Chapter Text
Marissa finally finds Alicia crying quietly in the old pilots locker room.
Four days. It’s been four days since they finally secured a full surrender from the RDA and started managing the aftermath. Not once has Marissa seen her sister so much as whimper. Not since the Hometree fell and they woke up from their link beds screaming and burning with the need to fight back, to atone for what they had done. So needless to say the sight of Alicia, who trudged through literal and metaphorical trenches in human form and took to the skies with a battle cry to shake the mountains as an Avatar crying quietly in a dark corner was disturbing to say the least.
“I’m the last one” Alicia said bitterly, voice cracking and big doe eyes drowning in tears when Marissa sits next to her on the bench.
“The last…?” Marissa wondered. They’d only lost one Avatar, and two scientists in the program. While the Omaticaya and Olangi losses were more, she wasn’t sure if her older sister was close enough to any of them for it to be affecting her like this.
Alicia let out a choked off laugh, holding out something in her hands to Marissa. She took it carefully, turning the bit of fabric right side up. Her heart dropped to her feet for a moment as she realized what she was holding. It was the Banshees pilot patch, an off white Ikran skull that was starting to fray and some of the letters were gone, but it was still recognizable as the unique patch that the trio of female pilots wore with pride. Marissa feels her own eyes start to burn. She saw Trudy go down, burning bright as a falling star, but hadn’t seen Paz since everything started. Not since Hometree fell and they had to flee in the middle of the night.
“They just found the last Samson” Alicia sniffed harshly, wiping at her cheeks with bandaged hands. “The co-pilot seat was empty, but Paz was still in the cockpit. She had an arrow sticking out of her chest, but Max says…”
Alicia broke off again, shoulders shaking with sobs like a tree in a rainstorm. The sounds seemed pulled from the bottom of her chest, hard and painful. “Max says that from the entry wound, it didn’t kill her immediately. She was stuck there, bleeding out, and no one knew”.
Marissa didn’t say anything, because what was there to say? She didn’t really get the chance to know Paz Socorro beyond their occasional breakfasts together since their shifts always seemed to be opposite and then the Avatar program relocated and it was just them anyways. She mostly knew Paz from the stories Alicia, Norm, Trudy and Grace told her, of a vivacious and fierce woman who seized life with two hands and bared teeth. An adoring mother, and good partner and a dedicated Wingman.
Dead, forgotten in alien mountains, miles away from her child.
“We always had a bet going, you know” Alicia manages to get out around her tears. “When we formed the Banshees, when I learned to fly and Trudy and Paz took me under their wing, we always said the lucky streak would run out. Me and Paz bet it would be Trudy to be the last woman flying. Trudy bet it would be Paz once Junior was born”. Her expression turned bitter and exhausted, “it wasn’t supposed to be me. Not out of the three of us. They were my family you know? they kept me alive until you got here because they knew what you meant to me. They were so excited for me when they heard you were finally on the shuttle”. Alicia’s face twists in grief, and she lets out one more sob before Marissa watches her sister steady her breath, breathe through the grief. Alicia dug her nails into her palms, eyes closed as she willed the tears away. After a few minutes of controlled breathing, Alicia stood and went to the sink to rinse her face.
“Where’s Norm? We still need to update the KIA list and figure out if we can move the Samson back here or if it will stay where it fell. And I need to ask the Anurai for permission to bury the bodies there” Alicia said, voice still thick with tears, but the weight of responsibility was wrapping around her shoulders like a cloak. Marissa wants to cry out, wants to shake her and scream ‘you can cry! You can mourn her! It’s okay!’, but she doesn’t. Because Alicia needs to work right now, needs to check off her list, tick all the boxes and line up her ducks before she’ll feel like it’s safe to break. Alicia has been like that since they were kids, hiding her own breakdowns behind closed doors so she can take care of everyone else. So, Marissa just hands her a datapad and returns her patch.
“Norm is in the lab trying to inventory medical supplies with Max” she says. “I can deal with him and get the Angtsìk herd to help with the Samson if it’s possible to move. You know the Anurai better anyways”.
Alicia nods, a relieved expression crossing her face. “Thanks. I guess I should log some Avatar hours too” she says thoughtfully, “I haven’t been able to much since taking care of Junior”. Her expression fractures again at the mention of her godson, but it’s quickly concealed. Alicia’s expression is a mask of controlled calm, all except for her eyes, Alicia’s eyes always give her away.
