Target: Kree

by Stuart Moore

  She turned toward him, dark eyes searching. He had a strange feeling she was probing him somehow, her senses reaching out. Even in his armor, on the grounds of his own company, he felt oddly vulnerable.

  “I’m asking you to trust me,” he said in a low voice. “Innocent until proven guilty, right?”

  Her eyes went wide, almost in wonder. “What a strange notion,” she whispered.

  “Stark! Hey, Stark?” Quill called.

  Tony turned, already rolling his eyes, then immediately snapped to attention. Above a low structure at the edge of the complex, the Guardians’ ship had just swung into view around the edge of the factory. It dipped and wove in an erratic path, as if the pilot had completely lost control.

  Kir-ra and Tony met Quill in the middle of the pier. “I can’t reach ’em,” the Guardian said. “I gotta go see what’s going on.”

  Tony had a feeling he knew what was going on: Jennifer Walters and Kamala Khan. “Right behind you…” He checked his armor display again: forty-eight percent. “…in, uh, about three minutes.”

  Above, the raptor-like ship swerved sharply, narrowly missing the outer wall of the factory. “Can’t wait,” Quill said, snapping down his faceplate.

  “Quill!” Tony cried. The Guardian paused. “Just… try to keep the peace, OK?”

  “You got it.” Quill gave him a thumbs-up. “Boss.” He launched himself into the air.

  Kir-ra frowned at Tony. “Does that inspire confidence?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Look,” she said, pointing out over the water. “What’s that?”

  A sleek Avengers quinjet, shaped like an arrowhead with an aerodynamic fin on top, swooped down out of the clouds. It circled above the complex once, then swung down to intercept the erratic flight path of the Guardians’ vessel.

  “Backup,” Tony said.

  Quill had seen the newcomer, too. He paused in midair, then dived back down toward the ground. He looked grim, as if he had an unpleasant task to accomplish. He landed on the pier and advanced toward Tony and Kir-ra, drawing his gun from its holster.

  Kir-ra tensed. But Tony touched her arm with a metal hand and waited for the Guardian to approach. Above, the two ships wobbled and dodged in the sky.

  Quill spoke a few words. Kir-ra leaned forward, not hearing. Tony did hear the words, but he made Quill repeat them anyway.

  “I said…” Quill held out his weapon. “Could you un-fart my gun, please?”

  Chapter 21

  Groot and the green woman were really going at it. The tree-man had sprouted dozens of new shoots, circling them around to enclose her in a web of vegetation. The woman kicked and punched, cracking branches, severing vines.

  Despite the danger, Rocket was impressed. She’s like a female Hulk, he thought. A real Her-Hulk! He decided to call her that.

  He shifted the wave-pulse cannon in his hands, struggling to aim. But Her-Hulk was moving too fast, and Groot’s branches kept getting in the way. He couldn’t get off a decent shot.

  He sighed. He’d only gotten to fire the cannon, his new toy, once! It was another weapon, like the Big Burn Beam, that Quill didn’t like him to use inside the ship. Probably because one stray shot through the reactor housing could light up the cockpit like a cheap barbecue grill. Rocket didn’t tend to worry about those things. He believed this gave him an advantage in tense situations, where an opponent might tend toward caution, weakness, or petty self-preservation.

  The ship veered upward, sending Groot and Her-Hulk sliding across the floor. Rocket stumbled, swore, and lost hold of his beloved cannon. It flew up, straight toward the hole in the ceiling. He scrambled in a panic and managed to snatch it out of the air, just in time.

  A shrill beeping sound from the control console. He turned to see that tall factory building looming in the front viewport. High doors and windowless walls, straight ahead and coming up fast. The thrusters whined, struggling to lift the little ship, but it wasn’t going to be enough. The autopilot, like most people Rocket knew, was too cautious, too weak-willed.

  So he sat down, grinned, and cracked his knuckles in anticipation. “Hang on!” he yelled and yanked the stick back.

  The ship tipped hard, the back wall tilting down to become the floor. Groot collapsed into a crash couch. The green woman slammed her butt against the “floor” , swearing profusely.

