Of course she had thought of it. First thing.
She’d then summarily dismissed the notion. It didn’t fit the Guardians. It didn’t fit her—not anymore, no matter how much those first instincts said otherwise.
“We would be helping him.” Drax clapped Groot on the back. “We have the true Groot. We must return his life energy to him.”
“I am Groot,” Groot said hesitantly, and looked at Quill.
“We’re not doing this.” Gamora’s voice was flat. She was not going to argue. “I am not doing this.”
“Yeah, I’m with Gammy. What’s wrong with you, Drax?” Rocket said.
“We would be naive to ignore the option. If you do not think yourselves capable, I will take on the burden.”
Rocket glared. “The hell you will—”
“All right, all right,” Quill said. “It may not even be relevant. Tivan, would it solve the problem?”
“I need to gather more specimens so I can run experiments.”
“I’m sure. Come on, would you please stop giving Rocket excuses to shoot you? It’d just be messy for everyone involved.”
“Primarily for Rocket, I assure you.” The Collector took another sip of his zengrita and smacked his lips. “Ahhhh.”
“Yeah, I really don’t need more excuses than the ones I’ve already got,” Rocket grumbled.
“From what I can tell, however,” the Collector went on, “it would not solve the problem. One Groot unfortunately passed away when I attempted to retrieve him; it made no difference in this Groot’s behavior.”
“Groot?” Gamora said. “Do you feel different since what happened at the Kyln? Stronger?”
He hesitated, then shook his head.
“So we have a deal, yes?” the Collector asked brightly.
“Do we?” Quill eyed the group.
Rocket shrugged.
“I am Groot.”
“I suppose,” Gamora said.
“I dislike it,” Drax said.
“It looks like we’re on board, Tivan.”
“Excellent. I do love your enthusiasm. I look forward to working together.”
“Don’t screw with us,” Gamora said. “Let’s go.”
She walked past the Collector toward the exit, searching for the other Groot in the distance. He’d be watching them—she knew that, because she knew their own Groot would, too.
It felt both comforting and disconcerting to think that all these versions of Groot genuinely were the same. Comforting, because it meant Groot was still their friend; nothing so simple as this could destroy him. Disconcerting, because it meant that Groot—his body, his mind, his memories, everything that made him him—was scattered, at the mercy of whoever bought him, and growing weaker by the minute.
Gamora had already been worried about one Groot.
Now she had a galaxy of them to worry about.
9
ONE HOUR into the three-hour flight to Pirinida, the planet the Collector’s Groot had named, Rocket still hadn’t shot the Collector.
He was kinda proud of himself. Talk about discipline.
Shooting the guy wouldn’t do them a lick of good, of course, but shooting terrible people was really more about the feeling, about the principle of the matter.
One thing helped: The Collector might be terrible, but his assistant was worse. Kiya was the one who’d actually grown and sold the Groots.
“Got anything yet?” Rocket asked.
Quill sat with his legs crossed on the dash, the pilot’s seat tilted back as he tapped lazily at the holo in front of him. “I found a couple of Kiyas—news, arrest reports, the works; it’s a common name—but nope. None of them seem to be her.”
“So we still know nothing.”
Quill shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting to find much. It’s not like the Collector would hire a celebrity or ex-criminal. And I use ‘hire’ loosely—I doubt there was payment or, you know, consent. We’ll worry about that once we find her. Gamora’s busy prying more info out of the Collector. All we’ve got now is that the girl is smart enough to work around his security, and that she has both a literal and figurative green thumb. Anything else…well, the fact that the Collector knows Kiya and we don’t is the main reason we need him. He won’t give up that advantage.”
“Yeah, he wants us to help him real bad. All that sucking up? Ooooh, my beloved friends, blah blah blah.”
Quill leaned his head back and turned toward Rocket, his holo forgotten. He blew a floppy lock of hair from his forehead. “Does that worry you?”
“Worry me? Nah. Means he’s the one who’s worried. He can’t handle her by himself.”
“What kind of person did he hire as an assistant, that she’s so dangerous?”