Marissa spares a thought for little Miles Junior, barely a year old and already a war orphan. Her only consolation is the fierce love that Alicia has for him, and the warm affection of Norm, the scientists and Jake. Even she loves the little guy despite the fact that children terrify her, he’s their little dandelion with his blond curls. He’ll be okay, she thinks or maybe prays, to Eywa or God or maybe even Paz and Quaritch themselves.
(Despite the ache in her chest, the rage in her soul, the pain of her severed kuru and the grief of knowing she’s forever removed from Pandoran life, she is human enough to acknowledge that Quaritch had loved his little boy more than anything. She has enough kindness left in her to want him to know his baby will be okay, in some strange and fucked up debt of all the good memories between them before it all went to hell)
“Good idea” Marissa agrees, thinking of her own Avatar tucked away in a stasis pod that she hasn’t been able to stomach looking at in four days. “Your dragon bird is making the nerd herd nervous. A flight to the Anurai might help”.
Alicia’s expression brightens at the thought.
For all Marissa has been deemed the Earthshaker, blessed by Eywa to speak with the Angstìk herds, Yerik, Syìl and Pa’li and carry the strength of the very earth, Alicia was blessed by Eywa to fly higher than any Omaticayan, further and faster as if born with her own wings. Her Ikran was half her soul, willing to carry her even in human form. Marissa was thinking of suggesting Alicia spend some time with the Tayrangi or Kekunan Peoples, both skilled Ikran flyers, once things settle down. It would do her some good to be among people like her, Sky-blessed. Alicia’s expression drops for a moment, but Marissa is already moving to soothe her worry.
“Don’t worry about Junior once I’m done with Norm, I’ll take him. Max can cover me while I talk to the Angstìk” she says, knowing her sister’s worry over her new ward.
Alicia sighs, relived. “Thank you” she says sincerely, squeezing Marissa’s hands in gratitude.
Marissa smiles, happy to see the slight weight lifting off her sister, who has taken the heavy responsibility of the Hell’s Gate humans with Norm, all while coming to terms with the fact she’s now raising her godson and saying goodbye to life on earth. If watching her new nephew (and that’s a conversation she’s going to wait to have, maybe until next fucking year) for a few hours so her sister can fly and maybe have her own quiet moment to remember her friends in the element they once shared, it wasn’t exactly a hardship.
*
That night, Mo’at sat before her private hearth fire, sweet smoke making patterns moved to shape by the Great Mother’s guiding hand. Outside, the songs of the People began to rise to the sky, mothers beginning with the short, but beautiful cords of their children before moving to their own. A sense of peace washed over the great Tsahík, hearing the great chorus of her clan woven into a single mighty saga.
She hummed her own Songcord, ears swivelling to pick up the new notes and melodies that had been added, and to know and grieve the songs that were now missing forever.
(Her mate, her beloved Eytukan’s deep bass voice was forever silenced. Nevermore would Mo’at hear him singing in such perfect counterpoint to her own melody and it cut at her very soul as knives over flesh)
The fire before her leapt and danced, casting playful sparks into the air. Her eyes tracked four bright sparks, tightly spiralling together. A fifth spark, just as bright and strong as the other four, fluttered up to join them. It orbited the cluster of four, as if unable to truly join them. Soon after, a cool breeze swept it away from the others, who seemed to dim at the loss. Mo’at felt the hand of the Great Mother slip into hers, giving a comforting, yet warning squeeze before fading away, leaving Mo’at with a sense of both the Great Mother’s distant worry and her bright joy at something that was falling into place. Outside, the chorus of songs seemed to fade, like listening through water, and seemingly from the fire itself, a Songcord she did not recognize hummed low and sweet. The tone was that of a comforting lullaby, the way a mother sang to a child frightened by just how very big the world outside their home was. Mo’at felt her ears prick attentively, curious as to what the Great Mother was trying to tell her.
“Zola’u nìprrte, ma Miles,
Ngati oel munge soaiane”
The first tentative notes of the traditional adoption verse had her heart fluttering with both great sorrow at the loss of the child’s birth parents, and incandescent joy that they were somewhere they were loved and wanted. The name was clearly that of a Sky Person, and as far as Mo’at knew, there was only one Sky Person child in all of Pandora. She smiled, happy for the sweet and laughing baby she had met in passing at Hell’s Gate. A child so vivacious and bright needed love to flourish, lest his spirit grow dim.
