THE LAST MIDGARDIAN


COLLECTION


The Owner paced the aisles of exhibits with hunched shoulders and slow, staccato footsteps. In the aftermath of what Jane came to think of as "The Incident with Winged Death," the Owner walked as if gravity had increased beneath his feet or that he waded through day-old bubblegum. His horde of pristinely pink, short-skirted, pig-tailed Keepers scattered out of his way like cockroaches before his penetrating light. His voice gained two decibels of heat when he summoned them back to do his bidding.

Nothing brought him out of his glowering mood. Not the birth of another three-headed serpent nor the acquisition of twenty balls of fur (which so aptly resembled tribbles that Jane had to wonder if Star Trek had more real-life inspiration than she previously thought possible). His inspection of his museum continued as punctually and predictably as before, but each empty cage he passed only made his mood darken.

After the Visitors came, his mood improved.

Jane woke before meal time that day in that timeless, seasonless hall. Her ears perked up at the sounds which trickled through the museum like water through a crack in a desert cave.

Recognizable words.

For a moment she thought she was dreaming. She felt something akin to humanity at the delicious syllables which communicated meaning to her semiotically-starved consciousness...until she discovered the source.

The Aesir man and a woman strode through the central aisle of the museum with all the confidence of emissaries sure their whims would be obeyed. They wore full Asgardian armor under their traveling cloaks and they did not bother to notice the many living beings they passed through the maze-like exhibits.

"Will we return in time for the victory feast?" the man, the elder of the pair, asked through a thick, red beard.

The woman rolled her eyes. "I do not believe this will take long. The King has already made the arrangements. We are only the delivery service."

She knew them. Of course, she would know them. Her moment of exaltation fizzled like day old soda. They were speaking the All-Tongue - that mystical language that effortlessly translated all languages in existence. When they spoke, the chasm between signifier and signified dispersed entirely, regardless of which realms or species or planets or peoples they were communicating with. She spent decades in awe of it...only to be told she could never learn it and was not even permitted to try. It was another thing - like their technological magic and their traversable Einstein-Rosen Bridges - which they allowed the humble earthlings to gawk at and praise, but never, ever replicate.

"You are biologically incapable," they said, whenever she asked and insisted that she wished to try.

"How can you know that if no Midgardian has ever been allowed to try?" she asked again and again, but with no success. She came to wonder if they genuinely believed that, or it was just another way to make sure Earth gratefully stayed under their "protection."

Here, two of Asgard's most illustrious "protectors" were now walking past her cage, two rows away from her. It was the Lady Sif and the Lord Volstagg, the honored companions of the Aesir prince, Jane realized with a rush of humiliation. She gasped and turned her back to them as quickly as she could, hoping they did not notice her. Even if Jane had never crossed paths with the pair in Asgard, she would have recognized their faces.

The Lady Sif's face had plastered every newsreel, internet headline, and fashion magazine for a decade after the Asgardian envoys first burst into public view. Her clothing choices inspired global fashion from Paris to Buenos Aires-regardless of practicality or appearance. The heavy armor, while light to an Aesir, made movement difficult for weaker human women and even when replicates were made out of lighter materials, they constricted movement so much that they were banned in certain cities. Earth kids time and again were chastised for imitating Sif's hidden knives and swords...even blunt ones...and despite their protest, they were deemed "inappropriate decorations" at most school dances.

Jane first met the Asgardian warrioress in the great banquet hall in the palace in Asgard. Sif had been a stunning image of exotic gems and yards of gilded fabric. She gave Jane what was probably supposed to be a warm welcome, but any warmth in it was forgotten in the chill of successive interactions.

It was a historic day for Earth. The Aesir meticulously crafted their guest list for the first "Inter-realm Peace and Trade Alliance" conference. Guests were invited based on relative usefulness to Aesir objectives and their prestige on Midgard. Only the best, brightest, and most beautiful made the list and Jane spent the entire week feeling like she didn't belong. She warranted an invite due to her recent Nobel prize. Her work creating indigenous wormhole technology for earth gained the notice of Aesir ambassadors and they invited her to the exclusive feast. She jumped at the opportunity to visit another planet, regardless of the reason for her invitation then sat at dinners alongside prime ministers, princes, CEO's, and business executives.

Jane took advantage of the time to soak in everything and learn as much as she could about their technology and astronomy and eschatology and biology and anything else she could get her hands on…and she may have dissected a magic toaster or two, just for the fun of it. She was too busy overindulging her curiosity to feel self-conscious about her presence among so many of Earth's Rich and Famous….until the morning she shared breakfast with the pope. Then she decided she had better at least take a selfie or Darcy would never forgive her.

The earthlings wined and dined and paraded around the "Eternal City" and shown the "glory of Asgard" for a week. They were shown the finest products for export, a sampling of Aesir technological advances, and a full array of weaponry and then ushered into a forum on trade deals, treaty negotiations, and political alliances. At the end of the week, the Midgardian guests were sent back home to Earth to "tell the others" what they had seen and encourage more "partnerships" with Asgard.

Jane did not return home with the others. It was then she was offered the opportunity to "continue research in Asgard" and "refine her Midgardian science with Asgardian technology." It was an offer she couldn't refuse. If she had known she would never see Earth again, she would have packed differently. Her iPhone definitely would have had two chargers and she would have made sure to pack a photo of her entire family that last Christmas.

