TTDW-INTERLUDE: ONE FLEW INTO THE CUCKOO'S NEST
Selvig stood with a satisfied grin on his face as he watched the last of his clothes disappear into the fireplace. He finally felt free: of Loki, of Asgard, of Ch'tauri, of Avengers, of everything. For the first time in many long weeks, he could feel more like himself.
But it didn't last. Slowly the confusion set in again, the sensation that all the data was still in his head—if only he could connect the dots.
Damn the Avengers! he thought, not for the first time. While it hadn't been pleasant having that mischief-maker controlling his mind, they could have at least kept him around long enough to have all these questions answered, these random equations put together, these strange symbols explained. There was so much Loki could have taught him, even if was just to point him in the right direction...
Selvig sighed wearily. The odd javelin-shaped piece of equipment he had started was a total loss; he had no idea what it was, let alone how to finish it or use it. Meaningless words floated across his vision, views of bizarre worlds that could only come from the imagination of a twisted mind, and the single phrase that somehow linked them all:
"MIDGARD IS AT THE APEX OF THE CONVERGENCE."
Eirik slammed his fist on the table again, letting loose another rash of curses known only in the deepest bowels of the Asgard underworld. Klint and Randir lifted their steins just in time to avoid having the round of ale topple onto the floor of the lab, sparing themselves the need to clear another mess. Looking at each other, they both shrugged and sighed resignedly. There was no point trying to talk to him until the temper had passed.
In seconds Eirik sat down, his thick red braid whipping the air as his head went from side to side in frustration.
"How can he continue to refuse?" he demanded again. "Surely the All-Father cannot be so blind…so stupid that he ignores the obvious answer to the danger Malekith has brought upon us!"
Klint finished his draught, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then tapped his finger thoughtfully. "No," he said at last, his voice filled with sadness. "I fear this goes beyond a simple lack of understanding about what we propose."
Randir nodded. "Aye," he murmured, his own eyes growing misty. "He hasn't been the same since she…since her…"
"…and in their own bedchamber, too," Klint added bitterly. "No, this goes much deeper. Perhaps part of him blames the Midgard woman and he wishes to see them all perish."
Eirik's green eyes flashed angrily. "We have all lost loved ones in the attack," he growled, his own pain still clearly etched in the deep burns on his cheek. "But his decision means doom for the entirety of the Nine Realms! Whatever his loss, he at least has his son alive—more than many of us, I can tell you…"
His voice trailed as it tried to shut out the vision of his own youngest receiving a crushing blow from a Dark Elf guardian; the worst of it was that not only could he not protect his son, but the mindless brute stepped on the body as he turned to fire yet again. Eirik had lost his mind at that instant, dodging the weapon that only grazed him and separating the head from the body of the momentarily stunned soldier.
Worse, his wife had been outside the perimeter, helping as many as she could to get back to the relative safety of the city…only to be torn apart by a strafing run from one of the ships. His daughter, away on distant guard duty around Sector 17, had done her best to return to help—but too late. In her grief she sped away as soon as the funeral rites ended, and even now he had no idea where her emptiness had taken her.
Eirik felt Randir's heavy hand on his shoulder in comfort. 'We all grieve," he affirmed, his gravelly voice wistful. "I daresay none of us will ever fully recover. I can't think of a worse attack even in my grandfather's time. I have no song to outlay praises to the fallen."
His words faded as his own pain resurfaced. Eirik patted his hand gratefully. "Perhaps it would be best that I walk alone for a while," he murmured, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "We may not be able to bring back what has been lost, but we can surely find a way to prevent further destruction."
Klint's thick brows furrowed. "Without the permission of the All-Father? I don't see how."
Eirik stood, shrugging into his mantle and pausing at the door. "Neither do I," he agreed. "But something must come to one of us—or we may all be lost."
He stepped out and turned away before the others could say more. The ache in his heart seemed to burst within him, over and over until he feared he would drown in his own misery. As he wandered through the streets, however, the true cost of the catastrophe began to diminish his own loss. When turning toward home, he noted that the carnage lay in a near perfect straight line to the palace—meaning that the Dark Elves knew from the outset the location of their prey. In a strange way, he could almost understand their desire to see their own world made whole again…but not like this.
He was surprised to find that the lab attached to his house was nearly untouched. The thought of being in those once cheerful rooms alone was more than he cared to face. Instead, Eirik waved the lab door open, relieved that the smoke and ash from outside had not permeated the thick walls of his workshop. Once sealed, it was as if the terror did not exist; the sounds of death, pain, destruction and desolation were almost shades of a bad dream. He shed his cloak, letting it and the useless weapon belt drop to the floor. Seating himself at the table, he felt tears pull at the corners of his eyes, and this time he did not stop them.
