by Kate Pearce
Ashleigh wasn’t stupid. She knew at a high level there were negotiations happening about resource mining and health care provisions. Midgard had precious minerals Earth needed; after the Moon War, Earth had a plethora of mobile hospitals and trained medical staff. There were other trade talks as well, too numerous for the digital news alerts to list even if they blasted updates all day long. But they were anyway, because the people on both planets were demanding transparency in the process.
And there would be hell to pay if the MIFEC cells didn’t pave the way for a renewed friendship between two peoples that shared a common ancestry.
Unless the Vikings didn’t want to be friends. Ashleigh stared out the window again. The other significant difference between this port and the one they’d left in Cape Canaveral was traffic. There wasn’t any. The Midgardians had very limited trade relations with their neighbours. The first travellers had headed far into deep space for a reason.
Maybe this was futile.
A faint hissing cracked the air around them as the airlocks to the decontam walkways rolled open. In teams, they proceeded forward through the familiar mist and into the UV therapy chamber.
After the countdown clock on the wall started flashing, they moved into the arrivals hall on the far side. Teams One and Two were already waiting. Team Four would be half an hour behind. Someone needed to invent a magical wand for that nonsense.
Two Midgardian representatives stood with Ashleigh’s commanding officer, Captain Reynolds, some distance from where they all waited. From the briefings, they all knew what to expect. Once they’d assembled, they would meet their counterparts, be taken to the barrack space set aside for their delegation, and this evening there would be a feast in their honour.
The briefing had been clear on what to expect at the feast as well. Lewd displays of sexuality. Excessive consumption of food and drink. They would be expected to partake in the latter and passively observe the former without judgement.
Ashleigh rocked back on her heels and took in the arrivals hall. Glass and rough wood. Modern amenities and historical reference everywhere. A lot like the Midgardians themselves. They wore their hair long and were clothed in anachronistic garb, but the weapons on their hips were strictly twenty-third century technology. The two men talking to the CO were older, in their late thirties or early forties, tall as oak trees and broad as oxen.
“Hot, aren’t they?” Navena murmured in her ear.
They were, if you liked big, bad older men to toss you around in bed. Navena certainly did.
“Try not to sleep with anyone for the first week, okay?”
“It’s not strictly forbidden.”
“Just strongly discouraged.”
Her 2IC made a snorting noise. “Like I care about my career.”
“Well, I care about mine, so keep it zipped.”
“The sacrifices I make for you, my fearless leader.” Navena snickered as Ashleigh shot her a look that said, if we weren’t in public, I’d whoop your ass…
The heavy thud of footfalls announced the rest of the Midgardian welcome delegation. Eight men, each one taller than the last. Ashleigh felt her 2IC stiffen beside her. Their briefings had told them women served beside men, equals in many ways on Midgard, but that wasn’t evidenced by the official liaison crew now spread out in front of them.
The men formed a line across from them, standing in pairs, and Ashleigh could feel Navena’s visceral reaction. Each set of two men seemed to take up the same amount of space as a 4-person FedNat cell. They were huge. Some blond, some darker haired, but all were fair-skinned, which set them apart from most of the FedNat delegation. There were Asian and African settlements on Midgard, but they came later. The planet was huge and the population relatively small, and anyone who didn’t want to observe the ancient customs ended up heading into the galaxy. The irony wasn’t lost on Ashleigh, but she didn’t know if her hosts thought of it the same way.
Her CO and the head of their delegation were still having a quiet conversation in the centre of the hall so she took a moment to let her gaze drift down the line of Viking men. Careful not to pause or stare, she took in their leather- and metal-accented uniforms. Not quite the right word, since uniformity wasn’t a factor. None of them carried the same weapon or wore precisely the same garments. Some had bare arms, displaying tattooed biceps the diameter of small trees. Others had deep V-neck tunics. Only one wasn’t obviously presenting his muscles, although he looked the largest of the bunch.
