Guardians of the Galaxy: Collect Them All

by Corinne Duyvis

  “Why are you here?” a voice behind them said.

  Peter turned away from the window. Down the hallway stood the Accuser, his whisper-silent cloak wrapped around him.

  “You were meant to wait where I left you.” He looked—Peter hated to use the word—accusatory.

  “We were…” Looking for a terrorist and his botanical weapon, and checking whether Drax had arrived yet. “Admiring the view?”

  “The Vadin Supreme Elder Council will see you soon.”

  “Perfect.”

  “You will wait in the assigned location until then.”

  “And that’ll take how long?” Peter kept his voice light despite his impatience. If Rocket was right and Baran’s group was already killing Kree, then they couldn’t afford to sit and wait. The collateral damage would pile up as Baran and his Grootling drew ever closer to their final target. Also, with every minute, the risk increased that the Kree would find out that DiMavi were responsible for today’s events.

  “However long it takes until the Vadin Supreme Elder Council will see you.”

  “Ka-Lenn hired us for a reason,” Gamora said. “We only mean to help. For your own safety.”

  “We cannot let…” The Accuser paused, tilting his head as if listening.

  The elevator doors opened behind him. A swarm of bots spilled into the hall—their dark metal bodies buzzing, an array of red-white lights flickering across their surfaces. Security bots: Kree, as far as Peter could tell from the dish-like design. He counted four.

  The Accuser turned.

  “Enemy detected!” the bots declared. “Enemy detected!”

  They fired.

  The Accuser raised his weapon in an arc, leaving a protective sheen in its wake. The blasts pinged off harmlessly, but the bots were already zooming through the hall, some crawling on a dozen legs thin as fingers, others flying close to the ceiling. They fired again, again, from different angles. The Accuser blocked some of the shots. Others got through, charring the metal of his armor.

  “Stop. This.” He braced himself and held the hammer high. A bolt shot out. The nearest bot slammed against the ceiling, its metal dented, then clanged to the ground.

  Peter ran forward, pulling out his element gun. A blast of fire damaged the nearest bot, which dangled crookedly in midair, lights blinking. Gamora shot forward, kicking it out of the air and smashing it into the wall. It collapsed to the ground.

  “Enemy detected,” another bot bleeped. It turned toward Gamora and Peter just as the Accuser took it down. For the final bot, he didn’t bother with an energy blast: His hammer smashed it flat into the floor, sending sparks shooting up.

  For a moment, the Accuser and Peter simply looked at each other.

  “Malfunction?” Peter said. “Technology is so fickle, am I right—”

  “What is happening?” The Accuser’s voice was tense. It took a moment for Peter to realize he was talking over comms. “I’m dealing with rogue bots. Addil Hall, C3. Check security. We’re under attack. Is anyone reading me?”

  “We can help,” Peter said.

  The Accuser had to know they weren’t behind this. For all of the violent disagreements between the Kree and the Guardians of the Galaxy over the years, they had maintained a tenuous understanding. No assassination, no political attacks. The Guardians weren’t their enemies.

  But that didn’t mean the Kree necessarily wanted them meddling in internal affairs.

  “Wait until I find you. Return to the waiting room.” The Accuser nodded goodbye and left, his cape flowing behind him.

  When the Accuser was gone, Peter looked to Gamora. “Baran.”

  “Baran,” she confirmed.

  Peter narrowed his eyes, thinking. If the DiMavi still meant to target the peace ceremony, they wouldn’t make themselves known now, hours in advance. That would only give the Kree time to stop them.

  If Baran meant to target the Ono Circle prayer instead… Peter couldn’t rule out the DiMavi attacking their own, but why? What else was down here, especially?

  “The Elder Council,” Gamora and Peter said in unison.

  If Baran couldn’t set his Grootling loose on the ceremony later, the Council—now—was his next best target.

  “Rocket, where’s the Elder Council located?”

