Avatar: A World Renewed

[Gadreille]

Evangeline held up a fresh handkerchief to her nose and inhaled deeply. She closed her eyes, letting the sweet smell of fresh fabric wash away the general smell of garbage that the safe house was laced with. Her brown eyes reopened, and once again took in the sight of the room around her. Stained, degrading floral wallpaper graced the walls of the small, upper story bedroom of a historical manor house. Located outside New Orleans, the Houmas plantation house had long since lost its charm. All around it were two story quick builts, small apartments that sprang up due to population inflation. They were made inexpensively with inefficient materials, but it was all that a ghetto could afford. In between the apartments were tin shacks, placed much later than the apartments but with no better conditions.

The Houmas plantation had fallen from grace when the RDA placed a dump right outside the property. The smell of the dump spread across New Orleans and quickly became an area for the less fortunate. Over time, this abandoned ghetto became safe haven for the activists who sought safety from the RDA. It was quite ironic that the safe zone became located – literally – right under the RDA’s noses. The smell of the dump was worth the freedom that the area promised.

And freedom wasn’t all that the location acquired. The RDA dumped all of their used and outdated materials in that dump, from guns to ships to computers to specialized genetic equipment. All it took was a flat rate of payment to the already poorly paid RDA security guards, a hop of the fence and voila – access to some of the most privileged RDA equipment, as long as there was a mind who knew how to use it and fix it. A newly built basement housed weaponry and Avatar systems; ships were left on the dump and disguised as trash, though many were already in full working order.

Ev had been at the manor for a while, and she was happy to call it home. She had made the mistake of becoming involved with the protests as a graduate student of the local university. Her choices had led to her eventual placement on a list of terrorists who were considered a part of the “terrorists against modern resources”, otherwise known as the activists fighting for Pandoran rights. She glanced at a picture on her desk, a faded snapshot of her with three people, two men and one woman. Ev sighed, and pushed the frame down. Most of her friends were locked up in a high security prison system maintained by whom else but the Resource Development Administration.

Ev quickly abandoned that train of thought. She had made new friends, at the manor house, and they were the key to everything. From the ground up, she had become a part of the biggest underground society in recent history. Her people were like cockroaches, spreading far and wide, refusing to be destroyed. Now it was only a matter of training these cockroaches to fight back, and take down the RDA once and for all.

Many, including Ev, had never even been to Pandora, only dreamed of it through the eyes and words of inspirational Guru Grace Augustine. Apart from her publications, the only other snippets of information were those that traveled to Earth from Pandora, mostly revolving around a story about a man with just his own will and an Avatar, managed to defeat the RDA on Pandora and send them packing. Though, it was hard to tell what was true and what was false. Some people said he was a convict, others, a cripple. Some said he died trying, some say he lives on. It is hard to filter through the lies that have been grown to cover the mistakes of the RDA.

Pandora. The general plan was to gather RDA equipment to gain access to the planet. Ideally, they wanted to live there permanently. Though the air was not breathable, Earth was quickly becoming as toxic an environment, and there was no reason to stay…at least for Ev. At least, not anymore. It was just a matter of trying to build up the resources, in secrecy, faster than the RDA could. It was doable, considering the activists had much less people to be ferried to the new planet than the RDA. But two obstacles still faced them: breaking into the prison, and stealing an ISV.

Ev’s heart leapt a bit thinking about it. She tried to focus on Pandora, but the hurtle they had to cross was not one to be ignored. It was likely that they would never make it, that they would all die trying and their efforts would go for naught. Ev pushed her brown hair back and let her hands rest on her head, willing herself not to panic. How could she be so scared, when nothing had yet happened?

She decided that the only thing to calm her down was to go see her ‘baby’. Her ‘baby’, in actuality, was a little avatar which had been built just for her. She was lucky enough to be chosen, with a few others, to have avatars built for them. They were all still infant size, needing a full seven years to grow to maturity. It took six years to travel to Pandora, and so the timing was just perfect…if they left now.

She left her room and climbed down the once glamorous stairs, crossing the entry room and leaving through the front doors. It was raining outside, and so she ran into no one as she made for the basement doors. Using her key, she unlocked the door and walked in quickly, shutting the door behind her lest the rain get in. The emptiness of the front yard was contrasted with the bustle of the underground laboratory, where some of the finest scientists who were against the RDA were hovered over the newest avatar creation: a baby boy.

She admired the baby boy for a while, watching him float weightlessly in the oversized incubator. The identification tag read G. Cordell, and she wondered who he was and how he managed to have an avatar built for him. She moved on through the incubators until she found hers, marked E. Mead. Her baby girl was much like the baby boy she had just passed, the avatars still too young to have sexual dimorphism. Already though, their bioluminescent markings were strikingly different, his more linear, hers more spotted. She wondered if the scientists chose the markings, or if something in their DNA produced them automatically.

Ev sat with the baby for a while, wondering when she would hear news about the ‘main event’. She knew it had to be happening soon…they were running out of time.

[Adrius Frostglare]

Leonard Dorseff rubbed his neck and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'How the hell did this happen to me?' Well, he thought, there was getting out of college with a degrees as a history major, then discovering that the RDA, which was basically the ruler of the world as it was, had raised some sort of ruckus about Pandora, their new bread basket, and then the whole market had suddenly shifted toward military training and development. No money on the table means the girlfriend had left him, bitter and alone with over several thousand years of now-useless knowledge on human history on his hands. Bitter, alone, and without much money, he'd chosen the next best thing: follow the market and join the military.

He had not liked it. They were worked like dogs, ate like dogs, and hell, his "co-workers" WERE dogs, as far as he was concerned, whooping and yelling and cracking horrbly crude jokes, whipping towels on each other in the showers. He was glad that after a year of training he'd managed to get out of that hellhole. He was hoping now that the money would roll in and he'd be able to live more comfortably, more at ease.

Then they stuck him in New Orleans' dump. As a guard.

"WHAT?!" That had been his reaction to the higher-ups. The snubby commander had just shrugged and said,"Sorry sailor. That's the orders from the men in the suits. You're going to have to do for now." From what he'd heard, stuff at the dump had begun to go missing, and they suspected some of the regular guards were looking the other way, so they'd switched the guard for the next few months. It was no wonder, Leo thought, with this wage.

Now here he was, holding his carbine, smelling the unpleasant odors at the armpit of the world, with a wage that would leave a sloth to starve, and he was now even worse off than before. He lost control for a second and kicked the metal gate leading to the dump.

"HEY! Quiet down over there!" Ah, yes, there was also the fact that his superior was a stiff. The stress of his situation was climbing with every sluggish morning he had to crawl out of the quarters and get ready. There was just one reason he couldn't quit, and that was hope.

Hope for a job on Pandora.

