Queen Veranke tittered as she spoke, "An empire with no Emperor? No Monarch at all? How ridiculous!"
"Perhaps so, but the Americans were the dominant power before you arrived," Doom replied.
After the match, Veranke invited Doom to the royal chambers for refreshments. They settled in a high-roofed atrium with grandiose windows providing a spectacular view of Earth. Tapestries and silks framed the scene, and they gently fluttered in the circulating humidity.
The room itself was quite large; suitable for a royal reception. White-grey metallic floors gently curved into the walls and roofs, and there were several groups of well-appointed couches and chairs. Half-way up the walls, numerous alien plants grew in long potters that circled the border of the room. Strange red vines and spiky grasses hung over the edges, and Doom noted the room felt almost like a green house. Encased in his armour, he was quite comfortable, but most humans would have found the room slightly too warm, especially in formal attire.
Several Skrull servants were posted at corners of the room, far enough away to not be privy to any conversions they ought not be part of, but close enough to attend to needs of their Queen and her guests. Veranke had even left her honor guard outside.
The Queen had ordered some Skrull liquor for the two of them. The alien brandy had had a black color to it, though a quick scan had shown it to be safe to drink. His sensors showed high levels of sodium and potassium, and less alcohol content then ordinary beer. He found the drink to be quite unpalatable, like supping on thick soy-sauce, though he sipped politely.
They had chosen a pair of couches closest to the windows, and their conversation had somehow turned to human history.
Veranke finished snickering into her drink before continuing, "How was such a strange arraignment managed? Where were the powers infused in the Sovereign?"
"In their constitution and the supposed will of the people. Great efforts were made by those with power to ascertain and mould public will in that country. Whole industries grew around polling and advertising," he answered.
"Humph; sounds rather wasteful. How could such an Empire hold together?" she said, bemusedly.
"Economically. Their brand of imperialism was based on favorable market conditions, and they otherwise left their various vassals to their own devices."
This again amused the Queen, "Economically? You mean an Empire of merchants! Little wonder my warriors overcame them."
He looked back over the globe, nodding, "Indeed. Tony Stark was very much the exemplar of their spirit." Doom was genuinely surprised at her ignorance of the Earth. "I would have thought that you would have a better knowledge of Earth history before the invasion."
She had another sip, "Unfortunately, when I underwent the infiltration ritual, I only received Jessica Drew's memories. She was no great student of history-," Veranke said dismissively, before continuing, "So tell me more; surely an empire cannot rest on only the predications of merchants."
Doom stood up and moved towards the window. He pointed to Russia as he spoke, "No; common defence bound them together against the rival empire that arouse from the ashes of the old global order; the Soviet Union."
Veranke tilted her head and closed her eyes, looking as if she was dredging up an old memory. "The Communists?" she said, opening her eyes.
"So they claimed to be. A so-called workers state-"
"An Empire of slaves? How patently absurd!" she interrupted, not even suppressing her laughter this time.
"It seemed to be. They were unable to overcome the internal contradictions of their society, ironically enough, and collapsed two decades ago. However, the existential threat they posed to the American Empire seemed to be the only force truly uniting that disparate group together. Had you not attacked, the Americans would have collapsed in on themselves within a generation, perhaps two."
"I think you have missed the true problem with the Americans," she said, tapping her finger on her lips thoughtfully.
Doom turned back to her, replying sportily, "And what insight does an alien empress have to share with Doom on the nature of mankind, O' Queen of the Skrulls?"
"Please, Doom-" she replied genially, "You may have had to live among them for some time, but you were always set aside from your people. You never accepted, nor espoused their truths. On the other hand, I had to live amidst them and appear exactly as some vapid, lower-born being," she said with self-satisfactory. "And use care with that waggish tone when speaking to the Queen of the Skrulls," she added in faux-haughtiness.
She was playing a strange game, he thought to himself. But it amused him for now, so he would play his part. "Of course, Your Majesty. Please, bestow your wisdom upon your most gracious of subjects," he said, bowing.
