Marvel's Secret Invasion Prose Novel, page 12
“We’ve traveled across the universe,” said a movie star, “basically to save your world from what you’re doing to it. Hey, did I get the voice right?”
“You have so much potential,” said Reed Richards, “but you’re on the brink of ecological disaster.”
“You have created,” said Charles Xavier, “a system of inequality, where material wealth is continually funneled to those who are already rich, at the expense of those who are poor.”
“What most disturbs us,” said a famous climate activist, “is that you’re fully aware of the situation, and though your scientists have told you exactly what you need to do to solve it, still you do nothing.”
“Right now,” said another former President, “we’re just fighting your planet’s super-powered community, okay? We’re trying not to hurt civilians.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t always manage that,” said a puppet from a children’s show. “But please believe us, we don’t want to hurt anyone who isn’t trying to hurt us.”
“You’ve seen some of our ships,” said rock star Lila Cheney. “Join our Empire, and you all get access to technology way in advance of anything you’ve got now. You get to use all the tech the super heroes have been hoarding.”
“They’ve been fighting each other, getting more and more authoritarian,” said a Sixties icon, “when they should have been helping you, helping out the world, right? Instead, they’re part of the problem, standing in the way of progress.”
“This is day one of Earth as a proud member of the Skrull Empire,” said a more modern pop star and social activist. “In a very short time, you’ll see the benefits. Come onside now, let our forces through, let them know where our super-powered enemy is, and you’ll get our protection as soon as possible. That’s a promise.”
“We apologize for the inconvenience of depriving you of your communications tools,” said that guy who played the drums. “You’ll get them all back, okay?”
“Your lives,” said one of the British Royal Family, “will go on as before. You will keep your homes, your culture, your family, your jobs. Everything will return to normal.”
“We’re not here to take anything,” said the star of a Sixties space series, “only to add things. We’re trying not to fight your armed forces, only the super-powered fascists. If individual members of those armed forces stand down, they should be completely safe. They won’t be attacked.”
“We want all hostilities to cease,” said a TV star of the Seventies. “We’re here to end wars, not start new ones. We have new energy sources for you, prosperity for everyone.”
“We have this saying,” said a chat show host, “and this might chime with those of you who have a faith. You’ll come to learn what ours is, just as we look forward to learning from you. We say ‘He loves you.’”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said the Sixties icon, with a wry look.
“Your days of poverty, hardship, inequality, and disease are over,” said some senior Catholic.
“Accept change, embrace it,” said another movie star, “and this change will make you all you ever wanted to be.”
“He loves you so much,” said a different British royal.
“And so do we,” said a former First Lady. “You’ll find out.”
And on the screens all around, unselected by the systems, that narrative was being repeated by faces ranging from Magneto to some ayatollah to someone North Korean to someone who looked to be an Indian sports star, to Namor to a Nigerian President to a Japanese film director, to a Brazilian footballer to a South Korean boy band to Doctor Doom to… they had sure done their research, because Fury could see famous Belgians and Bollywood stars and Chinese actors in there, or at least that’s what the systems were telling him. He felt a heaviness in his heart. “Switch that damn thing off,” he said. “I seen it all before. Bunch of lies and half-truths and a few truths thrown in there so the world’s smart guys can say the new overlords made some good points and stroke their beards and betray their neighbors to the space Nazis.” He turned and looked at his kids. “Any of you feel yourselves moved by that rousing slice of horse hockey?”
“No, sir,” a few of them said, and they were all looking angry.
“Horse hockey?” said the Vision.
Fury cracked a grin. “Okay,” he said, “you all get some sleep, the ones that need it, six hours downtime for the rest. When I call you together again, we start fighting back against what you just saw. Dismissed.”
He went to Johnson and shared a private look of worry with her. That broadcast was going to win a lot of human hearts and minds. He wished he felt a quarter as certain as he sounded.
TWENTY-SIX
ABIGAIL BRAND
BRAND WIPED away her tears and looked puzzled at the two Skrulls who were pointing guns at her. “What do you mean by this outrage?!” she said in Skrull Imperial Tongue. “How dare you?!”
They actually hesitated. Brand was relieved and frankly surprised to discover these guys didn’t seem to have a protocol in place to tell who was a Skrull and who wasn’t. The tech of transformation must have moved so fast, with implanted memories and the like, that their culture hadn’t kept up. So, their ability to resemble the enemy was a double-edged sword. Brand knew literally dozens of alien languages. She couldn’t even remember where she’d picked up Imperial.
“Why are you crying?” asked the smaller Skrull, one of their small drone workers whose first forays to Earth were the origin of the 1950s idea of “Little Green Men.”
“I am moved by the speed and size of our victories,” said Brand, “and this form expresses that sensation through human emotional responses.”
“Who are you?” asked the larger Skrull, keeping his weapon aimed at her, obviously less convinced than his little pal. “What are you doing in here? Identify yourself!”
