by Stuart Moore
She tried to stand, but stopped as a stabbing pain went shooting through her head. I probably have a concussion, she realized. She sat back against the wall, studying the building. It was low, two stories high at most, with a faded American flag painted across its outer wall. It had no windows or doors, on this side at least. The Kree stood clustered against it, watching her. Did they live inside the building? Were they all employees of Tony Stark?
Never mind that, she scolded herself. Halla-ar. Where was Halla-ar?
“Oh man,” the blue Kree said. “I think your friends are in for it.”
The wall behind her rattled as a series of blasts rang out. Kamala leaned forward and peered toward the factory. Out in the open, not far away, Captain America knelt in a crouch, shaking off the effects of the blasts. Captain America? she thought. Was he here before?
Gamora eyed Cap, her sword drawn. Above her – hovering in the air, wearing a flying harness and carrying an all-too-familiar, smoking weapon – was…
“Rocket,” Kamala sighed.
Cap rolled to his feet, raising his shield. Rocket’s cannon-blast struck it at close range, forcing him to his knees.
“You – lunatic!” Cap gasped. “Who’s driving – ship?”
“Ha! I dunno,” Rocket replied, taking aim again. “But Quill’s always tellin’ me what a hotshot pilot he is…”
The rest of his comment was drowned out by another blast. Again, Cap’s shield took the impact, but the barrage was forcing him back toward the outer wall of the factory.
“Oh, dude!” Mohawk Kree grabbed his friend and pointed. “Poor Halla-ar.”
Kamala tore her eyes away from the Cap/Rocket skirmish, her heart sinking as she turned toward Gamora. The green woman had turned her attention away from Cap, toward her true prey. She strode steadily, eyes blazing with fury, toward Halla-ar who lay dazed on the ground.
“No,” Kamala said. “Oh no.”
Halla-ar leaped up, but Gamora clenched both fists together and swatted him down again. He fell on his back, and by the time he could blink her sword was pointed at his throat. He stared up, eyes wide, keeping very still.
Hang on, Kamala thought. Hang on, new kid! She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head to clear it. Just another few seconds…
“Rocket?” Gamora called, her voice unnaturally calm.
The raccoonoid had Cap backed up against the factory wall. Cap raised his shield – just a fraction of a second too late. Rocket’s cannon-blast hit him in the chest, and he went down. Rocket arced around in midair and steered his flying rig toward Gamora.
Mohawk stared at Halla-ar. “They’re gonna kill him.”
“No,” Kamala said again. “I can… I can save him…”
She gritted her teeth and willed herself to grow, to become giant-sized. She rose to her feet – and stumbled as the pain shot through her. With a grunt, she collapsed to the ground.
“You better stay down for a while,” the middle-aged woman said to her.
“No,” she replied. “I’ve got… healing powers…”
She forced herself up, struggling to see. Gamora’s sword was still at Halla-ar’s throat. Rocket hovered in the air, his gun pointed at the kid’s head.
“No way you can take on those two,” Mohawk said.
“Yes, I can,” Kamala gasped. “I can! But I need a diversion.”
“Hey,” the blue Kree said to his friend. “What about Horse?”
“Yeah!” Mohawk turned to her. “We got this friend called Horse. He does six shifts in a row on the line, no complaints, and he’s one hell of a fighter. He once took on eight guys by himself.”
“Great!” she said. “Where is he?”
“Factory, probably. Like I said, he always takes extra shifts.”
“Get him out here, OK? I’ve got work to do.”
She clenched her fists, concentrating. Gamora was yelling something at Halla-ar, but Kamala couldn’t worry about that now. She blocked out that voice, the protests of her new Kree friends, and the roar of Rocket’s flying rig. Most of all, she had to ignore the pain in her head, which grew steadily worse as she activated her power.
Slowly, excruciatingly, she shrank herself down to four inches in height. She waved up at the astonished Kree, turned away, and started off.