She gave an amused smile as she spoke, "Better. Now, you see Doom, in America, one assumes that everyone is lying. It's apparent in every interaction one has in that society; when you buy something, you assume the salesperson is misrepresenting their product, or your mechanic is exaggerating what service you need. And likewise, they know the customer is hiding how much they'll spend or what they'll tolerate.
Similarly, the justice system knows that both prosecution and defence will play towards getting victory in the courtroom, rather than uncovering the truth. Even the media, who claim to be arbiters of truth, provide curated information to promote a particular view. Yet they all claim to be objective! How can a citizen believe in truth when they are bombarded by competing and exclusionary 'truths'? Never mind that every citizen knows that their political leaders are lying, yet act as though only the opposing political figures would do so! Is it little wonder that their social cohesion eroded away once they lost an external enemy to keep them in touch with reality?"
"An astute observation," Doom said. Perhaps he had given the alien less credit then she deserved.
Veranke looked back at the globe, shaking her head as she spoke, "All these empires, but no monarchs. Yet I know that there are kings and queens on this world; many in fact."
"Indeed so," he answered, gesturing across Europe. "Many of these nations have monarchs, though they have all given up their power, including this one-" Doom said, finally pointing at Brittan, "-and they once controlled the largest empire in the world. In fact, I suspect you would find their organization far more familiar, especially at the height of their power."
"Ah, an Empire of warriors, then?"
"No. Theirs was still an Empire ruled by economics first, though they were able to be more militaristic in their expansion then the later powers. They would fall when they were finally exhausted by several decades of the largest wars this planet ever witnessed. They were, however, never conquered."
"Another internal collapse? How tragic; far worse than being conquered. " she said.
"Their vital and creative energies were expended in those wars. When their provinces choose to break away, they allowed them to do so with little more than a sigh. Eventually they became a vassal of the Americans, who were in the throes of their own ascension. The British would make pretences of remaining a great power but their time was over."
"And what of their monarch?"
"The Monarchy de facto gave up their power, and simply approved everything the parliament voted on after being defeated by an uprising of the merchant class."
This time Veranke looked genuinely confused as she spoke, "A Sovereign with no power? It is just as well we came to civilize this world from such...barbarism!"
"It is obvious that mankind has been degenerating in their affairs. If you wish to see a warrior's empire you must look further back, nearly seven hundred years," he answered, now pointing far to the east. "The Mongol Empire was the second largest in human history. They were cruel, yet prudent warriors, possessed by titanic energy. Yet they fell rather quickly once the progenitor of their Empire died."
"How were they overcome?"
"A failure of succession, too many of the Khan's sons felt entitled to rule his empire, and their elective system failed to provide order, allowing far too many with limited vision to have a say. While they were shrewd in many ways, ultimately it would seem that they lacked the wisdom to create a system that could survive without the dynamic leadership of their founder. And they did little to uplift the peoples they conquered, so their various provinces saw little value in maintaining the empire when weakness manifested in it."
"Has this always been the case amongst your people? This rise and fall of empires?" she asked, sweeping her hand across the globe.
"It has. And it is perilous and disobliging to the good of mankind. Immense suffering always follows, and the last conflict saw humanity pointing weapons of awesome power at their brother nations. It is the curse that Doom has always sought to free mankind from," he replied, resting his hand on the window and gazing down at the Earth.
Veranke stood up and walked to the window, hands clasped behind her as she stepped. She adopted a sombre tone as she spoke, "My Empire has been shattered too."
Doom remembered the Skrull he tortured who told him the same thing. "How can this be?" he said, keeping his tone neutral.
"Too many threats. The being known as Annihilus launched a massive attack, and deployed terrible weapons against us. The Skrulls fought back bravely, nearly stemming the tide. Then the World-Eater came and destroyed our home world-" she looked deep into the stars as she spoke. "-and that finally sundered our empire," she finished, turning to him for a moment, before returning her gaze into the depths of the void. "You know, I was not always Empress," she added.
"You inherited the tatters of your Empire," he said.
"Yes. I was exiled from my people for my faith. Then, when they had been laid low, they turned to me. God had prophesied that he would lead us to the Earth, as our promised land. I never stopped believing in his word, but I never imagined that he would appoint me to lead us during our exodus."