Not like it mattered now. In the low lights of the museum, she could easily see everything she owned: a semi-opaque white toga that fell from one shoulder to her knees over her ageless body. That was all she had...and even that was debatable.

Where had all her belongings ended up? Her notebook hurt the worst. Was it filed away in an Aesir vault, kept under lock-and-key so another Aesir could claim her ideas as their own (like her Nobel prize-winning work from Earth)? Or had her life's work been tossed over the endless expanse into the Void? Perhaps her notebook remained exactly where she had left it: under her pillow in her small room in the Observatory.

Not that she could do much with her notebook now. It was full of the dreams and theories of someone who thought she could change the world. She was now longer than scientist. Still, she wished she had it with her. She would have liked to read it. She would have liked to read anything. Her mind felt like it was disintegrating into Jell-O mush with so little to exercise it with. She feared her physical muscles were just as atrophied.

She hid her face in her knees, ashamed for the Aesir nobles to see her like this...reduced from Midgardian minion to zoo animal.

She doubted Volstagg would meet her presence with anything but ambivalent politeness and infuriatingly patronizing kindness. The large, cheerful man had barely noticed her existence but had, on occasion, proved a useful ally on a solitary night walk through the less palatable parts of the Eternal City.

The famed warrioress of Asgard was a different story.

The Lady Sif could withstand the weapons of a thousand enemies without flinching, yet be felled at a word or look of her beloved Aesir prince. She was impermeable, unshakeable, invincible...until it came to the sacred space in her heart in which she harbored her unrequited love for the heir of Asgard. He was her driving motivation and her weakness, her Achilles heel and her battle muse. Everyone seemed to acknowledge this except for the object of her affection, who barely noticed the woman as anything other than another soldier and honored companion-at-arms.

And that is how Jane Foster, Midgardian "research assistant", gained a formidable enemy in the ranks of the prince's most honored entourage. In Jane's last few years on Asgard, what she came to think of as "the beginning of the end," she was only too well-acquainted with the face and temper of the Aesir noblewoman. Jane found out the hard way that the temporary fancy of the Prince of Asgard carried with it in tow the ire of the formidable Lady Sif. Jane unintentionally gained both an unwanted admirer and a merciless enemy all in one unfortunate day and it made her last days on Asgard a living hell.

Jane would rather hide in a vat of those deadly winged centipedes than face the Lady Sif like this, in this place, stripped of the last remnants of her humanity. So, she hid her face in her knees and hoped the transparent glass would not give her away.

They did not see her, she thought as they passed by two rows away. They carried with them what appeared to be a rectangular lamp glowing with an eerie red light. Their footsteps and quiet whispers reverberated off the walls and echoed in the halls where most creatures, enjoying the lull in visitors, slept.

A Keeper skittered up to them to greet them with her arms clasped at strict, unnatural angles in front of her.

"We wish to see The Collector," Volstagg told her and her dainty steps and faux smile led them the remainder of the way through the museum to where Jane could just make out the tousled white tuft of the Owner's head.

The Collector. An apt title for the strange man. Jane thought to herself. That would make her part of his Collection. Somehow, that made it worse. A museum or zoo has an air of display for the common good and the education of the ignorant, but curious masses. A "collection" had the sterile, personalized quality about it. It reminded her of a hoarder who happens to allow others a peek into his treasure box before hiding it all away in a closet to gather dust.

The trio passed beyond range of her sight and hearing. when the Aesir returned, Sif no longer carried the red lamp. Sif's eye fell upon Jane from a row away and the corner of her perfect mouth curved into a vicious, delighted smile. The Lady Sif did not stop and she did not gain Volstagg's attention, but Jane new she had been seen...and left as she was.

As a trifle in a collection of the universe's cosmic mad hatter.

Jane noticed the blue man watch the visitors pass and when he caught sight of their faces, his expression morphed into one of such revulsion and unrestrained hatred that Jane knew, with absolute certainty, that Sagittarius recognized them. This was not generic prejudice for Aesir but personalized hatred for a past injury suffered at their hands.

Had they crossed paths on his world or in Asgard?

She did not doubt that if he were freed from his cage, blood would have been spilled by his hands. Jane couldn't decide if that bothered her or gave her a sick sense of satisfaction. She preferred not to think upon it further.

She tried not to think at all.

oooooo


Jane never did not know what new trifle the Aesir brought their Owner, but it dominated his attention for weeks. In between his daily inspections of his museum displays, he brought the glowing box out with an almost obsessive regularity to analyze it from every angle. With scanners and magnifying glasses, he stared at it as if he were a master gem cutter and this the greatest diamond of his career. He gazed so deeply into its red glow that Jane wondered if it were some kind of psychedelic trance-inducing device.

The gleam in his eyes after was not one of improved mood and increased peace, but one stirred by an even greater hunger for something not yet obtained. His pacing worsened and his hair grew even more disheveled. A steady stream of uniformed officials and unkempt ruffians cycled in and out in shifts to speak in hushed tones and dark shadows.

Jane suspected the Collector sought to expand his Collection in a new way.

ooooo