“Lei si oe atantur,
Ngatsyìp ‘ongokx ta txan tìyawn
mele’e txan apfawng”
Mo’at hummed, her own hands moving through the smoke, crafting shapes to bless the adoption and the mother who opened her heart to a child who needed her. Despite what some of her tribe may think, Mo’at could so clearly See that there wasn’t a cruel or malicious bone in that child’s body. He was indeed the light, warm and life-giving. His heritage was worth nothing compared to the contents of his spirit. Mo’at hoped the boy had been born from love, hoped he had known it all his life. The Great Mother loved all her children, and she gave new lives to the People as blessings to watch over. It is through loving the young that they are brought closer to Eywa. She grieved, in some small and distant place in her heart, for how afraid his birth mother and father must have been when they died and left him behind. She hopes the Great Mother grants them peace of spirit in knowing another has chosen to love their boy.
“Lawnol a mì te’lan,
Lawnol a mì te’lan…”
The voice grew more certain and confident by the end of the verse, less like a soothing lullaby and more like a gentle promise. Mo’at smiled, eyes closed and hands resting over her heart as she thanked the Great Mother for allowing her to share this quiet moment of new beginning. After the song fell silent, and the sounds of her own peoples’ lives came rushing back, the great Tsahík cast an appraising eye over the basket she kept full of half completed weaving projects and gifts of Kinglor silk from the Aranahe. Such things would make a lovely start to a Waytelem, and Mo’at is sure that there is little in Hell’s Gate that would suit such a things. It would make a fine gift indeed when the time came.
*
And so it was.
While Neytiri and I raised our children, even welcoming Grace’s mystery miracle child into our family, Alicia, Norm, Max and Marissa took on the challenge of raising a human child in Pandora.
After learning that Alicia had dedicated herself to the emotional, messy and painful task of learning, memorizing and then administering the last rites of the dozen or so disparate religions the fallen humans of Hell’s Gate followed, Mo’at and the Elders named the quietest of the Avatar Program members as the Tsahík of Hell’s Gate. A role I know my sister took seriously and treated with the reverence and respect it deserved. I could often find her at Mo’at’s side when she comes to visit, the two engaged in deep and long discussions of religion and faith both on Pandora and back on Earth. How she balances all that with raising a boy as rambunctious and acrobatic as Spider, I’ll never know.
Our buddy Norm refused to permanently transition to his Avatar body, feeling the same weight of responsibility to the chosen few humans who remained on Pandora. With his best friend at his side, he stepped into the role of Olo’eyktan, as Mo’at and the council of Elders call him, with more grace than I could ever manage. His biology training was put to work as Spider’s first (and only) Pediatrician and favourite Uncle (a title that I never really deserved and Norm more than earned). Having those two on the other side of any territorial or hunting right talks makes it a lot more bearable. Who knew the secret to politics was having reasonable people involved?
Marissa continues to flourish. Her Avatar body makes a recovery from the loss of its kuru that the scientists and Mo’at can only attribute to the Will of Eywa, and her human body’s chronically ill lungs continue to benefit from the specifically maintained oxygen mix in Hell’s Gate. Her bond with the old (and terrifying) Angstík Matriarch that was affectionately nicknamed Big Red, gave her a coveted position as a War Leader, a role that was actually a lot more about avoiding war than I would have ever guessed, but she manages beautifully. I swear, without her, I’d have gotten us stuck in way more fights than reasonable by pure accident and me being an idiot.
And we watch Miles Jr become Spider, a nickname that comes from Marissa’s love of Marvel and his ability to climb just about anything. I get to watch him grow and flourish, loved and raised by a whole tribe of people who do more for reassuring the poor kid that he isn’t doomed to be a monster because of his blood than I ever could have, even if I don’t agree with them telling the kid about the good memories they have of Quaritch. But, he’s not my kid, so I stay out of it. I’m glad, when I watch him run around camp with my kids and see how some of the People snarl and hiss as he passes that he has people firmly in his corner. I know I wouldn’t haven been able to give him what he needs by myself. Even when he paints himself blue (and wasn’t that a mess of paint stains?) and runs around in a loincloth, his Sa’nok (a title Alicia had more than earned) and his aunts and uncles teach him how to be one of the People without letting him hate who he is. I even begin to hope he may find a place among the People as I did, as our Song Keeper, Ninat, seems to take in inexplicable liking to him and teaches him all she knows freely. The kid has a gift for storytelling and teaching, and can manipulate simple words into lyrical verse better than I can.
I watch my family, because the Hell’s Gate people are still family even if we’re different species now, grow and thrive under the light of Prometheus and I am grateful. The children play and laugh, a new Hometree grows tall and strong, life flourishes where once there was death. Happiness comes easy, because happiness is simple.
Then a new star appears in the night sky, and everything changes in an instant.