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Spider squeezed the thing in his hand. It was Miles’s dog tag. The scientists outside were pointing at him, but he didn’t care. He huddled in one corner of his containment, waiting for the night to fall. The sharp edges of the metallic plate cut into his hand, leaving a dull, tingling sensation of pain, but he didn’t let go. He was afraid that once they noticed this little trinket, they would take it away from him. He also might be afraid of something else, something that he might not even have known; Miles came before. Tensely, warily, he watched the towering recombinant enter his containment; he thought he was going to blackmail him, terrorize him, do evil things to him, threaten him to tell the location of Jake and the others, but Miles did none of these. He simply told him about his mother and told him how proud he was of him. Why? Spider thought. He remembered asking Miles for his dog tag, not having too much hope, but right now this little thing that could potentially change his life and make miracles happen lay securely in his hands, held by him tightly. Why? He always dared to look into Miles’s eyes and vented his anger, but when Miles lifted his arm and tossed him the dog tag, he found himself terrified. He wanted to look away, away from these eyes that lay upon him with such unfathomable affection, so that he could pretend that he didn’t see them. He remembered his lips twitched, mumbling some nonsense that sounded almost like a thank you, which was drowned in the thunderous sound made by the shutting door. He hated how weak he was at that moment, but the man had already left, disappearing among those human beings outside like a fish vanishing into a forest of weed, so that all was left was this quiet, white room, where he was alone by himself, with no one and no where to vent his anger.
Then he thought of the look of the Miles when he was dying. He didn’t look like his father at all, and his foreign dialect sounded uncomfortable. He was the enemy, the person he hated, but at some point he simply couldn’t exert control over his gaze which search across the man’s face with such scrutiny. He imagined if this man were still a human being, they would have the same nose. Like Jake, he was all blue and tall now, and his five fingers were once held so tightly in his hands because he was scared, drenched in sea water and his cold sweat. He recalled how his body weighed down so heavily on his back, so dead like a lifeless bunch of bones and flesh, which made him scared.
The scientists were already clearing the documents and papers spread across the table. The day had come to an end and they were going home. So were Spider. He knew the light of his cell would be switched off in a while, because they wanted him to follow a sleep schedule. He should start orchestrating his escape soon.
So he discreetly unclenched his fist and took a glimpse of the dog tag that once belonged to Colonel Miles Quaritch before the light dimmed; it had the face of Miles when he was a human carved, so he indulged himself in leaning forward and taking a closer look of that face which belonged to his father. They indeed had the same nose. Now he started to wonder what his mother looked like. Miles said she was fierce and she was a hero, just like him. Why did Miles call him a hero? He hadn’t done anything good for Miles and even was the one sabotaging Miles’s plans most of the time; he relied on their biological relationship to be shielded from harm. He was not a hero, either, at Jake’s side. He was simply one of Jake’s children, cared and protected by the man. Jake was the hero, instead. He had never done anything so great and scary like what Jake was doing, and he merely wished to help Jake. So why? Why did Miles also say that he was proud of him? Spider did not want to understand because Miles’s words gave him a strange sensation, a sensation that he did not hate, but one that complicated everything, and Spider did not like complicated things. Perhaps he should not save Miles from the depth of the ocean in the first place, but he also knew that he could not do anything but to save Miles at that moment, because Miles had saved him—for countless times now. Miles loved him, no matter whether he wanted this love and the protection that came with it.
The light had gone out long ago, and only now did he catch himself drifting in his thoughts and recollect himself. It was time to move. He spread his palm and looked at the dog tag that was reflecting a soft, subdued, silver hue in the dark. The metal plate felt warmed because he had held it in his palm for so long. He glanced at the portrait of Miles when he was a human one more time, now shrouded in the darkness. He told himself that this was the last time, he should not stay here any longer; he got to help Jake, and Jake could be killed at any moment. He suddenly realized how similar Miles looked when he was a human to what he looked now. he could imagine how Miles would talk to him as a human, how he stood in front of him lively, still a towering figure, looking down at him and saying how proud I am of you, son. And when he laughed, wrinkles looking like ikran tails would be squeezed from the sides of his eyes. He would have the same eyes and the same nose as Spider. He clenched his fist again, and the edges of the metal plates dully stung him once more. It is not the time, Spider told himself, he got Jake, he got Kiri, he did not need Miles.