"You will let your people settle on your chosen mountain, where you built your home and temple," Doom replied, quoting the scripture from Exodus.
"I never took you for a religious man, Doom," she said with smirk.
"I am not. Doom has yet to meet a being worthy of worship, although I am familiar with the faith traditions of men. I do not...deny certain metaphysical realities, but Doom kneels only at the altar of Truth. I should say, I am surprised you have knowledge of man's religions."
"I did have to pass the time as Jessica Drew somehow. As near as I can tell, the God of Dard'Van is no different from the God of Abraham, besides some cultural colouring present in the scriptures. And what is God besides simply the highest truth?"
"Perhaps so," he answered.
The two monarchs stayed quiet for some time; one gazing up to the stars, one gazing down to the Earth.
Carol Danvers stalked through the sewer, taking a moment to contemplate the strange turns her life had taken.
Once she had soared over New York, the very image of the noble war bird. As she waded through shin deep murk, she couldn't help but appreciate the juxtaposition as vermin scampered out of her path. The dripping sewer roof was so low she couldn't even hover to keep her boots dry as she passed. She moved with haste through the damp tunnel. It had been well over a month since she had received the Skrull-revealing technology from Doom, and she had been busy.
When Doom assisted her in freeing the captured super-humans, she had limited her contact with them as best as she could. The shape changing nature of the Skrulls made any sort of connection fraught with risk, and any fighting unit wouldn't be combat-effective without trust between the members of the team. She had taken a few members under her cell, and reasonably trusted them. But, between the scattered cells, trust began to diminish over time and their efforts became uncoordinated and diffuse.
Things changed with their new technology. Now that she could confirm the identities of her people, their networking became for more effective. A true Resistance was forming from their scattered group of insurgents.
"Ugh, is there a more cliché name than 'the Resistance'?" she said to herself as she turned a corner in the dark labyrinth, slowly making her way home.
Carol was returning home after another successful mission. She had joined a cell that was hunting the patrolling Super-Skrulls, supplementing them with her own considerable firepower. This was their fourth alien they taken down this month.
They had stalked a group of criminals who decided to hold up a corner store, and launched their ambush when the 'Spiderman' Super-Skrull intervened. The fighting was fierce but brief, and they quickly killed the alien, leaving his corpse in the street. It was gruesome, but symbolic gestures were the bread and butter of the insurgent.
She mulled on that word for some time.
She had always been a soldier (Airman technically), and one of the benefits of working for the most powerful democracy on the planet was that you weren't alone. You didn't have to decide for yourself what the rules of engagement were, or what the strategic aim of your mission was. You got the mission, executed it, and got home. Now she was becoming the leader of these cells of resistance, and that meant they looked to her. Not just for a general vision of 'we need to get rid of the Skrulls' but true executable actions that would bring that goal to fruition.
She had a bit spare time in the past year though, and she had cracked open some of the old field manuals she had kept. The most relevant ones being on counterinsurgency. When read the correct way, these gave excellent advice on insurgent tactics.
She also had to admit that nature of their last attack niggled at her…
How many times had the Sinister Six ambushed Spider Man? Her group executed the exact same sort of plan that groups of criminals tried plenty of times. Never mind that the alien was stopping a crime.
Hell, she was even allied with Doctor Doom...
"No; there's a difference," she said out loud, as she realized her thoughts had been wandering.
. The Sinister Six had attacked Spider Man because they were tired of him interfering with their robberies and other crimes. Carol's cells were fighting an occupation by a hostile power.
But now, even her government was compliant with the invaders; how many humans were happily working for the new regime? Already, they had killed humans who were cooperating with the Skrulls, even if they were collateral damage.
What about deliberate acts of terrorism? Bombings? Hostage taking? Targeting non-combatants?
Would she even notice if she crossed the line?
She shook her head again, as if trying to clear the intrusive doubts. She just had too much down time, she told herself. Too much waiting around, and now she had to get back into the swing of things.
Besides, even if their tactics in this case matched, there was a significant difference between her and Cravan the Hunter; he killed for sport, whereas their killing of a Super-Skrull could only be understood in context of an acceptable military target. The alien may have been stopping crime, but he would have called down the Skrulls forces on them just as easily.
