Chapter Text
He liked being here.
Colonel Miles Quaritch looked down at the squirming baby in his arms.
His son was smaller than he’d expected, and looked fragile in a way Quaritch wasn’t used to dealing with. The skin was wrinkled and red. Tiny limbs that moved without any real coordination. His face hadn’t quite settled yet, like it was still figuring itself out.
This was his son. A human child, born on Pandora. The first one… as far as he knew.
“He looks like you,” Paz said.
Her voice was quiet but steady from the infirmary bed. She was propped up against the pillows, clearly exhausted, but wide awake despite the medic’s advice that she should be resting.
Paz ignored them like she always did. Her attention stayed fixed on Quaritch and the baby.
He let out a short breath that turned into a weak laugh and finally tore his eyes away from his son.
“He looks like a wrinkled ham,” he said. Joking always felt safer than saying anything honest.
“I said what I said,” Paz replied, smirking.
Quaritch shook his head slightly and looked back down at his son.
Miles Quaritch Jr.
The name had been Paz’s idea. Quaritch still didn’t know what she saw in him.
The baby shifted in his arms, fingers curling and uncurling, and Quaritch adjusted his grip without thinking.
The room started to fade around the edges.
The lights dimmed, the sounds muffled.
Someone was talking nearby, but he couldn’t make out the words.
As everything turned to black, Quaritch hoped he’d be able to come back soon.
He liked being here.
The jungle was getting darker by the second. Shadows pressed in from every side, and even with the sickly green glow of the chem stick, Quaritch could barely see ten feet ahead.
The light twisted the leaves and vines into unfamiliar shapes, making it hard to tell what was actually there and what wasn’t.
He should have paid more attention during the security briefing.
They told him not to go off alone, not to underestimate the jungle. They’d gone over it all with maps and procedures, and he’d half-listened, confident in his earth-born skills.
He was in way over his head.
It was a simple scouting mission. Intended to get him and the other new recruits used to the jungle surrounding Hell’s Gate.
Quaritch had heard something in the trees and went to investigate.
The next thing he knew, he was alone. The paths disappeared. Everything around him started to look the same. No matter which way he turned, it felt wrong.
The silence was the worst part, crawling under his skin.
A sharp, whooping laugh echoed behind him.
Quaritch spun around, heart jumping, boots sliding slightly in the wet ground. He raised the chem stick, scanning the trees.
Nothing.
Just vines, trees, and shadows.
The sound came again, this time from his right.
Closer.
The laugh had an almost mocking quality like he’d scene in old earth documentaries about hyenas. It made his jaw tighten.
He turned fast, sweeping the light through the brush, but whatever had made the noise was already gone. The jungle went quiet again, the silence heavier than before.
The attack came from straight ahead.
There was a low hiss, barely a warning, and then a shadow burst out of the foliage and launched itself at him.
Quaritch reacted on instinct, diving sideways and hitting the ground hard.
Jaws snapped shut where his head had been a second earlier. All he saw was teeth before the creature skidded past him.
It was hard to see at all. The thing was almost completely black, blending into the jungle.
It lunged again, faster than before.
This time it caught him. Claws tore across the side of his face, ripping through skin and muscle. The pain burst across his head so sharp it nearly dropped him. His vision flashed white, but he forced himself to stay on his feet. He wasn’t going down without a fight.
He drew his knife as the creature circled back for another strike. When it came at him again, he didn’t dodge. He drove the blade forward with everything he had.
The fight was short and brutal, ending when the creature fell dead into the undergrowth and stopped moving.
The jungle went quiet once more. The only thing to be heard was Quaritch’s ragged breathing.
He stood there, blood running down his face, knife clenched in his hand, eyes peeled for any sign of another one of those things.
When nothing else came, Quaritch picked a direction and started the long walk back to Hell’s Gate as the world faded around him.
He hated coming back here.
This was new.
The darkness pulled back slowly, replaced by a harsh white light that burned as he tried to focus past it.
The world came back in pieces. Sounds first. He heard muffled voices, the beeps and hisses of equipment. Then he saw movement, shapes drifting in and out of focus.
As his eyes adjusted, the shapes turned into people standing over him. Medics he guessed based on the way they moved and swarmed around him.
A dull sense of relief settled in. If he was here, it meant he was safe back in Hell's Gate.
But he had never been here before.
The more he focused, the more wrong it felt. The medics were wearing masks. Full ones.
Humans only needed masks outside because of the air, and this was the med bay. It should be sealed off from the poison atmosphere outside. There was no reason for masks in here.
“Here he comes,” one of the medics said.