  “You, uh, prob’ly ain’t gonna be happy to hear this, Her-Hulk,” Rocket said. “But I think that last maneuver dislodged your little girl-pal, outside. She can fly, right?”

  He cast a quick glance back just as the Hulk-woman rose, fists clenched, and started climbing up the floor toward him. “Land this thing now!” she cried.

  Groot lashed out at her with a fresh growth of branches. Rocket kept his fists clenched around the stick, ignoring the constant din of grunts and crashes. A Groot-vine whipped past his peripheral vision, then vanished back again into the rear of the cabin. He glanced back and saw a whirlwind of branches, leaves, and emerald arms and legs.

  “Whole lot of green going on back there,” he muttered.

  The little ship climbed straight up; the view through the front port turned to cloudy sky. Rocket checked the altitude readings, craning his neck forward as the top floor of the factory dropped down past them. When the roof came into view, he eased the stick back and allowed the ship to level out.

  “You two killed each other yet?” he asked, slipping out of his chair. He turned to see the Her-Hulk climbing, dazed, to her feet–

  –but Groot stood rigid, eyes wide, staring past Rocket. A branch-arm shot out from his body, bark flaking off as he jabbed a finger straight at the viewport. “I AM GROOT!”

  Rocket whirled back around. In the front viewport, a small airship screamed out of the clouds, dropping down to intercept their course. It was about the same size as the Guardians’ ship, but newer, its hull plated in sleek silver and chrome. He recognized the design at once; he’d seen its type during the Thanos war.

  “Oh, no. A quinjet?” He leaped for the controls. “Kill me now.”

  The new ship feinted to the left, then edged back toward its prey. It rose up at the last minute, forcing Rocket to dip down close to the factory roof. He fumed, thinking: flarking Avengers. Trying to force me to land?

  A comms button on the dashboard began to blink, but Rocket ignored it. He didn’t feel like talking. He felt like doing something stupid.

  “Screw caution,” he muttered. “Screw weakness, too!”

  Self-preservation just sort of slipped his mind.

  When the newcomer passed overhead, Rocket made his move. He pulled back on the stick as hard as he could, throwing all his admittedly scant weight into the action. The engines whined in protest as the little ship tilted on its tail and shot, once again, straight up.

  Groot and the Her-Hulk crept up behind him, their battle forgotten. Groot’s eyes were dark and solid; the woman’s were green. But both of them stared at him in shock, disbelief, and appalled fascination.

  “What are you doing?” Her-Hulk said.

  Rocket leaned forward, grinning, staring at the quinjet looming in the viewport. “Creating a masterpie–”

  The impact almost knocked him out of his seat. Her-Hulk tumbled to the floor and rolled, end over end, toward the back of the cockpit. Groot shot out roots to clutch at the deckplates, shielding his eyes with a sudden sprout of leaves as the viewport shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Rocket rose to his feet, balancing on the back of the pilot’s chair, which now sat at a ninety-degree angle. He stared straight up, through the hole where the viewport had been. The cockpit had buried itself inside the belly of the newcomer, creating a mass of twisting, sparking metal. Outside, fuel leaked from a burst cable; some sort of gas hissed from a conduit in the quinjet, newly exposed to air.

  He grinned. The ships were locke
d together now, fused in midair. The Guardians’ vessel hung loose from the underside of the quinjet, like a fishing lure on a line.

  Groot eyed the wreckage outside, then stumbled for balance as the ships lurched sideways. A grinding noise filled the air, along with a strange whine caused by the two ships’ engines straining to move – probably in different directions.

  Scrabbling at the controls, Rocket managed to activate the gravity compensators. His stomach lurched as the cabin swiveled upright, the deck dropping back to its usual orientation. Normally he wouldn’t use artificial grav in a planetary situation, but given the… he started to giggle… given the gravity of the situation…

  Groot stepped forward, extending one branch cautiously. He cocked his head at Rocket and said “I am…?” in a tone you might use to inquire whether a patient on suicide watch has had a disturbing mental episode.

