Chapter 32
Avery
I’m still not sure what to make of it all.
And those bloodlines continued, long after the clones were dead.
Fenrir’s Mark has persisted all that time, and now we’ve passed it on to our children.
Vivar, at least. The heir to Ivar’s throne.
I’m not sure if my daughters are much different from me.
They look like me in some ways. Sometimes I see my mom, especially in Revna’s eyes.
They’re descendants of Earth, for better or worse.
“They’re trying to communicate with us,” Erik says. “I’m going to open a channel.”
Ivar puts the ship in hover mode while Erik taps on the control panel. A face appears on the screen in front of us. He doesn’t look like a Viking. He’s clean-cut, his beard is neatly trimmed, and he’s wearing a suit and tie. He looks more like a politician from Earth than a space Viking.
“I am Haggard. President of Midgard. You’re in an Intergalactic Alliance ship, but your signal doesn’t match theirs. Explain yourselves.”
“My name is Ivar. These are my brothers, Erik and Sigurd. We seek refuge. Our mate and children are traveling with us,” Ivar says, moving so that Haggard can see me.
“What happened to your home?” Haggard asks.
“Our home is called Midgard, like yours,” Ivar answers.
“It was wiped out by a plague, but the adults with Fenrir’s Mark survived.
I’m one of the four royal bloodlines from our world.
We ran into some trouble with the Intergalactic Alliance and now one of their warships is hovering over our Midgard. ”
“We don’t want more trouble with the Intergalactic Alliance, but if you have Fenrir’s Mark, then you are brothers to us,” Haggard says. “And we would never abandon children. I will send coordinates so you can land your ship. Wait onboard until I arrive.”
“Understood,” Ivar says.
The communication ends and Erik punches in the coordinates once they are sent to us. We approach Midgard 13 slowly, circling the planet until we’re lined up with the location we’re expected to land.
“At least it’s a better welcoming than we got on Mallow,” Erik mutters.
“We should still proceed with caution,” Sigurd warns. “From what we know of our history, we rarely trusted outsiders. We don’t know how they will be here, even if they offer us refuge.”
“Something needs to go our way for a change,” Ivar says. “They appear to be more advanced than we were, even before the plague. And we’re not here to cause trouble. We just need somewhere to regroup.”
“The Intergalactic Alliance does not classify Midgard 13 as a risk,” Erik says. “They are no longer raiders. Seems they’ve moved beyond that and conduct more trade than pillaging or plundering.”
“The guy on the screen said he was the president. Where I’m from, presidents are normally elected,” I say. “But ours rarely greeted visitors personally, unless they were important.”
“They take in refugees. That’s in their profile,” Erik says.
“Are they labeled as one of the utopia worlds?” I question. “By the Intergalactic Alliance standards?”
“They are. Utopia 124,” Erik confirms.
“That’s promising. Except they said Earth was one, too, and there were still plenty of problems,” I say. “Still has to be better than Mallow.”
Hope is the only thing we have at this point. Hope that we’ll find refuge. Food. Lodging so I can care for our children. Taking care of them is my top priority right now. I’ve barely gotten to hold them since I gave birth.
Ivar guides the ship to the coordinates. It looks like a rather large airport, except all the planes look like spaceships. I feel a twinge of nervousness as we descend, but if this world is safe, it’s better than getting shot down by an Intergalactic Alliance warship.
Once we’re on the ground and have turned the ship off, we see another ship approaching.
It’s black with gray accents, and there are flags on the side, each one of them painted with black or dark blue designs.
Flags for what I assume are multiple countries.
Or states. I’m not sure how things are organized here.
The ship lands near us and when the doors open, I recognize the man who steps off as President Haggard. He’s got an entourage made up of other men and several women. None of them look like Vikings, but they look similar to how my mates looked after they shaved.
“Open the doors,” Erik says.
The doors hiss when they open and President Haggard walks onto the ship. He doesn’t bring any of his security, if that’s what his entourage consists of. He makes eye contact with me for a moment, then smiles when he sees the babies.
“Are they triplets?” he asks.
“They are,” I say, moving the blankets so he can see their faces.
“Glory be,” he says, looking around. “Okay, you appear to be who you said you were, so you’re free to exit the ship. I had to be sure. Sometimes appearances can be deceiving, but my wolf recognizes yours.”