The grass extended up over her head; with an effort, she enlarged her hands slightly to clear herself a path. It would take time and effort to reach Halla-ar this way. But with luck, the two Guardians wouldn’t notice a tiny girl moving toward them, hidden in the grass.
Gamora stared down at Halla-ar, gritting her teeth. “No more games, boy,” she said. “Tell me what I want to know.”
Halla-ar gasped, raising himself up on his hands and knees. Hang on, friend! Kamala thought, struggling toward him. Just a few more minutes–
A pounding shook the ground beneath her tiny feet. She looked up; to her left, Captain America had recovered and was sprinting toward the Guardians. Relief flooded through her. With Cap helping, maybe she could save –
“Get away from my brother!”
Cap whirled around. A tall, lean blue woman leaped through the air behind him, brandishing a long metal rod. Lightning crackled on its tip, sputtered out momentarily, then flared back to life.
“Who– “ Cap raised his shield, intercepting the arc of the woman’s power-rod. Electricity crackled along the shield’s surface; its insulated handle protected him from the bulk of the charge, but he arched his back in pain.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I’m not – trying to hurt–”
Kamala shook her head. Her skull was pounding; she felt like all the breath had left her body. She’d told the Kree a half-truth: she did indeed have an accelerated healing ability. But it only worked if she gave it time – if she stopped using her power. At the rate she was exerting herself, her concussion would grow worse, very quickly.
But there was no time to stop. Cap was distracted now, busy with this newcomer, the blue Kree woman with formidable fighting skills. Brother, she’d said. Was this the sister Halla-ar had mentioned? Kir-ra – that was her name…
Kamala took off at a run, heading straight for Halla-ar and the Guardians. I’m still too weak, she thought – I can’t take on both of them myself. Where’s that distraction, guys?
Halla-ar was clutching his stomach now, coughing blood. Rocket circled above, watching in alarm. “Gam,” he said, “you know no one loves intimidating children more than yours truly. But are you sure this kid is–”
“Just keep that cannon trained on him.”
A few yards away, Captain America and Kir-ra were engaged in close-quarters sparring. The Kree woman kicked and danced, then feinted back. Cap boxed and lunged forward; his techniques were more direct, more aggressive.
“I don’t want to hurt you!” he said, jabbing out at her arm. She cried out as her electric rod went flying into the grass.
“In my short time here,” she gasped, “I’ve learned not to believe that of any Earthman.”
Kir-ra lunged, and he raised his shield easily to block her hand. But she shifted her weight, reached behind the shield, and grabbed his wounded arm. Then she twisted.
Cap howled in pain. Instinctively he slammed the shield directly into her face, pushing with all his strength. She let out a scream, a shriek of hurt, pain, and betrayal. Then she staggered back into the grass, clutching her bleeding nose.
Kamala drew close to the Guardians. Gamora crouched low, pinning Halla-ar down with her knees, positioning her eyes inches above his. There was rage in the Guardian’s eyes, but something else, too. Desperation, Kamala thought; a lifetime of hurt that could not be contained.
“Why did you do it?” Gamora demanded.
Halla-ar spat in her face.
Gamora reared back, howling in rage. As she wiped the spittle away, Halla-
ar turned his head to the side, squinting through the grass. His eyes widened as he spotted Kamala approaching, still at reduced size. He shook his head urgently and mouthed the word no.
She ignored him, thinking: no distraction, no Captain America to the rescue. And a headache the size of Newark, just to make things extra fun.
Let’s do this.
She willed herself to grow, shooting up out of the grass. One hand formed itself into a mace; the other, a baseball bat. Gamora turned in alarm, raising her sword. Rocket swung around in the air, waving that deadly gun in her direction.
The pain was excruciating, but Kamala ignored it. She continued to grow, six feet tall, eight, then ten. She concentrated, expanding her legs, arms, weapon-hands even further. There was no way she could handle the two Guardians, especially in this condition. But if she could distract them for a minute, maybe two – then Halla-ar could escape from–
“Ok, who wants a butt-kicking?”
