by Stuart Moore
“I think it’s important for you to hone your skills.”
Quill recoiled at that. Gamora had to force herself not to laugh. Peter looked cute with his ruffled hair, torn uniform, and a fresh cut above his left eye. But somehow she could never resist jabbing at him when he was down.
Maybe it was the Thanos in her. That was a disturbing notion.
She turned and led Quill back toward the mainland, leaving Stark sprawled out on the pier. “I take it you weren’t able to learn anything about the planet-killer?” she asked.
“Nah.” Quill picked a big splinter out of his jacket. “If those Kree workers know anything, they ain’t talking.”
“Maybe you didn’t ask forcefully enough.”
“Hey…” He spread his arms in a helpless motion.
Suddenly she felt bad. “Sorry.” She moved in closer and touched his arm. “It’s just that I saw the planet-killer. I saw its face, but I still can’t remember it. I’ve tried meditation techniques, self-hypnosis, even that mind-scanner Rocket stole from Arago-7. And it’s just a void.”
“I get it.” He wrapped his arm around her. “We all want to find the scum that killed Drax.”
“I know. I know, but it’s different. For me, I mean.”
She unwrapped his arm and wandered away, looking out over the water.
“I was trained as a weapon,” she said softly. “Thanos… he never allowed me to connect with anyone, to care for anything. Never let me feel anything at all, except a constant simmering anger.”
“That’s over now,” he said. “Thanos is gone. We’re your family now.”
“And I’m grateful. But family isn’t the same thing as purpose.” She whirled toward him, feeling a sudden need to explain herself. “For the first time since Thanos died, I have that: a purpose. A righteous place to put my anger – all the pent-up rage I was filled with, every second of my childhood. I will find the killer of Praeterus, of Drax the Destroyer, and I will rip out their heart with my bare hands. As they die slowly before my eyes, I will know a satisfaction, a peace, that I’ve never known before.”
“You realize you’re talking crazy.” Quill stood watching her, eyes wide. “I like it.”
She laughed despite herself, and punched him hard enough to leave a bruise. Then he laughed too, and their foreheads touched.
“We should check in with Rocket,” Quill said. “Maybe he’s got something.”
Gamora peered up past the factory complex and over to the building that held Tony Stark’s office. “I can’t see the ship.”
The sound of ripping metal brought her attention down to Earth. At the landward edge of the pier, a pack of Kree were tearing down the remaining squares of security fence, striding onto the pier like an invading army. Gamora tensed, recognizing the Kree with a crewcut – the man Peter had tried, unsuccessfully, to intimidate. He looked angry, his jaw set, eyes glaring.
But it was the woman at the front of the group who stood out. She was tall and lean, with fierce eyes, and her skin was bright blue. She strode forward, arms held stiff at her sides.
“Which of you Terran freaks threatened to kill Jer-ra?” she demanded, gesturing at the man with the crewcut.
Gamora let out a short laugh. Quill’s eyes flicked nervously from her to the blue Kree, and then he stepped forward.
“That, uh, that was me,” he said, smiling sheepishly at the crewcutted man. “I’m sorry, dude. I don’t actually think you’re a planet-killer. And I was really out of line with that ascot business–”
Gamora barely saw the blue woman’s hand move, but all at once Quill was laid out on the floor of the pier, rubbing his nose. The woman reached into a back holster, fury in her eyes, and pulled out a long metal rod. When she pressed a stud, its entire surface lit up with electric charge.
“You don’t want him,” Gamora snarled. “You want me.”
The blue woman turned slowly. She cast her eyes calmly up and down Gamora, pausing to study the long sword in the Guardian’s hand.
“Kir-ra,” the crewcutted man said, touching the blue woman’s arm. “Be careful.”
“You ordered this man to attack my people?” Kir-ra asked.
Gamora gestured dismissively down at Quill. “He only does what I tell him.”
“That’s, uh…” Quill spat blood, struggling to rise. “That’s not the org chart I signed off on…”
Gamora ignored him. She recognized the anger, the pent-up resentment in Kir-ra’s eyes. There’s only one way this goes, she thought. Only one path forward.
