine that had sent Turner to the morgue. Metzger looked at the plant again; it didn't look like one of those but who knew what horrors lurked out here. Then things snapped into focus and he realised it wasn’t a plant but some massive creature. Its hackles raised, teeth bared ready to leap, its two piercing eyes looking right at him. He reached for his gun. His fingers gripped the plant.  

He was about to cry out a warning and draw when he looked across at Stewart. Stewart, walking alertly but calmly forward, his hands at his sides well away from his gun as if there was no danger. The Queen brushed past the apparent monster which folded in upon itself with a whump revealing it to a rather spindly plant. Metzger checked himself, almost wanting to laugh. This place had nearly done a number on him. Getting him hyped enough to pull a gun on a shodding plant. So much for the man that wanted to see the stars. He tried to follow Stewart’s example hands away from his gun and trust the indigenous to protect them but the urge never really went away.

Without warming they were at their destination. They rounded a massive tree trunk, scrambling over massive roots to find the familiar orange flow of a fire in front of a large tent-like construction. Several na’vi were sitting in front of it. Metzger recognised the chief getting to his feet to greet them. “So much for seeing their village,” Stewart observes. Donnets shrugged, clearly a little disappointed as well. Stewart reached for his comms and spoke on the security channel. “We have arrived at the meeting spot. It’s an encampment a little way into the jungle. Do you have our position?”

“Confirmed, we have you. You are about 500 metres beyond the treeline,” the operator reported. 500 metres? Metzger thought, in this gloom it had felt like a klick or more. “You are within range of rescue,” the operator added.

“Understood. Keep the team on standby,” Stewart ordered as he and Donnets approached the chief and his queen. 

Donnets stopped in front of them and spoke a greeting in the indigenous language, making a sign of respect with her hand. “Greetings,” the queen said, reciprocating the gesture. Metzger raised an eyebrow in surprise, while the pronunciation was all over the place; this was the first time he’d heard one of the indigenous speak english. There was excited whispering from the scientists, clearly they recognised the importance of this. The indigenous were willing to learn their language. This raised the hope that they could build a real working relationship with them in the future. The chief made a similar greeting in his own language. Donnets repeated the greeting to the chief directly, taking care to use his name, Eytukan, something like that. Once again trying to push the relationship to a new direction. The chief and queen exchanged looks but made no outward sign of displeasure.

There was an awkward pause, the scientists unsure of what was to happen next. The queen pointed to where a mat had been placed by the fire and said something. “She wanted us to sit,” Augustine reported. The scientists sat down and the chief and queen did the same opposite to them with fire off to their side. Two more indigenous joined them. Steward, Metzger and the others remained standing behind them, the four remaining indigenous, warrior types stood behind their companions in front of the tent. The chief and queen started a conversation about the scientists. Metzger could barely keep track of what the scientists were saying, it seems like they indigenous wanted to know why they were here and killing the forest. The scientists were trying to reassure them they meant them no harm. 

The conversation continued for a while until one the warriors suddenly stepped forward towards Stewart. Metzger recognised him as the subordinate that had likely pushed to attack them during the initial stand off. The alien looked down at Stewart and over at the other soldiers with a haughty but respectful gaze. Clearly sizing up the opposition Metzger thought. Warrior to warrior and all that. The warrior seemingly  not impressed by what he saw, said something to Stewart. “What’s he saying?” Stewart asked. Frommer turned her head to look at them. The warrior, clearly annoyed that the soldiers couldn’t understand him, repeated himself.

“He’s talking about gifts of some kind,” Frommer explained.

“Um, Donnets, did the invitation mention gifts?” Donnets turned her head, the Queen stopping to observe the developing situation.

“No, there was no mention of gifts that we could detect. This might be some kind of cultural expectation,” Donnets explained. Palmer and Augustine looked at each other and started patting their pockets.

“Well this could be a problem. We haven’t bought anything,” Stewart observed. In a quick movement the warrior pulled a knife out of a bag on his hip. 

