"Damn the CIA!" Victoria Hand spat, expressing her contempt for an old rival without restraint.
The aircraft carrier's command center was staffed by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents wanted by the United States—Victoria's own handpicked subordinates. They were used to her attitude. Even before S.H.I.E.L.D.'s fall, one of Victoria Hand's many duties had been preventing external infiltration—Hydra had been an internal issue, and no one blamed her for that. The CIA, however, was the department that had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. the most. Their fingerprints could even be found in the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy's training programs. When she was still cleaning house, Victoria's most frequent adversary had been the Central Intelligence Agency. But back then, to avoid outright conflict with the U.S. government, all she could do was drag CIA operatives out of S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities and wait for Langley to pick them up—rather than launching a high-speed loyalty pill through a spy's skull on the spot.
The last person she had seriously suspected before S.H.I.E.L.D.'s collapse was Sharon Carter—Peggy Carter's niece—but Peggy's political clout had kept Victoria from raising the issue publicly. It remained a buried suspicion, never verified due to lack of opportunity.
"Are you sure?"
"It's a covert op. If possible, I'd like you to look into the relevant files. Last time the Sisterhood struck, it was the Langley airbase, not the HQ by the Lincoln Memorial. So this is our first real chance at CIA secret archives," Victoria said in her usual cold, operational tone. "I remember back in the Red Room, you pulled off a mission to steal CIA classified documents, didn't you?"
Victoria noticed her analysts whispering among themselves, stifling giggles. She didn't mind. These intelligence personnel had worked under her for years and passed all vetting—they posed no risk of leaks or collusion.
"Only once. After that, they beefed up their security," Natasha Romanoff replied with a smirk, not shy about her past.
"But this time, you've got high-tech armor you didn't have back then, don't you?" Victoria said without hesitation. "In fact, our Lord believes the CIA's internal files on the Council on Foreign Relations will expose the tangled web of oligarchic connections in the U.S.—J.P. Morgan, Goldman Sachs, Lockheed Martin, and the rest of the international financial and military-industrial syndicates. I trust you understand our Lord's vision and the importance of this mission."
Victoria's voice crackled slightly with static in Natasha's earpiece—it was a bit grating, but she welcomed the chat to pass time before arrival. Watching the sky for hours was boring, and the autopilot didn't need her input. "I thought he'd exploit them, not destroy them."
"Our Lord quoted a line: capitalism's consumptive, expansive, and compromising nature means that while these groups may yield temporarily to force, they will eventually try to become masters again. So before using them, we must first break their spine—show them the might of centralized authority."
"Ugh—you actually read the books he writes?" Natasha grimaced.
"Just a bit of light conversation. These syndicates founded America. The military-industrial complex shields them, and ever since, nothing like the Templars has been allowed to exist. Becoming a modern Philip IV carries a huge price, but I think our Lord can pay it."
"Why?"
"You've got the clearance, but you joined recently—you haven't had time to really browse your intelligence database," Victoria said, pressing a button. A transparent soundproof panel in the command room slowly lowered. She smiled. "Next time, ask our Lord to take you to one of the other planets. The Eternal City's secrets go far beyond just one starship."
"I obviously have more than one starship, Malbus. But now is not the time for research."
"Why not, my Lord—why!?" The Fifth Demon Pillar, Malbus, was clearly agitated. When he heard Solomon was finally granting him full access to a warship for inspection, his excitement manifested through his multipurpose prosthetics and enhancement modules—specifically, sparks flew everywhere, and hydraulic oil spouted like a fountain. A small fire broke out, though thankfully no personnel, thralls, or servo-skulls were harmed.
"Because I need you to first digest the technology of that warship, Malbus. I need you to accumulate enough technical mastery to replicate one from scratch. Only then can you move on to the next. We're not treating these ships like divine relics—we're going to manufacture, build, and maintain them. A few ships alone won't fulfill our goals. I want thousands of expeditionary fleets!"
"But my Lord, even Xandar never had warships this powerful. One of them alone could wipe out the Xandarian orbital forces with ease."
"Xandar lost to the Kree Empire because its ships weren't strong enough, Malbus. The Kree and Xandarians dragged the war out because neither side was powerful enough to end it. They're both products of Celestial gene engineering—but we have to do better. Only then can we prove humanity's potential. Only then can we show we're superior to any alien race."
"I will accomplish it, my Lord." Malbus bowed his head, withholding any comment on Solomon's human chauvinist rhetoric. He didn't care about humanity. He had joined the Eternal City because Solomon was his master—and more importantly, because Solomon could provide him with nonexistent technology from countless nightmare realms across Hell—the only real places in those damnable dream-worlds. Nothing mattered more to him than access to those marvels.
His holographic projection flickered slightly. Evidently, the earlier fire had damaged his projection hardware—some anti-gravity units on his servo-skulls had been compromised.
"Don't forget the robots I asked for. That's a project we designed together."
Malbus nodded. He had long known Solomon needed a land-based war machine worthy of decisive conflict. They now had preliminary plans and designs. To speed things up, Malbus was even using Ultron as a research assistant—a practice approved by Solomon, though strictly under intense surveillance.
"You have a heavy workload. Before we enter the time-distortion field, everything must be in place," Solomon said gravely. If not for the fat, gray, short-haired cat batting at Malbus's hologram, the atmosphere might have become terminally suffocating. A well-dressed maid rushed over and carried the chubby feline away from the holotable. Only then did Solomon resume the conversation. "We must be ready for everything. After that, you'll face the horrors of time alone. I don't want anything going wrong."
(End of Chapter)
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