  “Don’t you mean the Supreme Elder Council, Quill?” He snickered. “Scanners and cameras are still down, but I have maps of the compounds. Let me see…you’re on the third level of Addil Hall? The Council has personal quarters on the ninth and tenth levels, and they convene on the eighth.”

  “Sabotage the elevators. Slow down anyone trying to reach them. Looks like they took a page from our book at DiMave—security bots are turning on the Kree. And us.”

  “Security bots? In Addil Hall?” Rocket said. “The security system ain’t even active—I don’t have anything in the system that shows—aw, man, I can’t decide whether to love or hate these guys. All right, I’m getting on it. What’re they trying to do, anyhow?”

  “Up the victim count?” Peter said.

  “Or clear a path,” Gamora suggested. They ran down the hall, toward the stairway. “The Grootling must be weakened like the others—too easily taken out. They can’t risk confrontation before the big finale.”

  Either way: They had to stop the bots.

  And they still had to find Baran.

  40

  DRAX accessed the complex via a road deck connecting directly to a small visitor parking area on Addil Hall’s fourth floor, filled with a handful of colorful personal shuttles, cars, and air scooters. He stepped out, letting the car park itself behind him, and followed the Accuser on foot.

  She was trying to reach someone on her comms. “Location?” she asked, one hand on her ear. “I have the Guardian Drax with me. Location?”

  Her face settled into a frown. She walked on.

  “Friends?” Drax asked the other Guardians over his own communicator. “We have arrived.”

  “About time,” Rocket said. “We have work to do. Ditch the Accuser.”

  “Violently?” he asked.

  The Accuser looked over her shoulder without slowing down. “Violently what?”

  “I heard that!” Quill said. “Do not answer her, Drax! And don’t attack her—jeez, it’ll take too long, and you’ll get hurt. We need you in one piece.”

  “Get hurt? Ha!”

  “Just don’t. Okay?”

  The Accuser raised an eyebrow at Drax, then opened the door connecting the parking area to the rest of the fourth floor. She took two steps into the hallway, then paused, turning left toward the sound of footsteps. A screen projection slid down from her headpiece over her face, either running scans or displaying information or both. He joined her in the hall.

  Two blue-skinned Kree privates were running their way.

  “Identify yourself,” the Accuser called. “I don’t see you in my system. I’m not even…” She shifted her stance, her entire body tense, and raised her hammer as a warning. “Who are you?”

  The air in front of the first private shifted. The effect reminded Drax incongruously of snow: white flecks, flickering where the light caught them, tumbled from the private through the hall toward the Accuser and Drax.

  Flickering.

  Sparkling.

  Just like the spores the witness in the park had described.

  Drax grabbed the Accuser’s shoulder and tried to pull her back. She shoved his arm away. Her hammer flashed at the Kree. The last thing Drax saw before tumbling back into the parking area was the flash clipping the shoulder of the front Kree—but the blast did not damage him the way it would have hurt a normal person. Instead, he flickered, like a holo malfunctioning. Another form became visible for a split second.

  “Groot.” Drax stared at the doorway, stunned.

  The Accuser’s blast did not stop the spores. They clung to her body, her armor. “What is this—” she said.

  The Kree private—no, the Grootling, his holo now back in pl
ace—ran closer. The second soldier sprinted to catch up. The Accuser lifted her weapon again, then let out a scream and bent over double.

  “What—”

  She tried to aim her weapon at the Grootling and the other soldier as they passed by, but lost her footing and thudded into the wall. The holo-soldiers ran past, down the hall.

  “What is happening?” she asked, panting.

  “You have been poisoned.”

  “Is this what happened—the park—”

  “Yes,” Drax told her. Then: “Star-Lord, I spotted the Grootling. He and…someone else are disguised as Kree privates via holos. The second person could be his handler. I will follow.”

  Drax shoved past the Accuser, who was scrabbling against the wall, as if trying to keep herself upright.

  “Wait!” Quill said. “Don’t pursue! You can’t fight him.”

  “I can fight anything.”

  “You can’t punch poison spores, Drax, and you don’t have any long-range weapons. Go to the basement. I don’t think it’s a target, but Baran reprogrammed the security system to turn on us, and there are hundreds of civilians down there.”