Yes, he'd heard the stories. Yes, he knew it was dangerous. But above all, yes, he knew the pay was juicier than anywhere else. The RDA had said something about a group of savage, mindless natives that had somehow crushed what the RDA had called "a small platoon of stupid soldiers" and had sent their little team of ore miners with their tails between their legs. Now, that wasn't entirely bad, in his head. Really, the RDA was full of jackasses. What he HAD learned, however, was that the savages had brutally murdered innocent people who had just been there to get money to supply themselves as well as researchers who were just there to learn. That had pinched a nerve, both as a struggling blue collar and as a university graduated scholar. That didn't mean he was going in there for vengeance or blood, like so many other soldiers he'd met, but he had decided that it meant that if he had to kill, it would be justified.

He checked his weapon over. Going to Pandora was more than just a financial desire. He really was curious why these savages were the way they were. He felt the grime in the air cling to his skin.

'One of these days, things'll change. Maybe the RDA will stop this ludicrous military pursuit. Why they'd train me and then put me to guard this dump, though, is beyond me. There's more going on.' There was a theory he had. He was thinking that maybe the RDA was reserving their troops, maybe putting them on menial tasks, to confuse those that would stop him. He knew there would be no security jobs of this magnitude on Earth if there were only common thugs. There was a resistance movement. On one hand, Leo supported them. The RDA was a tyrannical organization. On the other... they were the world's dinner plate. Without them, the economy would go down, and the planet wasn't really fertile enough that you could feed yourself outside what they grew in their labs. Humanity was between a rock and a hard place, and Leo had just been one of those who'd chosen the hard place over the rock.

Left to his musings, the soldier-turned-security guard paced about his patrol route, whistling a light tune.

[Mustakrakish]

What the hell happened to him?

Former Sergeant Alex Kain took a swig of the dented metal flask that he had come to know so well. The liquid scorched a familiar path down his throat, filling his stomach with a heat that was never quite warm enough. His thoughts often revolved around such things: self pity, regret, and depression. The flask took the edge off life, just enough so that Alex wouldn’t snap. At least, that was the plan.

He was sitting on the moth-eaten couch that dominated the center of his small, two room apartment in New Orleans. The couch was not only his sitting area, but also his bed, and dinner table. The other room was a bathroom with a shower that only a midget could crawl into, and a toilet that worked about fifty percent of the time. Such was the life of a retired mercenary. Alex scoffed at this thought. Retired? He never got a chance to retire. After the failed operation on Pandora, all the personnel who participated on the mission where given a measly sum of money to shut up and stay out of sight. Alex was just a relic of a time that the RDA wanted to forget, a constant reminder of the cluster-fuck that became the first mining operation. He wasted 15 years of his life for that company, fighting for them in that hellhole, and for what? A shack next to a dump and a pension that barely paid for his food?

Alex looked at the gun on the side table, reaching over and picking it up. His fingers folded neatly into the rubber grip, hefting the beast of a gun in one hand. The matte black surface had a dull sheen to it, and Alex popped open the cylinder, though he already knew that it was loaded. It was a bad habit, fidgeting with a gun, but it was one that Alex hadn’t been able to break since he got back to Earth. He briefly contemplated shoving the wide barrel in his mouth and saying sayonara to it all, but he knew better than that. He was once a man of principle, of honor and integrity. He used to fight for a good cause, protect the weak and all that bullshit. Funny how quickly all those morals disappear in the jungles of Pandora. He wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, he still was.

Alex raised his flask for another swig, only to be disappointed when not a drop fell into his mouth. He stood up, shoving the pistol into the back of his waistband and throwing his battered leather jacket on over his grubby gray t-shirt. He stepped out into the light, shading his eyes from sudden light. He slipped the flask into his back pocket and clunked his way down the rickety metal staircase that led to his top-floor room. There were hardly any people out, most of them at work or getting high in their own apartments. Alex hacked and spit on the ground, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he did so. He kicked dirt over the small patch of snot and saliva, and began making his way to the bar for a refill.

[Gadreille]

The old fax machine roared, startling Ev from her daydreaming. The make-do secretary was away from her desk, so Ev helped herself to the newest message. Faxing, an archaic form of communication, was so out of use that RDA and other agencies didn’t bother trying to see if anyone was using it to send out information. It seemed that was the case for many of their successes: hiding under the cover of unusable objects to avoid detection.

The letter, still warm from printing, simply stated Another Round in small font. Evangeline sighed. They had been getting the same message for months now. Every time the RDA sent a new shipment of garbage to the dump, the leader of Intel would let the New Orleans base know. She was waiting for the next step, the “Last Round”. But alas, it was not yet.

She left the basement to round up a few people to go scavenging with her. Technically, she had gone last time and it wasn’t her duty to go on this round. But she was bored, and anxious, and felt like she’d rather be outside…even with the foul smelling air. Walking back into the Manor, she hailed a couple of people who were lounging on an old sofa. She hadn’t seen them when she was walking out, and supposed that they had just sat down. Her thoughts were proven true as they groaned in resistance to her calling.

It was Michael and Susan, a brother and sister who had joined the activists more out of survival than anything else. She wasn’t sure what they had done, but she knew that they had come to the Manor with nothing but each other and hopes that the activists would take them in. They had been here for years, now grown adults rather than scraggly teens. They had turned out to be most worthy, proof to her that humanity was not done for yet.

As the three walked outside, three more joined her. Ed, Gordon, and Randy were part of the “brute force” of the manor, and she appreciated their help. Sometimes things they found worth keeping were most heavy. All together, the six of them trudged along toward the dump, questionable mud caking their boots in the grimy weather. It was a good 15 minute walk to the dump, and the time passed by slowly with no conversation. The rest were feeling as anxious as she.

The guard shack finally came into view, and immediately Ev could tell something was wrong. She put up her hand, signaling for the group to stop. Gordon readied his hand near his concealed weapon, and Randy and Ed followed suit. Michael and Susan moved behind the three men. In the back of her mind, she marveled at how these people could have put so much trust into her as to react to her command, and not the threat itself.

The threat was at the guard shack. Unlike the usual slack that she found with the regulars, the men were standing upright, weapons in hand, pacing the general area. These weren’t the usual guards…the RDA must have finally realized that their guards were letting in scavengers. Ev doubted that these men would be so easily bribed into letting them in, especially so new on the job. It took months of individuals dropping by to chat to gain enough trust with the last batch. No, this was not the time for another round. She turned around and ushered the rest to do the same. She could only hope that the guards wouldn’t notice them walking away, so she could report it to intel.

[Adrius Frostglare]

He yawned, a little too loudly. He sometimes exaggerated the more common human actions, such as sighing and yawning, so people got it through their thick skulls what exactly he felt at that moment without having to state the obvious in a direct and crude manner. That didn't stop someone from throwing an empty tin can of baked beans from up top, landing on his jaw and unpleasantly splattering his face with the remains of its package. Leo disgustedly wiped it off with a gloved hand, glaring up to the man on the watch tower atop the barracks, more really like a shack. The man, his face barely visible in the light, grinned.