“Maybe he got bored.” Rocket shot Quill a sidelong glance. “No luck on my end, either. Whoever handles the Collector’s security knows their stuff.”
They’d asked the Collector for footage of Kiya’s escape. He’d shown them a couple of seconds—enough to prove she really had broken out with the altered Groot as he’d claimed—but no more. It wasn’t surprising that he wouldn’t share a step-by-step instruction video showing how to get past his security setup. What was surprising was that Rocket had spent the past hour trying to hack into the Collector’s systems for the full footage, and he’d barely made any progress.
“So we’re going in blind. No big.”
Rocket smiled toothily. “Could be a fun challenge.”
“There is a challenge?” Drax asked, entering the bridge behind them.
“Coming up in two hours,” Rocket said.
“Ah, yes. Very well. We will face it together.” Drax sat himself in the gunner’s chair, tilting it back the same way Quill had and making a satisfied sound.
“Am I the only one actually working?” Rocket peered past the side of his chair. “Can I get a nap? No one ever asks if I want a nap.”
“I do not enjoy it back there. The Collector is…vexing.”
“What’s happening?” Quill asked.
“He keeps asking questions.” Drax propped himself up on his elbows. “My physical appearance. My wife. My daughter. My present motivations. He asked”—his face twisted into a frown—“what I wore on the day I lost my family.”
“What you were wearing? You’re kidding.” Rocket gawked. Was that the kind of thing the Collector fantasized about in his off time?
“He just wants something for his collection,” Quill said. “‘Pants of Drax the Destroyer: worn on the day his life irrevocably changed.’ That kind of thing.”
“Yes.” Pause. “I punched him.”
“Seems fair. Uh, he’s not breaking the ship or trying to kill anyone right now, is he?”
“The Collector seemed displeased,” Drax said. “I couldn’t gauge his reaction better. Gamora intervened and suggested I leave.”
“Call me next time you punch him, will you?” Rocket said.
“I am glad you are not upset about my earlier proposal, Rocket.”
“Eh?” He leaned in, scanning the code on his screen like he might suddenly have an epiphany and waltz right into the Collector’s system. “Why would I get upset? I’m not a flarking child.”
“You reacted strongly to my suggestion of eliminating the other Flora colossi.”
“I ain’t upset!”
“I had thought, as Groot is your friend, you would want to—”
“I ain’t upset! Drop it, will you?” He glared over his shoulder, keeping one hand on the control panel. “Eesh, Drax! It was a stupid idea, is all.”
“Yeah, hey, heyyy.” Quill raised both hands in some kind of peacemaking symbol. “How about we focus on finding the seller, all right? Even if your idea did work, Drax, Kiya would only grow more Groot saplings—Grootlings?—in the meantime. We’re better off going to the source. We’ll find the rest of the Groots and figure out how to help our Groot after that.”
“Yeah. Yeah, go to the source, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” Rocket s
cowled at the code on the screen. Drax would get the message, and if he didn’t, Rocket could always spell it out for him. He was really good at clarifying his point. He could use props and everything.
Although—
He spun his chair around. “Hey, you’re not gonna talk to Groot about your stupid idea again either, all right? There’s no need to, you know, waste his energy. He doesn’t wanna hear it.”
Drax stood, towering over the two of them in their seats. If he’d meant to be intimidating, it didn’t work: Rocket had spent his whole life looking up at people three times his size. The only difference between shooting someone in the face from below or from eye level was the location of the brain-splat. The tall ones never seemed to realize that.
“What?” Rocket said.
“I understand,” Drax said.
“Eh?”
“I only meant to help Groot. I do not wish to hurt his feelings.”
“Psh.” Rocket swiveled his chair back around. He wasn’t even sure why he’d said it. Groot had been there when Drax first brought up the idea—it wasn’t like he didn’t already know. He could look after himself. “Whatever, Drax. Do what you want.”
THEY landed out of sight.
