"I'm sorry, Fitz. The clue you wanted has already dissolved in seawater." Daisy was drying her soaked hair with a towel as she spoke. She and Fitz were communicating through a thick pane of reinforced glass, supposedly to prevent the transmission of airborne parasites. All air in the room had to be filtered and heated before being exchanged.
Having recently been submerged in icy seawater, Daisy wasn't wearing her usual black stretch tank top but was instead wrapped tightly in a thick blanket. She looked a bit remorseful. "As for Joseph Haddad... sorry, he's now at the bottom of the ocean."
"It's alright. One picture is enough," Fitz replied, tapping his tablet. He showed no concern for Haddad's fate. According to standard quarantine protocol, Fitz shouldn't have access to any electronic devices, but Agent Coulson had argued fiercely to let Fitz continue his work from within the isolation ward. Solomon didn't care, so long as the quarantine procedures were followed; everything else was irrelevant to him.
"I read about it in a book once—at the Bodleian Library. You should still be able to check it out if you go now," Fitz said. "That monolith has a long history and has left traces throughout human history—from the Germanic tribes to the Hundred Years' War, from the Napoleonic Wars to England. That parchment merely proves the monolith originated in the Middle East. As for how it made its way to Europe, I can't say without documented evidence."
"Can you... can you tell us which book? At least give us a lead," Daisy said, spreading her hands and shrugging. "Let me wait for the shower to free up so I can get cleaned up, then I'll head out."
"I can't. I only came across it during college when I was bored and digging through resources." Fitz shook his head. "I'm no historian. And Simmons? She's never studied anything outside of biology."
"Historian? I just thought of someone!" Daisy sprang to her feet with a grin. "Damn it! I should've thought of him earlier! Remember that Asgardian guy, Professor Randolph? The one with the berserker staff? I'm sure he knows something!"
When it comes to humane prisons, no country surpasses Norway. Halden Prison had forests, a chapel, gym, recreational rooms, clinics, libraries, and even greenhouses. It had everything—soft couches, electronics, and feather-soft mattresses in the cells. Professor Randolph was jealous—he longed to be imprisoned in a place like that. But when S.H.I.E.L.D. agents finally found him, he was holed up in a far less luxurious cell. No soft bed, no gym or TV, no bathhouse or spa. The guards could only supply him with a mountain of books to pass the time. The reason? He was only jailed for public drunkenness and disorderly conduct—nowhere near the kind of crime that would land him in a five-star prison.
Professor Randolph didn't want to be found. He kept insisting he wanted to spend the rest of his life in a higher-security facility and never come out again. He told the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents the same thing. No matter how much Daisy and Coulson tried to persuade him, Randolph refused to step out of his cell.
"You just drank too much—and maybe assaulted a cop. You'll be out in a few months," Coulson said. "Why do you want to stay here?"
"To be precise, I drank all the alcohol," Randolph muttered, rubbing his temples at the memory. He could still use a drink to forget what had happened. "Even Asgardians can't handle that much. I drank through my stash—one hundred years' worth of liquor."
"Why?" Daisy asked. "What made you drink it all at once?"
"I got into a bar fight. I had a bit too much that night." Randolph pointed at his black eye. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents could still see the swollen, broken skin. The report said the fight happened at least a week ago. That made Coulson curious—he couldn't imagine anyone besting Randolph in a fistfight, nor why such a minor injury hadn't healed yet. But before he could ask, Randolph—as all Asgardians do—started bragging. Brawling was always followed by boasting.
"I got into it with a one-eyed old man."
"That's it?" Daisy asked. "Don't tell me you lost. Aren't you an Asgardian?"
"Yeah, but he was... never mind. Just forget it. I drank too much. Drained every bottle I had." Randolph visibly slumped in disappointment. "I'm not setting foot outside this prison. Don't even think about it."
Seeing Randolph grow more resolute, Coulson finally decided it was time to act.
"I remember you're a fugitive, Professor Randolph," he said. "Unfortunately for you, I have some connections in Asgard."
"If..."
"This little cell can't hold you, Professor. Unless you cooperate, we'll just find a portal and send you back to Asgard." Coulson raised an eyebrow, clearly confident. "I can guess with my toes how they treat deserters like you—especially ones who've been on the run for a century."
Randolph let out a mocking laugh. "That threat won't work on me, Coulson. I think they already know I'm on Earth."
"I promise you they don't. Otherwise, Lady Sif would've taken you months ago."
"I mean ever since that bar fight, they've known," Randolph said. "I'm done for. Leave me alone. Just bring me more booze. I'm going to die soon—my heart will be pierced by a spear, and my head stuck on the shaft. I'm a deserter. My soul won't reach Valhalla. I'll suffer forever in Helheim. That's my fate, Coulson. Let me face it in peace."
"Who could do that to you?" Coulson asked. "This is Earth. Nothing here can hurt you."
"Human governments are feeble—mere vassals to Asgard. My king holds absolute power here. He'll punish me. Now go. I've already called in some old friends and students to bid them farewell. Don't bother me, Coulson. Not if you've got a shred of compassion left."
The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were full of despair—especially Coulson. He knew how to solve the problem but also knew the trouble it would cause, trouble that today's S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't afford.
"I know someone who can help," he sighed. He gave Randolph some words of comfort, then turned to Daisy Johnson and Melinda May.
"Don't even think about it," May said suddenly, breaking her silence since entering the prison. "If you go through with this, I won't help you anymore. You saw what happened to S.H.I.E.L.D. the last time he got involved—we're out of manpower."
Coulson gave a sheepish smile.
"What's going on?" Daisy looked back and forth between them. As she read Coulson's expression, realization dawned—and she immediately objected. "No way. Are we seriously going to ask that arrogant jerk for help?"
"Right now, it seems only he and Professor Randolph can solve this," Coulson said. "It won't be like last time, Daisy. We're just asking him to draft a letter of introduction. He won't be interfering with S.H.I.E.L.D. operations."
(End of Chapter)
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