So she charged, sword flashing. The other Kree backed away, giving the combatants room. Gamora lifted the sword above her head and brought it down as she neared her opponent. Kir-ra leaned back calmly, raised her electrified combat rod to meet the thrust–
–then lowered it in an instant and jabbed upward with her other hand, grabbing Gamora’s arm. The surprise move catapulted Gamora up into the air, flipping her uncontrollably over Kir-ra’s body. The rest of the Kree scattered, watching as Gamora tumbled over the half-collapsed fence onto the mainland. A jagged wire caught on her shoulder, tearing her uniform.
She landed in a crouch in the long grass. This patch of land was neglected, overgrown with weeds and littered with old cinderblocks and jagged stones. Gamora cursed herself for underestimating Kir-ra; she wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Out on the pier, Quill was rising to his feet. Gamora waved him back angrily, watching as Kir-ra strode calmly over the fence to meet her. That electrified rod was raised again, and the other Kree flanked her like a regiment backing up its commander.
Gamora let out a whoop and charged again, swinging her sword in a wide arc. This time the two weapons met in a clash of sparks. Energy crackled from Kir-ra’s rod into Gamora’s longsword, sending pain lancing through the Guardian’s body. She screamed and pulled away.
Kir-ra advanced, holding up her weapon. “You’re not from Earth,” she said. “Why do you serve Tony Stark? Why do you help in the oppression of my people?”
“Stark?” Gamora frowned. “I don’t serve–”
Kir-ra screamed as a halo of flame engulfed her. Peter Quill hovered just above, a steady stream of fire blazing from his element gun. Kir-ra gritted her teeth, loosed a bolt of electricity from her rod, and knocked him out of the sky.
As Kir-ra batted the flames away, Gamora saw her chance. She crouched down and grabbed hold of a broken half-cinderblock. With all her strength, she reared back and hurled it through the air. Kir-ra was patting out the fire, the last flames dying on her jumpsuit, when the concrete block struck her on the forehead. She cried out and tumbled to the ground, the rod-weapon slipping out of her hands. It struck a rock, sparked once, and went dark.
The other Kree were huddled, but Gamora couldn’t worry about them now. She leapt through the air, landed on top of Kir-ra, and pinned her to the ground.
Kir-ra bucked, kicking up with her knees, trying to throw Gamora off. But she lacked Gamora’s raw strength. Her face was scalded, her clothes torn, and Gamora could see the rage in her eyes.
“I’m not who you think I am,” Gamora hissed, “but I don’t have time to make you see that.” She brought her fist down hard on Kir-ra’s nose. Kir-ra groaned in pain. Her blood racing, Gamora raised her arm to strike again–
–and stopped. All at once she could sense something dark and terrible and familiar.
“You,” she said, staring down at the bloody woman. “Are you the one?”
“The…” Kir-ra coughed. “The what?”
Gamora stared at the blue face, the high sharp cheekbones and dark eyes. For a moment she was back in the dome, on Praeterus, face to face with the killer of worlds. That face… the face she’d tried in vain to recall, all these months…
Was this her? The killer of worlds?
“Why did you do it?” She stared into t
hose eyes. “Why did you kill all those people?”
“You’re… insane.”
“Why did you murder my friend?”
“Gam?”
Quill. He stepped up and, to Gamora’s surprise, grabbed Kir-ra up by the collar. He pulled her to her feet, whipped her around, and slammed her against the only square of security fence still standing.
The three remaining Kree approached, murmuring. One spoke urgently into a cell phone. Without looking, Quill swung his arm back and sprayed them with a high-pressure water stream, his gun flashing in a continuous motion. They cried out in protest and backed away.
Peter pressed Kir-ra against the fence, his face grim. He seemed furious, almost possessed. Gamora had only seen him like this a few times before.
“This is her?” he hissed. “The planet-killer? You’re sure?”
Gamora hesitated. The image in her mind…even after all this time, it still wasn’t clear. “No,” she said.