“Cease this impudence. I am part of the Queen’s delegation—”
“Which delegation?”
“—and you will not point that weapon at me. Here, let me take that.” She reached out, taking the gun from the small one’s shaking hand.
“I repeat—” said the big one.
Brand blew his head off, and then blew the head off the little one too.
The sound of the energy blasts echoed around the chamber as the bodies fell to the floor. She would have only seconds before security came running. She looked back to the monitors, hit a control to display a schematic of the ship, and found the chamber where Richards was.
And then she was running.
* * *
BRAND HAD two guns and, on the way to Richards’ cell, while ducking between corridors and inter-wall ducts, she had to use them several times. She popped up in one control room and let loose, mowing down Skrulls and equipment together, before grabbing the single remote control device she’d come for, then dropping down a chute into the level below. A lot of these connectors were designed for a people that could slide and slither and that made it easy to let artificial gravity take her where it would. She took a breath. Killing Skrulls felt good, and that was bad news. Every single decision she had to make now had to be motivated by logic, not by anger. She composed herself on that basis and ran on.
Within ten minutes she had the whole ship on alert, with what little of its complement that had remained on board rushing back and forth, doubtless calling in security from other vessels.
Sliding down into the hallway outside Richards’ cell, she found half a dozen Skrulls rushing to meet her, some looking like proper soldiers, armed to the teeth, some like servants who’d just grabbed spanners and the like.
She killed the soldiers first, letting the servants run if they wanted. Then she blew the door and found Richards, stretched between those cruel probes. His cries abated when he saw her, one eye stretched out like a psychedelic splash across the wall. Could a big poster eye look doubtful? This one did.
She ran to a console, managing to read enough to release him. He fell to the floor, a groaning, shivering mass. She activated the emergency blast door, and it slammed down in front of what remained of the seal she’d blown out, just in time to get in the way of more Skrulls running to join in the party. They’d probably have cutting gear. She still had only seconds.
Attaching the remote console she’d taken from that control room to the main board here, she paused to admire how its ports latched on and adapted themselves. Skrull tech had some morphing capability of its own. Then she redirected all systems to this point, using the security clearance this board had had left on it by some lazy Skrull officer, and hit “vent” on every single air lock on the ship.
She heard a reassuring “boom” ringing out down the entire length of the vessel. There would also be screams, lots of screams, for, oh, thirty seconds or so. It wouldn’t get rid of all the Skrulls on board, but it would leave those that were left with more problems than she had, just about.
She went back to Richards, and saw that, very slowly, he was starting to re-form his body into something that looked more like his usual human form. “Dr. Richards,” she said, putting a hand to his chest, “my name is Abigail Brand, I’m Director of S.W.O.R.D. We met once at a party in Tel Aviv. We’re at war with the Skrull Empire and I need you to—”
He suddenly came together and, in one incredibly swift movement, grabbed her weapon and wrapped his coils around her throat. “I am going to get back to my wife and children!” he bellowed, a terrifying note of irrationality in his voice. “Even if I have to kill every last one of you!”
“Not… a…” she managed to begin. But she was only going to be conscious for a couple more seconds. He was trying to crush her neck. She felt good that she’d done her duty, that freeing Richards had been the best possible move she could have made.
Maybe the guilt of killing her would motivate him enough to save Earth.
TWENTY-SEVEN
BALKAMAR
MARIA HILL had been surprisingly cooperative. It helped that Balkamar’s Skrull colleagues composed the entire remaining complement of the Helicarrier crew—those being the ones who chose to remain, staying on mission to learn what they could from Hill, when the order had been given to head for the escape rafts. Hill had, as much the pragmatic prisoner of war as they’d expected her to be, just given Balkamar a tour of all the ship’s major systems. She had offered them her own personal surrender, though since Director Stark remained alive, she didn’t feel that her surrender on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D. would mean anything to the governments of Earth’s nation states. And after a little research, that checked out. Balkamar had felt slightly annoyed that, once again, the martial fervor of his people had blinded them to the finnicky bureaucracy of these locals. Hill had also awkwardly explained that only Tony Stark had the codes to some of the ship’s security systems, though she tried on a couple of occasions to access them, even going so far as to crawl into a narrow, coffin-like alcove that allowed access to security panels. She had emerged looking fearful that she had nothing to offer her captors.
Balkamar reassured her that, since she had surrendered and offered them her full cooperation, no harm would come to her. She told him she appreciated that.
They had, eventually, found some tea.
Hill had tried it, said she much preferred coffee, but that she supposed she would have to get used to it, and they had both laughed. He and his fellows finally walked with her back to the main deck, from where they would take a transport aircraft to the nearest Skrull ship. A full debriefing awaited Hill, but Balkamar was confident this would be a civilized affair. She would be very helpful in the transition of S.H.I.E.L.D. into a tool of the Empire. For that they would also need the potent symbol of the Helicarrier, so it was already scheduled to be salvaged and refitted.
