“Give me something local,” Quill said. “Whatever you recommend. I’m sure you have great taste.”
“You bet.” Her mouth twitched into something resembling a smile.
“So, we were wondering—” Quill started.
“Nope. Pay first.” She gave Gamora and Drax their beers, then grabbed a bottle from the top shelf. “I have too much experience with threatening groups of people coming to ask questions and somehow never paying.”
“Threatening? Us?”
“Your luscious locks don’t fool me. I can tell when someone knows their way around a gun.” She slid him a pitch-black drink in a square glass. “Pay up, Earth boy.”
“Half.” He held up a finger for emphasis, then placed his hand on the counter. “Half from Earth. Are you, ah, into luscious locks?”
She regarded him for a moment. One corner of her lips curled up. “Depends on how this little chat plays out.” She took his hand to scan the chip, holding on perhaps a second or two longer than she needed to. “See? Much easier this way. So, ask your business.”
“You and I have been in touch before,” Kiya said. “I’m looking for Baran.”
Where Annay’s demeanor had relaxed over the past minutes, she now shifted into a guarded posture. “You’re the tree girl, aren’t you?”
“I’m…the tree girl.”
“I’d suspected.” Annay peered up at Groot.
“I am Groot.”
“That’s nice.”
He held up the water pitcher as if to toast her. “I am Groot.”
“You mentioned that,” she said, more wary than annoyed.
“Where’s Baran?” Kiya said.
“Not here.”
“But you know where to find him. I need to see him. About the—tree.”
Kiya didn’t seem intimidated. Gamora wasn’t sure whether it was because she had the entire Guardians team behind her, or because she had been dealing with buyers—not all of them friendly—for weeks. Either way, Gamora felt a strange sense of pride in the girl.
Misplaced pride. Misguided.
It was not Gamora’s place to feel proud. They shared DNA and a ship, and that was all. And soon—sooner than Gamora liked—they would no longer even have the ship in common. Kiya would return home eventually.
Gamora took a gulp of her beer to banish the thought, and welcomed the sharp, bitter taste.
The source of Kiya’s confidence could be as simple as that: She was home. Even if she’d never been in this city before, she could still see people who looked like her, read store signs and posters in familiar script, walk past homes that resembled her own, speak with Annay without translator chips filtering every word…
Gamora didn’t know what a connection like that—with a people, with a place—felt like. She wondered whether it felt similar to sitting three feet from a girl with Gamora’s skin and Gamora’s nose, and with the words spring feasts on her lips.
“What do you want Baran for?” Annay wiped down the counter.
“To talk to him.” Kiya wasn’t budging.
“And you need a team of”—she tugged her head toward the Guardians—“them for that?”
“Look,” Kiya said, annoyed, “he bought a weapon from me, and we need to talk to him about it.” She didn’t get further.
Before she could continue, Rocket suddenly stood upright on his barstool. His ears swiveled, like he was trying to pick up on a certain sound. “Quill? Take a look over there.” He nodded at the back wall.
“Those guys in the corner?” Gamora asked, one hand on her sword, already considering a dozen ways a confrontation could unfold.
“No. Outside. Something doesn’t sound right.” Rocket grimaced. “Here I was, thinking we could just enjoy our drinks for once. Do we get vacations? I want a vacation.”
“Let’s see what’s up.” Quill activated his helmet, prompting an intrigued look from Annay, and focused on the back wall.
The shift in Quill’s posture over the next couple of seconds told Gamora enough. His scans could not show anything good.
“Ah, Annay?” Quill said. “Is there a spaceport in the alley behind your bar, by any chance?”
“Something happening I should know about?”
“Only a ship. Hovering. In the alleyway.” He deactivated his helmet just long enough to throw back the last of his disturbingly colored drink and grin at Annay. “Nothing alarming at all.”
Drax got to his feet, abandoning his half-empty bottle on the counter. “I am somewhat alarmed,” he told Gamora.
