by Stuart Moore
“What? What the hell is that?”
“The Kármán Line! You know, suborbital altitude? The place where satellites spin and dreams are made? The ship auto-stopped when we got to sixty miles up.”
“I don’t… Why do I care about…” Quill trailed off as, on the little screen, Gamora’s bodycam flashed pure white and went blank. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. No, he thought. Gam…!
“You see that?” he yelled, turning to address Rocket directly. “Get us moving! We gotta get down there!”
“Dude.” Rocket looked at him like he was an idiot. “You don’t want to go below the Kármán Line.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause it’s the Kármán Line! It’s like an unwritten rule.” Rocket gestured out the viewport. From this height, glowing cracks could be seen spreading across the planet’s surface. “The Kármán Line, right? When a planet is gaspin’ its last, about to blow moon-sized chunks of dirt and water into space, you never go below the Kármán Line!”
“I will give you ten thousand credits to stop saying KÁRMÁN LINE–”
“Human?” a voice said over the comms. “Laboratory-bred raccoon? Can you hear me?”
Rocket rolled his eyes. “Hey, Drax.”
“I wish to inform you that this planet may be becoming unstable.”
Quill stared out the window. Storm clouds were swirling, making it harder to see the ground. He could just see two escape ships still standing in the spaceport. As he watched, the ground split open beside one of the barracks buildings, swallowing a group of screaming refugees.
“Unstable,” he repeated, keeping his voice flat. “Copy that.”
“Valuable intel,” Rocket added.
“Yes,” Drax replied, “and I believe the sinister mind of Thanos is behind it all.”
Rocket laughed. “Thanos is dead, you musclehead.”
Quill panned the screen image over to the munitions dome, still standing in a tangle of human and mechanical wreckage. Fissures fanned out all around the dome, but it glowed brighter than ever, its light piercing the cloud cover.
There, Quill thought. That’s where Gamora went.
He stood up, thumbing a button on his neck. His faceplate snapped down over his head, telescopic night-vision goggles covering his eyes. He pulled his element gun free of its holster, twirling it once on his finger.
“You’re goin’ down there?” Rocket asked.
“Yup.” Quill turned and strode toward the airlock. “It’s better’n arguing with you about the Carlin Line.”
“That’s Kárm… ah, never mind. Hey, Quill?”
“Yeah?”
“Go get our girl.”
Quill turned, shot Rocket a semi-ironic salute, and opened the airlock hatch. Thirty seconds of decompression later, he shot out of the ship into a dust-clouded sky. Here in the lower ionosphere, the air was thin but raging; torrential winds buffeted him back and forth. He turned downward and blasted his jets, arrowing toward the planet below.
The clouds closed in, obscuring his view. He sent out a radar ping, but no airborne objects appeared on his optic display. No flying Sentries, no omnicannons. The Kree hadn’t even cared enough about Praeterus to leave a suborbital dronecam behind.
The clouds parted, giving him a clear view of the scene below. In the spaceport, Groot had formed a thickly woven vine-fence, walling off one of the rescue ships from the approaching Kree horde. The ship smoked and rumbled, its engines warming up for takeoff. The Kree clawed at the Groot-barrier, climbing desperately, struggling to reach the ship. Drax sat on Groot’s elongated shoulders, swatting people down as they reached the top.
Quill clicked his comms on to passive mode.
“Retreat!” Drax yelled to the crowd. “This vessel is full. Your certain doom will not be averted by this action!”
Good old Drax – no bedside manner to speak of. The horde retreated, looked around, and took off running toward the last remaining ship, a distinctive model with luxury-style fins that had been in fashion a few centuries ago.
And all around, hundreds… no, thousands more Kree were flowing into the settlement to join the refugees. Quill grimaced. At best, eighty or ninety people might fit on that last evac ship. And that was if they didn’t trample it, hyperdrive engines and all, under their panicked rampage.