“Mine is restless, but calm,” Sigurd says. “Just like he normally is around those with Fenrir’s Mark.”
“It’s very common here,” he says. “Your wolves will be in good company.”
We get up from our seats. Each of my mates takes a baby and I hold onto Sigurd as we exit the ship. I’m still weak and weary from everything, but I’m sticking close to my mates and my babies. I thought I’d never see them again.
President Haggard leads us off the ship. More ships arrive, and I tense up, but they don’t seem to be threatening. Everyone who steps off them is smiling and seemingly happy to make our acquaintance.
“I’ve arranged for you to stay at one of our mansions,” President Haggard tells us. “I’ll give you time to get settled, but I’ll arrange for us to have dinner together in a few days. I’d love to hear more about your Midgard. Then we can discuss how long you will need refuge.”
“Thank you,” Ivar says. “Truly.”
A woman walks up to us with a device in her hand that looks like an iPad or some sort of tablet, but there are holograms hovering over it, similar to the ones that hovered over Morlock’s hand.
She’s wearing a tightly buttoned blue jacket that skims across her frame like it was sewn onto her and forms a skirt around her knees.
I’ve noticed most of the other women wearing similar attire, but different shades of blues, blacks, and dark grays. I don’t see much color around here. Even the grass near the tarmac looks brown, but not dead, like that’s the natural color.
“Hello, I’m Val, and I’m your concierge while you’re guests of President Haggard. Follow me, please.” She turns, prim and proper.
She looks like a supermodel, as do all of the other women. By Earth’s standards at least.
I glance at my mates, and they don’t seem to notice.
Sigurd is looking at me. Ivar is paying attention to what Val says, but rocking our daughter in his arms, more focused on her.
Erik is looking around, like he’s taking everything in, and probably planning something in his head. It has nothing to do with supermodels.
“Nice to meet you, Val. I’m Avery and…” I begin, but she waves a hand over her shoulder.
“No need, I’ve already gotten all the profiles loaded,” she says. “Avery Thomas, also known as Avery Smith. You’re from Earth and recently spent time on Mallow.”
“Wait, how do you know what?” Erik asks, his shoulders tensing.
“Memory scans,” she replies flatly, spinning around when we get to a ship. “After you, please.”
“You scanned our fucking memories?” Sigurd questions, glaring at the woman like he might grab her by the throat if he wasn’t holding Vivar. “Without fucking asking?”
“Standard protocol,” Val answers, still flatly. “Once you landed on Midgard, you became subject to Midgardian rules and regulations, including Regulation 1890, which addresses memory scans for new arrivals.”
“You know everything about us?” Erik asks angrily.
“No, I am only allowed access to basic profile information, which has been collected. Once we get you to the mansion, you’ll be provided a copy and you may make any modifications you would like,” she says, a lilt of understanding in her voice.
“You can even ask for it to be deleted. Our intelligence protocols have already deemed you friend, not foe. You will be treated as such.”
“Fine,” Ivar says. “We’re tired, we’re hungry, and our mate needs to rest.”
Sigurd growls at Val as he walks on board, and I move with him. Erik gets on next, followed by Ivar, then Val. The door closes, we find our seats, and it barely even feels like we’re moving when it takes off. It’s smoother than backing my car out of the driveway.
The seats are large and plush. It feels similar to the beanbag chair at the refugee center, but I’m practically being swallowed by comfort now. If I closed my eyes, I could pass out, if there wasn’t still a lot of tension in the air.
I want this to be true. Luxury, if only for a short while. Maybe some medicine. Formula for the babies, because I haven’t been eating enough to feed three, and they have to be starving. I have no idea what they fed them at the hospital when I was drugged and barely able to think.
I have to not just want but believe this is true. We’ve been through so much. Everything has been upended. We just need to fucking rest.
Erik asks a few more questions, but I have trouble focusing on them.
Vivar cries part of the way, and I take him from Sigurd, but that doesn’t help.
Then Ivar switches with me, and the next thing I know, Vivar is quiet.
He’s the heir, even if Sigurd put him in my belly.
I guess he knows who he has to be nice to.
When we reach the city, I look out the windows in awe.
It resembles a futuristic Washington, DC.
Except the name on the signs call it Valhalla.
Heaven, shaded gray. Their version of the White House is a gigantic Gray Viking Hall.
The Viking influences are there, but it’s beyond modern by my standards.