"Wake up, pantyhose kid. I saw something shiftin' out there. Go check it out."

The glare only intensified. "It's probably just a cat, Rombert. We're not supposed to leave our posts unless it's something suspicious. Something as remote as a shift in the lighting does not qualify." Dukelin "Duke" Rombert was the commander of this petty squad of guards. Arrogant, trashy, and all too in love with his position of superiority, Rombert picked on all of the military-turned-watchmen with differing results. Some laughed and played back, though always failed to humiliate the commander in the same manner, if at all. Others just cowered, nodded, and took the shame. There were, lastly, those like Leo who just seethed and resisted the urge to cap the asshole.

"'Does not qualify'! Hah! Hey, look here, stop puttin' your dick into the books and get your hairless ass out there." Leo's eye twitched. Rotten son of a... fine. He couldn't do anything about it. Dickhead or not, Rombert was his superior. If he didn't obey, he risked getting discharged for insubordination, and that meant the streets. Shouldering his rifle, Leo slowly paced forward, hearing Rombert's low chuckle as he left. Whatever was out there better at least be guilty because that meant Rombert would lay off of him for a bit, or maybe just cause him to jeer and boo him further. Leo was aware of the man's lust for authority, and anyone he percieved as a threat to his position as commander could very soon find themselves relocated. That said, he rethought his opinion and hoped it was nothing. He preferred bigotry over relocation.

He marched in a pompous RDA military manner. This was, once again, his way of mocking the system and expressing himself, by exaggerating his movements and gestures. He really didn't care if people could read him head to toe, he had nothing to hide, and it kept misunderstandings from breaking out. Thankfully, Rombert was too big of a jock to get this and just figured he was, quote, "queer as purple shit".

He raised an eyebrow, spotting a few figures in the distance. He didn't point his gun at them, that wasn't generally a friendly thing to do, and for all he knew these were just people who'd lost their way. He kept his distance, calling out to them. "This is a restricted RDA facility. Please return to your homes. This is your first warning." He hoped it'd be the last one, too. He'd enjoyed a relatively peaceful, no-gunfight shift during his time at the dumpster. It was the only plus, and if this turned into something hot, then it would be the job from Hell.

[Guest]

"Why the hell did you join up with this lot anyway, Greg?" Bruce Campbell asked loudly. Gregory Cordell looked at the bulky mercenary, who was still fidgeting with his CARB Base Unit. They were sitting side-by-side in the Samson Tiltrotor, alone except for the pilot up front.
"Why did you?" Greg asked, avoiding the question until he could think of a suitable answer. He stared around at the cargo bay they were stuck in for the duration of the trip. The space was filled with weapon crates and supplies. Greg had filed for a transfer to the ISV Justice docking bay, currently in low-Earth orbit.
Because the Justice was being prepped as the main military transport ship, no one asked questions when Gregory asked to help manage the supplies being transfered to the ship. And because of his status within the RDA, no one would bother to double check the modified lists and slightly increased budget in the ISV Justice resource allocation report he would file.
"To blow shit up," Bruce responded, yelling to be heard over the roar of the wind and the VTOL rotors. "Why the hell does any merc join? But what about you? You're one of those behind-the-desk types, aren't you?"
"I guess you could say that," Greg responded. He didn't bother yelling over the overwhelming noise around them, and he didn't really care if the merc next to him heard him or not.
"What do you get out of it? You're pay must be a hell of a lot better than mine. I wouldn't sift through any of that bullshit at my rate."
Greg looked at the mercenary sitting next to him. The man was certainly bulky, and his well-pressed uniform and short blond hair showed that, despite his attitude of indifference regarding the RDA, Bruce took pride in his duty. He was a soldier, and he would be an example to those around him. Greg and initially disregarded the man as just another mercenary, no different than any of the rest that had been assigned to him as escort through the dangerous cities and skyways of Earth. But he was beginning to realize that this man could make a dangerous enemy. If Bruce found out about Greg's true intentions, he wouldn't fail take action. And that action would more than likely be a bullet to his head than a stack of paperwork to fill out.
"You wouldn't understand," Greg said, though he regretted the words the instant they came out of his mouth.
"Ha!" Bruce exclaimed. "How could I, right? I'm just a damn grunt. Well, let me explain something to you that I don't think you understand." Bruce finished with the weapon, letting something slide into place with a loud click. "When things get hot, you don't get jack shit unless I'm here to stand between you and whatever it is that wants a shot at you." Bruce glared dangerously at Greg. "Who knows what might get passed me, if I'm not particularly interested in what I'm supposed to be protecting."
Greg knew he was already in the hole with this man, so there was no reason not to continue down that path. "You'll do your job, Campbell. If you don't, if you were to let me die, then you would be sifting through bullshit. And then you would be on the streets. No gun, no uniform, no duty. I know your type, and I know this is your life. You'll keep me alive, even if its just so you can have a chance at me yourself."
Bruce laughed, but he didn't continue with the argument. The two men sat in relative silence until the Samson finally settled and the VTOL rotors slowed to silence. The cargo bay door slowy opened, the top dropping outward until it was resting on the ground. Greg unbuckled his straps and walked out into the bright daylight.
He was standing on a helipad on the rooftop of a tall building. The sky around him was filled with similar vehicles, even some civilian and corporate transports. There were even a few maglev trains that ran this high. Most of the cityscape around him, still light with bright lights even at mid-day, was shrouded in the everpresent pollution.
Chicago, the great industrial zone of the Resources Development Administration, commonly known as the RDA: the party more than adequately responsible for the continued destruction of the only true home humans have ever known, and for the attempted destruction of another world just as beautiful as Earth had once been.
It made Greg sick to look at it.
"Beautiful, ain't it?" Bruce said as he came up behind Greg. "Smells like...money."

[Gadreille]

Ev grimaced as the guard called out to them. She had hoped that they would go unnoticed, but the new guy was even better than she had expected. She turned about, putting a hand up to acknowledge that she had heard him, and then turned about to continue on her way. As she ushered the siblings along, Susan looked at her and asked "What are we going to do?" Ev just shrugged her shoulders. She had no idea.

They never stopped walking, a brisk pace that would lead them out of sight of the guard shack within moments. As they walked, Gordon spoke up. "When shit starts rolling, it's going to land on that punk," he said, not with malice, but with plain certainty.

Evangeline nodded in agreement. "We'll only succeed if he fails...but we can't worry about that right now." The biggest problem was that the dump was the landing sight of a hidden shuttle, the one and only shuttle that would take them to the ISV Justice. So, if they couldn't gain access through bribe, they were going to have to storm it...and death doesn't look good on any side of a war.