Ashleigh’s breath caught in her throat each time she slid her gaze past the dark-haired giant. She could feel his eyes on her, hot and unwavering, and from the way they were assembled, she knew he was her liaison. Damn it all to hell. She was the freaking Ice Queen, immune to testosterone. So why did she feel stripped bare in front of this stranger, obviously feminine under his scrutiny? She bristled inside. If he thought he could intimidate her…on the next pass, deliberately lazy this time, she looked them each in the eye.
Most offered blunt sexual appraisal, which was easy enough to stare down. She just wasn’t that kind of woman—not interested, and not intimidated. Wrong tack, buddies.
But when she reached him, shock roiled in her chest. Obvious dislike and contempt radiated off him. She expected general mistrust of the mission, but this angry gaze felt personal.
Huh. So much for thinking he had the hots for her. Well, that was…she wanted to tell herself it was a relief, but the pang in her gut felt a lot like disappointment.
The formal introductions began and as the teams were matched with their counterparts, it became clear that hers was indeed going to be none other than the brooding hulk. She had her work cut out for her.
“At attention,” she quietly snapped at her cell. Chin and Worst followed Navena’s lead and made her proud as their two assigned hosts approached. She stepped forward as her CO said her name.
“Reinn Ragnarson and Aldric Gunter.” The head of the Viking delegation didn’t bother with rank, which she understood was their custom.
Reinn, the giant, stepped forward. “Lieutenant,” he murmured, the quiet of his voice at odds with the hard look in his eyes.
What was she going to do about that distrust? She held his gaze with a solid look of her own. “Reinn. Thank you for hosting us here in your beautiful homeland. We look forward to learning more about Midgard as you know it.”
He tipped his chin up and held her attention for a moment before sliding his gaze to his second. “Aldric…”
And with a slow released sigh, Ashleigh let herself relax a hair. At least she hadn’t made it worse.
* * *
The spaceport was purposefully sited inland, away from the valuable coastline that all in the Kongerige, the Kingdom, valued so highly. His people weren’t savage, no matter their anachronistic lifestyle preferences, and they valued access to interplanetary travel as much as the next twenty-third century citizen. They just wanted that travel to primarily be away from Midgard, not towards.
Reinn wasn’t stupid. This diplomatic mission wasn’t just about mineral resources. There were ugly, uninhabited planets that Earth could plunder for what they needed. The FedNat delegation was here to play nice and convince his father to ease travel restrictions.
The high-speed rail line sliced through the mountains that separated the desert from the fertile coast. Narrow passes between steep peaks sometimes meant the afternoon sunlight was obliterated and each time that heavy shadow fell over them, the Earthlings gaped at the dark rock walls blurring past the pod windows. He felt a ruthless satisfaction at the obvious awe and wonder their guests had at the natural magnificence of his homeland.
Because it was his homeland. His great-great-grandfather may have been born on Earth, but Reinn’s blood was Midgardian, through and through. No matter what, he thought blackly, just barely holding himself back from scowling in Ulfar’s direction. Some things didn’t need to be shared with outsiders. Not even the fact that he hated his childhood best friend, or that
he was in the midst of an existential crisis after divorcing his wife—not an unheard of event on Midgard, but quite unusual for the son of the King. Especially one who grew up believing strongly that his true mate would be delivered to him by the gods. Admitting he’d wed unwisely was a hard pill to swallow.
Reinn was a bitter man, surrounded by cynics. He couldn’t call the company good, but at least it was familiar.
But when he slid a glance back at the young female officer, Tavistock, she wore a look of innocent curiosity that he found himself wanting to satisfy. Was it possible that she truly believed she was here on a diplomatic mission that might accomplish something good? She looked so damn keen, with a raw interest that was wasted outside carnal coupling, in his experience.
