(AN: A lot of talking in this chapter. Also, remember the people in the first movie are like proper old, so it's reasonable to assume that they are young now.)
The room smelled of metal, oil, and recycled air.
Colonel Miles Quaritch moved through it with purpose, boots heavy against the deck plating as he checked the straps on his marine gear. The armour was familiar, worn in, scuffed in places where it had taken real hits. He preferred it that way. New gear never felt honest.
A hatch hissed open behind him.
"Morning, sir."
Quaritch didn't turn straight away. He finished tightening a strap, then glanced over his shoulder. "You're late, Lyle."
Lyle Wainfleet stepped fully into the room, helmet tucked under one arm. "Docking delay. Shuttle traffic."
Quaritch grunted, half-smiling. "Excuses already. That didn't take long."
Lyle smirked faintly but said nothing. His attention drifted past Quaritch, toward the wide observation window that dominated one side of the room.
Pandora hung there.
Blue. Bright. Almost unreal.
Even Quaritch paused when he finally turned to face it.
The gas giant loomed behind the moon, vast and striped, but Pandora was the thing that pulled the eye. Swirls of cloud covered its surface, broken by deep greens and flashes of light where storms rolled through its surface. It looked calm from this distance. Innocent, almost pure.
Lyle stepped closer to the glass. "Hard to believe that thing's trying to kill us just by existing."
Quaritch crossed his arms. "That's the thing about pretty places. They invite you home, and when you turn up, they'll gut ya."
They stood there in silence for a few moments, the low hum of the ship's antimatter engines cooling, filling the gap. Pandora slowly rotated, indifferent to the metal shell watching it from orbit.
A door slid open behind them.
"Good morning, Colonel."
Quaritch turned as Dr Grace Augustine entered the room, tablet tucked under her arm, expression bright in a way that immediately irritated him.
"Doc," he replied. "You look cheerful."
Grace stopped beside them and followed their gaze to the window. "How could I not be? That's Pandora. No one's seen it like this before. Not really."
Lyle shifted uncomfortably. "I'll, uh… give you two some space."
Grace didn't even notice him leaving. Her attention was fixed on the moon, eyes sharp with interest rather than caution.
Quaritch watched her closely. "You sound like we're on holiday."
Grace scoffed. "Please, Colonel. This is history. First proper human arrival in orbit. First chance to interact with a completely alien biosphere on this scale." Her smile widened as she continued.
She tapped her tablet, and the monitor on the far wall lit up.
Images filled the screen.
Dense forests, layered canopies stretching for miles. Rivers are glowing faintly in the dark. Creatures moving through foliage in blurs of colour and motion.
Grace's voice softened slightly. "Every leaf, every organism here evolved independently from Earth. Different rules. Different chemistry. And yet it all works."
Quaritch leaned back against a console, arms folded tighter. "Show me the problem."
Grace hesitated, just for a second.
Then she swiped again.
The image changed.
Tall, blue figures stood among the trees. Long limbs. Tails. Yellow eyes that seemed to stare straight out of the screen.
Na'vi.
Quaritch's jaw tightened.
"So," he said flatly. "I guess we aren't really alone, are we?"
Grace smiled, clearly proud. "Isn't it incredible? A fully sapient species. Language, culture, tool use. They're not just animals, Colonel. They're people."
"Things. with weapons," Quaritch replied. "In a world that eats helicopters."
Grace shot him a look. "You're missing the point."
"Am I?" he said calmly. "Because from where I'm standing, this is exactly the kind of place where optimism gets people killed."
Grace folded her arms. "This is the first time in human history we've had the chance to meet another intelligent species face to face. No proxies. No guesswork."
Quaritch nodded slowly. "And how did you get those images?"
Grace blinked. "The orbital camera network."
"The one that supposedly didn't have this level of resolution," Quaritch pressed.
She smiled again, clearly enjoying this part. "High-orbit observation satellites were deployed decades ago. Back when people still thought we might find microbial life and call it a win. They've been feeding data back through the superluminal relay stations ever since."
Quaritch raised an eyebrow. "And no one thought to mention blue giants with spears?"
"They didn't have context," Grace replied. "Images alone don't tell the full story. We needed boots on the ground. Confirmation."
She gestured back toward the screen. "Now we have it."
Quaritch looked at the Na'vi image again, expression unreadable.
"Congratulations," he said. "You found neighbours," half joking, more serious
Grace met his gaze. "We found equals."
The hum of the ship continued around them as Pandora slowly turned beyond the glass.
Neither of them looked away.
The silence stretched longer than either of them cared to admit.
Pandora kept turning beyond the glass, clouds drifting slowly across its surface. From this distance, it looked calm. Almost welcoming.
Quaritch was the first to speak.
"Alright," he said. "You've got a planet full of life, a native population, and an environment that wants us dead. Walk me through what you think happens next."
Grace didn't hesitate. "We observe. We learn. We don't rush anything."
Quaritch snorted. "That's vague, Doc."