So he shook his head, hoping to shake off all the unrealistic fantasies, and started to use the dog tag to unscrew the screws on the ventilation plate. He got to go. When he was about to take off the plate and begin his escape, he realized that he was still holding on to that dog tag like it was his. He remembered how Miles held the nameplate like this, with that uncanny look on his face, walking into his room and gazing at him. So he lifted his arm and tossed it away. The dog tag made a crisp click when it hit the floor, suddenly he thought of the face of Miles when he was a human, and his name was Colonel Miles Quaritch.
Colonel Miles Quaritch delivered a blow to the ribs of his father. Dad! Spider yelled something similar and picked up the bow next to him, so that he could rush to shield Jake from the attack and point the weapon menacingly towards the attacker. Don’t hurt him or I will kill you. He said. His hands and knees were scraped, but he did not feel the pain, his body trembled from the adrenaline rush and probably something else—he was afraid. And Miles, that manic, that man who claimed to be his father, simply looked at him. Not the slightest tinge of fear showed in his eyes. He chuckled. Once again Spider felt that fear surging, swelling, and overflowing his body; he didn’t want to look at this man, while there they were, face to face, like two mortal enemies with only one option to settle their differences.
Oh? Are you really going to kill me? he said, but his body moved towards Spider and Jake, and he held out his hand as if to seize his bow. There was no other way left for Spider. Instinctively he shot the arrow, but just then the fear overtook him. He didn’t want to look, to watch this man got shot by his arrow. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when the arrow shot into Miles’s shoulder instead of somewhere fatal, but his fear proliferated and reached a certain peak, screaming and scratching in his head: he wanted to run, he wanted to take cover, he wanted to avert his gaze, but his feet stayed rooted on the ground, his body froze, and his eyes wide open. Until Miles looked at him, the way he usually did, and smirked, the way he usually smirked at Spider, he felt alive again. Miles had already pulled out the arrow and plunged towards Jake.
Jake! Spider’s heart was filled with panic again. Clumsily, he fumbled to nock an arrow to the bowstring while the two were locked in a ferocious fight, every thump of fists into flesh and every cry of pain making Spider’s heart falter. He seized the bow and arrow, and followed them from one floating rock to another. He tumbled and he tripped and he crawled, like an infant who just learnt how to walk. He couldn’t feel his hands and knees, only a numb, hot sensation. His eyes were numb and hot as well, his lips trembling. With every inhale of the ashes and smoke in the ocean breeze he felt sick, dizzy and empty. In almost a frenzied state he nocked the arrow, he raised his bow and pulled the string. When he aimed his bow and ran towards them one last time, a strange feeling seized him, screaming for his attention, and he hesitated. What was he doing? Was he going to kill Miles? Would he kill any one of them in the end, voluntarily or involuntarily, directly or indirectly? But he wanted to do neither of that. The heightened fear, confusion and anxiety made his fingers slippery, and his pull weak. He didn’t pay much heed to where he perched, and before he had time to realize how close he was to death, he tripped again and fell from the uneven rock. He stared wide-eyed as Miles saw him and ran towards him in long strides without a second’s hesitation; the thing he was so afraid of was there again. Why did Miles come for him? Why did it look like that he was trying to save him? Why can’t Miles pretend that he was not the father of Spider and let him die? He was terrified, but Miles had already gripped his wrist firmly with his arm that was injured by him. He was terribly familiar with the palm that grasped him because he once pressed it into his comparably tiny hands, as if it was made by loose pieces of dead barks that could shatter, disassemble and vanish into the dark, roaring waves as soon as he let go, because he had once traced the rough, boney, slender shapes of the fingers attached to it, like the limbs of an enormous spider that was not him, so that he could know how they felt and kept that sensation with him forever. Now the fingers wrapped and clung to Spider with such force that Spider knew the position they were in had long been reversed. Spider looked up; he saw Miles glaring down at him, still with that familiar, terrifying, enigmatic look. Miles told him to hold on tight. Spider realized that he was trying to fling him up, but he only heard muffled grunts of pain, their bodies still dangling in the air. He kept his eyes open. He couldn’t do anything now but to restrain himself from crying, and so he saw blood seeping out of Miles’s arm, the arm he used to catch and halt Spider in place from his journey to death. Why? A voice in him asked and pleaded repeatedly, but he never said it out loud, in front of the man he was confronting. His lips twitched again, and he tasted the bitter taste of sweat and sea water.