Ev stopped short. "I'm going to go talk to the guard. You guys keep going, he'll get too defensive if an entire group approaches." They all nodded, but none seemed happy about the order. Indeed, for all she knew she was walking into a situation where she would end up arrested and tossed into the local prison. But she had to at least talk to the guard, see what he was like, perhaps even befriend him...so that when, according to Gordon, shit started rolling, she could try and avoid as many casualties as possible.

Ev turned around and started walking back, approaching slowly, waiting for the guard to engage conversation. She was too far away, and couldn't tell if he was facing her or away. She waved an arm again, and shouted "Hello?"

[Adrius Frostglare]

One little word could trigger a hundred thoughts. He raised his rifle in her direction, face stern and straight. "Sanction is non-negotiable. Please return to- *sigh* look, lady, I'm not the stiff upper lip kind and I don't care why you're here, who you work for, or what tickles your fancy, but I've got my orders and this is the only job I could find. Please, PLEASE, for the sake of both you, your friends, and myself, just turn around and forget this dump exists." He posed a pretty powerful argument, he thought. Why should she risk her butt for a junkyard? Somehow, though, there was a nagging feeling in the back of his head that said she would not agree. It didn't even take a zealous devotion to a cause to point it out. Really, all you had to do was the math. First, the junkyard actually was rather important, as it would be heaven for anyone with the tech-n-mech skills to make use of said junk. Secondly, this was made pretty obvious by the presence of the RDA military meant they didn't want just anyone getting their hands on these goods. That's why, despite having proposed an alternative, Leo refused to lower his weapon.

[Gadreille]

"I'm sorry, Sir. I was just looking for a small boy, about this high, brown hair? He often comes and plays around here, or at least he used to." Ev was only partly lying. The boy did exist and did frequent the area, she just knew for a fact that he wasn't there right now.

It was obvious from the guards mannerisms that she would not be making an ally out of him. Still, she felt bad that there was nothing she could do to change the situation. It wasn't up to her to do the gun work, there were other people fit for that job. Perhaps because of this, she was more sensitive to the idea of possibly innocent people dying in the crossfire. Cmon, give me an edge...anything I can use to turn you to my side...she thought as she waited for his response.

Ev knew what she had to do. She had to get back, report that the dump was currently inaccessible, and would only be infiltrated using drastic measures. Basically, it was going to be a one time job. This meant that their time of patience, post-poning, procrastinating - or whatever one wants to call it - was over. The time of action was now. For all she knew, her comrades were reporting it already. If that was the case, within a couple of days, tops, she would hopefully be on a shuttle to the Justice, and then to Pandora.

She couldn't help but wonder that with the time lost, may come the desertion of the inmates. It was always a possibility, but one she didn't want to ponder. She had friends in there; no, they were more than friends. They were practically family. The thought of deserting them to go fight for the cause of a group of beings she had never met had often made her second guess her position in this life. But for some reason, whether it was because of other people who fought for the cause, or because of Eywa herself, she couldn't bring herself to desert the Na'vi and watch them suffer as the RDA retook their planet.

[Guest]

Greg sat through the meeting in silence. The room was filled with men in suits who thought only about the money moving in and out of their electronic accounts. Actual, tangible money was useless to these men. In fact, if one of these men were dealing with cards or change, it would mean serious trouble for their financial status. These men simply demanded money to appear here or there, and their own agents would see that it was done. They never worried about the drain on their resources, because the RDA made sure those resources, money and access to commodities most people have never even heard of, never ran out as long as the work was being done. And work for these men, the ones holding all of the power and money in the world, was as simple as this meeting: spitting out demands to be followed by those who do all the work and get nothing in return.

Greg was sick of it. He had been for years. Pandora was his ticket out of it, his chance to change things. He was stuck in a position where he could see the irony of the world around him but could not do anything to change it; at least, not until now.
The ISV Justice would be leaving soon, headed for Pandora with the rest of the fleet, and he would be on it. Unfortunately for the RDA, they wouldn’t be in control of the Justice: it would soon be under the command of the activists. Somehow, Greg was going to have to ditch his escort. He was beginning to feel more like a prisoner under the merc’s watchful eye, though he knew that was just his own guilt. He was playing all of these people for fools, but he knew it was for a greater good. In fact, he couldn’t help but feel that they all deserved it.

The meeting ended as suddenly as it had begun: the Chair stood from his expensive hover seat, a throne compared to the meager luxuries most men and women of the planet enjoyed. He related his few words of wisdom, his orders regarding the preparations of the fleet and the deployment of all RDA military assets to and around the ISV shuttle sites, and his appreciation for the smooth operation of yet another glorious success for the RDA.
Greg rolled his eyes. He stood from his own chair and left the room while the rest of the men shook hands and traded small talk. He was no longer concerned with keeping up appearances. He would be heading straight to the Justice from here to prepare it for the activists.
The Justice was the main military ship for the RDA, and Greg had done his best to postpone its staffing until the activists could hijack it. So far it had worked, but he was beginning to worry that the activists might not move fast enough. The RDA was in a hurry. With the bite of their last failure still stinging, they were more than eager to make up for the losses.

Greg knew Bruce would be waiting for him at the shuttle bay. A mechanical door split apart as his approach, the center of the door separating in four different panels to disappear within the frame. The movement was completely silent, lacking even the faint swish that accompanied most of the automatic doors he had become used to. It was yet another sign of the increasing wealth and separation of the rich from the poor. Greg knew that if he took a walk down among the streets of Chicago, he would still find doors that had to be pushed open; and they would creak.
Beyond the door was one of the glamorous skywalks: the steel-reinforced glass bridges that connected neighboring buildings, towering above the dark streets of Chicago and giving the elevated pedestrian a grand view of the neglected masses swarming below their feet. Greg never felt safe using a skywalk, though he had never actually heard of one of them breaking. Not hearing of such an incident, for most people, wouldn’t mean that it had never happened. But Greg did have access to most of the information available within the RDA, and he scoured through it regularly in search of anything that might help the activists.

Another silently moving door allowed him passage into the next building, a large RDA hangar sitting on top of the main Resources Management branch for the RDA in Chicago. It was here that Greg had spent most of his time rising through the ranks of the RDA, helping to develop the newest and most advanced orbiting factories that helped destroy what he had only recently come to love, what perhaps Mars could become, and what Pandora was about to lose.

Bruce was standing near their shuttle, a Valkyrie designed for transporting passengers to and from the ISV’s. He still had the signature merc rifle in his hands, the CARB. Hoping to secure weapons for his own people aboard the Justice, Greg had done a significant amount of research on the weapon. While he most likely wouldn’t be able use one to kill another man, he knew their specifications; he knew how a CARB Base Unit could be modified to nearly any type of killing machine. While it hadn’t yet been adopted by any official militaries on Earth, it was the preferred weapon of any mercenary group, and particularly those working with the RDA. These weapons weren’t the ferro-magnetic weaponry currently in use across Earth. Rather, they relied on the traditional bullet casings, and were more useful in the wild environments of Pandora.

