Guardians Of The Galaxy: Collect Them All Prose Novel

by Corinne Duyvis

  “Plan B…”

  Peter smiled sunnily.

  “…is we evacuate them without your help.”

  43

  THIS is fine. I’m calm. I can do this.”

  Kiya was not calm, and she could not do this.

  How had the Collector found her? Even if someone had tipped him off she was on Vadin, the ship was well hidden. The only people who knew its location were the Guardians, Annay, and the Accuser who’d followed Drax and Kiya out into the desert.

  The Collector had found her. He’d found her. This time he wouldn’t let her escape; this time there wasn’t any Star-Lord to spearhead a getaway—

  “I am Groot? I am Groot!”

  The voice dragged her back. She’d been staring at the screen showing the Collector, his clothes a garish purple against the desaturated landscape. Her eyes were wide, her breath barely there. She forced air back into her lungs.

  “We need to fly away.” She didn’t feel steady, but at least she sounded it. “We can escape.”

  She studied the control panel. There was an autopilot, she knew—the Guardians had used it often enough in the few days she’d been with them. She just didn’t know how to activate it. The only ships she’d ever flown were private rental shuttles. Those were designed as straightforwardly as possible and worked on voice commands half the time.

  Fear crept into Kiya’s voice. “Can you fly it?”

  She looked at the Grootling beside her. He was trying to figure out the control panel as well. She’d seen the same look on the other Grootlings as they tried to recover faded memories.

  This was up to her.

  Decision made, she sat down in the pilot’s seat. What did Star-Lord normally do now? He would flick some switches (which of the seven?) and give Rocket a command (not possible now) and then grab that throttle—

  Lights flashed to her right. “I haven’t even done anything yet!”

  “I am Groot?” The Grootling leaned in and hit a button.

  The Collector’s voice rang through the bridge: “Do I not get a friendly welcome?”

  That voice.

  Kiya sat rooted to her chair.

  She’d escaped him, she told herself. She’d wrecked his museum, taken his specimen, and made him look like a fool. Yet that voice still pinned her down, still made panic burn her eyes.

  “Anyone aboard?” The voice came from all around.

  At least there wasn’t an accompanying holo. She didn’t think she could stand to see his face. She stretched over and smacked the same button the Grootling had. The connection was cut.

  “Where was I, where was I,” she murmured as she took the throttle into her hands, pretending her eyes didn’t leak and her heart wasn’t thudding into her ribcage.

  Then—

  The ship shook.

  “Aack!”

  Kiya was slammed forward, almost knocked from the chair. The throttle dug painfully into her belly. Next to her, the Grootling had caught himself on the navigator’s seat and clung to it for balance. The ship shook a second time.

  “I am Groot!”

  Several screens flickered on—some built-in, some holo. Her head darted from left to right, taking them in one at a time.

  That screen: graphs.

  That screen: numbers. The phrase Hull Integrity: 29% wasn’t a good sign.

  That screen: a 3-D image of the ship. Parts of it were lit up in orange; others glowed red.

  That screen: the same camera feeds as before. She fixated on the one showing the Collector’s shuttle outside, catching a glimpse of Tivan’s face in the pilot’s seat through the front viewport. He’d climbed back into his ship.

  Two massive cannons on each side of the shuttle glowed bright.

  Oh crap—

  She wildly sought out the switch she’d seen Rocket use for announcements. “Hold on!” she yelled at the Grootlings throughout the ship, a second before the next blast hit.

  The orange parts of the 3-D image turned a fierce red. The numbers on the other screen dropped. Hull Integrity: 0%.

  On the camera feed, the Collector calmly exited his shuttle again. He adjusted his cloak and strode toward the Guardians’ ship.

  Kiya stared at the screens, frozen. Via the interior camera feed, she saw the inside of the Guardians’ cargo bay, with a gaping hole revealing the ground past it. The Collector had blasted it right open. The impact had left sand and smoke in the air, thick clouds that obscured the view outside.