Above the man, he saw Jake leaning out and their eyes met. So he finally found the excuse to hide from the thing he was afraid of. He yelled Jake’s name and vigorously swung himself up, grabbing Miles’s belt, clothing, body, whatever he could get a hand on, so that he could climb up, so that he could prove that he did not need Miles and his help, like how he did not need his dog tag. Finally, Jake pulled both of them up. Spider lay on the rocks, exhausted. He had Jake on one side of him, Miles the other. He tried to be vigilant so that they would not get into a fight again, but Miles and Jake seemed to have lost all the will to fight.
Well, he heard Miles saying from his side—he looked at Jake when he said this—this is awkward.
He didn’t know what to feel and what to do, but Miles’s words had a certain feeling of resignment in it that made Spider lose the will to stay wary. He simply lay there, not thinking about anything, feeling not exactly empty, but also not exactly content, until he heard the wings. It was their people, they were saved! He should feel so happy and resolved; he should run straight towards his friends and family until he ran into a hug, away from all the terror he had experienced these days, but it was the arm of Miles next to him and he could feel the warmth radiating from the man’s body, reminding him of his heavy presence. He didn’t know why but could not cheer up; his legs felt heavy, reluctant to bring the body to the place of safety. They saw Miles and lifted their bows, Neytiri was among them. Spider knew what the right thing to do was, but his heart—defying his reason—sank, until Jake told them to stop. Astonished, he turned to Jake. He couldn’t understand the man’s expression, but it was like the expression Neytiri sometimes made when she saw him: gentle, compassionate and complicated.
You always have a choice, he heard Jake spoke to Miles in a low voice. Just then he froze in a sudden revelation. Hope surged through him, tightening his chest and leaving it fuzzy. Once the seed of hope had been planted, he couldn’t stop fantasizing. Absurd imageries began to form in his head—he berated himself for being hopelessly foolish, but he couldn’t stop thinking a sunbathed afternoon, when Miles smirked at him, the way he usually smirked, and told him that he was a hero, that as his father, he was proud of him. They were not in a lab, not in a human habitat; they were in the jungle, in the place where they lived. He could do everything for them. He could teach Miles how to live among the trees, because he had grown up in this place and so he knew so many things that Miles wouldn’t know. He would teach Miles to use the traditional bow, to become one of them. It would be simple; you just need to pull the string. He was sure that Miles could do it. He could teach him to move in the water without making a sound, to dangle in the jungle, to make tools out of seeds and leaves. And so they would have a home. Perhaps, if he dreamed more boldly, he could see Miles and Jake together, leading the hunt for the tribe. They were both valorous warriors. He imagined them riding ikrans, where he would be watching them from behind, following them, feeling proud of his two fathers. His eyes felt hot again. He turned to look at Miles and he dared not to blink, but the look of the man put out the blooming flames of hope in his chest. Like how he leaned forward to take over the bow without a touch of fear, Miles leapt backwards—perhaps this was his original plan, after all. The fire and the seedling and the jungle that grew inside Spider died, he ran towards the edge of the rock without thinking, until he was held by Jake halfway, but he already saw the tall, blue figure of Miles disappear in the cold, cold layers of mists.
Spider did not tell anyone what he thought about at that fateful moment, but when he saw Kiri again, he wept. And Kiri seemed to know all of that, she simply hugged him tightly with her arms.
“Do you feel sad,” Kiri asked him once afterwards, “that he was gone?” They both knew who he referred to.
Spider shook his head. “I don’t from a long time ago. I knew he would not listen to anybody, ” he said, “he did not listen to me nor Jake. I should have known that.”
But truth be told, he did not fully see through Miles. He knew that this man would not give up his faith, but he did not understand why this man would not give him up. The fingers of his right hand subconsciously clenched into a fist while he was talking, as if he could still feel that dog tag which he had lost long ago.