He shook his head and veered toward the dome. It glowed like an incandescent bulb, stone and plasteel crackling and rippling. Something, some massive source of heat and radiation, was bubbling up from inside, rising inexorably to the surface.
And Gamora was trapped in there with it.
He swung around the dome in a circle and whipped out his element gun. The weapon, unique in all the universe, could project energy in any of the four basic elements. Fire, earth, air…
…or water.
An ice-cold stream shot forth, sizzling and spattering against the top of the dome. A thin plasteel plate, patched between the original stones, let out a high whine and cracked wide open. Quill grinned and let out a whoop of triumph. “Thermodynamics,” he screamed. “Thermodynamics, BAY-BEE!”
Bracing himself, he held up his arms before him and flew down into the dome. Fire rose up all around him, heat and radiation at levels he’d never seen before. A creeping sensation stole up his neck, a primal fear of some kind. This wasn’t a normal fire – not even the searing heat of a planet’s molten core. There was something else at work here, something distinctly unnatural.
He dropped down into a large open chamber, forcing his fear away. Red-glowing shards of molten machinery – power absorption rigs and small computers – littered the floor. And in the center of it all, the fire raged. An inferno so bright that, even with his protective goggles, he had to shield his eyes.
Was Gamora here? He could barely see anything. He raised his gun and swept it around in a wide arc, firing short bursts of air to force the flames away. There – on the far side of the room – a slim blur of green and violet, lying on the floor.
“Gam!”
She wasn’t moving. Heart racing, he arced through the air in a quick leap, narrowly avoiding the glowing fire rising up from the core tap. He crouched down next to her, wincing at the third-degree burns blistering her arms and shoulders. Her sword lay chipped and cracked on the floor.
“Gam,” he said, touching her cheek. “Oh Gam, don’t die. Please don’t be dead.”
Her eyes snapped open. She rolled aside, almost too fast to see. Before he knew what was happening, she was propped up on one elbow with her sword in her other hand, the tip of the blade touching his neck just below the Adam’s apple.
He smiled, eyeing the sword blade nervously and blinking away tears. “Y’rrg gglive,” he managed.
She shook her head, coming fully awake for the first time. “Peter,” she said.
He raised a finger cautiously and nudged the blade away from his throat. Gamora hissed instinctively, and Quill felt a moment of doubt. Even after all this time – the tender moments they’d shared, the battles they’d fought together – he still wasn’t sure how she felt about him. The adopted daughter of Thanos didn’t give her heart away easily.
She winced. “Can’t feel… left leg.”
“It’s OK,” he replied. “I got you.”
“Peter…” She waved an arm toward the glowing energies, wincing with the effort. “Evil… inside. It… it burns…”
“Burns? Yeah, that’s for sure!” He lifted her gently by the waist, taking her limp form in his arms. “Take it easy – I’ll get you back to the ship. Maybe you could holster that blade? It’s crazy sharp.”
“Ship.” She shook her head; she seemed dazed. “Ship…”
“It’s hovering up around the Kármán Li… you know, never mind that. Just go limp, let me take you.”
“Last time someone said that to me…” She smiled, grimacing in pain. “I
sliced his gut open.”
“I get that! But cutting me wouldn’t be in your best interest right now, would it?”
The energy flared, grazing Quill’s side. He winced, hefting Gamora in his arms, and took off into the air. He skirted the blinding energy, hugging the top of the dome as he zigzagged toward the hole.
“Hang on!” he said.
They shot through the gap and into the air. Behind them, the fiery energy surged up, flaring high enough to singe Quill’s boots as he climbed into the sky. Gamora slowed him down, but only slightly.
“Oh, Peter,” she said, staring down. “All those people.”
He turned briefly to look. The sea of people had become an ocean, desperate souls trampling each other in a final march through the settlement. They climbed over fallen equipment, knocked down tents in their haste. All desperate to reach the spaceport, the one final ship that couldn’t possibly hold them all.
“I know,” he said.
The ground looked like it had been shredded by a giant cheese grater. Glowing fissures leaked energy, seeping out from the planet’s core. A rusty oil derrick toppled and fell into a crevice, disappearing from sight.