  Drax watched the Grootling turn the corner at the end of the hall, following the other soldier. Drax’s nostrils flared. He was letting an enemy escape.

  He was letting a friend escape.

  Disgusted, he tore his eyes away and crouched by the Accuser’s side. She was panting, looking up with wild, uncomprehending eyes.

  “Your armor may slow down the spores,” he told her. “Call for medical assistance.”

  “Done. Already done. I am”—wheeze—“I am a professional.”

  “Yes.” He thumped her shoulder. “How do I reach the basement?”

  THOSE DiMavi bastards had killed the security bots’ network connectivity. Rocket tried via the network, then sent out offline signals in five different protocols—nothing. In, out, didn’t matter. Baran’s crew had cut any possibility of contact. Rocket could see just how they’d done it, too—the traces of their actions lingered in the security system. If he’d had a bot in front of him, he could have reprogrammed it right back.

  Even then, though, the bot wouldn’t be able to talk to the others, because the DiMavi had made that impossible.

  Worse, Rocket had spent too much time trying to undo the damage. He’d wasted just as much time trying to get the cameras back.

  He could try one more thing, though. The DiMavi had managed to scramble most of the communication signals, but the devices themselves were still functioning. If he could pick up on their signals, he could place their locations within the building. Then at least he’d have a map of who was where.

  The door opened.

  “…distraction across town, it might clear up the halls,” one voice said. “Not that the Accusers worked so well as a distraction.”

  Another voice made a sound of agreement. “It’s risky, especially with—”

  “With the Guardians of the Galaxy in town?” Rocket clambered onto the desk, whipping out his blaster.

  Across the room, the two DiMavi came to a dead halt. Their hands snapped to pull their guns—but they didn’t shoot.

  Maybe they’d seen his blaster. Maybe they wanted to have a halfway civilized chat. Either way, he could work with this.

  Rocket padded across the desk, alternating his aim between the two of them. “Did you two flark up the system here? I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so pissed. I coulda been out there! Shooting people! Instead, I’m stuck doing the boring work while the others get to play whack-the-bot. You mind dropping those guns and giving me a hand with—hey!”

  He ducked away as they fired. He fired back, clipping one in the shoulder. He cussed and hurled himself low. Right on time. The terminal by his side shattered, sending shards of metal and plastic flying in the air.

  “Come on!” he shouted. “You either shoot or you don’t! You don’t change your mind halfway through!”

  On the bright side, his work had just gotten a lot less boring.

  He dashed forward. Another terminal blew up. “I still needed those!” He poked his head out. One of the DiMavi was only a few feet away.

  Easy target. The DiMavi left a nice splash on the desk.

  The other one—hmm. Odds were, he was hiding.

  “If you changed your mind about trying to kill me…” Rocket called out.

  Shots rang out above and behind him. One passed so close to his tail it snagged a few hairs.

  “Guess not.”

  Rocket leapt off the desk onto one of the chairs, sending it rolling along the floor. He ducked low, searching from underneath the desk. Nothing—nothing—there.

  “Wanna hear my favorite sound in the world?” He took aim and fired.

  It was a nice sound, indeed.

  The chair came to a stop past the end of the terminals, near the entrance the DiMavi had used. He could see the splayed-out legs of the one he’d just shot.

  And, right next to them, a set of feet poking out from under a desk.

  Huh. He hadn’t shot anyone there.

  He cocked his head, hopped off the chair, and headed over. He kept his gun handy, just in case the two he’d shot got stubborn about being dead. No one gave so much as a twitch. He reached out for the unidentified feet, prodding them with the fun end of the blaster, and—ah! Movement. Slight, but there was life in there. A stretch of green skin showed between the boot and pant leg. This wasn’t another Kree guard.

  Rocket peered under the desk. Another DiMavi lay there, tied to a desk leg. This one was a lot less blown up than the one by Rocket’s side. He let out a soft moan; his eyes fluttered, then fell back shut.