“About damn time,” Bruce said, shouldering his weapon as Greg approached the shuttle. “You suits sure take your time with those damn meetings.”

“Is it ready?” Greg asked, ignoring the statement and pointing toward the shuttle.

“Of course it’s ready! What do you think I’ve been doing, standing here with my thumb up my ass?”
Greg didn’t take the opportunity to re-ignite their previous argument. Hopefully, before too long, the man would be off his hands and he would never see him again. Greg walked spritely up the boarding ramp into the interior of the shuttle, with Bruce quick on his heels.
The center of the cargo bay, which also happened to be the passenger bay, was lined with a double row of AMP suits. There were crates strapped to the walls filled with weapons, exopacks, and other necessary supplies for their journey to Pandora. The one thing it was missing was soldiers, a fact Bruce didn’t fail to mention.

“I know I’m just a grunt an’ all, but it seems an awful waste to send this thing into space so soon to launching time half empty.”

Greg unfolded a seat from the wall and strapped in, with Bruce doing the same two seats over.
“The RDA’s forces are being utilized elsewhere until things are fully under way. They will all be transferred to the ISV’s in plenty of time, I assure you.”

“Like I said, I’m just a grunt,” Bruce said, double checking his straps and placing his weapon in a wall attachment.

“We’ll be docking with the ISV Justice in twenty minutes,” came a ringing voice over the intercom. “Fasten your belts and holster your weapons. I want my deck clean and tidy upon arrival, not covered in blood.”
Bruce laughed loudly, grabbing his chest straps with his large hands. “A man with a sense of humor! Maybe this ride won’t be so bad after all.”
The ship lurched as it turned toward the opening in the wall. The ship was hovering, turning slowly until it was angled properly for undocking. Greg had been on this ride more than once, and the beginning was always the worst for him. There was one lesson he learned that was far more important than anything else they told you: keep your head against the seat.

[Gadreille]

By the time Ev returned to the Manor house, there was already a plethora of activity. People running to and fro, packing up jeeps with goods that were stored in various parts of the Manor. People were readying themselves, packing up bags of things they wanted or needed from this life – they didn’t plan on coming back. People huddled in the shacks outside watched with growing excitement. They knew that the Manor house was soon to be empty, and the first ones there would take control of it and have the honor to call it home.

The alarm had already been sounded. Within hours they would be storming the very dump she had just walked home from. Ironically, the boy she lied to the guard about came by, skipping home to his mother. She hoped that those who were left here would not be blamed for the activists existence…she would hate to see all of these hard working people punished for her crime. She watched the military-esque group of men and women packing one particular vehicle, called a ground assault vehicle. It was one of the many things scrounged from the dump over the past few months. Some of those people were ex-marines, some even ex-RDA. Some were just extra hands hired for the job. That was not her area, and she shuddered a bit watching them load heavy guns to which she had no name for.

Her area was in the sciences, and already an old moving truck was being loaded with precious cargo – the avatar incubators and beds needed to link with the avatar. She ran down into the basement just to see her avatar’s incubator being hauled through the double doors on the other end of the room. Left in the room was shredded paper, some machines they had no use for, and her pack, which she had left next to her avatar instead of her room. The only thing in her room of any value was the picture, the picture of those prisoners she could not save. There wasn’t time to go get it, and anyway, she didn’t want to. She had to let go sooner or later, and the sooner, the better.

All in all, there were 53 activists who were going to charge the dump and commandeer the shuttle. Five were on the assault vehicle, some clinging precariously to the side. Twelve more people were in the back of the moving truck using their bodies to keep the incubators from rolling side to side. Three more were in the cab of the moving truck, and the other 30 or so people were crammed into seven vehicles, ranging from jeeps to old suburbans to sedans. The cars were only needed as far as the shuttle, and would be left behind there. Amidst the activity she noticed a car she had not seen before driving up to the Manor. Her heart leapt in her throat as she wondered who it could be. As she watched the car, others around her noticed it approaching and became defensive in posture. About twenty guns were made ready, the moving truck strategically blocked from the road by the assault vehicle. Those few avatars were their only link to Pandoran life.

The black suburban parked, and the driver’s door opened, the first thing revealed being his hands above his head in a surrendering posture. The man rounded the car and revealed himself to be quite unarmed and quite ordinary. He stood maybe a couple of inches taller than she, with black hair and grey eyes blocked by thick rimmed glasses. He was unkempt but held himself with an authoritative stance. He slowly dropped one arm and made movements around his face, finishing by thrusting his arm toward the crowd and uttering “I see you”. When he spoke she recognized him. He was the man behind the curtain. He was Intel.

“Stand down!” she shouted to the others, who had no access to Intel and would not know him if they heard him. “He’s one of us.” At first, crowd was still tense, no one moving. But then Randy lowered his gun, and a couple of the men around him followed suit, until the entire group became at ease again. At first there was silence, and then a few people began working again, feverishly packing their vehicle. Once they started back up, everyone followed suit, like bees in a hive.

She was going to approach Intel, but one of the scientists, Dr. Carmen, went to him first. She wobbled mid step, forcing her body to move in a new direction. She would be in the moving truck with the avatars, so that is where she headed. She was just happy that someone else was taking initiative because she was NOT a leader…she just found that many of the times if she didn’t step up, then no one would.

Evangeline climbed into the moving truck, muttering an “excuse me” as she passed a few of her comrades. She shivered a little, partly from the coldness of the truck, and partly because she found it terrifying to be within it. When the door shut, they would be completely enclosed in the darkness, with no ability to see what is happening around them. Their job was to keep the incubator beds as still as possible. There were four incubator beds, and the people who were to brace the beds from each other were in the most dangerous position. Therefore, the strongest were elected to stand in the middle, while the less strong were to brace the edges, where they could use the wall of the truck to brace themselves.

Dr. Carmen climbed in, and being a larger, stronger person than she, moved to stand in between her incubator and the one next to it. She nodded to him, and then swallowed her fear as the moving truck door pulled closed. She listened to the click-click-click of the shutting door, it reminding her of a carnival roller coaster ride she was on when she was little. Ev wasn’t a fan of coasters. Once it shut, the only light was the faint glowing bioluminescence that radiated from each incubator. The light didn’t extend far beyond its source, which still left her feeling as though she was in complete darkness.

The engine started, and the dull roar of engines around her began to sound as well. Then, with a surprising jolt, they were moving. She had to rearrange her footing so she would not fall, but at the same time would have to thrust one of her legs against the wall every time the truck turned left, bracing herself against the incubator to rolling toward her. For a while she did this little dance of balance, leaning one way for stopping and another for speeding up, clinging to the incubator when turning right and pushing it away when the truck turned left. It went on for only minutes, but in the dark of the truck it felt like hours.

