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Grace couldn't even begin to express how disgusted she was by the resurrected avatar Miles Quaritch. If she'd known who she was rescuing on her next foray into the vastness of Pandora, she would have thrown him into the jaws of the local fauna. And Grace would have tried to be sure and even looked for a mammal that would be a little bit more powerful and more vicious, so that it would tear the colonel to pieces until the next solar eclipse. And I would have left only when I was sure of his ageless demise.
But she had to return to the fucking reality where Quaritch was alive and well and twice as sarcastic as the last time they'd met. Grace took the time to remind him who was responsible for her dead earthly weakened body and the resulting first failed attempt to merge with the avatar's body. As an admonishment, so to speak; to see how he would wiggle out of it. Maybe he'd be a little less sarcastic. Yeah, no shit. Miles had brought it up himself and was practically singing the praises for his accurate through-and-through kill shot.
- If you hadn't moved, Doc, the bullet would have killed you instantly and you wouldn't have had to suffer for hours. And if you hadn't run away, you might still be alive, still running around with your lab rats and blue friends, picking flowers...
Augustine grinned, taking a sharp step forward, but quickly regained her self-control and straightened up. She swore to herself that she'd give the bastard a good beating, but in her own lab (which she'd spent countless hours and money designing), it was too much of an honour to paint it with the blood of a soldier. And precious equipment could be damaged.
But her hands were itching to slap that smirking face. Grace held back, breathing as evenly as she could, though her nostrils flared menacingly to show her true spirit.
Quaritch tilted his head to the side, grinning triumphantly, provoking Grace's response. He laughed expressively and headed for the exit, but stopped abruptly after a phrase that the scientist said in passing:
- I'd be careful if I were you. Right now your future depends directly on my leniency.
The colonel wanted to turn round, but didn't have time: Augustine whirled past him, deliberately (and quite noticeably) hitting him with her shoulder and left the laboratory. Miles, barely restraining the frenzied aggression building up in his chest, only clenched his hands into fists and slammed the glass armoured door with half his strength. The glass shook slightly and no more. Not a single crack or even a hint of shattering, which infuriated Quoritch far more than the blue-tailed Pandora lover.
Still, they had to get along together. Conditionally. Quoritch was under camera surveillance twenty-four hours a day. The soldiers' scrutiny didn't go unnoticed, nor did Grace Augustine's personal escorting of him almost everywhere. It was hard to tell who wanted to get away from the other.
The reason why the scientist took charge of Quaritch was extremely simple - she was the only one who could withstand his sarcasm, aggression and skilfully parried, besieging him every time during verbal altercations. Besides, she was not just a consciousness in the avatar's body, but a true Na'vi representative, and she was strong enough, though not a hundred per cent equal to him, to keep him quiet. By the time the human scientists were connecting to their avatars, Kuoritch would have had time to tear up the floor of the lab, or even accidentally kill someone in another impulsive outburst. Or not accidentally.
And Grace was now the head of her own small lab, and she was unofficially considered to be in charge. She couldn't bear to have one of her subordinates looking after the creature that had killed her in her previous life and had actually started a war with the Na'vi, who were more dear to her than anything else in the world.
Augustine had been in relatively good spirits this morning, but as soon as her consciousness finally cleared from her deep sleep, the clouds thickened instantly. The fault was the half-blood avatar she was forced to face every morning. The first few weeks had been hell as Grace taught herself not to give in to Quoritch's provocations. Before, when they were both physiologically human, they hadn't clashed willingly very often, so it was much easier to hold back or not hold back when the tension reached an explosive point and then there was no stopping them.
Gradually Quoritch began to find this activity pointless, not getting the desired response. So he had to improve his skill-experimentation called ‘hitting the nerdy scientist in the heart’. Not that he did it on purpose.
It usually worked itself out. It was beginning to look like their peculiar style of communication, which from the outside could seem like a competition on whose tongue was sharper than his.
- In fact, you should be grateful to me.
Miles deftly dodged a fist flying straight at his face. Most of his opponent's blows had to be deflected at the level of his own head, where she insistently sought to hit. Quaritch would even say aggressively.
- Really?
- If I hadn't killed you, you wouldn't be reborn as one of your blue monkeys right now. Surely this must have been a long-held dream of yours.
Focused solely on defending his dearly beloved face, Miles didn't immediately notice Augustine's change in hand-to-hand combat tactics. She was below average in strength (in a Marine's professional opinion), so she used agility, speed, and intelligence. Not a bad move: if you can't take an opponent down with strength, you should look for other weak points. But to his credit, Quaritch was well aware of his own weaknesses and hid them skilfully, but if they did surface during a fight, he did everything he could to give his opponent a taste of the phantom victory and then acted tough and uncompromising. This was in case the fight was a real one, with a trained fighter, not a scholarly avatar half-breed.