  Tivan could simply walk in. And she couldn’t do a thing to stop him.

  She wanted to hide.

  She jolted away from the control panel. He was inside. Too late to flee. She needed to hide. She needed to—

  There had to be other exits. Could she make a run for it? Could she slip past him and escape through the hole he’d blown in the ship? She could take the Collector’s shuttle. She could be gone before he even realized she was there.

  Or she could lock the bridge tight, hide right here under the control panel, and pray for him to leave.

  “I am Groot.” The Grootling leaned in, his face next to hers. He smiled. How? Why? The Collector was inside the ship—he was on his way—

  The Grootling took her hands. One by one, he placed them back on the throttle. Then he patted them. “I am Groot.”

  He turned and ran off the bridge.

  She stared at the throttle, not comprehending for a too-long second.

  When it did hit her, it was obvious. Fly away. Get out of this damn desert and find help in the city. That was another option. She nodded at no one in particular and considered the controls in front of her, every joystick and switch and button and screen.

  She tried not to watch the camera feeds. Some of the Grootlings were pulling the larger duplicates toward the cargo bay.

  They were buying her time. She had to use it.

  One slider said AUTO. When she tried to move it down, it wouldn’t give.

  She tried to envision the times she’d seen Star-Lord or the others put this ship into motion.

  Sliders on the left, all the way up. These switches. Pull the throttle. Lights flickered on across the dash. Just like that, the ship came to life.

  Alarm lights bathed the bridge in flashes of red, warning her of the damage the ship had suffered. A nervous look over her shoulder revealed only an empty bridge.

  Don’t think about Tivan.

  Don’t think about the Grootlings.

  She stole a look at the camera feeds. The two oldest Grootlings faced the Collector. He’d made it inside, lingering halfway up a metal staircase and looking up at the Grootlings with interest. She couldn’t hear them clearly over the audio feed, but she could make out enough to recognize Tivan’s amicable voice and the Grootlings’ warning tone.

  Back on the dash. Back to the AUTO slider. Focus. This time—yes!—it gave. She left it on the first setting for a moment; when that didn’t do anything, the next; finally, the third. Several more lights flicked on.

  The ship started to move.

  “Location?” a mechanical voice asked.

  She thought for a moment. She could only think of a single place to find help she trusted, and where the Collector might hesitate to make trouble.

  “Porovi Hall,” she told the ship.

  It bleeped in acknowledgment. Kiya felt a rush of joy.

  It didn’t last. They were moving, lifting away from the ground agonizingly slowly, but the Collector was still in the ship, and now—now she had to deal with that.

  The fear surged. She closed her eyes. The flashing alarm lights burned through her eyelids, impossible to ignore. She felt the same urge to run, hide—but she’d just given up her only hope of escaping, and hiding wouldn’t make him go away.

  She needed to see him. She needed to know where he was, because unless she knew, she would always think he was right behind her.

  Kiya opened her eyes. She hunted through the screen controls, experimenting until she managed to change the camera feed to displ
ay the leisure area. She saw several smaller Grootlings in hiding. Another two were running out the door. The med bay was empty; the bridge showed only Kiya herself, bathed in flashing lights; and the cargo bay—oh no, the cargo bay. Her stomach roiled at the sight of it. The hole was so big the entire team could’ve fit through with room to spare.

  There was no sign of life. Only the cargo bay, the blasted-in doors, and of the planet dropping farther away.

  The next screen revealed the Collector standing by the kitchen counter. He steadied himself with one hand, the other raised to defend himself from three Grootlings lashing out with sharp, pointed fingers. They’d torn his clothes, but didn’t seem to be able to touch the rest of him. The Collector looked more inconvenienced than frightened.

  (She was responsible for that. Groot should’ve been able to do more damage than this.)

  The Collector swiped one arm, swatting the Grootlings aside with ease.

  Their voices were louder now.

  “I am Groot!”

  “Ga-mo-ra…” Tivan sing-songed.

  Kiya’s skin went cold.