“I tried,” Gamora gasped. “Couldn’t save them.”
“I know.” Quill climbed higher, keeping a tight grip on her. “I know you did.”
Beneath them, the dome let out a groan and crumbled inward. The blinding energy glow flared up into the air. Quill caught a quick glimpse of Drax and Groot, trying desperately to maintain order as they hustled people onto the final ship. Screams of help, of panic, rose up and vanished in the air.
“Empire… took everything,” Gamora said. “Took everything from them.”
“We can’t save them,” Quill said. “I’m sorry.”
To his surprise – shock, even – Gamora rested her head on his shoulder. She’d never done that before. He moved his arm around her shoulder and turned his attention to the sky above.
She’s right, he thought. We’ve failed. We can’t save them. That failure would weigh on all of them in the weeks to come: Groot, Rocket, Quill, even Drax. But he knew that, under her tough exterior, Gamora would take it hardest of all.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
Chapter 5
“Attention pink and occasionally blue humanoids! I am known as Drax the Destroyer. Contrary to my name, i have been sent to this heap of rapidly crumbling rock and water to save your lives. It is imperative that you listen to me, because–
“No! No no no, you cannot do that! Stay off the gantry while I speak! This is important. Yes, I am talking to you, guy with Mohawk haircut!
“As I say, my admittedly offputting friends and I have come to this world to save your lives. However, by now you must realize this is impossible. There are far too many of you and too few berths left on this final evacuation vessel. Which, I admit, is a most unlikely rescue ship. I believe it belonged to a retired Shi’ar admiral, who used it for pleasure jaunts to witness the explosion of supernovas. Like many Denebian luxury yachts, it sports ostentatious fins that, to my eye, ruin the line of the hull.
“What? Yes, the Shi’ar do treat their retired military far better than your empire does. That is but one of many injustices which I am powerless to correct. As my captain would say, it is ‘above my pay grade.’
“Please stay in line! You must board the ship in an orderly manner and allow my friend, the disquietingly ambulatory tree, to usher you to your assigned seats. Do not look at me that way, missy. I have two very large knives and I am well trained in their use.
“To continue: once again, the great probability is that this world is doomed and most of you along with it. Another of my friends, a disturbingly homicidal green woman, has been trying to solve that problem. However, I just witnessed her limp form being hoisted up into the sky by the aforementioned captain. So I assume all hope is now lost.
“Hey! That is no reason to panic! Well, actually, I suppose it is. But I order you not to panic anyway! Knives, remember?
“No no no – do not crowd the gantry. Like everything else on this planet, it is old and weak and beginning to buckle in the windy death-throes of this world. Only three people on the gantry at a time, and please practice social distancing. Three people at a time. Three people–“
Drax whirled as a group of young Kree men, in faded green jumpsuits, leaped for the ship all at once. When they landed on the gantry, its rusty framework creaked and groaned. One of the men, the “Guy with Mohawk”, turned, smirked, and pointed his elbow down at Drax – a Kree gesture of unparalleled rudeness and disrespect.
“Groot!” Drax called.
Groot stuck his head out of the ship’s hatch just as the gantry supports snapped, sending the Kree already in the boarding line tumbling toward the ground. Groot rolled his eyes and shot out four limbs at once, extending them to several times their normal length, and snatched the Kree out of the air.
The ground shook again, filling the air with an apocalyptic rumbling noise. Drax turned to see the dome in the center of the settlement crack open in a paroxysm of fire. Energy shot out of it into the air, like a fountain of coruscating light.
The Kree let out a cry of panic and surged toward the ship, moving like a single organism. They screamed, held up babies, begged for salvation. Drax waved his battle-knives in the air, but the crowd ignored him. They surrounded the former luxury craft, massing around its base – but with the gantry collapsed, there was no way to reach the elevated hatch.
