Star-Lord, page 13
part #1 of Marvel Wastelanders Series
A loud thump could be heard across the transmission and then a shot rang out.
“He’s armed! This interloper is armed with a gun and… yes! He’s firing on Kraven! A fellow insurrectionist, perhaps. One of Warn’s supporters. He’s powered by what appears to be rocket boots. Or boot, I should say, since only one of them is working.”
For a few moments, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of the newcomer crashing into canyon walls and swearing as he entirely failed to make an impressive entrance. He careened into the canyon floor, bounced back up and then off the wall again.
He fired a second time, with a slightly winded shriek of delight. “The Guardians of the Galaxy are back!” He fired a third shot, then reached down. “I got you, Sebastian! Come here now! Come on!”
Incensed, Kraven took off at a loping run towards this “guardian,” clearly changing his plans. As he reached out with a snatching hand, the guardian’s boots fired again – both of them – accelerating the newcomer up faster than he’d anticipated. He smacked his head on a rocky overhang, then bumped into the wall again. Then the boots sent him shooting out of the canyon as any semblance of control was tossed heedlessly to the four winds.
As he departed, the airwaves were filled with choice expletives.
“Well.” Best composed himself. “Well, that was… I don’t know what that was. But that very strange and completely ineffective interruption appears to now be at an end. Kraven’s shrugged it off and so should we, folks. He’s moving in for the kill.”
“You don’t have to do this,” said Sebastian Warn, but his voice was resigned, a man accepting his defeat. Kraven sneered, snatching him up from the ground. Warn screamed as the hunter plunged his thumbs into Warn’s eyes. The pain must have blossomed to something unbearable, then into something exquisite…
And then the world was no longer Sebastian Warn’s concern.
The drones buzzed. Kraven breathed heavily.
It was done.
“He’s done it, folks. Kraven has ended the hunt in a matter of minutes. Unbelievable.” Best’s voice dripped with awe. “It’s hard to even put into words what we’ve witnessed here today. So you know what? I’ll let you do it for me. Let’s hear from our friends on the streets and on Totem Hill where Kraven will soon return with a physical ornament severed from his prey to hammer onto a new post as we celebrate another edition of Deer on a Spear!”
The crowd was crazed. “Deer on a Spear! Deer on a Spear!” The chant lifted and carried, voices raised in frenzied delight as Brandon Best signed off.
“Sebastian Warn is dead. Our community is safe.”
•••
It was twenty minutes before Peter Quill reunited with Rocket and Cora, and ten of those were the time it took him to descend from the embrace of the tree in which he’d landed. Rocket squinted up as he clambered down, coughing.
“You OK there, Rocket?” Quill appeared none the worse for his misadventures and Rocket scowled.
“I’m fine. I’m not the great human pinball.”
“Oh, I’m fine. A few scratches.” He waved it off indifferently.
“Yeah, well, I’m good, too.” The coughing suggested that Rocket was anything but and Quill steered the conversation down a different route, avoiding talking about what had happened with Warn.
“You know, I was telling Cora earlier it felt like these collars are getting tighter. Is that what you’ve got going on? Because me…”
“No. I’m fine. It’s the air. Just the dust. Breathing’s like choking.” He took a swig from the water canteen on his belt. “See? I’m fine.” Indeed, the coughing seemed to settle. He fixed Quill with a cold, dispassionate stare. “You know you almost went and got yourself killed back there.”
Quill held up a finger. “The key word there is ‘almost’.”
“Dumb move, Quill. Seriously. We can’t take risks like that when we get into Doomwood.”
“Look. If someone needs saving, then I’m going to save them. That’s what we do, Rocket.”
“You didn’t do anything except make even more of an idiot out of yourself than usual.”
“I just need to get my boots fixed…” But Rocket was in full flow.
“You were seconds away from getting your guts ripped out through your throat and watching Kraven floss with them.”
“The whole thing,” said Quill, his volume increasing, “could have turned out very differently if someone had fixed my boots.”