  Rocket burst out laughing. He knew he shouldn’t be – laughing, that is – but he couldn’t help it. He lived for moments like this, moments when sheer, mindless destruction blocked out the essential hopelessness of existence. And the best part… he struggled for breath, pointing at the mess in the viewport… the best, the very best part was…

  “We’re blind!” he cried. “Can’t even see where we’re…” He dissolved in another, even greater fit of laughter.

  Her-Hulk stomped up, fists clenched, and glared at him. Her uniform was torn, her skin pocked with cuts from a thousand thorns. Rocket looked to Groot for help, but Groot averted his gaze. Uh-oh, Rocket thought. I’ve done it now. This time, he might let her smash me into paste.

  But Her-Hulk just stopped, looming over him, her expression more weary than angry. She shook her head and said, in a quiet, resigned voice, “There’s just no helping you, is there?”

  The ships lurched again. Rocket squinted out the viewport, looking past the mangled and sparking controls. Something was happening “outside” , in the other ship. A torn metal hatch creaked open, falling loose from its hinges, and a colorful round shield with a star in the center pushed its way through.

  “Oh great,” Rocket said, “this guy.”

  Captain America climbed out of the hatch, shield raised before him. His eyes narrowed in concern as he peered in through the bent framework of the Guardians’ viewport. A loose cable sparked in front of him; he brushed it aside with his shield. Then he leaped, crossing the gap between ships to land inside, on the dashboard. His eyes scanned the cockpit.

  “She-Hulk,” he said. “We’re your backup.”

  “She-Hulk,” Rocket echoed. “Yeah. That works better.”

  The green woman rose to her feet, eyeing the two Guardians. Cap dropped to the floor, favoring the arm that held his shield. His other arm, Rocket noticed, was in a sling.

  “My backup,” She-Hulk repeated. “Yeah, got that. Also, ouch.” She pressed a hand against her arm, where the thorn-wounds were bleeding.

  A small woman in black leather, with striking red hair, tumbled in gracefully through the broken viewport. She landed in a crouch next to Captain America and raised one arm, electric power crackling on a wrist-mounted cylinder.

  “Which one of you idiots just rammed our quinjet?” the Black Widow asked.

  Rocket leaned back against the wall and looked at his feet, avoiding the Widow’s glare. Groot let out a casual whistle, but he snaked a vine-finger around to point at his partner from above.

  Rocket started to protest, then thought: what’s the point? So he looked up, shrugged, said “Guilty,” and grinned a grin that, to be honest, wasn’t half as charming as he thought it was.

  Chapter 22

  Captain America surveyed the scene. The cockpit looked like a greenhouse that had just exploded. Shoots, leaves, discarded branches lay everywhere, sticking out of crash couches and jutting up from between the deckplates. Rocket and Groot, both of whom he knew from previous battles, stood sheepishly next to She-Hulk, who looked very, very tired.

  Above, a jagged hole in the roof revealed the bottom edge of the quinjet and a tiny slice of sky. “Your work?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Jennifer Walters.

  “I got tired of knocking.” She moved toward him, gesturing casually back at the Guardians. “You know these cosmic bumper-car drivers?”

  “We’ve fought alongside them,” Cap said, staring at Rocket. “They’re well-meaning, but…”

  “Erratic,” the Black Widow said.

  “Hey, Natasha,” Jen said, eyeing the Widow. “Still working outside the law?”

  “Jen.” Natasha returned her gaze. “You still pedantically enforcing it?”

  Cap grimaced as Natasha turned away. Those two, he reflected, had never seen eye to eye. Different methods, different life experiences. Different paths to justice.

  “What happened to you?” Jennifer gestured at the cast on his arm. “Nazis occupy Europe again?”

  “Just one Nazi: the Red Skull. And it was Pittsburgh.” He smiled. “I guess you could say I suffered damage as a result of an enemy effect. But I like to think I gained power, equal to the amount of damage I incurred.”

  Jen stared at him blankly.

  “I’ve been teaching him tabletop gaming,” Natasha explained.

  Cap shrugged. “I’m fine. Really.”

  He kept his voice even. But the truth was: the close-quarters battle with the Red Skull, in an abandoned steel refinery, had left him badly shaken. The Skull had come very close to killing him this time.

