Flora and Fauna {Semi-Open?}

[Jen]

Sliding the pads his fingers along the outer rim of the glass, the dimly lit container of the newly born Avatars began to morph into their alternative bodies. Vincent carried his personal clipboard from room to room, decades of hard work and struggle landed the scientist head spot at the recreation program. Creating Avatars solely for the scientific exploration of Pandora; in turn they recreated the bond with the Na’vi—or at least, attempted to. In an attempt to pursue Pandora’s mysteries, and yet the man found little to nothing about it purely scientific. Pulling up his hologram chart, the elder geneticist slid three fingers over the thin surface. Images of the current Avatar’s bodily functions displayed before him; protein up .49 milligrams, carbon-fiber bones were producing and syncing in at .6099 density rate. Meaning that the entire skeleton would be complete in about three weeks, a personal record for the scientist and his (sometimes less then cooperative) team. It took a team to create multiple Avatars, but if one man could create just one on his own—it would have been Vincent Fernandez. While he enjoyed creating the beings, monitoring them and morphing them to be faster, stronger, better then what they could be naturally; Vincent ironically neglected his own.

He loathed being in his Avatar body, and at times refused to be within it—or go outside. His natural tan was wavering, but at least he was doing what he loved. Chewing the underside of his thumb, Vincent again swiped his fingers over the board causing it to go blank. His Avatars were perfect, as always—at first opening the old file from the past had been something of a challenge to his genius, only later did he find out it wasn’t enough. The man had begun to dab into the fauna of Pandora, sampling the DNA of plants; RNA of their pollen and cells. Picking out one of his vials on the far right desk near the mixing tray, the man tilted it to the side; observing the pulpy strand of tissue that held the genetic code within. Sliding on a pair of gloves and goggles; the lab coat was closed and he began the intense studious habits he was known for. Pulling charges of electrons and waves, he spliced the DNA into two positive and negatively charged ions. Some falura, he had found—absorbed the waves, while others conducted it. Doing a ranged test on Bioluminescence had been dangerous, but the more he pulled and prodded; the more secrets and answers pored from the world around him.

Now he understood what Grace Augustine had written within her notes. ‘You may come to love it too much,’ but Vincent did not love it. It was rare he felt such emotions for anything. It was simply a challenge, something he could use as a puzzle; his brain had always adored a nice mind-twister. Humming lowly to him self, a smile began to form over his lips. A belated, amused one that intoxicated the air around him with an aura of isolation. His work was the only thing keeping him sane, and while he dabbled more into plants and genetics then occasional Na’vi and fauna; Vincent did so to keep his tablet free of worries.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Vincent mumbled, arising from his work as he studied the oncoming light from outside. Another all-nighter, but that wasn’t something coffee and naps couldn’t fix. “My production of Avatars has picked up pace, but the numbers aren’t matching.” Something stunk on Pandora, was all of this honestly for science now? He did not want to go back to Earth, that was for sure—but he wasn’t a distinctly happy man here either. Happiness is not for genius, we have no opinions; that’s the first rule of genetics. He’d become obsessed after reading the book on Pandora, but now that he was here; Vincent found it differed not at all from most of Earth. The Na’vi were not special creatures, conscious made them just as dirty as human beings—his interest in them was belittling, while most that came and requested Avatar’s thought they were simply the bees’ knees. Scoffing openly, the man simply shrugged his shoulders and decided to get back to work.

“I had best stop such a wild train of thought,” he spoke aloud to himself. As if trying to trigger his other conscious into not interrupting his observation of the electro-shock experimental procedures; “nothing is interesting without mystery. What’s so interesting about a species that can tell you all the answers? Foolish--.” Then again, most people were in this era. Falling back into silence, his swift hands made quick use of the instruments below.

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[• Aerys •]

Although he thoroughly enjoyed what little teaching he did on Pandora, Wolfe was grateful for the days he had off to mill about the compound itself. He wasn’t particularly fond of tagging along after scientists, or peering over their shoulders as they did their job. It seemed like boring, menial work, but that didn’t stop the young historian from exploring the laboratory and its satellite areas. Still, the limited number of bodies on the planet meant a fair divvying up of the work, and unfortunately Wolfe wasn’t above delivering and shuttling samples across the complex.

Not that studying the work of the other scientists was entirely pointless; on several occasions he had been able to glean some useful information from their work, little nuances that gave insight into the Na’vis’ behavior. The neural network that seemed to span the entire breadth of the planet was of no interest to him, just the profound faith these people had in Eywa. Handing out test results and the like wasn’t exactly productive, but duty was duty and money was money. The last thing he really wanted was to be shipped off the planet because of laziness and refusal to obey his superiors.

So it was with a trolley of test tubes and Petri dishes that Wolfe slowly wound his way around the facility, dropping off materials to various scientists. Most were preoccupied by their tasks at hands, murmuring distant “thanks” before drowning in their work again. Wolfe didn’t seem to mind the fleeting interaction; the faster he finished this mundane chore, the faster he could get to lunch and get into his stash of alcohol back in his room.

It was nearing noon by the time he had emptied most of the trolley, the remaining samples belonging to names he didn’t recognize, and a set of papers marked to one Vincent Fernandez, a geneticist. Bryant hadn’t had much of any need to venture into that particular section of the lab, though from what he remembered from the briefing sessions, this was where the actual avatar vessels were conceived and nurtured.

He stopped the trolley outside of the room and keyed in the appropriate code, waiting patiently as the soft hiss of a sliding door filled the quiet corridor. The air inside was chilled, sterile, and for a moment Wolfe didn’t see anyone upon his first inspection. A flurry of movement caught his eye, however, and the boy turned to negotiate the aisles and approach the man.

“Are you Vincent Fernandez?” he asked, brandishing the packet of papers. After a curt nod he flashed the man a smile, hand outstretched. “These are for you. And I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Bryant Wolfe, historian.”