Another figure leaned into his view, her face mostly hidden behind a mask, eyes sharp and focused.
“You’re okay,” she said, calm and steady. “Lie still. Don’t move.”
Hands pressed against his shoulders, trying to keep him in place while the room still tilted around him.
Then someone else pushed into view, bigger than the rest, forcing the medics to step aside.
Blue skin filled his vision.
“Hey,” the newcomer said, the voice was almost familiar. “Can you hear me, Colonel?”
It finally clicked that this was a full grown Na’vi looming over him.
Without thinking, his arm came up fast and his fist connected hard with the Na’vi man’s chin. The impact jolted up his arm. And to his own surprise, it actually knocked the man back.
He shot upright in the infirmary bed. Pain and confusion vanished under instinct.
His feet hit the floor and his body settled into a defensive stance, shoulders squared, fists clenched, eyes sweeping the room for threats.
“Sir, you need to lie back down!” one of the medics shouted. There was panic in her voice.
That was when he really saw them.
Na’vi.
More than one. Tall figures spaced around the room. One of them stepped forward carefully, hands raised.
Miles grabbed the metal arm of the exam light above the bed and swung it hard. It connected with a solid hit, knocking the Na’vi back with a grunt. The light clattered, sparks snapping as voices broke out in alarm.
“Sedate him!” the medic yelled. “Now! sedate him!”
The Na’vi closed in, cutting off every direction. Miles drove a punch into the closest one. The impact jolted his arm as the figure staggered back.
It didn’t slow the rest of them.
Another set of arms locked around him from behind. His shoulders were pinned, his arms trapped up and out.
Miles snarled and fought it, muscles burning as he tried to break free.
“Sir, calm down,” the Na’vi holding him said near his ear.
Then someone stepped directly into his line of sight, close enough that he couldn’t look away. The Na’vi was bald. His eyes fixed on Miles with a familiarity Miles didn’t understand.
“It’s me!” he shouted. “Corporal Wainfleet!”
Miles froze.
His breathing hitched as something clicked into place. He stared harder, really looked this time. Past the blue skin, past the alien face, he could see his friend beneath it all.
“Lyle?” he said. His voice sounded rough, confused. “That you?”
“Yes, sir,” Lyle said quickly, relieved. “And Z-dog,” he added, tipping his chin toward the female Na’vi still holding him tight.
“And Fike.” He nodded back toward the one restraining him from behind.
Miles forced himself to slow down. One by one, he really looked at them. Strip away the blue skin, the height, the tails… and the names still fit.
“Alright,” Miles said after a moment. “Alright. Let me go. C’mon.”
Slowly, he raised his hands, palms open, making it clear he wasn’t going to swing again.
That was when he saw them.
His hands.
They weren’t human.
The skin was blue. The fingers too long, the nails darker and unfamiliar. Na’vi hands.
Miles shoved past Lyle without saying a word. He needed to see it for himself.
He crossed the med bay in a few long strides and stopped in front of the reflective glass, planting one hand against it.
A Na’vi stared back at him.
He stood there for a moment, just breathing, eyes locked on the reflection. Blue skin. Yellow eyes. A face shaped wrong.
Yet the longer he looked, the more familiar it became. The scowl. The jaw. It was still him… sort of.
He opened his mouth.
Fangs.
Sharp canines caught the light. He shifted his jaw, then carefully ran his tongue over them. The sensation was new, and unsettling.
“Well,” he muttered, staring at himself. “Ain’t this a bitch.”
He turned away from the glass and crossed the med bay. He stopped at a wide viewport and set his hands against the cool metal frame, steadying himself.
Pandora filled the view outside.
The moon grew quickly as the ship he must have been on angled in on its approach.
The ship vibrated softly around him as systems adjusted and engines corrected course.
“Stand by. Two minutes to Pandora insertion,” the ship’s intercom announced. “Secure for Delta V.”
Miles didn’t move. He watched the moon grow larger, closer.
He didn’t know how he felt being here yet.
Miles floated in front of the screen as other Na’vi-human clones were being extracted from pods around him.
The display flickered on and his own face appeared on the screen. His human face.
“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re Colonel Miles Quaritch,” the recording said before his mouth tugged into a smirk. “Only younger, taller, bluer, and not nearly as good looking.”
Miles let out a short, surprised snort. It seems the sense of humor survived what ever transformation he went through.
“In two hours, I fly a mission against a Na’vi stronghold,” human Quaritch continued, the humor fading from his tone. “The powers that be thought it prudent do this backup. Just in case.”
Miles leaned back slightly, eyes locked on the screen as realization struck.