The voice, which sounded surprisingly friendly, belonged to a tall, muscular worker standing on the factory loading dock. He wore a beige Kree jumpsuit, like so many of the Praeteran refugees. But this was no Kree. This man had deep green skin adorned with an array of ritual tattoos.
Everyone stopped. Captain America frowned. Kir-ra shook loose of him, snarling angrily. Kamala paused at giant size, swaying with dizziness.
Over by the metal building, Mohawk Kree and his friends grinned, pointing at the newcomer. “Horse!” one of them called.
“I said,” Horse called, “who am I meant to fight? And can we hurry this up?” He held up a pair of machine parts. “I have many more widgets to attach to doohickeys today.”
OK, Kamala thought, so this is the distraction! Better late than…
But wait. Rocket and Gamora seemed distracted, all right, but not the way she’d expected. They were staring with open mouths at “Horse” . Rocket steered his rig through the air in slow circles. Gamora picked her way through the grass as if she were hunting a ghost.
“Drax?” Rocket whispered.
Kamala had never heard the name Drax the Destroyer – and if she had, she couldn’t have known the significance of this moment. But she saw the tears in Rocket’s eyes, the way he gripped his aero-rig tighter as he flew over to meet “Horse” . Gamora seemed smaller, more human than before. She ran to the tattooed man, who reached out thick arms and enveloped both Guardians in a bear hug.
Kamala shrank down to human size, willing her hands back to their usual shapes. Pain flashed through her head, painting the world in a speckled haze. She shook it off, searching for Halla-ar. Where was he? Was he safe?
She spotted two blue figures running away. Kir-ra wrapped her arm around her brother, urging him along. Halla-ar cast a quick glance back, and once again Kamala’s eyes met his. Then his sister steered him around the corner of the factory, and they were gone.
Kamala felt a weird sense of loss, of unfinished business. Did Halla-ar understand that she’d tried to help him? Was he safe now, or would the Guardians keep hunting him? Would she ever see him again, or would his sister hide him away for the rest of his life?
She tottered and swooned, struggling to stay conscious. She caught a quick glimpse of Mohawk Kree and his friends, moving toward her in concern. And then she passed out again.
•••
She couldn’t have been out for more than a minute this time. She woke up among the Kree, who had moved her to the elevated surface of the factory loading dock. She smiled and shook off their concerns, then hopped down and walked over to talk to Captain America.
The pain in her head had subsided to a dull throb. Cap intercepted her, reaching out to grasp her shoulder like she was, well, a fellow soldier or something. He said some nice things about her fighting ability, her courage… something about doing the name Avenger proud. But she was still so hazy, all she could do was smile in return.
“Halla-ar,” she managed to say. “He’s gone.”
“He’s safe. Thanks to you.”
Cap gestured toward the far end of the low building, along the metal wall with the faded flag pattern on it. Rocket and Gamora stood on the grass with the man they called Drax. Rocket had discarded his aerial gear, and was listening intently as Drax told his story.
“He’s another Guardian,” Cap explained. “They thought he was dead. When they found him, all the fight – the anger – seemed to drain right out of them.”
Kamala nodded, understanding.
“I just compared notes with them,” Cap continued. “There really does seem to be a planet-killer on the loose. I agreed to help them find it, as long as they stop assaulting random children and immigrants–”
A grinding noise filled the air. Kamala looked up to see the Guardian and Avenger ships, still fused together, circling around in the sky. She’d almost forgotten about them.
“Tony?” Cap touched his earpiece. “Tony, can you hear me?”
The Guardians noticed too. They pointed in alarm, watching as the ships began to shake and quiver. Above the dangling Guardians vessel, the crimson and gold figure of Iron Man swung into view, his metal gauntlets pressed against the quinjet’s rear engines.
“What…” Kamala turned to Cap in alarm. “What’s he doing?”
Chapter 26
The cockpit shook with a jolt that rattled Quill’s bones – and left him oddly curious. Over the years, Peter Quill had become somewhat of a connoisseur of spaceship disasters. Colliding with a moon: that was a specific, spine-jarring impact. The effect of a Skrull beta ray was different, more of an extended, teeth-grinding vibration. And then there was the skin-tingling sensation of a Shi’ar teleporter.