It seemed an eternity until his body stopped sobbing; looking up, darkness had appeared in silent stealth. Wiping his face with a sheet of parchment, Eirik called for the lights to appear. He sat frozen for several moments, uncertain where to start his search for answers; finally, he decided to learn from recent history and allow the actions of the royal family at least provide a diversion.
The memory system was, thankfully, also in tact. Eirik randomly choose to view Loki's "trial", such as it was, and look into just what had caused Odin to want him executed. He had always been friends with the prince; as they were growing up, neither of them were especially gifted in the arts of war, so he understood why Loki felt so alone and outcast surrounded by such warriors. He had heard the rumors of who Loki's real parents were, but found it hard to believe, and that shape shifting ability of his had come in handy more than once when they both needed to be out of the range of Thor's temper or fit of pique.
He set the machine for a few minutes after Thor had been sent to retrieve his wayward brother for the trial. He was only mildly surprised at the ease with which he gained this access; it seemed no one had found time to delete the records. At least something positive came from this attack, he thought bitterly.
In scant seconds he had the view of the scene…and even without sound, Thor's anger and pain were apparent. He could also see Loki's conflicting feelings as well, along with confusion and contempt at Thor's determined devotion to Midgard. But it was the mention of a human scientist—befriended by Thor and whose mind Loki had infiltrated—that gave him the realization that there might be a way to circumvent the All-Father's edict just as his heir had done.
Picking up the link-sys, he dared hope it too was still operable. Asgard was not well known for its automated communications, and this encoded unit was limited to Eirik and other scientists, along with the handful of alchemists they consulted in secret. The pale flashing told him all he needed, and he excitedly sent his friends a brief message of promise.
Randir was about to crawl over the rubble of the tavern, thankful that its remote location in the shadow of a hillside had saved it from damage, when he felt Klint hold him back. He looked at him quizzically until he saw the insistent blink from Klint's scabbard. They both grinned in hopeful eagerness; sooner than they expected, it seemed that Eirik had formed an idea. Klint read the brief message, and the two of them knew their ale date would need to wait.
Asgard's guardian clearly appeared in no mood for company. He whirled swiftly when the three approached, as if anticipating arrest and removal after admitting to helping Thor's escape with Loki. They did their best to show due respect without fear, trying not to wither beneath the guardian's icy gaze. Having lost many friends along with his daughter still missing, the gatekeeper's manner was colder than ever. Even their attempts at humor were met with mistrustful burning regard. Finally Eirik could stand the silence no longer, and stepping forward, explained their purpose.
The guardian frowned. "Does this plan have the approval of the All-Father?" his voice thundered. Yet they could see in his eyes that he already knew the answer.
Eirik shook his head, knowing that it was pointless to lie. "No, my lord," he admitted. "I fear Lord Odin will not hear us; his heart is still torn over…I mean…"
Heimdall raised his head, eyes closing as he turned slightly. "I cannot disobey my sovereign again," he said stonily. "What you ask seems…unwise. Midgardians cannot be trusted with their own weapons, yet you would give them such power?"
"Not all, my lord," Randir corrected. "Only the one that Odin-son seems to trust as dependable. Like us, he is a seeker of knowledge, and can be guided in how to best use the device."
"That, and he has been once touched by Loki," Klint added. "His mind already has Asgardian thought patterns flowing through it. We would merely…adjust a few of them to make the weapon that may be able to help us all."
Eirik agreed. "It isn't as though we have never influenced them in the past," he reminded the watcher. "Long ago we sent humans visions on a regular basis. Thanks to Loki, we now have one who would accept an explanation of some of the random ideas that as of now make little sense to him. As soon as the danger passes, he would likely spend his entire life trying to understand what he made—which will at least give him peace and purpose—but we will have the memory fade, seeming little more than a dream."
Heimdall gave a deep frown. "Yet there are others who may obtain the devices and fathom their uses—to the detriment of many lives," he reminded them. He began to shake his head, the helmet gleaming against the backdrop of stars. "I well understand your motives…but I cannot allow this," he said finally.
Klint and Randir slumped resignedly, feeling that the king's guard had given the final word. But Eirik was not easily dissuaded. Stepping up to the platform, he brazenly met Heimdall face to face. Though similar in size and build, Heimdall's reputation was usually enough to cause even the strongest fighter to think twice; yet Eirik was determined to have his case heard.
"My Lord…" Eirik began, keeping as much emotion out of his voice as he could. "We have all paid dearly these days. There is no way to count the losses, and as we rebuild, there will be more times of mourning. But if we stand by and do nothing…if we await the good graces of the king alone, whose loss is beyond measure…we will lose everything, and the death of those we love will have truly been in vain."