- If you hadn't killed me, you'd probably still be one of those narrow-minded soldiers killing children, old people, women and men. So I'm willing to die again to see the moment fate played a cruel joke on you. It must be hard to see someone you've despised for so long in the mirror, hmm?
Grace pulled back sharply and kicked Miles in the shin with a precise kick. He groaned and collapsed onto his back, his long hand touching his knee, his fingers just out of reach.
In the next second the triumphant grimace on Augustine's face was wiped away as quickly as it had appeared. Quaritch assumed a sitting position and reached out a broad palm to grasp the scientist's bare ankle and yanked it forcibly towards him. Grace only gasped softly and saw stars before her eyes, collapsing to the ground and hitting her head. Disorientated, she didn't immediately realise that Quaritch had already settled on her and felt something cold against her neck. Barely had her consciousness cleared, she instinctively grabbed Miles' wrist, startled for just a second.
- Nice try. Would have worked on a weaker opponent.
- But still, I got you.
Quaritch put the knife away and twirled it in his hand, plunging it sharply into the side of Augustine's head. From the surprise, she blinked fearfully. Miles hummed contentedly.
- Because I gave in. Wanted to see how cocky you were. But you learn fast. The main thing is, when you take an enemy down, don't go up to him and check how he's doing. You run.
- You have to. Unless I'm saddled with an 80-pound carcass.
Miles threw his leg over and stood up, pulling his knife out of the pliable earth. On automatic, he held out his hand to Grace, who ignored the gesture with a dismissive ‘I'll get around to it’. She straightened and swayed, touching the bruised back of her head. Quaritch cursed doomedly to himself, realising that there would be no respite from the ubiquitous scientist even in the infirmary, where they would both be going.
- Watch the fuck out! - Miles jerked his foot angrily and nearly kicked the nurse in the jaw with his powerful foot.
- Careful, Bran,’ Augustine warned, ’you're worth your weight in gold. And you, Colonel, keep in mind that there are very few qualified medics here. Particularly those who would be willing to treat you.
Quaritch snorted unhappily, but didn't sarcasm. The colonel hadn't been a colonel for a couple of months now, but Augustine called the word disparagingly, which might as well have been an insult as an address.
When all the procedures were complete, Miles got up from the medical couch, irritably refusing to be helped. Augustine positioned herself on the opposite side, occasionally touching his head. Quaritch allowed the thought that he might have miscalculated his strength and toppled the scientist too traumatically, which he naturally did not intend to do. After all, the original purpose had been nothing more than to demonstrate his own superiority and enjoy losing to the arrogant Dr Augustine, in his unwavering opinion. It was supposed to brighten the day.
- So much for the disadvantages of being tall,’ Quaritch commented snidely.
- Just a bump on the head,’ Grace said casually. - Your shin was much worse. - She nodded at the colonel's injured shin, which was fixed with a special bandage.
Quaritch couldn't disagree, if he were an enlisted man, but his years of experience and seniority (damn him) had shown him that a shin injury was the best thing that could happen to him on this fucking planet. The worst was probably irrevocably turning into a blue monkey. Though in truth, he could admit to himself that he didn't dislike it in the global sense in which it had manifested itself in the previous Miles Quoritch. And as yet the present one had not quite decided which cup of the scales prevailed.
But the next danger lurked in the place where he had not expected it.
It was a hot day. The sun was shining in his face and sticky sweat was beading on his skin. It was enough to make Miles more aggressive than usual. The avatars body temperature was just above the average Na'vi, but even that didn't save him from the sun's stinging rays. For fuck's sake, he shrugged off the thought of a daily workout at the gym and a morning jog before that. All he could do was drink plenty of water and hide in the shade of the huge garage spaces for massive military vehicles.
It didn't take long to enjoy the relatively quiet calm day. A bunch of cocky blue guys, who in the distant past Quoritch had beaten the shit out of with ironclad arguments, burst into his space. But this time it looked like they wanted to fuck the shit out of him. Miles realised this when, as he tried to get up from the ground, the boldest and most likely to have a false jaw in reserve decided to deliver a hard but cowardly kick to the stomach. His stomach shrank to the size of a ball of string and rolled right up to his throat. Inside, besides the morning water, there was only gastric juice. He threw it up on the dead-dry ground unplannedly. To the thunderous cackling of the suckers above him, of course.
