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“So,” Quaritch puffs as they stretch out on distinctly non-regulation hammocks in the branches of an uninhabited Kelultral towards eclipse. “With these beasties under us, that make us full Na’vi yet? ‘Real men’ ?”
Lyle snickers from where he's cleaning his gun out, perched on the branch beside Mansk, who's rubbing his blistered toes.
Despite how - amicable they’ve been lately, Spider still hesitates to answer. Watching the Colonel tame his ikran today was an ordeal, and not just because of that plunge off the cliffside. This is getting complicated. “Not exactly. There’s a couple more steps… but you also don’t have a clan that would welcome you, and the rituals I know are all Omaticaya.”
“So we make our own,” Quaritch shrugs, popping some dried berry into his mouth. “What’s the problem?”
Typical Terran, Spider thinks to himself with a wry smile.
The marines around them are subtle about it, but Spider spies them all leaning their ears towards the conversation. He crosses his legs on the mesh hammock that grows between branches and gazes up at the canopy briefly before turning back to the Colonel. “When a new clan is formed, you need an Olo’eyktan or a Tsahìk. Single-person wanderers happen, but it's usually temporary - a mourning period or a life quest. They receive the mark of a wanderer and someday, they return to the clan’s embrace.”
“I’m guessing not everyone goes back.”
“You’d be right. Some stay alone, or join new clans via their trials. But establishing a new clan means cutting ties. New beginnings. You aren’t expected to forget the past or anything, but it’s acknowledged that those people, their places and traditions, are your past, and that your new territory and people are home, under your protection.”
“Not like we have past to go back to,” Lopez snorted, dangling from a branch upside down by his knees. “That’s kinda the point of Phoenix!”
Spider shook his head. “You’re not getting the full picture. You’ve still got Bridgehead. Your orders. Sure, you’re not Earth nationals, but-”
“Whadda ya mean, not nationals?” Zdinarsk snarled, alarmed.
Quaritch raised an eyebrow. “It was in your briefing, soldier. We’ve got no claim on the home world. Never set foot on Earth, never will. We’re considered the ultimate stateless.”
“Technically,” the usually stoic Mansk spoke up, “we’re not even considered people. We’re assets . Read it in the contract when I was stuck in medical before our orientation. The locals are hostiles, we’re assets, and the human soldiers are fodder. They barely even hid it under any legalese. It was all right there.”
Prager joins Zdinarsk in paling - despite how that's sort of his default state. The pair glance at one another. They don't speak their thoughts, but Spider gets the sense that under the surface of that silence, they'd still held onto some hope that they would go home to Earth after this, no matter the biological differences.
Quaritch works his jaw. “We all knew what this was,” he eventually grits out. “Penance for past sins, a path to vengeance…” but there something about it rings hollow. The fire isn’t in his eyes nor his voice. Spider struggles not to reach for him. That only confuses him more. “Alright. So you break from the old ways. What next?”
Lyle reassembles and stows his weapon as Spider clears his throat and resumes teaching, “Uniltaron. The dream hunt. It’s part of becoming an adult anyway, but you need the vision to see your future clan, your territory. If you survive, you have to go to the territory’s Tree of Souls, and make yourself known to Eywa. If you don’t already have a speaker among you, She will send a sign about who She’s chosen as Tsahìk or Olo’eyktan. Once you’ve got at least one, they can perform the initiation ceremony and welcome new members into the clan. Each member becomes the head of their Family - it's part of the origin of names.”
“You ever get one of those? A Na’vi name?”
Spider shies away from Quaritch’s gaze. “Not technically. I know what it is, but because I’ve never been given the sacred rites, I’m - unnamed.”
“What is it, then?”
“...Once you’ve named your clan, I’ll tell you.”
Quaritch goes awful quiet, thinking on that, and many other things, it seems. After a time, he rolls onto his back and tugged the rim of the hammock closed. “Get sleep. We’ll get to work on this vision quest in the morning.”
He doesn't let himself wonder - let alone hope - that Quaritch might be willing to undergo all of this, just so he could learn his kid’s name. So he could be there for his naming. Spider can’t connect to the Tree of Souls, but the least he could do is share this with his dad's big blue imitation. And if that takes the entire Recom unit out from under the RDA’s thumb, well… Something tells him that it might not be an unwanted outcome.