The golden flecks of Heimdall's eyes flashed furiously, but he said nothing.
"This may be our only chance," Klint offered. "The convergence draws ever closer, and the human must have time to build the devices. "
"And if he fails?" Heimdall growled, his eyes never leaving Eirik. "If the devices do not function, or if he does not build them in time? What then?"
"We will have lost nothing, my lord," Randir said softly. "There will be no one to accuse us, since all will be gone."
For an instant, Eirik thought he saw a change in the guardian's eyes, a catch in his throat, a deep breath drawn. But the moment passed, and Heimdall's look hardened. Wordlessly he made it clear that Eirik had stepped into private space; the other man gave a nod of respect and stepped down.
A long silence hung between them, thicker than the dusty gloom hanging over the city. Heimdall looked at each of them in turn, his face unreadable. He smoothly lifted his head toward the open sky.
"I must think on this more deeply."
With slow deliberation he turned away, helmet reflecting against the mechanics of the walls, the control sword standing on its own as he stepped to one side, his thick shoulders bare of armor, arrayed in mourning for the dead.
The three were about to leave in surrender when Eirik brightened suddenly. Heimdall now had his back in their direction; he realized that they now had free access to the one of the communication panels—for as long as the guardian kept his gaze elsewhere.
After no small amount of arguing the details, it took barely a heartbeat for them to locate the tesseract- touched human; there was no disguising the mental signature Loki had left in his mind. They found him rocking gently in his room, holding his head and speaking aloud the mechanical formulas that randomly flashed across his eyes, trying to draw a mental picture of the device that evaded his grasp as soon as it appeared. A single touch of light…a gentle breeze across his ear…the warmth of an understanding hand on his shoulder…and the odd equipment on the table in front of him suddenly made such simple sense he wondered why he had not seen it before.
With a laugh of pride and relief, they grinned as they saw Selvig leap to his feet and accurately draw out the plans for making two more gravimetric spikes.
Having cleared the tavern entrance, righted several tables and wiped off the bar, the three felt they deserved the meal they pulled together. Each promised that they would pay the inn-keeper for everything they ate and drank; but after consuming an entire cooler of meat and cheese, not to mention the honey cakes and dried fruit, they lost track of the cost as well as the amounts.
Of course, none of them mentioned the barrels of ale they managed to drain.
Klint had no recall of his head ever feeling so heavy. Nothing short of pulling it off the table by his hair would force his neck to support it; even that action made him dizzy and nauseated. But it was worth it, he reminded himself with a foolish grin. Their plan had been successful: the Midgardian had the data in his head, was building the devices and knew how to use them.
Of course, now he'd have to figure where to place them…but they couldn't tell him everything. Some information he should be able to glean for himself.
Eirik was behind the counter of the alehouse, still trying to get the tap to give him another refill. As they were alone in the brewery, no one could stop them from celebrating their victory—even if it was premature. But the small keg had been bled dry, and this time even the drops failed to appear.
Randir lay on the table in wasted satisfaction. He had no desire for more food or wine, knowing that in the morning his head would revenge itself as he pitched in with others to clear the city of damage and debris.
"We did it," he slurred when he finally made his tongue work.
"Aye," Eirik replied, reaching over to ruffle the blond hair spread out behind Randir's head. "Now for the hard part: we wait."
Klint surrendered his head to the table, thinking it was as comfortable a pillow as he was likely to find for tonight. "But how do we know he will use it correctly?" he managed to drawl, his voice heavy.
Eirik shrugged, leaning over to rest his head on his arms. "We don't," he replied with a sigh. "But sooner or later Thor will likely be there—I think—and even if he isn't, these Midgardians have shown themselves somewhat capable, even if they are slow and clumsy. "
Randir agreed. "Too late now anyway," he grinned lazily. "Won't know until the Convergence…"
In moments their snores drowned out the sound of the recovering city as it awaited its fate.
The genius trio had long departed before Heimdall slowly returned to his customary position. The stars had only slightly shifted, and their peaceful glitter belied the chaos that still gripped Asgard. He closed his eyes against their beauty, trying yet again to draw his mind away from his own troubles.
With a sigh, he gazed once more toward Midgard, a tiny blue-green speck among the chorus of the universe. Peering closely, he concentrated on a single point of life as it moved with frantic purpose in its space.
Heimdall managed a wide smile. Though he was certain he would pay in some way later-as of this moment the All-Father had not yet removed him from his post despite his treachery—but whatever the cost, it appeared that between Thor's insane plan and the disobedient meddling of the scientists, there was hope for the Nine Realms after all.