"It's cautious," she shot back. "We don't land a platoon and start planting flags. We establish communication. Non-hostile contact. Study their language, their behaviour, their social structure."
"From orbit?" Quaritch asked.
"At first, yes. Then, controlled surface teams. Scientists, not soldiers."
Quaritch pushed off the console and walked closer to the screen. He studied the image of the Na'vi again, eyes sharp.
"You see people," he said. "I see unknown variables."
Grace stepped beside him. "Those 'variables' have families, culture, and belief systems. They live in balance with their world."
"That world happens to contain a mineral worth more than everything you and I have ever touched," Quaritch replied. "And we're not here on a sightseeing trip."
Grace stiffened. "Unobtanium is not an excuse to repeat every colonial mistake humanity's ever made."
Quaritch turned toward her. "And idealism doesn't stop bullets. Or arrows. Or whatever the hell they use down there."
Grace crossed her arms. "They use bows because they don't need anything else. That alone should tell you something."
Quaritch gave a short laugh. "It tells me they've never met someone with air support."
Grace's jaw tightened. "You're already talking like this is a fight."
"I'm talking like this is a risk," he replied. "Big difference."
He tapped the screen, zooming in on one of the Na'vi images. "You know what happens when two intelligent species meet for the first time?"
Grace let out a sigh. "It depends on how one of them behaves."
"Exactly," Quaritch said. "And history's not exactly on our side."
For a moment, Grace didn't argue. She watched the rotating image of Pandora, eyes thoughtful.
"That's why we do this properly," she said finally. "No sudden landings near populated areas. No weapons visible unless absolutely necessary. We show them we're not a threat."
Quaritch looked at her flatly. "We are a threat. Whether we like it or not."
She frowned. "Only if we act like one."
A soft chime sounded overhead, signalling a system update. Quaritch ignored it.
"Let me be clear," he said. "My job is to keep people alive. Yours is to understand the locals. Those priorities don't always line up."
Grace nodded. "I'm aware."
"Good," Quaritch said. "Because when they don't, I'm choosing survival."
"And I'm choosing restraint," Grace replied.
They locked eyes, neither backing down.
After a moment, Quaritch broke the stare and turned back to the window. "What do we actually know about them?"
Grace relaxed slightly, glad to shift to facts. "They're called the Na'vi. The average height is around ten feet. The neural queue connects directly to their fauna. They form literal biological bonds with animals."
Quaritch blinked. "You're telling me they plug into the wildlife."
"Yes," Grace said. "It's how they hunt, travel, even communicate with their environment."
"Jesus," he muttered. "That's not culture. That's infrastructure."
Grace smiled faintly. "You're not wrong."
He glanced back at her. "How aggressive are they?"
"Territorial," she admitted. "Protective. But not violent by default."
Quaritch nodded slowly. "So if we land where we're not wanted—"
"They'll respond," Grace finished.
"And how," he asked, "do you plan to tell a species with bows and flying predators that we come in peace?"
Grace paused.
"That," she said honestly, "is what we're here to figure out."
The monitor shifted again, cycling through more footage. Aerial views. Forest clearings. Movement through the trees.
Quaritch studied it all carefully.
"We're not dropping blind," he said at last. "I want recon teams. Light footprint. No cowboy moves."
Grace raised an eyebrow. "You're agreeing with me?"
"I'm agreeing with reality," he replied. "We don't know this place. That makes it dangerous."
She nodded. "Then we're aligned. For now."
Quaritch didn't smile. "Don't get used to it."
Pandora continued to spin outside the window, untouched, waiting.
And somewhere far below, the Na'vi lived their lives, unaware that they were no longer alone in the universe.
The briefing room lights dimmed slightly as the monitor shifted again, pulling up a tactical overlay of Pandora's surface. Grid lines appeared over forests and plains, tagged with sensor data and atmospheric readings. It looked clinical. Detached.
Grace didn't like that.
"This view makes it too easy to forget," she said. "People are living down there."
Quaritch didn't look at her. "This view keeps people alive."
He pointed at a cluster of markers near a large forest mass. "That's where the biosphere gets really dense. Magnetic interference, aggressive fauna, limited visibility."
Grace leaned closer. "That region supports multiple clans. It's one of the richest ecosystems on the moon."
"Which also makes it a nightmare for extraction," Quaritch replied. "If anyone gets cornered down there, air support becomes unreliable fast."
Grace frowned. "You're already planning for combat."
"I'm planning for failure," he corrected. "Big difference."
She shook her head slightly but didn't argue. Instead, she swiped her tablet, pulling up linguistic analysis files.
"We've already started breaking down their language," she said. "Basic structure, phonetics, common gestures. We won't be walking in blind."
Quaritch glanced at the data. "You planning on teaching marines how to say hello?"
Grace met his gaze. "I'm planning on making sure your people don't start a war because of a bad first impression."
He gave a humourless smile. "That assumes the other side's interested in impressions."
"They will be," Grace said firmly. "They're curious. Social. Their clan structures rely on communication, not conquest."
"Until they feel threatened," Quaritch said. "Then all bets are off."