- What's up lads? How about we make him puke every time he sees us, eh? - said the burliest and tallest of the other five. Though from this angle it was hard for Miles to tell his exact height. But after he pulled his legs out, his height wouldn't matter.
Rekom had noticed their strange looks a couple of times during training; felt them with his skin and heightened senses. And they looked more like they wanted to gnaw on his throat than to get his arse out. It was the same way they had looked when Quaritch had had the pleasure of provoking and openly ridiculing Grace Augustine, whose name, when spoken in an unfavourable light, spoiled karma instantly. Not that Miles frankly gave a shit about it. He wasn't about to deprive himself of the only pleasure in this fucking reality for the sake of pubescent sperm-toxicos.
Now, these same spermotoxicos wanted to make him change his mind. Well, well, well. Propping himself up on his elbows and barely keeping his strong body on shaking knees, Rekom made a newborn hexapod of himself, waiting for the right moment. Let them earn a little more cheap credibility so that a blow from a Marine's fist would be almost lethal.
- What's up, old man? Joints popping? - A hoarse chuckle came from the throat of the (soon-to-be dead) young avatar body. His foot flew into the air again, unmistakably picking a direction. Miles' hand worked faster than his brain had time to send the signal for action. Half a second, and the young, cocky boy was a small, fucked-up sucker, the back of his head slamming into the ground of Mother Pandora.
With a snap of a finger, the rest of the guys turned into a brutal herd of six-legged creatures, trampling everyone and everything in their path in fear. Quaritch was unlucky to be under their feet. Under such a hail of hooves, shod in massive boots, he had no choice but to take a defensive stance, arching his back, in an attempt to protect his vital organs and not give the bastards the opportunity to enjoy a new portion of his vomit. The cowardly blue puppies didn't beat him for long. One of the guys rushed forward, roughly grabbing Rekom's braid and pulling him towards himself. Taking advantage of the moment, Quaritch twisted around, twisting the guy's hands behind his back with a practiced movement and giving him a date with the nearest wall.
Those that remained turned out to be more careful and smarter than the two previous tribesmen. Miles bared his teeth as he found himself in the ring, propped up by the wall behind him. He dashed to the side, almost knocking the avatar off his feet, but was intercepted. He twisted one of his arms, and the other guy twisted the other. The latter, without wasting any time, began to deliver hard blows to the colonel in the gut. Gritting his teeth, Quaritch jerked, but quickly realized the futility of his actions and took a couple more blows to the face, taking advantage. The wall behind served as an excellent support. Rekom pushed away from her with his legs, slamming them into the stomach of the guy who beat him. He flew a couple of meters away, spitting out loud curses.
He did not pray to Euwe. Anyway, this bitch prefers traitors with a perverted desire to lick every flower for her.
The first shout was enough for the avatars to instantly straighten up and practically line up on command. Even those who were beaten. From behind them, Grace's pretty ears could be heard grunting, along with quiet chuckles. The suckers heard their mommy's call, Quaritch thought.
The scientist, wagging her tail angrily, looked across the space between the group of avatars to squeeze through and see the Recom coughing blood. With a quick glance, she assessed his condition. It’s not critical, since a smile sparkles on a bloody blue muzzle.
- What the hell have you done here?! - Augustine swore in her hearts, and the sparks from her eyes were dazzling than the scorching Pandora sun. - Do you even understand that he...
Grace suddenly caught herself from a thought that flashed in her head. Some people, to one degree or another, suffered from Quaritch in past lives. Others knew who was to blame for the death of Augustine's human body, and also witnessed almost daily verbal altercations between the colonel and the scientist. Grace stopped paying obvious attention to Quaritch's attacks, but the others were unable to tolerate such an attitude towards the scientist. They had a good chance to get even. Of course, they did not want to kill him, although they could have committed lynching and, to tell the truth, they would not have had anything to do with it. After all, the colonel could have died in the same way in the jungle, where he should have been left. Especially after Grace found out he was threatening Jake and his family.
“Okay, guys, lights out,” Grace nodded. - I'll deal with him. Please, for my sake, do not organize any more massacres.
“They could have killed my precious body, Doc,” the colonel noted, once again spitting out blood.
- You got off easy. Get up.
The time they spent getting to their “rooms” passed in complete peaceful silence. No Miles Quaritch jibes, nagging, or fucking jokes. Entering her room, Grace, with a look from her deep brown eyes, ordered (precisely ordered) the river commander to come inside. It wasn’t that he did it reluctantly, but it was clear that he was literally overpowering himself.