  “You look a little rough yourself,” he said, indicating Jen’s torn costume.

  She turned a nasty smile on Groot. “I’m not used to fighting vegetables.”

  “I am Groot,” he warned.

  The floor lurched again: a loud crunch sounded from the Avengers’ ship. “Quinjet’s propulsion is shot,” Natasha explained, moving toward the Guardians’ pilot console. “These svolochs took out our entire guidance system.”

  Cap frowned. “Then what’s keeping us in the air?”

  “It’s called neogravitic repulsion,” Rocket said, crossing toward the front of the cabin. “You’re welcome.”

  “You want me to thank you? For crippling our ship, putting all our lives in danger?” Cap watched him in disbelief. “Also, would you please put that weapon down?”

  “Altitude is about one hundred thirty feet and dropping gradually as we circle around. We’ll have to navigate from here…” Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the console. “Where are the viewscreens? Do you even have viewscreens?”

  “So let me get this straight.” Cap eyed the hole in the roof. “We have one ship that can’t fly, and one that’s completely blind?”

  “Stop. Stop it!” Rocket said, stifling a laugh. “You’ll get me started again.”

  “Who designed this board, anyway?” Natasha threw up her hands. “The controls are labelled ‘GIMME THREE STEPS’ and ‘GET UP OFF THAT THING’.”

  “What’s so confusing? And yes, of course there are screens! Lemme show you–”

  Cap whipped out his shield, blocking the raccoonoid’s path. “Don’t touch those controls.”

  Rocket shook his head, dazed. “But the scary Russian lady said–”

  “Suppose you explain what you’re doing here first.” He crouched down to Rocket’s level. “Tony Stark’s message said you were threatening innocent workers.”

  “Kree workers,” Rocket snarled. “One of ’em might not be so innocent. Your pal Stark could be harboring a fugitive that murdered an entire planet.”

  Cap looked up at Jennifer. “What’s he talking about?”

  Jen shrugged. “Someone blew up the planet those Kree came from. The Guardians seem to have followed some kind of trail–”

  “Hey!” Rocket protested. “If you can’t trust intel from a drunk Ergon in an ice bar, what in this galaxy can you trust?”

  “They think the killer is
here,” Jen said. “Among the Kree.”

  “If that’s true…” Cap frowned. “Tony wouldn’t be harboring them. I’ll alert him, we’ll look into this together.”

  “I am Groot,” Groot offered. He lumbered closer, eyeing the confrontation between Cap and Rocket.

  “He’s right,” Rocket agreed. “Even your own teammates ain’t sure what Stark’s up to.”

  “What?” Cap felt lost. “Jen?”

  “I…” She hesitated. “I’m representing some of the Kree, against… well, against Tony. There are questions about the conditions at this installation.”

  “A pressing legal matter, I’m sure.” Natasha struggled with the controls. “Certainly more important than keeping us from falling out of the sky!”

  “Questions about…” Cap turned back to Rocket. “Hold it. You said teammates, plural?”

  “She came here with a little one. Maybe fourteen years old. Or sixty? I can’t tell with you humans.”

  “Ms Marvel!” Jen exclaimed. “She was thrown out of the–”

  The ship lurched forward. Cap winced as his wounded arm struck the back of a chair.

  Rocket ducked under Cap’s shield and scurried toward the controls. Cap dropped the shield, reached down, and grabbed him up off the floor. “I said stay away from that!”

  “Let go of me!” Rocket howled. He squirmed, frantic, like a trapped animal. His panic, his anger seemed to fill the air.

  “I am GROOT!”

  Groot lunged, branches shooting out of his body. Still holding the raccoonoid, Cap reached for his shield with his other hand – then swore as a stab of pain ran up his bad arm. He released Rocket and, in one swift movement, grabbed up his shield and launched it through the air. It sliced through four… no, five Groot-branches, then ricocheted off the inner hull.

  Rocket raised his cannon-gun, aiming it straight at Cap’s face. Cap chopped up with his good elbow, knocking Rocket’s gun arm off balance. The shot blasted through the air, ringing off the ceiling plates with a loud clang, as the recoil knocked Rocket off his feet.