by Stuart Moore
With a shock, Gamora realized what was happening. She was back in the dome, on Praeterus, staring into the blazing glow of the gamma reaction. Once again she peered into the fire, struggling to make out the tiny figure at the heart of that unimaginable energy. Its evil, she sensed, was the equal of Thanos himself.
It wasn’t Thanos, though. She knew that much. And yet, as the light seared her eyes, she heard once again the Mad Titan’s voice:
“It’s inside you.”
She forced herself to look closer. Her corneas burned, her nerves seemed to dissolve into ash. But now she could see. She could almost see it–
She felt a hand on her shoulder. Suddenly she could move again. Her limbs flexed, her hand grasped her sword and swung it around. The world flashed bright, then went dark…
…and then she was in her bunk, on the ship, crouched on all fours with the sword pressed down on Peter Quill’s throat.
“Again?” he croaked.
“Peter.” She reared back, tossing the sword aside. “I told you to stop sneaking up on me!”
“You were asleep!” He rubbed his throat. “And mumbling some pretty weird stuff, I might add.”
“I saw.” She stared at him, eyes wide. “Peter, I saw it. Saw them.”
“Them? Them who?”
“The assassin. The planet-killer.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to recall the image. “When I was in the dome… before you arrived. I saw the killer’s face.”
“Really?” He sat up on the bed, reached out for her, then thought better of it. “Why didn’t you say so before?”
“I didn’t remember. The shock… the radiation… but I remember now.”
“You saw the killer.” A dark look crossed his face. “The monster that murdered Drax.”
“Yeah.”
“Well? What did they look like?”
“I can’t…” She shook her head, looked away. “It’s gone again.”
“Oh.” He looked down, clearly disappointed.
“I saw it.” She slammed a fist down on the bedside table. “I saw that face! If I came across it again, I’d know. I would remember.”
“Well, maybe you’re about to get that shot.” He smiled, puffing out his chest with pride. “You remember that organlegger back on Chandilar? The one with the bad breath and the–”
“–and the unusual assortment of limbs. Yes?”
“Well, he gave Rocket a tip that wound up paying off big. Something about genetic enhancements made to a Skrull agent, specifically to get him through Kree security screenings.”
“A Skrull.” She stared at him. “That’s our killer?”
“No, no, the Skrull was just a middleman. Looks like he smuggled in some Shi’ar explosive wingtips to a Kree starpost, just fifteen light-years away from Praeterus. Delivered them to a Phalanx Technarch who incorporated them into her–”
“A Technarch! So that’s the killer–”
“No no no! The Technarch was a dead end. But this is where it gets interesting. The wingtips turned up on a K’Lanti customs scan way the hell across the galaxy–”
“Peter!” She took hold of his cheeks and turned his head to face her. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“The, uh, the killer seems to be Kree.” He looked hurt. “And Rocket just picked up their trail. I thought you might like to see.”
“I would.” She was already up, pulling on her battlesuit and fastening her belt. As she started toward the door, Quill followed, grumbling.
“It was a really good story,” he muttered.
“I’m sure it was.”
“I mean, if you let me tell the whole thing! Otherwise, it kind of falls apart around the end of the second act…”
She ignored him, pushing through a narrow corridor lined with survival gear. She slammed a hand down on the hatch button, squeezed through the opening before it was fully open, and stared around the cockpit. Rocket sat in the pilot’s seat, hands clasped behind his head, steering with his feet. Groot had spread his limbs out over a pile of equipment lockers and was rummaging through three of them at once.
But it was the sight through the viewport that made Gamora’s heart sink. A blue-white orb, floating in space, soft clouds swirling across its familiar surface.
“Earth,” she spat. “Ugh.”
“Yep. Earth.” Rocket turned, smirking as he twisted a dial with his toes. “I’m keepin’ us just out of sight of their dumb satellites.”
“Ugh?” Peter asked. “Why ugh? What’s wrong with Earth?”
“Everything.” Gamora moved closer to the viewport. “For one thing, it’s too close to Titan for my taste.”
“Not much left of Titan since Thanos got done with it,” Rocket observed.
“Exactly.” She gestured at the viewport. “Also, everyone from Earth is an idiot.”
“Ow!” Peter said. “Right to my face?”
“Hey Groot!” Rocket called. “You find the whatsit yet? The dingus?”
Groot muttered something I-Am-Grootish, then smiled. He pulled a small device out of a locker and stretched out a long branch-arm to deliver it to Rocket.
“The Kree detector,” Gamora said.
“Yep! And since that Chitauri intel we got made it very clear that our planet-killer is Kree–”
“Chitauri?”
Quill shrugged haughtily. “Someone didn’t want to hear the story.”
“Ahem!” Rocket clicked the detector on. “As I was saying… if the Kree scum that killed Drax is hidin’ out on Earth, this should lead us right to ’em.”
A light winked green on the detector. BLEEP.
With a whoop of triumph, Rocket turned back to the viewport. “We’re comin’ up on… whaddya call that big brown landmass? Shaped like a toilet?”
“North America,” Quill growled.
