Guardians of the Galaxy: Collect Them All

by Corinne Duyvis

  ROCKET was so. freaking. close. He only needed a couple more moments of concentration—which wasn’t easy in the middle of a destroyed bar, with explosions still resounding in the street. “Quill!” he said through comms, not looking up from where he sat crouched over the disabled robot. “What’d I tell you? Easy on the detonations!”

  “It’s not me! It’s the blasted soldiers. We’re ejecting the robots from the buildings. I said to keep them intact as much as possible, but…” Panicky screaming came through the earpiece—evacuees, Rocket guessed—followed by Quill’s voice trying to calm them down.

  “Yeah, yeah, just do what you can,” Rocket said.

  “How close are you?”

  “Less’n a minute. You got a visual on the Collector?”

  “Yeah,” Quill said. More screaming. Unidentified noises. Possibly a wall being blown out. Rocket was missing all the fun. “The Collector’s shuttle is a few blocks away. He just turned sharply for the port. Drax, check in.”

  “We have the ship,” Drax said. “The Collector had people guarding it.”

  “He’s on his way to you.” Quill sounded tense. “Those goons must’ve tipped him off you were there before you—”

  “Murderized ’em,” Rocket cut in helpfully. “They didn’t get the Groots, right? How are the little buggers?”

  “Annoying.”

  “Kiya?” Gamora asked.

  “Intact.”

  “The bartender?” Quill asked.

  “Demanding.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll transfer those units to her when I’m done saving lives. Did you tell her how trustworthy I am? It’s okay to exaggerate.”

  “Quill.” Gamora’s voice was flat.

  “Yeah, yeah. Drax, get that ship straight here.”

  “I am already underway.”

  “Rocket?”

  “Would be doing better if you weren’t all yapping in my ear!”

  He triple-checked the connectors, then leaned back to survey his work. The hacked bot lay splayed open before him—a beautiful, homicidal, immobile, blinking mess of his own making. “You have sight of any bots, Quill?”

  “Yep.”

  “Tell me, what’re they doing right…” He fiddled with his makeshift controller and spoke the words “stand still” into the microphone. “Now?”

  “They froze up.”

  “Fly,” he said into the mic. “And now?”

  “Flying!”

  “Looks like I got it. What’re you supposed to say?”

  “You’re the greatest.” Quill didn’t even sound annoyed at admitting it. Rocket wasn’t sure whether that made it more or less fun. “Wait for my signal.”

  “Aye.” Rocket bared his teeth in a wide smile that only the bot could see. “Thanks for your services, sucker,” he told it. He clambered onto the counter, took a drink of his beer, and surveyed the bar. All that was left inside was debris, robot husks, and Rocket himself.

  He pulled out Annay’s communicator. His program had juuust about cracked her security.

  “What do I even need a team for?” he asked aloud. “I got this covered.”

  “Rocket!” Quill bellowed over comms. “Keep your finger on the trigger and get your tail out here! Drax is incoming, and Tivan is right behind him.”

  Rocket hopped off the counter, regretfully leaving his beer behind, and climbed out of the bar through the busted windows.

  He ran to the center of the now nearly abandoned street, swerving around robot remains and craters left behind by the exploding bots. The buildings on each side of the street showed similar damage: cracks in the walls, scorch marks from the explosions. Some buildings were missing walls entirely—Rocket had a perfect view of two grungy offices, open to the world like a kid’s dollhouse.

  Gamora and Quill must’ve had a field day out here.

  Farther down the street, law enforcement was cordoning off the area, and soldiers were barging into office buildings and stores with weapons raised. They couldn’t cover the whole street at once, though: There were still bots going about their business. They would leave buildings they’d finished searching, march down to the next building over, and methodically crack the glass and climb inside to continue their hunt for Kiya.

  Up in the air—there, Rocket recognized the shape of the Guardians’ ship against the fierce green-yellow sky. Drax was flying it Rocket’s way: fast, soaring low over the city. They would be here in seconds.

  Behind the ship was a second shape, too small to make out in detail yet. That had to be the Collector’s shuttle.