“I’m allergic to your lab stuff,” Miles said, taking a quick glance around the room. Overall, there was nothing here that Quaritch didn't have. High ceilings (not at all as high as expected), a cramped space that barely accommodated a bed, a table, and a bunch of laboratory oddities that Miles didn't even need to know the names of.
—Are you also allergic to first aid? — Grace Augustine asked sarcastically.
Miles just chuckled in response. Grace was fiddling with some sort of refrigerator where laboratory tests and medications that needed refrigeration were stored. From there, Grace fished out a couple of tubes of cream (or ointment), it seemed, then rummaged through a relatively small cabinet, pulling out bandages, gauze pads, and injection pads. Miles saw all this more than once when in a past life he brought his fighters to first aid stations.
After a minute, Augustine returned to Quaritch holding the “first aid” in her large blue hands. She placed everything on the bed next to her, looking at Miles.
“Huh,” she commented, looking him up and down. “You’re lucky that at least your beautiful little face wasn’t hurt.”
“Thanks for the compliment, Doc,” Miles broke into the nastiest smile possible. Grace rolled her eyes.
- Get up and turn around.
Usually Miles did not allow anyone to address him in a commanding tone, but Grace became an exception for him.
He obeyed and stood up, turning his back.
-Are you an idiot, Colonel? - Grace Augustine said irritably. — How did you even get to this position?
Quaritch turned his face.
“With work and sweat,” Quaritch responded with a grin.
- And a cute face. I remember about fifteen years ago there was a female commander working here at the base who was very partial to you. And after a couple of weeks, you have already become a colonel.
“I was a respected man back on earth, Doc.” Don't bring your wet fantasies into this.
Grace rolled her eyes for who knows how many times.
- What about you, Doc? — Quaritch asked. - Did they fall for your intelligence or did you also sin in order to get your position?
- Same? — Grace smiled slyly as she continued. “Intelligence is also someone’s wet fantasy, Colonel.”
“Hmm, no doubt,” Miles agreed, closely following the movements of Grace, who carefully treated the Recom’s wounds.
After this situation, they almost never crossed paths until they were brought together again for one task. And this time, Miles even admitted to himself that he had messed up badly.
- No! - Augustine shouted in a loud voice, drowning out the noise of the turntable. - Stay here and call the helicopter back, report what happened and wait for us!
This time, Grace's patience reached its limit. This idiot is either completely sick or a super sick bastard idiot. The whole point was that Miles Quaritch suddenly fancied himself a hero and took over the thanator's attention. The animal immediately rushed after him and it was unknown whether he deliberately provoked the thanator in order to save his blue ass in the jungle of Pandora, or whether he was really trying to protect Grace Augustine and her retinue of a couple of soldiers. For some reason, Grace was betting on the former.
Holding her weapon at the ready, she made her way through the thickets, carefully, trying not to harm nature.
Pushing another wide sheet away from her, she finally saw the pretty face of Miles Quaritch. It would be better if they had already devoured him, Augustine thought to herself.
This idiot was already aiming at the thanator when Grace cautiously approached him from behind. He was ready to pull the trigger and...
- Do not shoot! - Grace hissed. - You'll make him angry!
She quickly pushed the rekom away, blocking him with herself, firing a burst into the air, next to the thanatar. The animal immediately ran away.
- Fuck you, Augustine, along with your Pandora world!
But she managed to grab him by the wrist and, with a force that seemed unusual for Grace Augustine, rammed Miles into the trunk of a nearby tree.
- Listen here, you fucking martinet! - She poked a long finger straight into his face, almost touching the tip of his nose. “Your hysterics are deeply indifferent to me, and I didn’t fucking hire you as a nanny, so you know.” So let me make one thing clear to you once and for all: you are no longer Miles Quaritch - the tough guy with the big gun. You will have to adapt to the canons of this world, in which you are now nothing more than a local half-breed aborigine, without guns, without your running yes-men mongrels and without your former status.
“I have my own canons,” Miles hissed through clenched teeth, most likely in pain, twitching irritably.
“Then I hope you die before I have to drag your avatar ass out of some more shit.” You have enough stupidity for this. Just remember: if you are killed again, you are unlikely to rise again. I'll take care of it personally.
She glared angrily.
“Maybe I should try and fuck the crap out of you, hmm, Doc?” What will you do? You are here, all alone, without protectors.
“But then they’ll rip your scalp off.”
- We'll see.
The angry tirade was over, and the weapon, skillfully used by the scientist, was carelessly thrown at the feet of the angry recom. Having picked it up, Miles trudged after him, feeling worse than ever. Like a guilty teenager who will definitely receive a memorable spanking at home with a strong belt. Only instead of a belt there were harsh words from the tailed scientist, hitting much harder.