Grace exhaled slowly. "That's why we don't threaten them."
A pause.
Quaritch finally turned to face her fully. "Doc, I respect what you're trying to do. But understand this - if one of my people goes down because someone thought diplomacy meant standing still with their hands open, I won't hesitate."
Grace's expression hardened. "And if you go in assuming violence, you'll guarantee it."
The tension sat heavily between them.
A soft knock came at the door before it slid open. A junior tech stepped inside, clearly uncomfortable.
"Colonel. Dr Augustine. We've got confirmation from the relay station."
Quaritch nodded. "Say it."
"The long-range survey probes have detected structured settlements. Multiple. Tree-based. No sign of industrial activity. Power signatures are biological."
Grace's eyes lit up. "You see? Entire civilizations without environmental collapse."
Quaritch ignored the comment. "Any signs they know we're here?"
The tech swallowed. "Unclear. No directed signals. But… there have been changes in local fauna movement patterns. Large-scale aerial activity."
Quaritch raised an eyebrow. "Define large-scale."
"Banshee migrations," the tech said. "Coordinated. Purposeful."
Grace stiffened. "That's not random."
"No," Quaritch agreed. "That's awareness."
The tech shifted nervously. "Orders, sir?"
Quaritch waved him off. "Stand by. Keep watching."
The door closed, leaving the two of them alone again.
Grace rubbed her temples. "They feel us. Maybe not as invaders, but as something new."
"Or something dangerous," Quaritch said.
She looked back at the screen. "This doesn't have to go badly."
He crossed his arms. "Every conflict starts with someone saying that."
Grace turned to him sharply. "And every disaster starts with someone refusing to try."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Quaritch sighed. It wasn't a resignation. More like acceptance.
"Alright," he said. "Here's how we do this. First landing is science-led. Small team. You're in charge."
Grace blinked. "You're serious?"
"I don't like unknowns," he replied. "You reduce them."
"And security?"
"I'll have Overwatch. Quiet. Hidden. No shows of force unless things go sideways."
Grace studied him, searching for the catch. "And if the Na'vi approach us?"
"Then we see what they want," Quaritch said. "And we keep our fingers off the triggers."
"That's… reasonable," she admitted.
"Don't make me regret it."
She smiled faintly. "I won't."
Outside the window, Pandora's surface glowed brighter as the moon turned, sunlight creeping across its surface. Somewhere beneath those clouds, forests stirred, creatures moved, and lives continued as they always had.
But lines had already been drawn.
Not on the ground. But in intent.
The room felt smaller once the decisions were made.
Grace stood by the monitor, scrolling through landing parameters, her expression focused but tight. The excitement she'd shown earlier hadn't vanished, but it had settled into something more controlled. Responsibility, more than wonder.
Quaritch watched her for a moment before turning away.
"Your team," he said. "How many?"
"Five," Grace replied. "Myself, two xenobiologists, a linguist, and a systems tech. No weapons."
Quaritch gave a short laugh. "You'll have them. Just not where they can be seen."
Grace didn't argue. "I know."
He nodded once. "Drop zone will be outside any known settlements. Forest edge. Minimal noise. You stay put unless you're forced to move."
"And if they approach?" she asked.
"Then you talk," Quaritch said. "And I listen."
Grace glanced at him. "That's new."
"Don't get used to it."
She allowed a small smile, then tapped her tablet, sending the final plan through the network. "This is bigger than all of us, you know."
Quaritch leaned back against the bulkhead. "Everything always is."
A chime sounded again. This time, Quaritch answered it himself.
"Colonel Quaritch," came a voice through the speaker. Corporate. Smooth. "RDA command would like a status update."
Quaritch's expression hardened instantly. "We're still assessing."
"Understood," the voice replied. "But remember, Colonel, this operation has priorities. Timelines."
Grace shot him a look. He ignored it.
"We'll meet your timelines, Parker, just give us a few," Quaritch said evenly.
A pause. "Of course," the voice said, though neither of them believed it. "We'll expect results."
The channel closed.
Grace exhaled slowly. "He's going to push."
"He always does," Quaritch replied. "That's why I'm here."
She studied him. "And that's why I don't trust them."
He met her gaze. "Smart."
Grace moved to the side console and began recording a log, voice steady. "Dr Grace Augustine. Mission log. We are preparing for first-contact surface deployment. Objective: observation, communication, and peaceful possible engagement with the indigenous species designated Na'vi."
She paused, then added quietly, "This is a chance to do something right."
Quaritch listened without comment.
When she finished, she turned back to him. "Whatever happens down there… it matters how it starts."
Quaritch simply nodded.
He walked toward the window one last time. Pandora filled the glass again, bright and distant.
"Just remember," he said, voice low, "If any of you dies, your families will get a package from the company, so not all bad."
Grace's face stiffened at that remark before looking through the window.
Below them, unseen and unaware, the forests of Pandora breathed on, ancient and alive.
And high above, humanity watched, prepared to step forward, carrying hope, fear, and history with it.