Carol also had to add another correction to her previous thinking; the most dangerous thing was that someone else in this resistance would become radicalized. It was far too easy in times of war to become an extremist. With her at the helm, at least there was an opportunity to control that.
A thick drop of condensation from the roof dripped on the crown of her head, warmly rolling down her neck. Her eye twitched as she tried to convince herself it was water. She almost let out an indignant laugh as she envisioned what an uninspiring leader she would be at the moment.
'Leader.' This word set off a new spiral of thoughts. She had held leadership roles in the past. She was an officer in the Air Force, and Tony had made her the leader of the Mighty Avengers. But even then, did she really 'lead'? She had been technically promoted to a Colonel when she retired from the Air Force, but really most of her career was spent as a Major. In a military as grand as the United States, Major wasn't that high (in fact, a lot of ground pounders wouldn't even rate a Pilot Major as a true leadership position).
When Colonels and Generals were a dime a dozen, a Major wasn't that impressive. A Major had a small field of strategic intent, but they merely executed orders decided several pay grades above them and were far closer to the tactical level.
Same with the Mighty Avengers; she was told she was the team lead, yet Tony personally lead the team and made their strategic decisions. Frankly, she was more of a 2I/C on that team, again executing the vision of the policy makers above her.
Now she was building a steadily growing resistance organization, and the cells were spreading from New York. She had even received reports on groups assembling as far as South Carolina, and she had no direct contact with them.
Carol also understood the strategic goals of a guerrilla action; through attrition cause yourself to be prohibitively costly for the opposing force to manage you; through symbolic gestures, give the appearance to the local population that the ruling power is unable to manage you; and encourage the ruling power to respond in an overbearing manner so as to lose support amongst the local population.
She also knew how she wanted this war to be waged: targets should be military in nature, collateral damage should be avoided, and don't kill innocent people. She had her goals and her intent in regards to the manner that they must be achieved.
There was a huge difference between executing things decided by others, and being the person deciding those things. There was a certain kind of ease that came from getting orders from higher up and putting them into action. You could lean into your faith in the system, or those people you trusted, or whatever. But when you were calling the shots, it all became murky. People would fight when and where you decided, and they may die because of how you told them to fight.
That didn't even touch on the fact that your strategic vision may not be accurate. A lot of soldiers over history had died because their leaders had an incorrect approach to their goals.
She had received the pep talks, and seen all the movies: 'Sometimes people die,' 'Do your best,' 'Trust in the mission,' and all the clichés. But they all seemed like pleasant little platitudes to ease your conscience.
As she slid between the bars of a grate, she couldn't help but think about how much she missed having SHIELD around. Back in the military, mental health workers were all over the place. When she was an Avenger, SHILED had the best councillors that money could buy.
Nowadays, she couldn't even talk to a bartender about her struggles.
She was suddenly very aware of how lonely she had become.
Carol hovered up a thin sewer shaft, leading to the alley behind her apartment. After the total darkness of the underground, the streetlights were bright and clear. She carefully looked around, ensuring that no one could see her come up.
The alley was poorly lit; mostly because she had broken the one dim light that over looked it. That was several months ago, and nobody seemed concerned enough to repair it. Quiet as she could, she silently hovered out of the manhole, gently returned the grate to its place, and floated up to her unlocked window.
After entering her hideout, she went straight to the bathroom. She quickly stripped off her fouled clothes and stuck them in a garbage bag. She tied it tightly to keep the smell hidden, and set the bag aside so she could wash it later. She followed with a quick shower that felt heavenly compared to the dankness of the sewer.
Wrapped in a towel, and drying her hair, she went into her small bedroom and picked up her phone. She wouldn't bring it on missions; it was too easy to be hacked or spied on.
As she opened the device, she saw she had received a text: 'Meet you at 430 to pick up rum for the party!'
The message was code. 'Party' referred to a meeting to discuss a matter of importance, and they had coded various meeting points as types of booze. An outsider would think her texts were indicative of simply being an alcoholic with a rich social life.
Carol flung herself down on her bed, fully intending to get as much sleep as possible before having to make more plans.