“All right.” Peter took the lead as they exited the ship, his boots clanging on the extended ramp. “Our scanners placed someone warm-blooded exactly where that other Groot said Kiya had grown him, plus a moving shape that may be a Flora colossus.” Just as he was about to step off the ramp and onto the dry ground, he kicked off instead, activating his boot propulsors to hover several feet up.
He surveyed their surroundings. They had landed the ship behind a sandy, cactus-covered hill, the only real shelter in the area—the rest was all sparse trees and cracked ground. Across the empty stretch of land sat the greenhouse they’d zeroed in on. It was far enough from the nearest town that Kiya could grow her Flora colossi without prying eyes, but close enough to an automated space elevator to reach a decent transport station and travel the galaxy easily. Smart location—even if the nightlife left a lot to be desired.
“All right. Tivan, Drax, you’re with me. We’ll knock on the door real polite-like. Gamora, Rocket, Groot, spread out. If we call for backup or she slips past us and tries to run, you know what to do.”
Rocket slammed a button on his wrist communicator, prompting the ship behind him to lock up tight, and gave a lazy salute. Groot mimicked the movement.
They set off, Drax and Tivan scrabbling up the hill while Peter flew overhead, flicking his helmet active. A pleasant, second-long tingle flitted across his face as the mask formed and the faintest shade of red slid over his view of the world. He did another check of the greenhouse. The warm-blooded shape was inside, pacing in an agitated fashion. The possible Flora colossus lumbered in its wake.
Over comms, he heard the others move into position.
The area around the greenhouse was deserted, aside from a foxlike shape darting over a hill in the distance, and fist-sized sand scorpions scuttling away from Drax and Tivan. Pools of crystal twining between the succulents and rocks formed splashes of fierce white against the ground, reflecting the sun so brightly they hurt to look at. In the distance, gleaming metal spires jutted up high from the horizon. That had to be the town he’d seen on the scans. Pirinida was sparsely populated, and its inhabitants fiercely religious—Peter remembered something about the spires being a sign of worship.
This was definitely not the first place they’d have looked for the greenhouse.
The structure itself almost blended into its environment. A dusky gray-brown building adjoined the greenhouse, which was all panes of bright white glass.
The panes. Huh.
He slowed down so Tivan and Drax, below him, could catch up. “You see that?” he called.
“I see it,” Drax said.
“Mm? Ah. That missing pane?” Tivan sounded like he was barely paying attention. He was holding his cape high, trying to walk at a distinguished pace instead of crashing through the landscape like Drax. His attempts were unsuccessful: Prickly succulents snared his clothes, inconvenient rocks meant he had to sidestep more often than not, and cracked ground alternated with soft pools of sand that were easy to sink into.
He had spotted it, at least. One of the greenhouse’s floor-to-ceiling panes was gone. The skeleton frame held only a few remaining shards.
“The person inside looks agitated,” Peter said. “Maybe they’re the one who broke the glass.”
A voice exploded from the greenhouse. “That conniving, untrustworthy, duplicitous krutacker!”
Mere feet away from the greenhouse, Peter descended to the ground. He landed beside Drax. “Full points if he can spell all those words, too.”
“He?” Drax asked.
“That voice. DiMavi women don’t sound like that. I should know. I’ve heard them happy—seriously happy. And angry—seriously angry—”
“That is definitely not Kiya.” The Collector kicked his boots against a nearby rock to get rid of the sand in his soles.
Peter sighed. “That’s what I was worried about.”
He stepped inside the greenhouse through the broken window pane. A fractured pot on the ground—empty. A table stood in the center, and a counter ran along the walls, covered in dried dirt scattered in clumps. A thin layer of sand had blown inside, untouched except for recent footsteps. Someone had been hurried enough to leave behind smears.
“Who the flark are you?” a voice demanded. A Krylorian male stood in the doorway to the house, fists balled.
“Galaxy, Guardians of the,” Peter replied. “You’re here for Kiya?”
“You know her?” He stepped forward. “Where’d she go? That krut—”
“Groot!” Drax interrupted.
“Hey, Groot! Bro!” Peter said.