“You two. Let’s go.” Quill crossed the bar, pointing at Drax and Gamora. “Rocket, Groot, stay with Kiya.”
“Yeah, you should go see what’s up,” Rocket said, his second tuma-beer at his lips. “Groot and I’ve got this covered.” He snatched up Drax’s abandoned bottle and made a shooing motion.
Annay looked at the back door, seemingly conflicted between following and staying. She opted for the latter. “This is why I make people pay first,” she informed Groot.
Gamora bolted through the door in the back wall, right behind Quill. Through a narrow hall, past a bathroom door, then outside into a trash heap of a garden.
She scraped to a halt.
A large shuttle hovered above the alleyway. The remnants of blue-gray teleportation energy glittered around the hull. The shuttle was disc-shaped, with a cockpit jutting out from the front like an arrow. That cockpit was cracking open, the roof lifting up to reveal the pilot.
He sat leisurely in a seat massive enough to be called a throne, overlooking the street with equal parts cruelty and fondness.
“Good morning,” the Collector said. “I am looking for a girl.”
25
APPARENTLY, Drax had been right to be alarmed.
He glared up at the shuttle, considering ways to reach it. It would likely involve his blades and some minor property damage to the apartments across the street.
Quill was already taking flight to get a better view of the situation, the eyes in his helmet blazing red. “You’re looking for a girl?” he said. “I have—oh, Tivan, I have so many responses to that, I can’t even choose.”
“That’s okay,” Gamora called up from beside Drax. “None of them would be funny.”
Through the windows of the run-down apartments that faced the back of the bar, Drax saw frightened and curious faces looking out. Only a handful of civilians were left in the alley itself, all scrambling away.
The shuttle hung above them like a cloud, backlit against the bright green sky. It cast a shadow that covered half the alley.
Quill was hovering up high, facing the Collector in the air from several dozen feet away. “Rocket, we need you out here.” Quill kept his voice too low for the Collector to hear, but the communicators still picked up on it. “Groot, evacuate the civilians from the bar. Can you get Kiya out unseen?”
“Annay seems like she’d have escape routes,” Gamora added, at the same volume.
“Guardians?” the Collector said. The shuttle magnified his voice, projecting it throughout the alleyway. “I would hate to sour our friendship.”
“Ha,” Drax scoffed. He stalked down the street, unsheathing his daggers as he went. When he reached the front of the shuttle, he raised his voice and looked up. “Collector!”
The Collector looked down with interest. “Yes?”
“If you do not leave, we will tear off your limbs.”
“As I recall, you tried that. I welcome a rematch to further observe your technique, but a simpler option would be to hand over the girl and send me on my way. No? None of you are interested?” The Collector sounded exasperated. “Very well. We’ll do this the difficult way.”
“Oh, good,” Rocket said as he exited the bar. The door slammed shut behind him. “Difficult way’s only just starting. I didn’t miss nothing important yet.”
A high hiss filled the street, and a side panel of the Collector’s shuttle slid open. Lean, metallic bodies leapt onto the street thre
e at a time. Thud—thud—thud—
“Robots?” Gamora said, disbelieving.
“Robots,” Drax confirmed.
“Those are Zemende-K3s,” Rocket said. “Second build, I think. Careful. They go boom.”
“Oh, crap,” Quill said.
Gamora unsheathed her sword. Rocket had his blaster in one hand, a laser pistol in the other.
More robots were leaping from the shuttle. “Find the girl I showed you,” the Collector said. “Bring her to me—unharmed.”
The robots were tall—as tall as Drax—and their smooth, featureless faces glimmered golden in the morning sunlight. Nine. Twelve. Fifteen.
They shot forward toward the bar. Drax blocked their path, daggers flashing.
Eighteen. Twenty-one.
They could fly, too. Half of them took to the air, bypassing Drax with ease, while the other half stormed toward the Guardians on foot. Drax caught one in mid-run, jabbing his dagger into its belly and slicing up to the robot’s skull, exposing its innards. He kicked the twitching body aside. A fraction of a second later, the bot exploded, taking out a chunk of the pavement and blowing scorching air at Drax.