“Step back!” Drax howled, “you cannot all fit on the ship. There is only room for… uh…”
Groot stuck his head inside the ship, then turned to look down at Drax. He shrugged helplessly and held up a single twig-finger. Then, grimacing, he held up two.
“There is only room for–”
“For us, sonny. At least, there better be.”
Drax cast his gaze down, raising his knives. An old man in a formal uniform stood before him, holding a tiny old Kree woman’s hand. They both carried travel bags. Unlike the majority of Kree filling the spaceport, these two had deep blue skin.
“I do not understand,” Drax said, lowering his voice. “There are only two spaces left on the evacuation ship. They belong to me and my arboreal friend.”
“Is that what your daddy taught you?” the old man demanded, his withered chin set. “Cut and run, save your own butt? Leave others to die?”
“I do not remember what my daddy taught me. My memories were wiped and altered by Kronos, who recreated me as a weapon against the Mad Titan Thanos.” Drax paused and looked up as a chunk of debris from the dome flew by overhead. “Thanos,” he rumbled. “His stink is all over this.”
The old woman frowned at her husband. “I thought Thanos was dead.”
All around them, the masses of people milled and shouted, struggling to board the ship. The old man ignored them, jabbing a finger into Drax’s bare chest. “Listen here, tattoo boy. I don’t care about myself–”
“In my experience,” Drax said, “people who say that generally care a great deal about themselves.”
“–but my beloved Ann-ya here has had a rough life. I promised to protect her five decades ago, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Our two grandkids already got on the last ship, but we got lost in the crowd.” He paused, out of breath. “So what do you say? You gonna be a hero, or a chicken-man?”
Drax stared at the man for a moment. The wind grew stronger, the rumbling of the planet’s crust louder.
Groot yelled something that was lost in the wind. It was probably either “I am Groot” or “These idiots are about to knock the ship over.”
Drax let out a lusty burst of laughter, startling the two elderly Kree. As they took a step back, he reached out and grabbed the old man by the arm.
“You,” Drax growled, “are far smaller than I.”
The old man sw
allowed and nodded.
“And you–” Drax turned to glare at the old woman, “–are smaller still.”
She looked up defiantly, saying nothing.
“Your combined weight approximates my own,” Drax continued. “Perhaps exceeds it slightly.”
“Are, uh…” The old man peered up at Drax. “Are you gonna kill us?”
Drax laughed again, a bone-chilling sound. Then he reached out, picked up the old man, and hurled him into the air. At the hatch of the luxury liner, a startled Groot turned just in time to catch the man, swing him around, and hurl him inside the ship.
“You next, tiny Kree lady,” Drax said. He reached out his arms.
The old woman hesitated. Her eyes, set deep within wrinkled blue skin, looked at him with something that might have been either gratitude or resentment. Maybe a touch of both.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for whoaaaahh!”
Then she too was flying through the air, her travel bag flailing in the wind. Groot caught her and placed her down on the narrow gantry platform outside the hatch. Then he stopped, hesitated, and looked down at Drax.
“I am…?” Groot asked, gesturing toward the ship.
Drax grimaced at him. “Go.”
“But I am–”
“I said go!” Then he smiled sadly. “It has been an honor to know you…”
For the record, his parting words were “…ambulatory vegetable of the tiny vocabulary.” But they were drowned out by the roar of the one-time luxury liner’s engines surging to life. Those engines, Drax noticed with disdain, were louder than the other ships’ had been. Retired Shi’ar admirals were notorious showoffs.
Groot cast a sad glance down at Drax, then slammed the hatch shut. The ship smoked, rumbled, and began to rise. As it lifted off the ground, Groot stretched out his arms and legs, wrapping his body across the outside hull. Branches stretched out and wove together, snaking around the ship’s fins, forming a tight latticework to fasten Groot’s organic form tightly around the entire vessel.
Drax watched as the ship rose, struggling under the weight of several dozen refugees, and climbed toward the raging clouds. How noble of Groot, he thought, to take his chances outside the ship, rather than deprive a single Kree of a spot inside.