  Rocket turned, checking the sky behind him. Ah, his ride was here. Rocket held up one hand in a hitchhiker’s thumb.

  Quill swooped down, grabbed Rocket’s outstretched hand, and snatched him up into the air. Gamora dangled from Quill’s other hand.

  “Do your thing, Rocket,” Quill shouted over the wind rushing past them. “Drax, incoming! Open the door, will you? I can’t deal with this kinda weight for long!”

  Rocket’s tail whooshed and whipped in the gusts of wind as they flew up higher, on a swift trajectory toward the Guardians’ ship. He brought his makeshift controller to his mouth. “Hey, rust buckets,” he yelled. “Go outside. See that shuttle coming our way, the one you that brought you here?”

  Rocket watched the ground below for the results, eager to see his labor pay off.

  Within seconds, robots began to exit the homes, climbing through broken windows or walking through open front doors to gather in the street. The robots already outside slowed their movements, not responding even when soldiers began to surround them.

  As one, the bots looked up. Rocket even thought a couple of damaged bots on the ground were twisting to do the same, though he was too far up to tell for sure.

  The Collector’s shuttle was approaching the street fast.

  The Collector might be immortal.

  But his shuttle wasn’t.

  “Bring it down,” Rocket said.

  PETER had barely made it on board the ship before his communicator buzzed with an incoming request.

  Rocket was rushing to close the hatch behind them, while Gamora ran up the rusty stairs toward the bridge. Peter followed at a slower pace, deactivating his helmet as he accepted the transmission. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see a holo of a heated DiMavi in uniform pop up—it was the captain he had just met on the ground. Peter had managed to coordinate rescue efforts with the captain’s forces, but it wasn’t exactly a truce.

  “We still have business,” the captain said curtly.

  “Look, we had a fun time. It doesn’t have to be anything serious.” Peter sidestepped a Grootling and headed up the stairs after Gamora.

  “You can’t bring this kind of destruction onto our planet and take off without any consequences!”

  “You know, you’d be surprised.”

  “You wrecked an entire city block, then flew off.”

  “A third of a city block!” he protested. “Half at most! And only ’cause we were trying to help. The Collector sent in robots—it wasn’t our fault. Robots just happen sometimes. Look, the bar got hit hardest, and we’re already in talks with the owner to reimburse her.” Peter turned and sat on the top step, overlooking the cargo bay.

  Across from him, Rocket sat against the now-closed hatch, studying a communicator in his lap. A Grootling watched with interest.

  Huh. Peter had expected Rocket to be on the bridge already, wanting to see the fireworks as the bots attacked the Collector’s shuttle. It was only a temporary victory—the Collector would simply find another ship to attach his teleportation device to—but it was sweet nonetheless.

  Peter was kind of sad to be missing out, himself. Hopefully Drax would record it.

  But he didn’t want the Guardians to get chased off or blacklisted from yet another planet.

  “Look,” Peter told the DiMavi captain, “I think we can figure this out…”

  29

  DIPLOMACY is the woooorst,” Quill sai
d, stepping into the bridge.

  This should be fun, Gamora thought. She spun the navigator’s seat around just in time to catch the moment when Quill realized they had a guest on the ship.

  Annay leaned one arm on the backrest of the pilot’s seat Drax occupied. “’Sup.”

  Quill stood in the entryway, blinking at her. “You’re on my ship.”

  Annay watched him, amused.

  “Drax forgot to tell us something,” Gamora said.

  “I—” Quill did a check of the rest of the bridge as though expecting to find further surprises, but it was empty aside from Drax, Gamora, Annay, and himself.

  “Is this is how you welcome girls here?” Annay asked. “I was just getting my hopes up.”

  “Why the flark are you on my ship?”

  “We said we would pay her.” Drax leaned sideways to look at Quill over his shoulder. “Also, she would not leave.”

  “Give me my units,” Annay said, “drop me off, and maybe I’ll give you another chance at offering me a proper welcome. Fifteen thousand units for helping your buddies escape, and another ninety thousand for the damage to my bar.” She nodded her head at the viewport. “And hurry. You’re about to leave the atmosphere.”