Metzger reached for his gun. Domen already had his one half out. The other indigenous warriors stepped forward reaching for their knives Palmer shouted a warning and pulled Frommer back. Stewart raised his hands, signalling everyone to stand down. Metzger froze, just about to start pulling out the gun. “Stand down people,” he ordered. The chief scrambled to his feet, berating the warrior fiercely. The warrior replied defiantly but his body language said that he realised he had misjudged his action. Stewart looked up at him for a moment before speaking “I know what you wish to do. This knife is a gift, correct? A sign that you consider us equals. Fellow warriors.” Palmer attempted to translate. The warrior nodded, putting the knife into the palm of his hand and offering it out. Stewart looked at it. “Then I must reciprocate with a gift of equal status,” he decided and started unclipping the holster from his hip. As he did so Metzger saw him slip the magazine out of the back of the gun and slip it into a pocket. “Here is the symbol of a warrior in our culture,” he explained, offering the now useless weapon to the warrior. The alien looked a little nonplussed at the strange plastic object but respectfully picked it up, allowing Stewart to take the blade.

He held it in his hand, rubbing his fingers along the edge of the sharpened rock. “A fine weapon. Your people have great craftsmen,” he said. The warrior muttered something in response to Palmer’s translation, fiddling around with the pistol. “A bit unfair to not give them the mag sir,” Metzger said, flicking on the security channel where the scientists couldn’t hear them. “Could risk him shooting someone by accident,” Stewart explained, flicking his mic to the same channel. There was the familiar clunk as the warrior pulled the trigger on an empty mag pointing the weapon towards the chief to illustrate the point. “Let's get to know them a little more before we start giving them arms shall we?” The warrior lowered the pistol, pulling out a scabbard and strap and offering them to Stewart. 

As Stewart started putting on the strap another warrior stepped forward towards Metzger this time. Metzger bowed slightly, guessing what was about to happen. The warrior returned the gesture and revealed another knife with a flourish. “Better give him something,” Stewart said. No way in hell I’m giving up my gun Metzger thought.

“I suppose it is only proper that it is an equal exchange,” he said after a moment, fumbling with the combat knife on his leg. “A knife for a knife,” he said, offering the blade. The warrior looked a little more pleased with the offering, taking the knife in its scabbard while Metzger took the alien blade. He gripped the oversized handle, feeling how the blade moved through the air, it certainly didn’t act like his old knife, more a short sword or a machete. If he was allowed to keep it, actually making use of it would be tricky. He studied the blade, some kind of sharpened claw. You had to admire these na'vi, they seemed to make use of everything. The warrior also examined his new prize, almost comically small in his hand. His eyes lit up as he pulled the blade out of its cover but clouded when he felt the coated metal of its construction. “Finest earth stainless steel,” Metzger explained, pointing towards the knife. The warrior muttered something that sounded dismissive and pulled out the scabbard and strap for Metzger’s new knife. “I’ve got this,” Metzger said, taking them and putting them on the same way Stewart wore his. The indigenous wore their knife downward but the blade felt slightly loose in the scabbard so Metzger flipped it around pointing upward. The strap was too loose, again if I’m allowed to keep this I’ll have to make some alterations Metzger thought. 

As all of this was going on Nuur and Domen were also being offered knives as well. Like Metzger, Nuur offered his own knife in exchange while Domen cheapened out, only offering his torch and his watch for the knife.

“Our gifts should show off a little of our technology,” he pointed out, when Stewart looked at him inquisitively. Donnets and the other scientists started to offer stuff to the chief and the queen but they raised their hands, indicating it wasn’t required. Interesting Metzger thought, did this mean that they didn’t consider the scientists as equal or was this something done only between warriors of different tribes? He was sure they would find out someday.

The meeting continued on, Metzger standing watching the na’vi opposite, occasionally fiddling with the knife. The scientists continued to communicate with the chief, the queen and the other indigenous. Things seemed to be getting complicated, the queen occasionally bursting into a short song as if to explain a point. Metzger listened into the scientists’ discussions, it was clear that even they weren’t really getting the full gist of it. Something about goddesses and rules. It was clear that the indigenous were trying to explain their world view to them and most of it was being lost in translation. Augustine seemed to be following along the best, asking the queen to repeat stuff to let the others catch up. 

It was as Metzger looked over this meeting of two worlds that he started thinking. “Commander,” he eventually said over the open security channel. Stewart turned his head to look at him. Metzger reached his hand up to his ear the sign to switch to a personnel channel. Stewart pressed several buttons on his comms unit.

“What is it, sergeant? Have you spotted something?” he asked once the link was established, his mouth barely moving for the throat mic to pick up his words. No one else would know they were speaking.

“No sir. I just wanted to ask a personal question. Off the record.” Metzger kept his eyes straight ahead looking at the indigenous opposite of him. He knew this personnel channel wouldn’t be recorded.