The Flora colossus that appeared behind the Krylorian was the size of the Collector’s—only slightly younger than their own. A bronze collar sat tightly around his neck. He squinted his eyes at Drax and Peter, then at Tivan. “I am Groot? I am Groot? I am Groot!”
“Oh, shuddup already!” the Krylorian exclaimed. “Now’s the time you decide to act lively?” He turned back to Peter. “You bought one of these useless bags of timber, as well, I take it?”
“I am Groot.”
“Is that all they say? Ugh, maybe it’s just mine. I should’ve known it was broken. It’s such a sham. She showed one lifting a damn cargo ship, and this one can’t even lift my shuttle. And it won’t shut up.”
The Groot snarled. “I—am—”
“Nuh-uh.” He held up his arm, which featured a bracelet shaded similarly to the Groot’s collar.
“—Groot,” he finished, dejected.
“Hold on a minute here,” Peter said. “You got a, what is that, a zappy thing?”
“What, you didn’t?” He laughed. “How else you gonna control these dumb things? You gotta be able to punish ’em. They misbehave, they get zapped. Here, let me show—”
One second Peter was standing across the room, the table between him and the Krylorian; the next they stood face-to-face, his element gun pressed against the guy’s nose. “Yeah, no. Hit that button and you’re a block of ice. And then Drax will punch the block of ice. Right, Drax?”
Drax nodded tersely. “Correct.”
“This is so interesting,” the Collector enthused.
The Krylorian blinked rapidly. “If—if anything happens to me, the tree doesn’t just get zapped, it blows up. There’s a fail-safe.”
“I am Groot,” the Groot said, resigned.
“Hmm. Hold on a moment.” Peter brought his free hand to the side of his helmet. “Rocket, I’m sending you my feed. Tell me what I’m seeing.”
“The pink guy? Your gun?” A few moments of silence. “Hmm. That bracelet is a P7 Sartis. It’s the entry-level version to the P9, which—”
“If we decide to grievously injure this individual, will anything happen to this Groot?” Peter didn’t want to see a secon
d Groot blow up in front of him—especially if these Groots Kiya had grown couldn’t grow back after being destroyed, like the Collector had suggested. Once gone, they stayed gone.
At the question, Rocket whooped out a laugh so sharp Peter almost cringed from the sound. “Ha! No way.”
“If we smash up the bracelet or collar, will anything happen to this Groot?”
“Naw, you need a P11 for that, at minimum—nasty piece of work, real hard to circumvent. This one doesn’t even have ’splosive capabilities. It just zaps. Groot’ll be fine. What kinda fairy tales is he telling you?”
More important, what kind of fairy tales had he told the poor Groot? Demeaning him, zapping him, keeping him obedient with threats of a false fail-safe—
This was how Kiya’s buyers were treating the Groots they bought?
“Thanks, Rocket. You’re a gem.” Peter closed the connection.
The Krylorian had sweat drops forming by his temple, leaving deep pink tracks on his skin.
“What did Rocket say?” Tivan seemed eager to hear.
“Good news!” Peter lowered the element gun from the Krylorian’s face. “You’re full of crap, and we’re taking Groot.”
“I am Groot?”
“Oh, but he’s probably going to kick your ass first.”
“I am Groot.”
10
THEY turned the building inside out. Kiya had lived there—that much was clear—but she’d left no clues as to where she’d gone next. The Groot they’d freed from the Krylorian didn’t know either: He’d been grown right there, and Kiya had never breathed a word about a backup plan during his youth in the greenhouse.
“Aaaand we’re back to zero,” Quill said, once they’d returned to the Guardians’ ship. He slumped in his chair and gave the kitchen table a petulant kick.
“That’ll help,” Gamora said. She shared his frustration, though. She peered at the two Groots conversing in the corner. If it weren’t for their difference in age, it’d be impossible to tell their Groot from the duplicate.
“Well, this new Groot and the Collector’s are both at least a couple weeks old,” Rocket said. “They left the greenhouse ages ago. Leaves a lotta time for Kiya to move.”
Guardians of the Galaxy: Collect Them All Page 6