The truck then stopped, so suddenly that those in the front of the truck were pinned by the incubators, and it took some scrambling to roll the incubators back again. Once they were again situated, those in the truck fell silent, listening to what was happening outside. They couldn’t hear much of anything, but certainly something was happening. The silence hung heavy over their heads, the only sound being the thump of her pulse in her ears.

[Adrius Frostglare]

She was gone. He let out that big, hard breath as he cradled his gun in his arms and walked back. Well, Rombert was going to get an earful about how unnecessary this inspection was... at least in his dreams. His shift was nearing an end and he could take a nice, long sleep in the guard shack. This time, he'd make sure not only to lock the door, but also put something that made a lot of noise when moved so that Rombert or one of his puppet supporters would not sneak up on him.

When he reached back, all he heard was the white noise of jeering and taunting, about how he was too sissy to deal with problems, about how he shouldn't have come back unless something was dead. "Hey, c***face, so what was it?"

He pinched his eyes, giving an irritated growl. "What was that? Couldn't hear you, too much shit clogging your throat."

"I said it was just people looking for a kid who'd gotten lost. It was nothing."

Rombert stuck out his lower lip and raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. "So, how much'd you get?"

He paused just as he was about to open the door. "What?"

"I said, how much'd you get? How much money did they give you to shut up?"

He couldn't believe it. Rombert was actually accusing him of bribery. "Are you fucking-"

"I'll file you for inappropriate language toward your superiors. That counts to insubordination."

"-out of your MIND, Rombert? I just told you that it was nothing! There are no looters in the dump, you can go look for yourself."

The man suddenly stood up, red faced and frothing at the lips. "Did you just say,'Go fuck yourself'?"

That was just about it. His grip on the gun, having been tightening each time more and more, was only one more tug away from being pointed straight at him. "...No sir. I apologize for any misunderstanding."

The brute calmed down, a smug smile of satisfaction replacing his furious grimace. "That's more like it."

Leo opened the door wordlessly.

"Hey, Dorseff."

Well, he could only be so fortunate.

"Go fuck yourself."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The episode had been dispelled. He didn't know how long it was that he'd been sleeping, but it never was long enough. Sooner or later, he would need to return to his post and resist the urge to kill that bastard where he stood.

It was very disruptive, then, when he heard gunshots. "Goddammit, Rombert, I'm trying to catch some fucking sleep here!!" He heard more, however, and soon enough, his hatred for the captain was replaced by a genuine feeling that something was going down. Something bad. Leo took all of one minute to dress in his military gear and pack his carbine. He unlocked the door and, shoving aside the noisy items he'd collected as a makeshift security system, looked outside.

It was mayhem. He really could not tell which side was winning. There were probably four dead on their side, but they were still outnumbered. He took one second to register how many allies of his had fallen. Just one, Mitchel, one of the "timid guards". It was such a shame. Though only on the job for, at maximum, a week, Mitchels had been one of the few that Leo had-

His mind was cut short by a grenade blast not five yards away from him. He'd managed to duck out of the way, but the shack's door was completely blown apart. He breathed rapidly, his eyes darting everywhere as shaky hands hefted the weapon and checked for ammo and any extensions. Leo had trained more for sniping than anything, but that was before he'd found out that he would be a dumpster keeper. He'd only had two week's noticed, but in that short time he'd been trying to master the art of close quarter combat. "Master" really only meant "slightly touch", and he'd only been able to train with a shotgun. It was for that very reason that his CARB had a shotgun module attached to it at this very moment.

Leo closed his eyes for a second, hearing the rhythm of the bullets, waiting to hear a queue for him to leap out. There was a scream or two, then one blast, and suddenly one second of silence. That was what he'd been looking for. Coming out of the corner he'd been taking cover on, the scholar-turned-killed was tight-faced as he caught one of the enemies - a young, muscular man - off guard and with but a slight motion of his finger pumped a buck load of lead into every part of his body. He was dead before he even hit the ground. Unbelieving, but still very much aware of his surrounding, Leo took cover behind the corner just in time to hear a shout and then the sound of bullets pelting against his cover, frustrated in vengeance they could not reach their target.

He couldn't believe it. Not for a second. He knew it was the military, knew he'd have to take lives if they asked him to, but in this case no one had asked him to. He'd just shot, and for all intents and purposes, he'd killed. His head thumped against the concrete wall of the building.

Then he heard a whirring sound. All moral worries vanished for a split second before he dove down and up against a cement barricade. Huge bullets put massive holes on the building, the stone shrapnel flying off and slashing his arms, which he'd raised to protect himself. It stopped, followed by an explosion, a bright flash, and an overwhelming bang. A flashbang grenade. These people were done. Whatever they'd wanted, they'd accomplished, or they had chosen that their losses were too great, the guards too strong.

It must have been five minutes before he poked his head out, though he'd been hearing the incessant mix of angry profanities, bigoted taunting, and savage cheering from the six remaining guards. He counted three dead on their side, twelve dead on theirs. His own victim lay sprawled over the asphalt, blood pooled beneath him. Leo felt his dinner was about to make a return trip, but held it in with all his intestinal strength.

"Goddamn sonsabitches! I'm sending you all to Hell to meet your mothers there! You make sure and come back, 'cuz I got a long gun here you can suck at your leisure!" Rombert spat on the ground, looking none too pleased... and yet all too happy, a wide grin sprawled on his face that reminded Leo of inhumane serial killers from the horror movies. His thought was there was little to no difference. "Fuckers... alright, all of you who are still breathing. Make your asses worth their weight and file everything up! My bet is we get a juicy raise for our accomplishment, maybe I'll even get a promotion."

A... promotion? He stopped to think for one second. The lives lost were tragic, and he felt disgusted by anything that came out of that evil man's lips, but the words "promotion" and "raise" were words of hope to him. What if... no, he must not lose his head in the clouds now, not again. They were bound to disappoint him once more. Tired and covered in filth and blood both his own and his enemy's, Leo went back into the trashed guard shack to retrieve a pen and paper.

[Gadreille]

Ev heard gunshots, muffled by the protective walls of the moving truck and the general distance away. She wasn't aware of what the battle plans were, and was suprised as she heard a sob from one of the women near her.

"What's happening?" Ev asked her.

She sobbed again, attempting to choke back her tears so that she could speak. "They decided that the only way we could successfully get to the ISV was to...sp-split up. They are off distracting the guards so that we can pass."

At first, Ev didn't really understand, but then it hit her. The chances that all of them would come back unscathed were slim to none, considering that they couldn't afford to be followed.

The truck moved once again, and they were off. The ride became a lot bumpier as road turned to dirt turned to flattened trash. Ev's arms were burning from trying to keep the incubator still. They moved on, as silent as vehicles could be and with no lights to guide them in the darkness of the night. The dump was large, and it took a good hour before they reached their destination.