A backup. He was a clone.
It was a good thing, too… he supposed. The version of Quaritch who’d made this recording was already dead. Rotting somewhere in the jungle below.
On the screen, Quaritch shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.
“If you’re watching it,” he said, voice grim, “then I guess I did get my ticket punched.”
He paused, then glanced off to the side. “Hey, Parker! Jus what the hell am I supposed to say now?”
Parker stepped into view from the background, still busy with some piece of equipment before moving closer to the camera.
“Just explain to him how this works,” Parker said, holding up a small rectangular device for the camera. “See this? This is all your memories and your personality.”
He tapped the device. “We’re gonna send this back to Earth where you’re growing in a lab as we speak.”
“All right, all right...” Quaritch started, clearly unimpressed, but Parker kept going.
“We imprint you with it, and then-”
“Hey, hey, hey” Quaritch snapped. “Am I doing this, or are you doing this?”
Parker shot him a flat look, then turned away. “Hurry it up,” he said as he walked off.
The screen settled back on Quaritch.
“Anyway,” Quaritch went on, “the idea is to get the minds of the saltiest on-world operators.”
His mouth pulled into a confident grin. “Yeah, like Corporal Wainfleet over there,” he added, jerking a thumb at someone off-camera, “and your humble narrator all loaded into recombinant bodies.”
He leaned closer to the camera with a grin.
“You’re a recom now, Colonel. Loaded with my memories, and my charm.” The grin faded. “What you won’t remember is my death. Because it hasn’t happened yet. And it ain’t gonna.”
Laughter and cheers broke out behind him, loud and cocky.
When they settled down, Quaritch continued, voice more serious.
“Well, whatever happened. If you’re any clone of mine, you’ll be looking for some payback.” His eyes locked on the camera. “And Jake Sully would be at the top of that list.”
Jake Sully.
The first time Miles had met Sully… back when those memories belonged to the other Miles Quaritch, he’d actually liked him.
Sully had been rough around the edges, couldn’t do much with his spinal. But the kid was eager. The kind of Marine with potential if you pushed him in the right direction.
Quaritch had seen himself in the kid. He’d planned to take him under his wing. Shape him into a leader.
Then everything fell apart.
Sully turned on the RDA. Turned on Quaritch. Turned on humanity.
He’d walked away from his unit, traded his uniform for a loin cloth, and decided the natives mattered more than his own people.
The betrayal still burned, sharp and ugly.
On the screen, Quaritch’s voice was firm.
“Remember kid,” he said. “A Marine can’t be defeated.”
His mouth twisted into a hard smile.
“You can kill us, but we’ll just regroup in hell.”
The room in the video exploded with noise. Marines shouting, laughing. It was echoed by the recoms nearby. They joined in without thinking, the words clearly burned into them the same way they were burned into him.
“Semper fi,” Quaritch finished.
The next day, Miles stood with his new team aboard the transport that would take them down to the surface.
The inside of the craft hummed as engines ran through final checks. Rows of seats were packed with blue figures and human marines, gear locked down, weapons secured.
Miles moved toward the front as the transport gave a small shudder. He planted his feet and looked them over.
“You are not in Kansas anymore,” he said, loud enough to cut through the engine noise. “We are going to Pandora.”
A few grins showed. Some of the recoms straightened without thinking.
“Now,” he went on, pacing a step or two, “I know you’re all asking the same question.”
He let it hang for a second.
“Why so blue?”
Laughter rolled through the cabin. Miles allowed himself a small smile.
Same war. Same marines. Different skins.
“For our sins in our past lives,” Miles said as he looked over the troops, “we’ve been brought back in the form of our enemy.”
“That gives us their size. Their strength. Their speed.” He tapped his chest and then his head. “And with our training, that’s a pretty potent mix.”
A low murmur of approval moved through the transport.
“We have a mission yet?” Lyle called from his seat.
“Indeed we do,” Miles said. A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “Our mission is to hunt down and kill the leader of the Na’vi insurgency.”
“Turuk Makto. Jake Sully.”
The transport exploded with noise. Marines were cheering, whooping, and laughing.
Miles stood in the middle of it, satisfied.
The trip down went faster than Miles expected. One minute the transport was loud with laughter and bravado, the next it was shuddering as it touched down. The doors hissed open, and hot, alien air rushed in.
“Masks off,” He called as he lead his unit down the ramp.
The recoms were moved out quickly and funneled into Bridgehead City.
The place spread out in hard lines of metal and concrete cut straight into the living world around it.
The whole city buzzed with life. It almost felt like back home.