And that thought had him back to silently cursing Ulfar, and the woman they’d shared. It wasn’t that he wanted Ylsa back—their relatively painless divorce proved they weren’t true mates to begin with—but rather that Ylsa and Ulfar’s affair had damaged his standing at court. His father could barely look at him now, and Reinn didn’t blame him.
It was mortally embarrassing that he invited his best friend into his marriage bed—a common enough act—and mere weeks later found himself being booted out. Or that he’d married the wrong woman in the first place. His mother liked to say that’s why he’d never managed to procreate with Ylsa, and maybe she was right. His ex-wife was now heavy with Ulfar’s child. And Reinn had no heirs and no wife.
Not the best position for the son of a king, even if he was the second son and the proud uncle of four strapping young boys.
“Could I sit?”
Reinn broke out of his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed Lt. Tavistock get up and cross the train. He slowly looked up her long, slim body. Shaped like a boy, he tried to tell himself. Tried and failed. Underneath the boxy tunic, he could clearly imagine her delicate curves, the high, tight breasts and a navel perfect for sipping mead from. She was no Valkyrie, but that made her all the more perfect for him.
No, he tried to say. Don’t sit. We’ll switch assignments and you can have someone else. He wanted to hate her, but with a few short sentences she’d completely undone that resolve. You need to go away.
But even as he thought that, he opened his hand and tipped his fingers to the empty seat beside him. “Please,” he murmured, hating himself. No good would come from letting her under his skin.
Where other warriors would celebrate their desire, Reinn failed again. He didn’t take any pride in wanting this young woman. Guilt welled inside his chest and he tamped it down.
“I understand there will be a reception tonight.” She held herself stiffly, properly. He was struck by a sudden, overwhelming need to find the invisible clasp on that tunic and flick it open. “We’ve been briefed, of course, but I’d like to know what it is that you are most looking forward to.”
“Then I’m afraid you’re talking to the wrong person, Lieutenant. I’m not much for parties.”
“Well, that makes two of us. Most of the time. But I’m eager to partake in one of your famed feasts.”
“All of it?” The question was out of his mouth before he could censor himself.
Her cheeks pinked. “Partake was the wrong word. But I don’t judge your cultural practices.”
Orgies were hardly a vaunted cultural practice. That was more a myth propagated to keep their Earth cousins at bay. Bed sharing was one thing, a private, carnal enjoyment that allowed them to explore the full extent of their human sexuality. It was nothing like the oiled up spectacle that would go on after the meal… “It’s pomp and pretension and I have little time for either.”
She made a surprised face, eyebrows raised and lips twisted to the side. “Surely that’s not the party line?”
“Did you join me for the party line? If so, I’m sure we have a brochure around somewhere…” He craned his neck, looking for non-existent glossy paper handouts appropriate for a tourist cruise. No matter what the pretty lieutenant thought, Midgard wasn’t ready for that.
Her laugh was low and throaty and entirely real. It warmed him from the inside out and he found himself joining her with a chuckle of his own.
“No, I came over here because we’re going to be working together for the next three months, like it or not, and I’d prefer our time be productive.”
He leaned back, casting an appraising glance at her. “You think I don’t like it?”
“I know so.” She offered an apologetic smile. “I’m going to be the optimistic bee in your bonnet, I’m afraid.”
“I look forward to that, Lt. Tavistock.” And to his surprise, for the first time since his father assigned him to this godsforsaken project, he honestly could say that was true.
2
Reinn and Aldric stood on the rail platform, waiting patiently for Ashleigh to brief her team. The other cells were already transporting their equipment to the wagons provided at the City Core side of the station. The larger city of Ny København, modern and functional, stretched twenty kilometres in either direction from the walled City Core. Within those walls, however, the government seat and public spaces were a cherished throwback to the ancient history of their people. Transport was restricted to foot, wagon and hoof. Midgardian donkeys didn’t bear a ton of resemblance to their Earth namesakes, other than their general shape and braying sound. The stumpy bone protrusion in the middle of their foreheads and their ethereal coats, shades of creamy white to pale pink, had the first travellers calling them another name, but their function as work animals soon showed that the donkey moniker was more appropriate.