  On that note…Gamora briefly turned back, entering a few commands to pump up the shields and artificial gravity. Drax had the rest covered. She turned back to Quill and Annay.

  “I didn’t mean we’d pay now!” Quill was saying. “I meant we’d come back later! After this mess!”

  “You don’t seem too busy now.” Annay looked him over from head to toe. Her gaze lingered.

  “Do we have a destination?” Drax asked.

  “We absolutely do not. Improvise.” Quill stepped deeper into the bridge toward Annay. He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, looking indignant. “I am captain of this ship”—a familiar laugh sounded from down the hallway behind him, but Gamora didn’t think Quill heard—“and leader of this team. I have a galaxy to guard. I’m busy. Like…super busy.”

  “Captain?” Rocket cackled again as he entered the bridge, with Kiya on his heels. “That’s a laugh. Hey, Gam, let me take over.”

  Gamora vacated the navigator’s seat without protesting. She stood and crossed her arms over the backrest of the gunner’s seat instead, watching Quill and Annay impassively. Kiya was doing the same thing from the doorway.

  On the one hand, Gamora was ready to declare the conversation over and flash her sword at anyone who disagreed. On the other, Annay might still have information about Baran, the man who had bought the Grootling from Kiya. Gamora had started to doubt that, but she could let the situation play out. Every now and then, Quill knew what he was doing.

  “Look,” Annay went on, “just pay me now and drop me off—aaaand you just went into hyperspace, okay, so drop me at a halfway decent station on the way to wherever you’re going, instead. I’ll get my own transport home. You’ll never have to see me again.”

  “You’re suddenly making this sound less appealing.” Quill seemed unable to help himself. “Maybe I should keep those units.”

  “You know, for a guy who just robbed me of my livelihood, you’re pretty confident.”

  “I hear that a lot.”

  “It’s not a compliment,” Gamora sighed.

  “Mmm.” Annay regarded him. Quill’s belt-loop pose happened to pull his shirt tight enough to outline his abs, which Gamora knew was not an accident. “It just might be,” Annay decided. “I’ll let you know. Pay me, drop me off—”

  “Busy,” he interjected in a singsong voice.

  “—and I’ll tell you where to find Baran.”

  “I also don’t have access to over a hundred thousand units right this second.” Quill cocked his head, letting a lock of hair flop over his forehead. (Not an accident.) “Tell us anyway?”

  “No need.” Rocket leaned into the control panel, his tail lashing. “Drax, focus, will you? Work the thrusters. You’re gonna strand us before we ever get to Vadin.”

  This was new information.

  “Vadin?” Kiya echoed, softly enough that Gamora wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t been keeping an eye on her.

  Gamora sharply turned to Rocket. “The Kree planet? Why?”

  “To find our buyer. Baran Amav-Am, special security advisor currently assisting the DiMavi delegation on Vadin. Keep up, guys. I can’t do all the work around here.” He twisted in his seat and tossed something at Annay—a communicator. It sailed toward her in a neat arc. “Thanks for letting me borrow that.”

  “I wondered where that had gone.” Annay held up the communicator. A couple of lights still glowed, but it was covered with scorch marks and had a big crack running along the side. “Another seven thousand units for a new communicator,” she said, annoyed.

  “Yeah,” Quill said. “That’s fair.”

  “What? It was like that when I found it.” Rocket turned back to the dash. “For the record, you should get better encryption on your next com. Any tech genius with software that’s been outlawed in 12 galaxies can just slap a homebrew on it to circumvent your security, root through your address book, find someone’s full name, run it through public databases, come across their government profile, contact their place of work, and scam the nice secretary into giving up their boss’s location. Big security risk. It’s like you’re rolling out the welcome mat.”

  Annay glared.

  “Guys? I have something.” Kiya stepped into the bridge properly, coming to a stop beside Quill. Her shoulders were tense, her gaze shifting rapidly between all the faces suddenly looking at her. “I saw that name—Vadin—earlier today. It was mentioned on those posters advertising the 200-year peace ceremony between DiMave and the Kree Empire. The event is being held there. If Baran is assisting the DiMavi delegation like you said, that has to be why he’s on the planet. And”—she hesitated—“did you say Baran’s family name is Amav-Am?”