Miles barely had time to take it in before he was pulled aside.
He was separated from the rest of the recoms and escorted through secured corridors and open yards. The noise of the city faded, replaced by the heavy, steady thud of impacts.
They brought him to a training ground.
At the center stood a massive punching bag, industrial-grade and worn down by repeated punishment.
A woman in a skel suit loomed over it. She drove a powered fist into the bag with brutal precision. The bag swung hard as it fought to stay upright.
Miles watched for a moment, taking in her stance, the control behind every hit. He didn’t need an introduction.
“General Ardmore,” Miles said as he approached, giving a crisp nod.
“Good to meet you, Colonel,” she replied, voice steady and confident. “I’ve heard good things.”
She finished her last strike against the punching bag, and turned to face him. Her eyes swept over him, assessing. “But a lot’s changed since your last tour here. Walk with me.”
She didn’t wait for an answer.
Ardmore strode out of the training ground and straight into the city, and Miles matched her pace without comment.
Bridgehead stretched out in every direction. Construction noise filled the air: welding sparks, grinding metal, machinery running nonstop.
Small spider-like mechs skittered over streets and scaffolding, moving fast. They clung to walls and beams, welding sections together, hauling materials, assembling structures piece by piece.
“New ops center over here,” Ardmore said as they passed a large, angular building bristling with antennas and armor. “Just came online.”
She kept talking as they walked.
“These swarm assemblers,” she added, nodding toward the machines, “can put up a building in six days. We’ve done more here in a year than was done in the previous thirty years.”
Miles looked around again as it sank in.
This wasn’t a temporary presence anymore.
“We’re not here to run a mine, Colonel,” Ardmore said as she led Miles toward a massive warehouse complex at the edge of the city. “As on-world commander, I’ve been charged with a greater mission.”
Inside the open structure, huge robotic arms moved in steady, precise motions, lifting and locking thick metal supports into place. The components were heavy, reinforced. These were foundations meant to hold up new buildings as the city pushed outward.
“Earth is dying,” Ardmore went on.
An assistant hurried up beside her and handed her a cup of coffee. She took it without slowing, took a sip, and kept walking. “Our task here is to tame this frontier. Nothing less than to make Pandora the new home for humanity.”
She stopped and finally looked at Miles, her expression hard.
“But before we can do that,” she said, “we need to pacify the hostiles.”
Ardmore led Miles through the wide doors of the ops center she showed him earlier. Inside, the air was cooler, the noise muted compared to the chaos outside.
They moved quickly down a long corridor, up a short set of stairs, and into a control room.
The space was huge, lined with consoles and raised platforms. Light and motion filled it from every direction. Holographic displays hovered at different heights. Each one showed footage from recent engagements.
The room smelled faintly of ozone and recycled air.
Technicians worked fast and quiet, focused on their stations.
“Sully’s raids are becoming bolder,” Ardmore said as she stepped forward, her voice cutting cleanly through the background noise. “More frequent.”
She pointed to one of the displays, which zoomed in on a recent attack. “Strikes are well planned. He’s got tight coordination between his ground and air assets.”
She moved slowly beneath the screens.
“His forces are hitting our outlying sites, mines, pipelines, cutting off our supply chain,” she said.
“And they hit a maglev two days ago,” a technician added, turning from his console.
The display shifted to wreckage: twisted rail supports, derailed cars scattered across the terrain, smoke still rising in the footage.
Miles watched in silence, his jaw tightening.
“Any intel on Sully's base of operations?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Ardmore said after a moment. “give me the mountains.”
A technician made a quick gesture, and the holograms shifted. Combat footage was replaced by a large three-dimensional projection of Pandora’s famous floating mountains.
Massive rock formations hung in the air as the display rotated.
“It’s a cave system in the Hallelujah Mountains,” Ardmore said, stepping closer. “Somewhere.”
Her expression hardened.
“every time we send our forces up there, we take losses. Our hardware really stirs up the hornet's nest.” She pointed to flight paths that cut off abruptly. “We only get 10 minutes in enemy airspace. Then they’re are all over us.”
Ardmore turned to face Miles, fixing him with a steady look.
It felt like she was sizing him up.
“Colonel,” she said finally. “We believe your blue team will be perceived as indigenous, and will not trigger the immune response.”
Miles’ eyes narrowed.
“And how do you plan to test that hypothesis, General?” he asked, already knowing where this was headed.
“The hard way,” Ardmore said. No hesitation.
Miles held her gaze for a moment. Then his mouth pulled into a slow, sharp smile.
“Oh,” he said, excitement clear in his voice. “Outstanding.”