  “Oy.” Another prod with the blaster, this time in the guy’s belly. “Wake up. I got questions.”

  “Mmmhh.” The DiMavi tried to open his eyes. One was swollen shut.

  “Lemme guess.” Rocket crouched. “You didn’t play nicely with your terrorist friends?”

  He mumbled something. Coughed. “Mmmwhat?”

  “How’d you end up here?”

  Finally the man’s eyes opened properly. He looked around, dazed.

  “I don’t have all day,” Rocket said, exasperated. “You’re in the security hub of Porovi Hall in Vadin, blah blah blah. Answer my flarking questions.”

  The man’s gaze settled on the dead body a few feet away. That startled him awake. He lurched, but his arms were still tied to the desk leg behind him.

  “Oh, come on! It’s just a body. It ain’t even smelly yet.”

  “Is that…that’s Mani. That’s Mani. Mani is dead.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s nice—”

  “That’s my assistant. That’s Mani. What happened, what—”

  “Why do I now know more about this dead bastard than I know about you? Answer. My. Questions.” Rocket narrowed his eyes suddenly. This guy looked familiar. He’d cut his hair, and the black eye had thrown Rocket off—but this was definitely the same face Rocket had seen in a government profile on his communicator just a couple of hours ago.

  “How’d you end up under this table, Baran?”

  “I was here for a security inspection. Because of the ceremony tonight. Oh no—is it already happening? What time is it?”

  “Not yet happening! Keep talking.”

  “The inspection. Mani said it had to be moved up. We got here, everything was normal, and suddenly my team, they…I don’t know what happened. They started shooting the Kree. They knocked me out. They turned on me. Oh, no. Oh, no.”

  “And the Groot?”

  “The…Groot?” He was trying to climb into a sitting position without touching any of Mani’s blood, which seemed to Rocket like a lot of hassle for no good reason. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Rocket let out an annoyed sigh. “I don’t get people like you. Who’s got the gun? Who just killed two guys? Yeah, that’d be me. And who’s tied up sitting under a table like a big dumb loser? Yeah, that’s you. Now, outta those two, wh
ich one gets to ask the questions? Come on, tell me about the flarking Groot.”

  For a few obnoxious seconds, Baran only stared at him. Then, slowly, the words came. “A couple of weeks ago, I bought a Flora colossus. Groot, as you say. I wanted to see if it was suitable for defense, if we could employ it to protect the more vulnerable towns… But it disappeared last week. It ran away or got stolen, I don’t know. I’ve been looking for it, but I had to prepare for the event here, so…”

  “Any idea who stole it?”

  He looked up helplessly. “What’s happening? Can you untie me?”

  “Untie you?” Rocket spat on the ground. “Baran, you’re lucky I ain’t planning to shoot you. If you stay nice and quiet, you might even live through this. That’s probably more than the Groot you misplaced gets to do.”

  “I didn’t…”

  Rocket twitched his gun. It was enough for Baran to smarten up and start talking.

  Once Baran was finished, Rocket climbed to his feet. “Good. Keep that up—I got a few friends to update.”

  41

  DRAX’S encounter meant Gamora and Quill could place the Grootling’s location:

  Right below them.

  And if Rocket was correct about the layout of this building, the Grootling would come up via the nearest stairwell, and be forced to exit here into the building proper.

  Good.

  It would’ve been better, though, if Gamora and Quill had been able to make time to calmly set a trap instead of having to fight off these d’ast bots. Gamora kicked aside a bot she’d left in shambles, then stood alert. She heard something from the stairwell. Footsteps, thundering closer.

  “Quill?” she said.

  He turned, the eyes of his helmet glowing red as he studied the wall. “Two shapes,” he reported. “The scans aren’t clear, but the first could be Groot.”

  Gamora could think of approximately 14 ways to take out anyone exiting the stairwell into the hallway. All of those ways, however, involved being close enough to get hit by the spores.

  She had to fight every instinct in order to keep her distance. Her jaw twitched in annoyance as she joined Quill down the hall.