The truck door opened, and the brightness of the moon shone into the dark space. "Let's go!" A nameless voice called, and they began hauling the incubators out of the truck.

Ev looked up to see the shuttle before her, their ticket to freedom. It wasn’t glistening in it’s glory, and in fact it looked like it did not work at all. It was all for the sake of secrecy, and paint didn’t get people through space, engines did. The engine, according to the engineers who had worked on it, was fixed and now in perfect condition, and would easily get them to the Justice.

Everyone hurriedly unpacked the cars, and she noticed that a good 20 to 25 people were missing. They literally had been cut in half, and most of their gun hands were gone. How were they supposed to commandeer the Justice with civilians? Pitchforks and knives?

There was a bright flash in the distance, and Ev assumed it to be a flash grenade. If they had set one off, then someone must be returning to them…Hopefully more than one someone.

An hour of work loading the shuttle had gone by before the faces of 15 or so men and women appeared out of the darkness. It was all that was left of the decoy team. Ev tried to do the math in her head, but she figured there must have been 10 or so that didn’t make it. She noticed that Gordon wasn’t among them, and assumed that he was dead. She gave a silent goodbye to her friend and then got back to work loading the shuttle and securing the goods in the cargo bay.

The 15 who returned immediately boarded the shuttle, their part of the job completed. Besides, they were just about finished anyway. It was just a matter of the pilots starting the engine and taking off.

It was nearly dawn now, and the time had come for them to leave. Everyone boarded the shuttle, all of the vehicles being left behind. Ev boarded the shuttle and got in her seat, which was in a surprisingly cramped area compared to the size of the ship. People filed in around her and they all buckled in, preparing for lift off. Ev’s heart was thumping wildly, there was no turning back now. Whatever happened, happened, and nothing would ever be the same again.

“Justice, here we come…"

[Guest]

Greg drifted through the umbilical, the short tunnel connecting the ISV with Valkyrie shuttle. He still wasn't sure whether or not he enjoyed the zero-gravity experience of being aboard an ISV. While the free-floating experience was a great deviation from Earth's gravity, returning to Earth, depending on the length of his visit, took some time for his muscles to get used to.

The umbilical ended in a long tunnel running the length of the ship. Bruce sped passed him, trying to grab onto something to halt his momentum. He crashed into the far wall of the tunnel with a quiet thud.
"What's wrong?" Greg asked, only half-trying to hide his growing smile. "Never experienced zero-gravity before?"
"Have you got any tips?" Bruce said, gritting his teeth as tried to orient himself with the floor. "I've never been on one of these things, and they didn't bother briefing me before they sent me up here."
"I'll explain it to you as we go." Greg pulled Bruce by the tight sleeve of his battle dress uniform as he launched himself down the corridor with a push of his feet. "Obviously, there is no gravity here along the central truss. It is pressurized, like most of the vessel, but only the crew modules have the ability to create gravity. This central truss, basically a long, pressurized tunnel, connects the habitation modules and cargo bays with the engines at the front. The reason it is so long is so that the plumes of the engine don't reach the sensitive areas down at this end."
"Why not put the engines on the back?" Bruce asked. "Seems to me like that would save a whole lot of trouble."
"They considered that, actually. But a tensile structure had more advantages. You see, a tensile structure creates only tension, while putting the engine on the back would involve compression and bending. It was a cost and structural advantage, even if it does seem more extravagant."
"I guess I can understand that," Greg said. "So where exactly are we headed now?"
"Right now we're going to the cargo bays. I need to do a quick inspection of what is currently loaded there, and make some notes of what the Justice still needs. Then we'll head to the crew modules, where we'll experience the relief of centrifigal gravity."
"That isn't anything like those extreme-g machines they put pilots through for training, is it? I wouldn't want them to mess up my make-up."
"No, it isn't like that," Greg said, for once managing a small smile at the merc's sarcasm. "Space has no gravity. The modules, as you obviously know, are attached to another pressurized truss, perpendicular to the mian structure. When in orbit, they spin to create the centrifugal artificial gravity. But since space has no gravity, there is no resistance, which means less gravity.
"To get to the crew modules, we'll have to pass through the habitation section, which consists of the cryo sleep chambers and the storage for the amnio tanks. I'll do a quick inspection there as well, just to make sure everything's functioning properly."
"Mind if I ask a quick question?" Bruce asked, feigning politeness.
Greg sighed, picking up on the sarcasm. "Sure, Bruce."
"Why the hell am I here?"
"I don't know why you're here, Bruce." And that was the honest answer. "But I'll let you know if there as a micro-meteroite impact imminent, so you can be sure to jump in front of me."
"Ha!" Bruce laughed. "So you aren't so stuffy after all?"

They traveled through the truss in silence after Greg's explanation of the ISV. Greg was racking his mind for how to get rid of the mercenary before his own people showed up, the activists.
"You do know you don't need that thing, don't you?" Greg asked, pointing to Bruce's CARB.
"I always need this," Bruce responded, giving the weapon an affectionate pat. "You never know when it mind come in handy."
"It won't, up here. If you fire in this thing, you could damage the entire structure. There is no metal on any ISV. When cosmic radiation collides with metal, it creates secondary radiation, which increases our problems. Your bullets will easily penetrate many of the walls of the ISV. I would recommend you stash it until we leave."
"Whatever you say, boss."
Greg gave a mental sigh of relief. That was one problem solved.

[Bird of Hermes]

Preston Debussey was staring intently at the creature in the incubator. It wouldn’t be long now before it would happen, but Preston still couldn’t bring himself to believe it was actually coming. The infant inside looked just like him in the strangest of ways. The little being was floating in the clear blue liquid that shook violently as the vehicle bounded down the beaten road. Its tail responded instinctively and moved swiftly to keep its body upright in the container. Its ears twitched as a single gunshot was heard from the front of the caravan. Its alien hands grasped for safety.

No. It wouldn’t be long now before the party reached the ISV. If only these last few minutes the activists could remain unnoticed. The RDA, however, was going to catch up to them. If only they could reach the ship first.

The sound of machine gun fire can now be heard in the vehicle that Preston was hiding in, holding on desperately to the Na’vi child in the machine. How had he ever gotten himself into this mess? Preston remembers like it was yesterday. It had been his pursuit for knowledge that had led him here and it was that same pursuit that would likely kill him one day. He was sure of that. Getting his hot little hands on portions of the book on Pandora was not enough, was it? He just had to join the resistance and go get himself killed.

Another violent bump from the vehicle scatters Preston’s thoughts again. The boy would have to remain focused. There were shouts from all directions. Some yelled to push forward, others reassured that they were indeed close, another shouted for joy for a brief moment of elation. However, others screamed, some broke down in tears, another was silenced by gun fire. Preston closed his eyes and tried to mute the sounds of war around him.