“Oh,” she said now, stopping as they were halfway to the aircraft. “There is one more thing left for me to do.”
“Please, if there is a matter to which you must attend—”
“It’s just a small thing. A note to self. When this is all over, I’m going to order a t-shirt online, you know, one of the ones where you choose your own slogan.”
“I am sure,” said Balkamar, puzzled, “that the Empire will relatively soon allow such businesses to once more flourish, although, dear me, the matter of currency is a whole can of worms that—”
“I’ve never done that before. But now I definitely will. This is about a bet, you see. You know, a wager? Can you guess what that t-shirt will say?”
Balkamar smiled at his fellow Skrulls. This was clearly an example of that human need to impose narrative on the unfolding events of reality. Hill obviously needed to end this phase of her life with a clever line. “Please, do tell me this charming story.”
Hill smiled kindly at him. “Several months ago, a man who I very much respect came to see me. He told me that S.H.I.E.L.D. makes this very cool… I guess you’d call it a type of robot? An android, really. The Life Model Decoy.”
“Indeed, my dear, we have read of such things.” This sounded like it was going to be good.
“They’re normally used in undercover ops. But he told me to start using them in everyday matters of command, to always know where I had one stashed away. In a cupboard or alcove. He told me that doing that wasn’t cheating or a cop-out, just a smart strategic policy. So, here’s what I’m getting at: When I’m done here, I’m going to order a t-shirt that says—”
Balkamar had suddenly been seized by a terrible certainty. What had she just said about an alcove? “Execute her!” he shouted. “Now!”
He leapt back as his comrades obeyed the order, blasting Hill apart with energy bolts.
But what dropped to the ground wasn’t Hill.
It was a thing of gears and ceramics, its face cracked like a statue.
She had done what she had just told them about. She had swapped herself for one of these… abominations! But why, in all honesty? What game was there possibly left here for her to play? Presumably she was on her way already to some safe house, but they now had the Helicarrier and she’d probably been lying about those security codes, so—
“It’ll say,” finished the Life Model Decoy, turning its broken face to look at him, “Nick Fury was right.”
From the control tower high above them, something fell to the deck. It took Balkamar a second to realize that it was a bagful of explosives.
He was slightly further away from the blast than his comrades. Their bodies took the brunt of the explosion.
He lay on the deck, the remains of his friends plastered all around, and on him, glorious in their sacrifice. He took a long breath, rejoicing that he was alive, but otherwise really dashed annoyed. They had been having such a nice time, after all. This felt like a distinct lack of hospitality. He looked up and saw, up on the control tower, a tiny figure taking to the air on a S.H.I.E.L.D. jetpack.
So that had been it. That had been the entirety of her petty revenge: killing a few more of those that had come to save her world. And after they had had such a jolly chat. It was really terribly rude of her.
He got to his feet, brushed himself down, and took a spyglass from his vest pocket. He activated the zoom and managed to follow the glow of her engine and find her in the sky. Had he at hand a weapon with sufficient range, he would jolly well have had a pot shot at her. He was that cross.
He saw her look back over her shoulder. Her thumb closed on a button on the control of the jetpack.
Balkamar had a moment of terrible realization as he heard, from deep beneath him, the first rumblings of some massive detonations.
“Oh, that is simply… not on,” he opined.
And then the deck beneath him exploded.
TWENTY-EIGHT
ABIGAIL BRAND
BRAND SLOWLY awoke, and realized, very swiftly that, one: she was alive and that two: there was no longer anything around her throat. She opened her eyes.
Reed Richards worked at high speed, his fingers an array of fronds fluttering across the alien console. “I don’t think you’re a Skrull,” he said, not even looking over his shoulder. “It makes no sense, biological or tactical. So. Moving on. Oh, and,” he finally glanced back at her, “sorry.”
“No,” she said, climbing to her feet and joining him, “it’s understandable.” She felt a tremor run through the deck. “Why is the ship vibrating?”
“We’re being attacked by the rest of the Skrull fleet. When I sent the remaining crew out into space by turning their security systems against them, the rest of the fleet realized something had happened and turned on us. I’m thinking their anti-missile and anti-beam shields will only last about eight point three more minutes, and I’m working on finding some alternative. I can’t get our own weapons to work. I suspect they’re jamming them. Longer term, I also need to get the stealth back up. The drive is fully functional and if there’s a sufficient gap in their ranks I’m aiming to speed through it and head back to Earth. They used my brain to start this war. I’m going to use my brain to end it.”
Brand blinked. “What do you mean ‘they used your brain’?”
“Long story. Can you fly this ship? Sit there if you can and start doing so.”
Brand did. She hit the scanners and saw the fleet were stationed very carefully in a firing pattern around them, the bombardment continuing. The screen flared every second, in time to the vibrations of energy hitting the hull. There was no gap to speed out of. “Ready to punch it when you find a way out.”