Kir-ra shook her head, dazed and bloody. Gamora felt a moment of doubt, even pity. She stared into Kir-ra’s eyes, searching for… what? She didn’t know.
“There’s something….” She paused. “Something clinging to her.”
Again, she felt the stink of that entity, the stench of almost unfathomable evil. And with it the rage, the righteous anger that had given her life a new purpose. If she could wipe out that evil – kill it dead, with a single terrible blow – maybe that would make up for all the lives lost, the atrocities committed. Maybe then she could be at peace.
But if she killed the wrong person… then the cycle would continue. Over and over again.
Quill held Kir-ra firm. “Well?” he asked.
“It’s not her,” Gamora said. “She’s not the one.”
Quill eased his grip, and Kir-ra squirmed free. The Kree leaned against the fence for support, coughing and clutching her stomach.
“But she’s been in contact with it. With the killer.” Gamora cast her eyes out over the Stark office building, the factory complex, and the low storage buildings beyond. So many windowless structures… so many places to hide.
“It’s here,” she said. “On Earth, in this place. Somewhere.”
“You’re sure?” Quill asked.
“Yes.”
Quill hesitated. He glanced at Jer-ra and the other Kree; they stood at a distance now, glaring as they wrung water from their wet clothes.
“Then go,” he said. “Find ’em.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I got things here.”
Gamora smiled. Peter was a screwup and a mass of insecurities, but he was right: they were family. When it came down to it, she trusted him. That was a good feeling.
She turned toward Kir-ra. The Kree woman had edged over to the fencepost, wiping blood from her nose. Gamora tensed, lunged, and punched her hard in the face. Kir-ra cried out and fell to the grass.
Gamora turned to Quill, whose eyes were wide with surprise. “Keep honing,” she said, and took off at a run for the factory.
•••
Quill watched her go, smiling. Gamora was a ball of rage and an unpredictable force, but she was family. He trusted her to find the killer – if that entity really was here on Earth, and not a thousand light-years away. Or already dead, lost with so many others in the destruction of Praeterus.
A rustling in the grass made him look down. The Kree woman, Kir-ra, scrambled to her feet, pausing to shoot him a murderous glare. Then she took off at a run toward the mainland, where her friends stood watching with wary eyes.
Quill felt a sudden spasm of guilt. “Hey,” he called. “Hey, I’m sorry about–”
Cold metal slammed into his head from behind. He cried out in pain and dropped to the grass, then tumbled into a crouch.
Iron Man hovered just above, both gauntlets glowing red-hot. Stark’s helmet covered his face; his chestplate was exposed, but it shone with the full power of the armor’s uni-beam.
“One chance, Quill.” Stark’s voice sounded especially threatening, as if he’d turned up the volume on that suit. “Hand me that gun right now, and let’s discuss this like mildly evolved apes.”
Quill saw stars and not the kind visible from a hyperspace-equipped scoutship. “Suckered me,” he gasped.
“Give it up, cowboy,” Stark continued, “and leave those people alone. I already fought the tough Guardian today, and brother, you ain’t her.”
Quill clenched his fists, shaking his head to clear it. Blasted Stark! he thought. Puffed-up rich kid, with his fancy Avengers credentials. He had no idea what it was like to earn an honest living… to hunt down bounty on an alien world, just so you could buy your next meal…
In the distance, he could hear the Kree laughing.
“I’m takin’ you down, Stark,” he hissed, “and I don’t mean the poster I used to have on my wall!”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he winced in embarrassment. Then, before Stark could react, he raised his element gun and fired.
Chapter 18
The little spaceship veered erratically through the air. It slid past a row of sleek low offices, then banked up and around the aircraft hangars, whose dark wide roofs concealed an array of secret aerial prototypes. Then it took a hard left at the edge of the complex, swinging its way back toward the tall factory building manned by the Kree.
On the outside hull, Kamala Khan – Ms Marvel – hung on by her fingertips. Every dip, every lurch threatened to break her grip, hurling her to the ground below.
