Avatar Page #5

One of the dozers has rotating SLASH-CUTTER, a vicious

spinning head, mounted on a hydraulic arm, that hogs through

the enormous tree trunks in a spray of wood-shrapnel.

The heavy machines are escorted by AMPSUITS. COLONEL

QUARITCH, on foot, leads a squad of troopers wearing

breathing masks and carrying almighty big AUTOMATIC WEAPONS.

A BANSHEE -- a fearsome aerial predator -- HURTLES from

above, diving toward them on wings 3 meters across. We get a

glimpse of glassy fangs before --

P-P-POOM! Quaritch cranks off three rapid SHOTS with his

massive sidearm, and the creature drops with a SHRIEK.

It crashes near them and Quaritch FIRES two more well placed

rounds. The newbies stare at the thing's barracuda teeth.

QUARITCH:

For you pogues, this is a banshee. A

small one. See, they like it when I

bring fresh meat out here. And this

clearcutting really stirs up the hornet's

nest. So keep your head on a swivel. If

it moves, shoot it. If you're not sure

it's moving -- shoot it! If it looks like

a bunch of flowers you want to take home

to Sally Rottencrotch -- SHOOT IT!

What're you gonna do?

TROOPERS:

Shoot it, sir!

QUARITCH:

Outstanding. Let's roll.

22.

Quaritch leads his squad into the gloom of the forest, his

eyes scanning. Flanking the squad, LYLE WAINFLEET drives an

AMPSUIT, his massive feet CRASHING through the underbrush.

As his gaze comes down, he sees something ahead of him on the

trail -- an intricate TOTEM of woven sticks, bones and

feathers hanging across the trail like an orb-weaver's web.

He tears it down with the barrel of his rifle, and stomps it

into the mud as he moves on.

INT. AVATAR LONGHOUSE - DUSK

Jake sits on a wooden bed in a long hut of tropical-style

construction -- beamed ceiling, open sides covered by screen.

Around him the other avatars are bedding down for the night,

pulling insect netting around their cots. In one hand, Jake

holds the end of his long braided QUEUE of hair.

CLOSE ON the queue -- the ends of the hair writhe slowly with

their own life, like tendrils of a sea creature.

JAKE:

That's kinda freaky.

GRACE switches off the overheads.

GRACE:

Lights out amigos. See ya' at dinner.

Jake sits in the twilight, listening to the SCREECHES and

HOOTS from the forest. Finally he lies down, CLOSING HIS

EYES and --

INT. LINK ROOM - NIGHT

ECU HUMAN JAKE -- his eyes OPEN.

Jake blinks, disoriented, as Max opens the upper clamshell of

his link unit.

In the next chair Grace sits up, yawning and cracking her

neck as the scared tech runs to her with a lit cigarette.

GRACE:

(looking down)

Damn. Same old sack a' bones.

JAKE struggles with the dead weight of his legs as he hauls

himself out of the unit.

CUT TO:

23.

INT. COMMISSARY - EARLY MORNING

JAKE sits with GRACE, NORM and the other avatar "drivers",

while around them miners, troopers and other base personnel

wolf their breakfasts. Grace is engaged in a heated

conversation with another SCIENTIST.

Jake, isolated from the conversations around him, notices --

PILOT TRUDY CHACON approaching, dressed in her flight suit.

She's a rock-hard former Marine with thousands of flight

hours out in the badlands.

TRUDY:

Sully -- Colonel wants to see you in the

Armor Bay.

Jake gives Norm a puzzled glance and pivots from the table.

He wheels away, led by Trudy.

TIGHT ON GRACE, scowling as she watches him go.

CUT TO:

INT. ARMOR BAY - MORNING

JAKE AND TRUDY enter the ARMOR BAY, passing TILT-ROTORS under

repair. There are the heavily armed SCORPIONS as well as

several SA-2 SAMSON work-horses outfitted with door guns and

rocket pods.

JAKE:

You guys're packing some heavy ordinance.

TRUDY:

Yeah, `cause we're not the only thing

flyin' around out there. Or the biggest.

I'm gonna need you on a door gun, I'm a

man short.

JAKE:

Yeah, no problem.

She extends her fist and he taps it with his.

TRUDY:

See ya on the flight-line, zero nine.

(she points)

He's down there.

Jake rolls his chair along the central gallery of the Armor

Bay, passing rows of AMPSUITS standing in service racks.

Techs clamber over the `suits, loading ordinance with cranes

and lifts.

24.

At the end of the row is a makeshift GYM area. QUARITCH is

bench-pressing massive plates.

QUARITCH:

This low gravity makes you soft.

(pushing the last rep)

You get soft, Pandora will sh*t you out

dead with zero warning.

Quaritch racks the bar and sits up, sweating but not winded.

QUARITCH:

I pulled your record, Corporal. Venezuela

-- that was some mean bush. Nothing like

this here, though. You got heart kid,

coming out here.

JAKE:

I figured -- just another hellhole.

Quaritch chuckles appreciatively, claps him on the shoulder.

The CHIEF MECHANIC yells from the nearest AMPSUIT --

MECHANIC:

That servo's in, Colonel, if you want to

try it.

Quaritch crosses to the `suit, with Jake following.

QUARITCH:

I was in First Recon a few years ahead of

you. More than a few. Two tours in

Nigeria, not a scratch. I come out here

and --

He points to his scarred face.

QUARITCH:

They could fix this if I rotated back.

But you know what? I kinda like it.

Reminds me every day what's out there.

Besides, I can't leave --

He looks out, as if he can see through the wall to the tree-

line.

QUARITCH:

This is my war, here.

Quaritch climbs the `suit and reaches into the cockpit,

throwing some switches. The `suit's gas-turbine spools up

with a rising WHINE.

25.

QUARITCH:

The avatar program is a joke -- buncha

limpdick scientists. But we have a

unique opportunity here, you and I. A

recon Marine in an avatar body could get

me the intel I need, on the ground, right

in the hostiles' camp.

The WHINE is now a roaring WHOOSH as the `suit trembles with

power. The air boils above the exhaust vents.

Quaritch reaches in and operates the controls, flexing one

huge hand. He nods to the waiting mechanic --

QUARITCH:

Looks good.

(to Jake)

I need you to learn about these savages,

gain their trust. Find out how I can

force their cooperation, or hit `em hard

if they don't. Maybe you can keep some

of my boys from going home like you. Or

bagged-and-tagged.

JAKE:

(NODDING)

That sounds real good, Colonel. So -- am

I still with Augustine?

QUARITCH:

On paper. You walk like one of her

science pukes, you quack like one, but

you report to me. Can you do that for

me?

Jake nods. Quaritch brings the `suit to life. He steps

forward and pivots smoothly.

He balances the two ton machine on one foot while sweeping

the arms in strong, graceful arcs. Jake realizes he is doing

a WU-SHOO KATA. A flawless display of strength and control.

He's impressive, and Jake is impressed. Quaritch is the kind

of man he respects -- focused, hard. Determined.

QUARITCH:

Look, son -- I take care of my own. Get

me what I need, I'll see you get your

legs back when you rotate home. Your real

legs.

He raises the `suit's hand, and slams the canopy shut like

the visor of a helmet. Jake watches Quaritch walk past, huge

feet CLANGING -- KUNG! KUNG! KUNG!

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