Besides, calling them unicorns would just encourage more Earth nosiness.
Wait until they saw the dragons.
Reinn laughed to himself. Of course the visitors would know about the native fauna, but seeing the flying beasts with one’s own eyes was something entirely different. They weren’t on this continent, so he’d been thirteen when he’d first laid eyes on them. The heavy whoosh of ten-foot wingspan flying overhead still made his heartbeat speed up.
When they arrived at the inn designated for the Earth delegation, Reinn and Aldric escorted the team to their rooms. Not strictly necessary, but if they had any questions…sure, he could convince himself that was why. Not because the thought of being separated from the serious liaison officer made his chest ache a bit.
While the public spaces were throwbacks to a simpler time, the private rooms at the inn were similar to his own home, a creative blend of old and new. Ashleigh’s eyes lit up at the water bath, and he was reminded that she’d been on a spaceship for two months. Ozone showers were functional but not pleasurable. His single journey away from Midgard had been washed away in the deepest, most glorious soak in his outdoor tub as soon as he returned home.
“You have time,” he said gruffly. “If you want to bathe.”
The door to her room was open, but they were essentially alone. Her second was across the hall, and Aldric was showing her two men how to connect to the central network from the ports in their rooms. He’d meant the suggestion to be hospitable, but just the mention of her slipping naked into a tub sparked a hot, itchy awareness between them. He saw it in her eyes and felt it in the air.
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice catching. “The decontam…” She trailed off, her gaze flitting back to the tub.
“Go ahead.” He kept his voice low. “Our water…you’ll find it enjoyable.”
She shot him a wide-eyed look. Yes, he meant it just like that. That hadn’t made it into their briefing notes, apparently. But just as quickly as she’d let her guard down, it was back up again. She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one carefully manicured brow. “In that case, it sounds like something one should approach with great caution.”
Why was he flirting with her when she obviously didn’t want him to? She was small and quiet, not at all his type—except his type hadn’t been doing it for him for quite some time and one look at this woman and he wanted to find the nearest pi
le of furs and spread her legs. Bury his face in the heaven there and show her how a Viking could use his tongue. The way she blushed, she might even be a virgin.
She stretched to her full height and he was forced to admit she wasn’t small, exactly. Not compared to her colleagues, but at six and a half feet, Reinn still had nine inches on her and when he crossed his arms, he was like three of her wide. She was mighty, but he was mightier.
“Thank you for your suggestion.” She took a step back and gestured to the door. “We’ll see you at the reception.”
“We’ll wait for you downstairs.”
“We’ll meet you there.” She pasted a pleasant smile on her face. Okay, so she wasn’t quiet, either. His kitten had claws.
His kitten. Gods. He needed to have his head examined. “If you insist.” He knew he was scowling and he didn’t care. She’d need to get used to his moods if they were going to work together.
Two hours later, the scowl had returned in full force. He didn’t like being away from her, but as the delegation arrived at the longhouse across the public square from the inn, he realized he also didn’t like having his first look of her in her dress uniform in public.
Something primal tugged at his gut, and he shook it off. He’d been wrong about lust before, confusing it with something else. He’d be well served to ignore the attraction, but she made that a damned challenge.
She’d pulled her long dark hair back in a sleek ponytail, instead of the bun she’d had earlier, and where her flight suit had been boxy and utilitarian, her fitted dress uniform emphasized her willowy but strong figure. Black dress pants hugged trim, muscular thighs, and from the way the door guard was checking her out, her ass probably looked fantastic.
It took all of his restraint to not throw a fur around her. He didn’t hold himself back from stalking over to the door guard and shoving him against the wall, though. Aggression wasn’t unusual in their culture, although it was for him. “Forget whatever disgusting thought is in your head,” he growled at the young man before pushing his way outside.