She gritted her teeth, trying not to look down. She’d tried several times to claw her way back in through the hole in the roof, but that furry pilot Rocket seemed to be doing his best to throw her off. Or maybe he was just distracted. Judging by the thumping and yowling coming from inside the ship, Jennifer Walters was giving the Guardians hell.
Like the She-Hulk she is, Kamala thought. Like an Avenger. And here I am, frozen out of the action, barely managing not to fall to my death!
Once again she wondered: am I in over my head? Should I even be here? Surely Jen would rather be risking her life alongside Thor or Wonder Man. Or her cousin, Bruce Banner. The Hulk might have a bad temper, but he was the best fighter on the Avengers’ roster.
She risked a glance down. A field of dark grass swung by, dizzyingly fast, followed by an access road. A small bus terminal came into view, but no buses were parked there on the weekend.
She might survive a freefall drop from this height. Maybe. But the way the ship was whipping around, she’d be flung out like a rock from a slingshot. And the factory was coming up fast: a weathered gray façade, taller than the surrounding buildings, with thick loading-dock doors on each level connected by fire-escape-style metal stairways. The wall itself was solid stone.
And the ship was heading straight for it.
She looked away, feeling sick. Wind whipped past her face; her fingers slipped a bit, and she let out a little noise as she grabbed the hull tighter.
Then she spotted something. There, in a little grassy alcove between the factory and a low, windowless building… something was happening. A small group of Kree, maybe a dozen, stood in a circle, watching two people sparring. One of them she recognized immediately: Halla-ar. He had no weapon, but he moved very fast, leaping and lunging to avoid his opponent…
…a slim green woman brandishing a long sword. That, Kamala realized, must be the Guardian Tony had described. What was her name? Gamora!
The Kree were talking among themselves; Halla-ar and Gamora shouted at each other. But Kamala couldn’t make out any words over the roar of the ship’s engines. What were they saying? Why were the Guardians attacking Halla-ar anyway?
Grimacing, she turned and started picking her way toward the underside of the ship. The flight had evened out; the jolts came less frequently now. But the ship was still too high fo
r her to jump off – and too low to clear the factory, which loomed dead ahead.
The lower hull was studded with hatches. One of them gaped partway open, with a piece of wheeled landing gear sticking out at a weird angle. Huh, she thought, this is a janky spaceship! But maybe that could work to her advantage.
Moving cautiously, trying not to look down, she hooked her legs around the landing gear’s axle. The ship had slowed, but there still wasn’t much time. Gritting her teeth, she tested the axle for stability and let go with her hands. She felt a moment of panic as her arms swung free, her head pointed down.
Then she stretched.
A few of the Kree noticed the girl with the elongated legs, dangling from a spaceship up above. One of them, a young guy with a Mohawk haircut, pointed at her, speaking in a language she didn’t understand.
Gamora noticed too. When she turned to look up, Halla-ar seized the moment. He jabbed out with both rigid hands and caught her once, twice, in the throat. She gasped, coughed, and dropped back in a crouch.
But the Guardian didn’t fall. She raised her sword and turned to face Halla-ar directly. Kamala strained to hear, stretching her neck closer to the ground.
“It’s on you too,” Gamora said to Halla-ar. “The evil. The evil that destroyed a…”
The ship veered sharply upward, pulling Kamala away from the ground. The sound of fighting from the cockpit drowned out the voices below. Jen was still at it, battling Rocket and the tree-man.
Kamala frowned. The ship was rising, moving up in order to clear the factory; at this rate, it would be past that building and out over the pier in less than a minute. If she was going to do something to help Halla-ar, it would have to be soon.
She looked down again. The Kree raised their fists, urging the fighters on; but they didn’t seem to be defending Halla-ar – one of their own – against his attacker. Why, she wondered, weren’t the Kree helping him? Were they just bored and enjoying the fight? Or… Halla-ar had mentioned that some of his own people held a prejudice against the blue Kree. Did they hate him that much?
There was another possibility – one she still didn’t want to think about. “The evil,” Gamora had said. Halla-ar had certainly shown he was capable of violence, both at school and in Tony Stark’s office. He’d grabbed that kid Russell by the throat and choked him without hesitation, without mercy.