“Right. Someplace in there…up-north-ish, near the flusher…”
BLEEP BLEEP
“Oh! Looks like our planet-killer’s got a pal. Or an accomplice, or–”
BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP
Quill and Gamora exchanged glances.
“Maybe, uh…” Rocket glared at the detector. “Maybe we’re dealin’ with a small family of planet-killers. Or a coven. Perhaps a literary salon.”
Gamora stared at him. “A salon?”
BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP
“I am Groot,” Groot observed.
Rocket held the detector out at arm’s length, watching as the light blinked green, over and over again. He looked disappointed, as if his beloved pet had just soiled the rug.
“This, uh…” He shrugged. “This might be a little trickier than I thought.”
Chapter 10
By the time Kamala found the new kid, he was sprinting out the main door of the school – remarkably fast, she thought. She started after him, then thought better of it. She ducked into the bathroom and changed into costume, then crept past the main office and out the door unnoticed.
If this did turn out to be Avengers business, she’d better handle it as an Avenger. As Ms Marvel.
She caught up with Halla-ar a few blocks away, in the empty playground section of a public park. He stood rigid, facing away from her, toward a set of unused swings and a fenced-off area intended for toddlers. His eyes were closed; he hadn’t heard her approach.
She crept through the gate and into the park, studying him. Halla-ar had sharp cheekbones and a trim form – attractive, she had to admit. But what was he doing? Resting? Meditating?
“Hey,” she said. “Mountain pose, right?”
His eyes snapped open. He spun around, incredibly fast, and d
ropped into a crouch, hands thrust out like blades.
“Whoa, whoa!” Kamala stepped back, holding up her hands. “Quick reflexes you got there.”
His eyes, filled with suspicion, burned into hers. “I have been trained as a weapon,” he said. “Who are you?”
“Ms, uh, Ms Marvel,” she said, feeling suddenly awkward. “My friends and contacts back at the school sent me. They were worried about you.”
“Your friends.” He paused, frowning. “One of them tried to talk to me, back there.”
“Kamala? Yeah, she’s got a soft spot for outsiders.” She shrugged. “Me too, I guess.”
She took a step closer, and he backed up. “Easy, easy!” she said. “I’m not gonna touch you. You don’t like to be touched, do you? That’s cool, that’s fine. I’ve got friends like that.”
“Where I come from, a touch is usually a prelude to an attack.”
“I get that. I’ve been in a few brawls myself.”
He straightened up, lowering his hands. They stood silently for a moment, facing each other. Then he turned without a word and stalked away, toward the gate.
He was leaving. In a few seconds, he’d be out that gate and out of her life. An outsider on this world, a kid who’d probably never had a decent break. A kid, she knew, who could use a friend.
“You’re Kree, aren’t you?” she asked.
That stopped him. He turned and gave her a questioning look.
“I had a Kree costume for a while,” she said. “It was pretty cool, but it got a little too… assertive. Not everybody bonds with a Stormranger Nanosuit, I guess.”
“Stormranger. An ancient elite order of the Kree,” he said. “I had an ancestor who held that rank.”
“Then we have something to talk about,” she said. “Come on.”
She led him to a pair of old wooden swings hanging from a rusty frame. “This park is overdue a revamp,” she explained. “Watch out you don’t get tetanus.”
“I don’t understand most of those words,” he said.
She smiled, settling into a swing. He mimicked her movements, frowning as he grabbed hold of the chains. When she kicked off, he nodded and did the same. He studied her moves, experimenting with his legs and arms as he began to swing faster.
It’s soothing him, she realized. Giving him something to focus on. Something other than being in a strange school that hasn’t exactly been welcoming, so far.
“I thought you were going to attack me back there,” she said. “You’ve got some moves.”
“Those?” He snorted. “Simple opening defenses. I learned them when I was five.”
“Five? Really?”
“I’ve been training most of my life.” He kicked off again. “I was selected for Officer Academy training, on Hala. The first in my family.”
“Hala,” Kamala repeated. “That’s the Kree homeworld.”
“I was named after Hala. My family saved up everything they could to send me – I was supposed to leave in three months.” He sighed. “It was their greatest dream.”
“Wait a minute. Saved up?” Kamala frowned. “I thought the Blue Kree were the ruling caste. Don’t you get, I don’t know, special treatment?”
“You sound like my friends back home. The… the Kree meatheads.” He dug his heels into the dirt, coming to sudden halt. “Not all Blue Kree are wealthy or important. My family have always been laborers.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was used to that sort of ignorance on Praeterus. I didn’t expect to find it here.”
“Sorry. I’m really sorry, I didn’t know.” She smiled sadly. “I guess people kind of suck everywhere, sometimes.”
She looked away, feeling terrible. I really jumped to conclusions there, she thought.
He started swinging again, a slower, easy motion. “You did not know,” he acknowledged.
“Praeterus,” she said hesitantly. “That’s your home?”
“It was.” He moved faster now, his kicks growing agitated. “Until it was destroyed.”
“The whole planet?”
He didn’t answer. Kamala studied him as he swung, seeing the pain in his eyes. She remembered Zoe’s words: lost in a fire.
“My whole world,” he said finally. “Along with all my family’s savings.”