This didn’t feel like any of those things. Hence his curiosity: what was it?
He shook his head, stunned. The jolt, whatever it was, had interrupted the seemingly endless battle between Groot and She-Hulk. She stood bracing herself against the back bulkhead, blinking in confusion, while the tree-man retracted a dozen or so branches back into his body.
“Romanoff? Oh, Natasha Romanoff?” Quill started toward the front of the compartment, stumbling over discarded vines. “What did you just do to my ship?”
She didn’t answer. Her nimble hands were a blur on the console.
“Romanoff?” He touched her shoulder and immediately regretted it. She didn’t turn around, but her arm whipped back, electricity flashing from the stinger on her wrist. He scurried back, holding up his hands in surrender.
“I used your power core to jumpstart the quinjet’s auxiliary engine stack.” Her voice was perfectly calm, as if she hadn’t just threatened to shoot forty thousand volts into his body. “Where’s your plasma feeder, anyway?”
“It’s the button marked ‘KISS YOU ALL OVER’.”
Her whole body seemed to deflate, slumping forward over the console. He could feel the contempt rising from her.
“Tony?” she said at length, into the console. “Did it work?”
“Yes and no.” Tony Stark’s voice sounded tired. “Yes, the engines fired. No, that did not dislodge the two ships from each other.”
She let out a string of Russian curses.
“By the way,” Tony added, “give me a little warning next time? You almost fried my boots off.”
“Yeah,” Quill said. “Give me some warning next time, too!”
“Well…” Jennifer Walters approached, eyeing Quill cautiously. “I guess this answers the age-old question: what happens when a pack of hotheaded clowns drop out of the sky and start shaking down poor people who just might, maybe, in said clowns’ fevered imagination, be planet-killers?”
“In defense of my particular clown car, being a planet-killer? Kind of a severe deal.” Quill peered over the Widow’s shoulder, taking care to keep his distance this time. “Wait, why are you locking the controls?”
She leaped out of her chair
, startling him. “I’m going back to the quinjet. See if I can force it out of this…” She looked helplessly all around, then gestured at the control console. “Stick’s all yours, Svoloch.”
“It’s Quill! Peter Quill. But, uh, you know that…”
She was already up and climbing through the hole where the viewport had been. In a second she was gone, vanished into the mass of tangled metal jutting from the quinjet’s undercarriage.
“Ooooh-kay.” Quill sat down and cracked his knuckles. “Back in con-trol. Back at the helm.”
“Ow,” Jen said quietly, picking at her fingers. “Always hated splinters.”
Groot came up next to her, waving a branch in protest. “I am Groot.”
She shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Tasha?” Stark’s voice said, from the console. “You still there?”
“She’s, uh, she’s gone back to your ship,” Quill said. “This is Star-Lord.”
“Who? Oh, yeah, awesome… Listen, Quill, I’ve got a problem out here. The ships are still fused together, and your altitude is dropping.”
The front viewport was still blocked, so Quill reached over and pulled up a small viewscreen. Jen and Groot moved to join him. They seemed like old friends now, their battle forgotten. Maybe, Quill thought, being trapped in a plummeting spaceship could bring people together. That was a sweet idea, actually. He could almost imagine it on a greeting card.
Groot grunted at the screen, which showed a haze of static. Quill thumped it with one hand, and an image flickered into view: a grassy field with an access road running through it.
“I am Groot?”
“Yup, that’s too clear a shot,” Quill said. “We are way too low. Stark, you’re gonna stop this, right? That’s why you’re out there?”
“Yeaaahhhh… I don’t think I’ve got enough power.”
“I am Groot?”
“Very funny,” Quill replied. “No, I do not have a button marked ‘STAYIN’ ALIVE’.”
“Natasha?” Jen said. “Maybe she can get the quinjet moving.”