  “Does that mean anything to you?” Quill asked.

  “It might be a coincidence. But it’s a local name. Local to where I’m from.”

  “Meaning, local to where the Maraud took place,” Gamora said, catching on. She gave herself a second to mentally run through the information, then pushed herself upright from the gunner’s seat she’d been leaning on. “Meaning, he’ll have a grudge against the Kree. Might even have lost family to them. We have trouble.”

  “You think he’s using Groot…?” Rocket said. He reached across the dash, reeling in the thrusters.

  Quill was thinking the same thing. “He must’ve bought the poison Groot for a purpose. If that purpose were sanctioned by his government, he wouldn’t have had to hide it by going through sketchy contacts. No offense, Annay.”

  She considered that. “I’ll admit to sketchiness.”

  Gamora nodded. “And for Baran to buy a weaponized Groot weeks before that ceremony…” To make certain they were all on the same page, she asked, “We’re thinking terrorism?”

  “I didn’t think he’d do anything like that,” Kiya said. A hint of yellow crept into her face. She stepped back toward the doorway. “I didn’t even know he was with the government. He said he wanted the Groot for protection. For defensive purposes.”

  “When’s the ceremony?” Gamora asked.

  Kiya frowned, as if trying to recall the poster.

  Annay offered, “It’s hosted in the Vadin capital, sometime between six and nine hours from now. I’m not sure about the Vadin-DiMave time conversion. What? You all think Baran bought that tree thing to sabotage the ceremony?” She sounded skeptical.

  “That’s news to you?” Rocket slid off his seat and crossed the bridge.

  “I knew he was on Vadin for the ceremony. I don’t know about any plans.”

  Rocket scoffed, half-turning in the entryway. “You have a fricking escape tunnel, and you’re saying your hands are clean and you don’t know what your buddies are up to? Baran might not be happy about that ceremony, but you didn’t seem thrilled ’bout i
t in the bar, either.”

  “Find me a DiMavi who is,” Kiya said flatly.

  “I do not see the value in such a search,” Drax remarked from the pilot’s seat.

  “Forget it.” Rocket yanked a wooden shard from his utility belt and held it up to Kiya’s face. “If you’ll ex-cuse me, I got a dead friend to plant.”

  With that, he stalked off.

  Kiya closed her eyes for a second. A dozen emotions crossed her face and instantly vanished again. “I should…I should help with that,” she said finally. She slipped out after him.

  The urge to follow her felt like an itch Gamora couldn’t scratch, but she stayed put. They needed to figure out this Annay situation.

  “You didn’t answer Rocket’s question,” Gamora told her.

  “I don’t know what you want from me.” Annay held up her hands, as if in self-defense. “You burst into my life, break everything in sight, demand my help, and you’re upset because I didn’t immediately tell total flarking strangers exactly where to find a customer of mine? Come on. If you must know, the previous owner put in that tunnel. Of course I know my customers are shady as hell. Of course I know they’re not using the tunnel for cupcake deliveries. I just don’t ask what they do use it for. Plausible deniability. I get tipped damn well and it keeps me out of trouble. Getting involved in that kind of business any further is a good way to end up dead or incarcerated.” She paused. “Also, it’s…bad, and hurts people, and stuff.”

  Gamora glanced at Quill.

  He gave a shrug that said: I buy it.

  “Are we dropping her off?” Gamora asked.

  “We’re sure as hell not going back to DiMave. Annay, we can drop you off at a space station on the way and pay for your trip home. We’ll find you about those units when this is over. Best we can do.”

  “Oh, sure. ‘I’ll call you.’” She pushed away from the pilot’s seat, closing the distance between her and Quill. “I’ve heard that before.”

  Quill examined her face from up close, not backing down. “If I say I’ll call, I call.”

  “You’re so very busy, though.”

  “I make time,” he said lightly, “given the right circumstances.”