“So no trip to Hala.” She grimaced. “No Officer Academy training.”
“My sister worked so hard.” She could feel his anger, like a dark fog in the air. “And now we have nothing. Now we are exiled to this cruel, noisy world.”
“Yeah, about that… Halla-ar, right?” He didn’t answer, so she pressed on. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you here? Why pick Earth to settle on? It’s a big galaxy.”
“Galaxies,” he corrected.
“If you say so. It’s all just space to me.”
The ghost of a smile tickled at his lips, then quickly vanished.
“We did not choose Earth. After the destruction of Praeterus, my people had nowhere to go.” He let out a long sigh. “And the Kree rulers had other matters on their minds.”
“Rulers usually do,” she said.
“Our ships hopped from world to world, but were met with hostility and force at every stop. As our food and fuel grew low, we became desperate. Then, like a gift from the heavens, we received an offer to come to Earth. The work would be hard, we were told, but we would be treated fairly and given good housing.” He shook his head. “And we accepted. Because even in the Kree Galaxy, everyone trusts the word of Tony Stark.”
Kamala jumped. The way he spat out Stark’s name, it sounded like a curse.
“We should have known,” Halla-ar continued. “When you are weak and have nothing, that is when the predators strike. When you are poor, the system contrives to work you to death, to take what little you own and leave you to die penniless.”
“That doesn’t sound like Tony,” she blurted.
Halla-ar went rigid. He leaped out of the swing and whirled to face her.
“You know Tony Stark?” he demanded.
“I… Yeah.” She stood up slowly. “He’s a good man. I mean, he’s kind of a clueless rich guy, and he can be pretty full of himself. But he tries.” She grimaced. “He asked me to join the Avengers.”
She shuddered, struck by the pain in Halla-ar’s eyes. Was it possible? Tony Stark was a billionaire, after all. Rich people often made their money by exploiting… someone. And Kamala had friends, even relatives, who’d been taken advantage of upon first arriving in this country.
“So,” Halla-ar said, “you are allied with him.” His whole manner had turned cold now. “Did Stark send you here? To find me?”
“No! I mean, I don’t know him that well.” She looked away. “But… well, he’s a hero too.”
“I should have known. I was a fool to trust you – to trust anyone on this foul planet.”
“I’ll prove it to you. You can trust me.”
He frowned. “How?”
“Meet me here, tomorrow morning. We’ll take this Tony Stark business right to the top.” She stared into his eyes. “And if it’s true – if there’s any truth to this at all – we’ll get to the bottom of it. I promise.”
“You would do that?” He looked back at her, startled. “For me? For someone you just met?”
“You bet.” She smiled. “After all, there’s got to be some perks to being an Avenger.”
Chapter 11
Night fell over a desolate stretch of Tenth Avenue on the west side of Manhattan, in what had once been called the Meatpacking District. Office lights went dark, loading-dock doors scrolled down and snapped shut. And a strange neon sign flickered to life: a dusty glass tube twisted into a shape that might have meant something in Russian. Or maybe not.
Below the sign, a few steps had once led down to a long-abandoned s
ubway station. Now those steps ran into a concrete blockade plastered with ancient band posters and faded warning signs. A dead end – except for the thin, inconspicuous wooden door off to the right side of the blockade. And inside that door stood a dusty, windowless tavern with a peculiar name: Staryymir.
A short bar ran down one side of the room, stocked with a surprisingly large assortment of exotic liqueurs. A few high tables filled the rest of the crowded space. The bartender, a lanky middle-aged man with a Russian accent, stood behind the bar, adjusting the antenna of a television that probably dated back to the Gorbachev era.
Staryymir had quite a history. But Kir-ra of the Kree didn’t care about that. All she cared about was that it was open during the day, and that it was dark.
A Kree man named Budda-lo sat across from her at a high table, complaining. “…can’t do those sixteen-hour shifts anymore,” he was saying. “My back is killing me.”
“Mmm,” Kir-ra said, looking away. She lifted her glass to the light, took a long drink of vodka… and felt nothing. Earth alcohol, she thought. No bite to it. None at all.
“It’s the assembly line.” Budda-lo rolled his shoulders, wincing. “It’s so bad for my neck.”
“Yes,” Kir-ra said, her voice flat. “You said that four times on the subway trip.”
A trip, she thought, that I would have preferred to take alone.
“Did I?” He leaned over the table and stared into her eyes. “Aw, I’m sorry.”
Budda-lo seemed a little desperate, a little lonely, and a good deal drunker than she was. She swirled her vodka, thinking: at least it’s working for someone.
He launched into a new litany of complaints. Kir-ra ignored him, looking around for help. But there was no one else in the bar except the bartender, who sat staring at a cheap streaming sitcom called It’s the Door, Mommy.
Kir-ra shook her head. I’ll never understand this planet, she thought.
Budda-lo’s chatter was intolerable. He’d been a nuisance ever since the munitions plant on Praeterus, when he’d been assigned to the station next to hers. Normally she would have just told him to go away, but after back-to-back shifts at the Stark complex, she was exhausted. So she’d allowed him to follow her here, to the only sanctuary she’d found on this miserable world.