“Told ya.” Rocket stood near the bar exit, picking off approaching bots from a distance. “They go boom.”
“The explosives appeared to be in the shoulder,” Drax noted. “We can take precautions.”
“Nah, they’re all over the body. Makes it unpredictable.” Rocket skittered across the backyard. “Ain’t it great? Pow!”
“So—great—” Gamora said through gritted teeth.
Quill shot down two airborne bots with globs of ice. Gamora caught another in flight and sliced it in half with a neat diagonal cut from neck to hip, then took on the next bot before the first one had even hit the ground.
And above the fray, the Collector sat in his shuttle—fingers tented, his expression delighted.
“Our—” Drax slammed two bots’ heads together. They went down in a shower of sparks. “—friendship—” He tore off a bot’s head and flung it up at the Collector out of spite. “—is soured!”
Destroying the robots was one thing. Keeping them away from the bar was another matter. Within seconds, the street had turned into a battlefield: the four Guardians fighting, fallen bots littering the ground, and intact ones trying single-mindedly to reach the building. Even the ones the Guardians tore apart rapidly rewired themselves and got up again.
“Groot, Kiya?” Quill called over comms. “An update?”
“I am Groot!”
“The guests are safely out, but Annay’s not cooperating,” Kiya said, her voice rushed. “We’re still inside the bar. It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” Quill paused. “Drax—help them get to safety.”
Drax nodded once, brusquely.
“Quill, I can get Kiya out.” Gamora slashed through another bot, then dropkicked it away before it had the chance to detonate.
“No. I need you here.” Quill grunted as he flung a half-broken robot into another. Both bots plummeted to the ground. “Working on a plan.”
“Are we gonna love or hate this plan?” Rocket asked.
“Depends on how you feel about bringing down Tivan’s shuttle.”
The robots were backing Drax steadily closer to the bar entrance. He turned and sprinted across the backyard, smacking away assailants as he went. Partway through the yard, a hand attached to half a torso grasped his legs. Its fingers skimmed his calf for a fraction of a second before a laser struck the arm in the elbow. The severed arm slid across the ground, out of reach.
Then it exploded.
“You’re welcome.” Rocket stood on a low ledge separating the backyard from the alley. He kissed the muzzle of his laser gun. “Forget anything I said about a vacation. This is what I call relaxing.”
“Thank you, Rocket!” Drax stalked toward the door.
Rocket called after him, “If the barlady still ain’t cooperating, I hear bribery’s real effective.”
“Go nuts,” Quill chimed in, wind rushing in the background.
Drax was not the only one entering the bar. Before he could kick the door shut behind him, three bots were already following. Their blank faces betrayed nothing as they fought to get through the narrow entrance to the hall.
Destroying them would do little—others would take their place.
Drax decided on another course of action.
He grabbed one by the arm, pulled it inside, and flung it at the hallway ceiling. The ceiling cracked. The bot dropped down instantly. Drax hurled it at the ceiling again, again—
“Explode,” he instructed. “Now.”
He grabbed a second bot by the leg and flung them up in unison—
He heard a click.
He grinned, then leapt back.
Not quite fast enough.
The dual explosions knocked him flat on his back and scorched off his eyelashes. Something pierced his leg. He gasped for breath and tasted dirt on the air.
The dust hung heavy. The ceiling had collapsed in front of him, taking part of the wall with it. Rubble blocked the hallway.
Good.
The robots would get past the debris, but it would slow them down, and they would be easy for the other Guardians to pick off in the meantime. He had bought himself at least 30 uninterrupted seconds.
He stood up, ignoring the jab of pain in his leg—some of the fallen debris had cut through—and exited the hall. The door to the bar proper had been knocked from its hinges. Kiya and Groot stood facing Annay, several feet away.
“What the d’ast just happened?” Annay said. She held a massive shotgun in her hands, and was using the counter as a barrier between herself and the Guardians.