Their eyes met. Wills clashed. Eventually, the tension dissipated a little. But only a little. “Look, Quill,” said Rocket. “Let’s concentrate on saving ourselves. Don’t flark this up. Don’t even look at anybody else. Stay focused. Eyes on the prize, remember? We get the Black Vortex, we get out of here.”
“In case you missed it, Sebastian Warn is dead. He was our only lead.”
“I know. Tell me what I don’t know.” Rocket folded his arms across his chest. Quill dusted off his jacket, noting as he did so that there were several new tears in the fabric. He sighed. That jacket was his favorite.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Quill said. “We’re gonna have to reach out to some people in Doomwood. Find some friends. We’ve got no choice.”
“Find some friends? Did you hear the people on that broadcast? They’re all psychopaths. There’s no friends to be found here, Quill.”
“Brandon Best sounded friendly and well connected,” said Cora, brightly. “Perhaps we should try to speak with him?”
Rocket and Quill stared at her. Rocket went to say something but shook his head. Quill gestured as though patting down a fire. “Look, it’s fine. We’re gonna be fine here. We’ll just head into town, and…”
“Hah! We’re just gonna saunter into town? Because of course you know this place so well! When was it you visited here? How old were you? Five? Because that, Quill, was a flarking long time ago!”
“It was more recent than that. Five. Huh.”
“Well? How old?”
“Six.”
The moment broke the discomfort between the two and Rocket relaxed, a small twitch on his lips. “Six. Well, by all means, lead the way to the candy stores and the diaper-changing stations.”
“Here’s the plan,” said Quill, clapping his hands. “We hit the go-kart track. Maybe some putt-putt mini-golf. Then, we go get a root beer float.”
“This is humorous,” said Cora. “Star-Lord is being funny.”
“No, Cora, he thinks he’s being funny. There’s a whole galaxy of difference.”
But the recorder was caught in the moment and clapped her hands in the same way that Quill had just done.
“When I get to Doomwood, I am going to eat a banana and wear pants and sit in a chair!”
Had there been any tumbleweeds, they would not have gone amiss in that moment. Cora sounded so hopeful. “Was that humorous?”
“See what you’ve done, Quill? Your stupid is infectious.”
“All right, I’m sorry. Let’s discuss the real plan.” He rubbed his hands together, thinking. Then he struck Quill-gold. “Here it is. We split up and enter the town separately and without attracting attention. Then we rendezvous later.”
“A repeat of the Outpost 13 plan? Because of how well it worked? No way, Quill. You’ll just get sauced and run your mouth off again. Bad plan. No deal.”
“I promise, Rocket. Not a drop will touch these lips. Not a single dribble.”
Rocket sighed theatrically. He pointed. “It would be a whole lot easier to take you seriously if you didn’t have pine needles in your beard,” he said.
Quill slapped at his beard, dislodging the better part of a branch’s worth of needles and sending them showering onto the ground. He straightened up his torn jacket and considered their options further. “Cora, what kind of audio capabilities do you have for a crowded space? Say… about a hundred people? Would you be able to listen in on that?”
“Yes, Star-Lord. I can easily monitor the conversations of one hundred people simultaneously.”
“Great. Then your job is to find and head for the most popular bar in town.”
“And I ask them all many questions!” There was more enthusiasm in her voice than Quill had been expecting and he shook his head.
“No. You listen. Just… listen. Because people go to bars to complain and brag and spill their secrets. You listen for a while during primetime hours. That way, we’ll get a good cross-section of people. Potential allies, potential enemies.”
Rocket shook his head all the way through this “great plan” and finally spoke. “No. You can’t send her into a bar. Not in a town where hunting people is a sport.”
“Don’t worry, Rocket, she’ll be fine. Right, Cora?”
“I will be fine, Star-Lord.”
“See? Just don’t, whatever you do, under any circumstances, tell anybody who we are or why we’re here.”
Rocket turned, murmuring beneath his breath so that Quill had to strain to hear him. “Seriously, Quill. Do you really think we can trust her?” No reply was forthcoming as Quill thought back to the conversation he’d shared with Cora earlier that day. He studied her now as she stood there, patiently waiting further instruction.