  Two more Grootlings rushed at him from off-screen. He stopped a small one in midair. Instead of tossing him back, Tivan held him up. He asked a question, too soft to hear. His face tightened in annoyance. He grabbed hold of one arm, then tore.

  A gasp escaped her. Kiya watched the screen numbly as the Collector tossed away the arm—and the Grootling—like trash.

  He turned toward the next Grootling.

  She couldn’t watch this.

  “Ga-mo-ra…”

  A thought in her mind: If I lock myself in the bridge, we’ll reach the Guardians before he can find me—they can keep him busy—

  The pit of fear in her stomach told her it was a good idea. That it was the only idea. She could hide until it was over and…

  And then?

  She thought of the Grootling’s hands on hers just now, and of the last sight she’d caught of Groot at Annay’s bar before he’d sealed off the hatch.

  She jerked away from her chair.

  She couldn’t escape, or hide, or go back home. There was no safety for her anymore. Instead, she had this: the Collector coming after her, and the people whose lives had been ruined fighting for her. She couldn’t sit by.

  She had to fight.

  The Collector had taught her to fight, and now she would turn that training back on him.

  She was halfway down the bridge when two Grootlings staggered in. “Good,” she said. “Can one of you watch the bridge?”

  “I am Groot!”

  “Tell the Grootlings fighting Tivan to drive him back toward the cargo bay.” Her best hope of escaping this was to get him off the ship. Her best hope of getting him off the ship was tossing him out of that gaping hole in the cargo bay. And her best hope of tossing him out—

  She had a pretty good idea of how to pull that off.

  “And you…” Kiya turned to the other Grootling. Despite the fear clenching her gut, she found herself smiling grimly.

  She didn’t want to face Tivan again. She would be happy to never, ever set foot on the same planet as him.

  But if they had to come face-to-face once more, at least there was a way to enjoy it.

  “I am Groot?”

  “Show me where Rocket keeps his bombs.”

  44

  CAPTAIN Mari-Kee was fast on the uptake: She realized what Peter meant in a split second.

  He knew that split second was plenty for Gamora. The captain hit the ground with a smack. Gamora leapt over her, diving low. A sweep of her leg brought down another two soldiers.

  “Again: We’re here to help.” Peter fired his element gun, freezing a soldier trying to attack Gamora from behind. “If you don’t want to fight us, toss down your weapon and get into that elevator.”

  Right on cue, the doors slid open to reveal two empty elevators.

  He encased another soldier in ice. Gamora would’ve taken her out easily, but Peter liked to be useful.

  Within moments, the hallway was clear. They dragged the unconscious and frozen Kree into the first elevator. Two other soldiers went willingly, not wanting to end up frozen solid—Peter hoped they wouldn’t get in trouble over cooperating, but knowing the Kree military, they probably would.

  “Sorry, dude.” Peter patted a half-frozen private on the shoulder. “It’s still better than getting hit by those spores.”

  The elevator doors slid shut.

  “Rocket, send them down a floor or two, but keep those doors closed,” Gamora said over comms. “We need to get into the Council’s conference room. Any help?”

  “Done!”

  Peter turned toward the conference-room doors. The physical locks clicked open, followed by an almost imperceptible fzzzt as Rocket overrode the force field. With the rest of the security measures already deactivated, getting in would be simple.

  Rocket went on, “Hey, is anyone doing murder yet? No? Hm. Keep me in the loop.”

  “I’ll evacuate,” Gamora said to Peter, wrenching the doors apart.

  He gave a lazy salute. By flying up the outside of the building, they’d gotten well ahead of Annay and the Grootling—but they’d used up most of their lead time.

  Inside the chamber, Gamora began speaking in a firm voice to the Council members. Peter tuned her out, watching the stairwell with a sideways eye as he moved back toward the broken window. The wind threatened to suck him out, but he grabbed hold of the ledge and leaned down to peer at the ground far below. Clean: Everyone was being evacuated via the main exit, congregating in the courtyard farther left. Using his foot and the wind setting on his element gun, he swept the glass outside, sending it spinning through the air. He switched the element gun to fire, painting strategic scorch spots on the wall. He dragged the broken security bots down the hall near the opening—then did the same with the deceased Kree body.