“I collapsed your hallway,” Drax said, enthused.
“Oh, great. That’s great.” She tugged her head toward the front door. “Out.”
“We must leave unseen.”
“I am Groot,” Groot confirmed.
“That’s nice! Do it somewhere else. Out!”
The three of them could easily stop a single person with a shotgun. Quill did not enjoy it when they attacked civilians, however. And they still needed information from Annay about Baran and his Grootling.
“Ma’am,” Kiya said, “someone’s trying to kidnap me. He’s”—her voice hitched—“he’s right outside. Please.”
“We will pay you,” Drax said. “Afterward.”
Annay hesitated.
“We don’t have much time. They’ll be inside soon.” The pleading note had faded from Kiya’s voice. Her stance shifted. Good, Drax thought. She is willing to fight.
“They are exploding robots,” he said helpfully.
From the back entrance came the sound of shifting rubble, metal on metal, and more detonations.
The bots were already clearing the hall of debris.
Annay lowered the gun. “Fifteen thousand units. At least.”
“Agreed.” Drax extended his hand to shake on the deal.
She ignored his hand and turned briskly. The four of them ran for the door behind the counter. Inside, they sped through a cramped kitchen, into a storage room. Annay went for the back wall without stopping and ran straight though a projection of stacked crates. When she clapped, the holos fizzled out, leaving the room half as full as it had appeared.
She traced a pattern on the wall. The ground slid open, revealing a circular chute and a ladder. Drax peered down. Only blackness.
“Follow the tunnel. Two lefts, then a right. Keep going straight. Once you see a”—she made a sound Drax couldn’t identify—“paint a”—another sound. “You’ll exit near the spaceport.”
Drax’s universal translator hadn’t been able to interpret the sounds correctly, but Kiya understood. She nodded, leaping down without bothering with the ladder.
“I am Groot!” Groot said, urging Annay to follow. Two vines whipped out and turned her to face the chute.
“You should come.” Drax heard glass shatter
from inside the bar. More bots, he realized, had flown across the building to enter via the front windows. “The robots are too close now.”
“You want me to leave my bar?” Another explosion sounded. Annay cringed. “Actually, yeah, that’s a good plan.” She climbed into the hole, swinging down the ladder’s rungs two at a time. “But you’re paying for all of this!” she bellowed, her voice echoing up the chute.
Drax paused, standing inches away from the opening.
If he was correct, the robots were right outside the door, in the bar proper. If they entered the back room too soon, they could spot the escape route and follow—and in a confined space like the tunnel, it would be harder to avoid damage from the explosions. Drax could stay. Hold off the bots and give the others a head start.
“I am Groot?” Groot had the same strategy as Drax in mind.
“No. Go.”
“I am Groot!” He wrapped vines around Drax and deposited him halfway down the chute. “I! Am! Groot!”
Groot retracted his vines, sending them snaking back up through the chute. The opening promptly closed above Drax, shutting him off from the bar—and his teammate.
Drax glared up. He considered climbing the rungs, smashing through the hatch, and helping Groot keep the robots at bay.
It would be a foolish move.
For Groot to stay behind was equally foolish. In his present state, he was not strong enough to hold off the bots.
“Where’s Groot?” Kiya’s voice bounced up through the chute.
“Guarding.” Drax set his jaw, and followed her and Annay down.
26
GAM! THEY’RE already inside!”
“One sec.”
Gamora followed Rocket into the building through an opening in the debris. She landed smoothly inside the remains of the hallway, and immediately whirled to stab her sword back through the opening.
Her sword plunged into the skull of the bot attempting to follow them inside. She yanked it back a second before the bot exploded.
The explosion tore more rubble from the ceiling. Not much—but enough to cover up the opening in the debris and give her a few seconds without having to worry about her back.
“They’re inside?” Gamora stalked through the back hall. Quill, Rocket, and Gamora herself had taken out all the robots that had been clearing the rubble blocking the busted hallway.
Guardians of the Galaxy: Collect Them All Page 16