“Hello? Quill?”
“What? Yeah. Oh, yeah. We can trust her.”
He hoped so, at least.
•••
The Heaven and Hellfire Club was the largest, most ostentatious and, judging from the number of people coming and going from its doors, the most popular drinking establishment in all of Doomwood. It was a large, timber-framed building – as were most of the buildings in the settlement – but it was painted with a fresco depicting flames on one side and fluffy clouds and blue skies on the other. There were two main entrance doors; one labeled “Hell” and the other labeled “Heaven”.
After studying her options for a few moments, Cora chose to enter through the door marked Heaven, believing it would be friendlier.
It was not.
Inside, the room was crowded, filled with people drinking and talking with equal enthusiasm. It was loud and hot and uncomfortable – or at least would have been had Cora been organic. The heat washed over her without issue and her aural filters began the task of separating out different conversations. They also filtered out a loud belch as a drunk man stood in front of her.
“Who are you?”
“Hello,” she said. “I am a Rigellian Recorder. Who are you?” The question confused the inebriated individual. He sized up her gleaming metal appearance and an expression of pure hate filled his eyes. He hacked up a gobbet of phlegm and spat in her face.
“How’s that for an answer, skinbot?” A few people close by laughed uproariously, but Cora took it fully in her stride.
“Thank you for sharing your saliva with me,” she said, sweetly. “I will be able to use this DNA sample dribbling down my face to study the effects of pollutants and radiation on your biology.”
“Go to hell.”
“That is the other side of the building. I will speak with someone else now. Hello.” She moved past the confused man, coming face to face with a voluptuous woman who appeared to be short in the clothes department. “Hello, large woman who is only in possession of a single eye.”
“Don’t speak to me,” retorted the woman, venom in her tone.
“My name is Cora. I am a Rigellian…”
“You’re a trashcan on legs is what you are,” said the woman, her voice rising dangerously. “Get away from me before I take you outside and curb-stomp your… your… fake-ass ass!”
“Oh dear, that does not sound like something I would enjoy. No thank you.”
Any further discussion was drowned out by a sudden swell of noise and shouting. The word traveled inside from the street, firstly as a whisper and then as a delighted cheer.
“He’s coming! Kraven’s coming!”
“First round’s on me!” This came from the drunk who had previously spat in Cora’s face, and he stumbled to the bar. “Top rail vodka, whatever he’s drinking!”
The crowd chanted as Kraven entered, covered in dust and blood and still wearing just the elk-skin loincloth that he’d worn while hunting down Sebastian Warn. The people parted before him, fear and admiration rippling through them like a wave. The chanting continued until the drunk held up a hand. Instantly, the crowd fell silent and Kraven sat at the bar.
“Pour the man his drink,” the drunk hollered. The bartender took down a bottle from the top shelf and popped the top, pouring a generous measure into a glass which she set down in front of the Hunter. The drunk held up his own glass – filled with a considerably cheaper liquor. “Cheers to Kraven. For spilling blood and keeping us all safe!”
The crowd dutifully cheered as Kraven downed the shot in a single pull, slamming the glass back down expectantly. “Another! Pour him another!” The drunk was in his stride now. “It’s on me. Pour him the whole bottle if that’s what he wants!” More spirit was poured, another hush fell as the crowd waited, expectantly. “What are we drinking to this time, Kraven?”
The bar fell so silent that you could have heard a pin drop. Kraven shifted position slightly holding the glass up to the light. “I raise my glass to my next hunt.” He looked around the room, his voice still entirely devoid of emotion, and finished the toast.
“To the death of Peter Quill.”
Chapter Six
Heaven and Hellfire
Entry C1451Z2I
Location: The Wastelands. Just outside Doomwood.
The ridge was high above the settlement of Doomwood. It overlooked the town, positioned above a winding valley, nestled idyllically in the hills. It was quite scenic if one ignored the fact that the town was a hive of industry. There were mine entrances, factories, a sawmill, and a refinery belching black smoke into the air.