  No movement in the stairwell yet.

  Finally, Gamora escorted out the Council members. “Into the elevator,” she told them. “Go. Rocket, the conference-room doors are closed. Lock them again.”

  Another fzzt sounded by the room’s entrance. The force field was back up. The locks clicked shut a moment later.

  One Council member walked at the tail end of the group, her stride stiff and her head held up proudly despite one rapidly swelling eye. “How,” she asked, her voice deliberate, “can we trust that—”

  “Because if I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it when you pulled that weapon on me,” Gamora said, “and if I wanted to kidnap you, I wouldn’t ask nicely.”

  She herded the rest of them into the second elevator, ignoring their demands. The moment the last member’s cape flowed inside, she said, “Rocket, get them all down. Don’t open the elevator doors until the security bots are taken care of.”

  “But what if—” one Council member asked. The doors popped closed, cutting off his voice.

  “You’re welcome!” Peter called after them. Standing by his side, Gamora looked determined, exasperated, and invigorated all at once. “You look like you’re having fun.”

  One corner of her lips curled up. “Ask me when Groot and Kiya are safe.”

  “Will do. Let’s go.”

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and kicked off the floor, his boot thrusters propelling them back outside through the broken window. He maneuvered along the outside wall to the side of the window, out of sight of the hallway, and began to hover in place. Far below, the evacuation proceeded across the courtyard. Office employees, injured soldiers, DiMavi civilians, workers who had been setting up the ceremony stage in advance of the evening’s events… Shuttles were arriving to get them out, but there was hardly anywhere to land, and those shuttles weren’t set up to transport hundreds at once.

  Peter tried to tune out the noise and the wind soaring around their ears. He turned toward the outer wall, listening for anything going on inside the building.

  There. The click of a door.

 
; Footsteps.

  Peter ran a scan with his helmet, revealing the same readings as before—two figures, their holos skewing his view of them. It had to be Annay and the Grootling.

  “They’re here,” he whispered to Rocket over comms. From the look of Annay’s silhouette, she was checking out the empty hallway—the scorch marks, the missing window pane, the broken bots nearby, the deceased Kree—and hopefully coming to the conclusion he wanted her to come to: that the glass had been shattered outward, and that the guards had either fled or fallen in the scuffle with the bots.

  Annay’s silhouette approached the conference-room doors. She reached out, presumably testing for a force field. Then she crouched down, pulling something from a bag or pocket and placing it on the ground.

  “We have bomb action, Rocket.”

  “Why am I missing this?” he complained. “I mean, I am tracking down the last of Annay’s crew, so I’m getting to shoot people, but bombs! It ain’t the same. Can I run over? It’s only four or five floors up.”

  Peter’s helmet ran scan after scan, frantically trying to identify the bomb. He’d be in trouble if the explosive was homemade, but even then, the timer mechanism—

  His display flashed with information. Got it. “Two seconds left!”

  One.

  Two.

  Peter imagined the same fzzt as before as the force field fizzled out, and—

  BLAM!

  The doors blasted open. Dust filled the hall, obscuring his sensors for a moment before they filtered it out.

  Annay was holding an arm to her eyes, shielding herself from the dust. “Have at it,” she told the Grootling.

  The Grootling walked toward the conference room. He took firm steps, but the rest of him seemed hunched, as though he was trying to make himself smaller. Every now and then he shifted his head left and right—checking his surroundings? A side effect from the brainwashing?

  Once he was inside the conference room, Peter yelled, “Now!”

  “Field’s back up,” Rocket buzzed in Peter’s ear. “Did it work? Is he trapped? Hmm. Turning off the force field before the blast protected its circuitry somewhat, but it’s still down to 61 percent power.”