Preston grasped an old shotgun and held it close. What good it would do him was uncertain. It had never been fired since he had taken it in and fixed it. Even if it was new, however, it would still look foolish in his hands. The boy was slight in frame, yet not in shape. A blue work shirt was un-tucked from his brown slacks and his tie was barely hanging on. His academic glasses and pocket full of pens and notes did nothing for the image. That gun was the most out of place thing in the whole wretched scene.

As the vehicle came to a halt, Preston could see the sun rising and dawn breaking. This was the last time any of them would likely ever see it again. The Earth seemed not to care, however. Perhaps she had stopped caring a long time ago. Preston couldn’t answer that. All that the man could do was watch as the ship’s doors close and say a breathless parting to the world that he once knew.

[Adrius Frostglare]

"You're getting transferred to Pandora."

The words were still sinking in. Leo had remembered being called to that posh office, all decorated in medals, expensive artwork, and the like. This was supposed to be one of the lower bureaucrats, and yet he had more wealth than ten times the salary of his entire platoon. Leo had almost stuttered, but Rombert had been the one to speak first, the first words out of his mouth dripping with greed. You could almost see the man drooling. "How much?"

"Give or take, your salaries will triple in the first year, then double for every year you manage. You find yourselves lucky enough, you might live enough to become promoted to tactical advisers. After all, few even manage to live past their first year to learn anything about Pandora and the info the eco-freaks give us just doesn't cut it. You might learn a thing or two, but other than fancy descriptions and pretty pictures, it's not worth looking into too much." He took a sip of his coffee. The man was corpulent. Leo almost speculated he was a few inches away from being as wide as he was tall. His licked the bittersweet droplets from his scruffy mustache, his beady eyes glinting and balding head of hair combed over to look slightly more full than it really was.

"Still, intelligence is intelligence, and as a result you'll all be required to learn and memorize this." He tossed a sleek-looking book in front of him. Leo picked it up. "It's written by Grace Augustine, who was pretty much the head research in Pandora a few years back, before she went rogue on us and allied with the local savages. She's believed to be dead. After all, she wasn't seen by any accounts after she escaped." He grabbed the book of Leo's hand, holding it up in front of everyone so they could all see. His breathing became huffed, no doubt from the strain of leaning forward. "There's more copies here you can pick up. It's not military-obligated, but I recommend you read this." Strangely, those were the best words Leo thought he'd ever hear from a money-bloated paper-pusher.

And now he was on a shuttle en route to the ISV. He'd be put to sleep for years, then suddenly wake up God knows how many billions of miles away from home. No, he didn't think of it as home. It was a shack. Earth was like a downtrodden, broken, old shack. He had to think of a better word for it.

Maybe he should consider this as moving to a new home instead.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Alfred Henders looked down at the book he held between his thick fingers. One of many copies, each paid for on RDA's money. He turned a page, then another, and another, stroking the smooth paper gently with each swish. He felt a small smile come across his lips.

He'd been working for this company for twenty-two years. Hell, if one counted the time he spent in the university, it was all of thirty years worth of investment he'd made on this monstrous entity. Of course, it was all a waste, all a waste. Money in, money out, living the big, great, happy life. He'd gone through an emotional crisis, even cried out and gone to church a few times. None of it seemed to help. When they discovered Pandora, it all sounded exactly how the corporate world always made it - always wanted it - to sound like: a big, fat, profitable investment. That's all he thought of it.

It was not until he'd picked up Grace Augustine's book that he found his salvation. He'd just picked it up as something to tell him more about where his money was going into and when it would be coming back, but with each word he read, his mind and his heart had told him more. He'd shaken his head at first, then tossed it away. Then one day he took a long, hard look at the world outside and felt a single tear fall from his face. Then he'd started bawling. He didn't know why, he just had. After that, corporate investing had seemed almost less than feasible. He felt empty.

And finally there had come the Venture Star on a return trip, packed full of people. They told stories about Pandora, unbelievable and yet... yet, they were here. There could not have been a mistake as to their truthfulness. He reread Dr. Augustine's book twice over in three days. It had only been the tip of the iceberg. He heard of a resistance, a fighting force. Protests against exploiting Pandora's resources had been going on for a long time, as expected with all major operations conducted by the RDA, but now? Now they were fighting. That's when he had his revelations. Alfred had decided to aid them. It was a losing battle and he was only a lower bureaucrat, but it was the best he could do.

He looked once more at the book that had enlightened him, a smile cracking his bloated face. Maybe this would bring some hope and change to others as well.

[Gadreille]

Leaving the atmosphere was a feeling like no other. It is one thing to know that space exists, and know that people go there...Children used to dream of being astronauts and scientists and even RDA specialists that get to leave Earth and go some place new, some place better. Few dreamers remained, but Ev was one of them. In the shuttle, there was no way for her to see where they were in relation to earth. There were no windows, just a line of belted in seats facing each other across a tight walkway. Still, the g-forces pulled at her gut and when the turbulance ebbed she knew that she had left Earth - likely, forever.

All she knew was that when they made it to the ISV, they were supposed to overcome the few workers that were stationed there, and send them back via the second shuttle. Zero Gravity fighting can become a messy thing, so killing someone was only to be done if you were going to be overcome. However, this was unlikely considering that there were less than ten people on that ISV, and at least a couple of them were secretly with the activists.

Ev supposed that they had gained permission to dock on the ISV Justice, since the shuttle once again changed it's movements to a slow descent onto the docking station. She had been told that one of the avatar's human links were aboard the ISV. She would soon meet him.

"Alright, remember, NO BLOOD! Let's get this wrapped up and get out of here!" One of the military folk, Ev couldn't recall her name, shouted out. Ev was shaking. How was she to lend herself to this? She was hustled foward with the rest, no plan in her mind but just hoping that when she was met with confrontation she would be able to handle it.

"Where are you going?" Somebody grabbed her arm, and she jerked from the surprised touch. It was Intel, god, one day she'd have to start remembering real names! She noticed that there were other people who did not follow everyone else to the ISV entrance, and suddenly she felt like a fool for not knowing her place.

"You just take care of your avatar, Ok?" He said, in a kinder tone than she was expecting. "We have to move the incubators to a safe location, quickly. Let's go!" And with that she was off again, to the cargo bay and then back toward the ISV, this time slowly pushing a heavy incubator with her darling avatar safely contained within it. She felt in some ways safer, with giant tank blocking her view. In many ways though, she felt more revealed than ever. Everything she had to look forward to is out on the table, and could be taken away from her at any moment.

She was entering the ISV through where cargo was loaded, and had no idea where the rest of activists were in relation to her. Had anyone even seen them yet? Were they fighting? Would there be people ready to fight them at the door? What would she do? All of these thoughts rushed through her head as she moved toward the giant door which was just now beginning to open. Bright fluorescent light peeked through the crack as it became wider, and the next step toward Pandora was at last being taken.

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