The spot was prominent enough that it had been the agreed rendezvous point. The three companions arranged to meet after three hours and then set off to achieve their separate goals. Quill and Rocket arrived back first, with fifteen minutes to go before their imposed deadline. Cora was not far behind, and as she climbed up toward them, the two were already talking. Quill was animated, his hands waving excitedly in front of him, his straggly hair blowing in the wind. Rocket, however, looked entirely disinterested – although that may have been a deliberate affectation.
“You know why I’m excited?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.”
“I care,” said Cora as she joined them. “Why are you excited, Star-Lord?”
“Don’t encourage him,” said Rocket automatically, but his heart wasn’t in it. Quill turned to the recorder.
“I’m excited because I heard our names while I was in town. In Doomwood, people were talking about us. The Guardians of the Galaxy!”
“Quill,” said Rocket. “I hate to burst your bubble…”
“You love to burst my bubble.”
“…but that ain’t exciting. All that means is that we’ve got a big, fat target painted on our backs.” Rocket wasn’t impressed by Quill’s revelation, and he watched as some of the excitement drained from his friend, replaced by an emotion Rocket couldn’t place.
“Look, man. I couldn’t save Sebastian Warn. I admit I screwed that up. But I still helped. There’s something in the air, I’m telling you. Hope.”
Rocket made a noise that effectively communicated his supreme indifference to this.
“Star-Lord is correct. There is something in the air,” Cora said. “A transmission.”
Rocket turned to her. “What are you talking about?”
“I am picking up a Doombot transmission. It seems that they have located the Milano.”
Rocket groaned again and put his paw over his face. “Oh, great. That’s just great. Perfect.” His hand dropped as he moved to the edge of the ridge. “So, tell me. What next? Fling myself off here right now and splatter my brains on the rocks? Because we’re already dead, folks.”
Quill hesitated, unsure if Rocket’s threat to throw himself off the ridge would be exacerbated if he approached. He stayed where he was – just to be safe – and resumed talking.
“No, Rocket, no! Think. Imagine how the people in Doomwood feel. Imagine…” He fished for a metaphor. “Imagine if you had been in a dark hole for a long time. Say, thirty years. Suddenly, a candle flares in that darkness. That’s us, Rocket! We’re the candle!”
“A candle?” Rocket scoffed and waved a dismissive paw. “Listen, buddy. If you were a candle, you’d be one of those joke gift types. Scented with farts and body odor.”
“Mock as much as you want,” said Quill. “But you know I’m right.”
“I know you’re completely delusional.” Quill sagged a little. “Look, Quill. The Doombots are after you. Kraven is after you. The Milano is now not only wrecked but is likely to be impounded. In three days…” He put a hand to his collar. He did not need to expand on what would happen in three days. Cora, however, supplied additional data.
“Three days, fourteen hours, twenty-two minutes, and fifty-three seconds.”
It was hard to follow that up and a gloomy pall fell over the group. Quill broke the silence, thrusting a finger in the air, eureka moment style. “Unless…”
“Unless I shove you off the ridge before I take a dive?”
“Unless,” said Quill, ploughing on through the quagmire of Rocket’s pessimism, “I find the Black Vortex and submit to it.”
Rocket was incredulous. “You’re still going to… stick your head into a cosmic microwave and hope for the best? Great plan, Quill. Great plan.”
“It’ll be fine,” reassured Quill with the confidence of the completely ignorant.
“Quill! It’s called the Black Vortex! I don’t know about you, but that is not a name that inspires confidence!” Rocket’s exasperation increased with Quill’s every word, but the man was undeterred.
“Look. We’ve seen what Doomwood is like. Garbage everywhere. I saw dogs eating a dead body in an alleyway. There were kids with cauliflower-shaped tumors growing out of their necks. Hundreds of people who’ve been left blinded by the radiation.”
“Yeah,” said Rocket, softly. “Yeah. I saw that, too.” It had been awful, even for a seasoned cynic like him, to witness such terrible conditions. But Quill was in his stride and kept on going.