“Is this really the time?” Stewart didn’t turn to look at him. He did sound accusing but not dismissive.

“Probably not but I doubt there will ever be.”

“Arlight Metzger let's hear it.” 

Metzger was once again surprised that Stewart had used his name. It signified this was no longer a conversation between an officer and his subordinate. This was simply a conversation between two men. “We’re going to end up fighting these people aren’t we sir?” Metzger subtly nodded at the indigenous. Stewart didn’t reply. “You can see how they are reacting to our stuff. It's a curiosity to them but they aren’t going to be clamouring for it. It's not going to revolutionise their lives. They even seem to view some of it as distasteful. Plus there is how they reacted when we attempted to expand the mining site. They were willing to fight to protect those trees until we were able to talk them down. You know the long term plan for this moon. We’re a glorified survey team compared to the complex the corporation has planned. So if the indigenous aren’t going to play ball and there is nothing we can buy them off with, you know how this is all going to end,” Metzger continued, laying it all out. 

Stewart remained silent, looking at the chief impassively as if he hadn’t heard. His face was wrapped in shadows, only illuminated by the fire. It made him seem sombre, almost remorseful. “I hope it won’t come to that,” he said eventually as if he knew Metzger was right. “I hope there is some way to make it work between us. Perhaps in time they will start to see the advantages of our ways, the benefits of our technology. There has got to be something we can offer them. Perhaps we can negotiate a limited territorial concession. There is always some way to square the circle and keep the peace.” He looked up at the stars just visible through the jungle canopy. “Afterall it would be a crying shame to come this far and meet another sentient species, only to end up fighting them.”

“And what if we can’t avoid it?” Metzger asked, voicing the unspoken question at the end of Stewart’s words.

“If the United Nations wills it, we do what we are trained to do. We fight and win. We complete the mission given to us by our leaders.” A soldier’s response Metzger thought, the kind of thing an officer would say to a private to inspire them. But did Stewart really believe it?

“But we are lightyears from Earth. They aren’t going to know what’s really going on here or be able to react in time. It's going to be up to people like you and Yong to decide. Imagine if Yong had been in charge, do you think we’d be standing here?” There was another long silence from Stewart.

“Then we must hope the people they send to replace us are equally as wise,” he said eventually.

“And if not?” Metzger popped the unspoken question. The two men looked across at the scientists trying to explain the planet earth to the na’vi. Even as one incredible door was being opened Metzger thought it was already being pushed closed by forces none of them could really stop. 

Stewart turned his head to look at him and Metzger half expected him to end the conversation there. Overstepping an invisible mark. “You seem unusually inquisitive about these things, damn near philosophical,” Stewart observed, as if apropo of nothing.

“I just want to understand things, sir,” Metzger replied, unsure where the conversation was heading.

“I like that attitude.” A subtle smile seemed to cross Stewart’s face. “Perhaps you are being wasted as an NCO. Have you ever taken an interest in officer training?”

“I have taken a mild interest, yes. Every soldier does during their training.” Metzger replied, pretending like he hadn’t taken the entrance exam and failed. Surly Stewart didn’t mean what he thought he meant.

“I think something can be arranged. We are in need of replacements after all.”

“Thank you sir,” Metzger said with a smirk. Him an officer at his age, who would have thought it.

“Don’t get cocky. I expect you to pass the formal exams,” Stewart warned.

“Of course sir.” Metzger steadied himself. Stewart might be giving him a chance but he expected him to earn it. 

“So let me give you some advice. From one officer to another; potential; officer. There comes a point up the chain of command orders are less commands and more goals.”

“I think I understand.” The Lieutenant commands the platoon to take a position but it's the sergeants and corporals that actually decides how the squads and fireteams achieve it.

“And sometimes to complete the spirit of the order you must go against the letter of it.” Metzger looked over at Stewart. That didn’t sound like something a commanding officer would say. “Remember the bigger picture Metzger, remember our primary objective. Protecting mission personnel and material. That is ultimately why we are here.”

“That is a pretty philosophical way of looking at things,” Metzger casually observed.

“What do you mean sergeant?” Stewart replied, as if he hadn’t said anything, the inflections of an officer coming back in. Clearly the conversation was over.

“Nothing sir,” Metzger replied as they clicked their comms back to the open channel. Metzger thought about what Stewart had said. Think of the bigger picture. Protect mission personnel and material. But wasn’t there a greater mission? We’re here for all mankind, Metzger thought as he looked up at the stars.