Guardians of the Galaxy: Collect Them All

by Corinne Duyvis

  “We’re gonna need a littler Groot.”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’.”

  “I was making a ref—never mind. You’re all heathens.” Quill said the last part at a mumble.

  The five of them were sitting at the ship’s kitchen table not far from the Groots. Drax and Rocket were drinking; the others were either pensive or peeved.

  “Are your missions usually this filthy?” the Collector asked, scrubbing the dirt from his cloak.

  “They’re usually worse.” Gamora ran a hand through her hair. “You said you had a lead on other duplicates. Let’s return to that plan. Are they younger?”

  “Unclear,” he said. “I wonder: Is it your usual tactic to split up? Would you say—”

  “Can we focus?” Gamora said.

  The interest the Collector had shown in the Guardians lately was unusual and unwanted, and couldn’t be linked solely to his desire to fill his museum. This went further. The Collector had started his collection ages ago to stave off the inevitable boredom that came with immortality; his interest in the team had to be born of the same ennui. He’d probably latched onto them as an intriguing curiosity, a way to pass the time—since he had so much of it—and the result was a zillion questions and creepy looks. The way he watched her now, more intrigued than intimidated, was only one example.

  It was enough to make her want a steam shower.

  “You’re completely right, Gamora. I do not mean to interrupt your strategy session.” The Collector tented his fingers and smiled eagerly. “Carry on.”

  “Quill?” she said, suppressing the urge to groan. “Do we have any leads?”

  Quill shook his head. “I reached out to our contacts at the Knowhere market. They’ll keep an eye out.”

  “I set up a program to watch any rumblings on the channels,” Rocket said. “I got one or two leads, but they were talking about big tree creatures. If they’re Groots, they’re probably too old to lead us to Kiya’s new location, but I say let’s try ’em.”

  Gamora nodded. “I checked with my own contacts. One thought she’d seen a Flora colossus, but it turned out to be a Cotati.”

  “This Kiya may not have been at her new location long enough.” Drax leaned into the table, both hands wrapped around his drink. “If the Groots grown there are too young to sell, we may not find her for a long time yet.”

  “We’re still gonna go find the bigger ones, right?” Rocket said impatiently. “Not like we got better leads.”

  Quill looked unconvinced. “Yeah, but if we go after the big ones, Kiya might grow and sell more Groots in the meantime, maybe move again…Groot would only get worse.”

  After the Groot they’d found had ripped off his collar, he’d walked to the ship alongside them: The trip had taken twice as long as it should have, with uncertainty, imbalance, and weakness threaded through the Groot’s every movement.

  “So you wanna leave the others?” Rocket said.

  “Every few hours, there might be more ‘others’ being grown! The galaxy could be crawling with them by next week, for all we know.”

  They continued to go around in circles, reaching nothing except the very end of Gamora’s patience.

  “I may have a solution,” the Collector said finally.

  “We’re all ears, dude.” Quill sounded tired. They’d grabbed naps here and there, but it had been more than a day since they’d gotten any real sleep. He looked up at the Collector with forced interest and a weary smile.

  The Collector pulled a communicator from his cloak and placed it on the table. A holo popped out to fill the space between them. He rapidly tapped and swiped the projection until a video feed opened.

  “The duplicate in my arboretum is not the only one I’ve retrieved,” he admitted. “In my search for Kiya, I found other—”

  “Oh, hey, look who admits to being a big freaking liar!” Quill was suddenly wide awake. He slapped a palm on the table loudly enough to jolt everyone sitting at it. “Damn, but that took a while. How much desperation did you want from us? Was there a quota you needed filled?”

  “Ha!” Rocket said. “Suck it up, Quill, and hand over those hundred units. I knew he wouldn’t crack so easy.”

  The Collector sat stone-still. “You were baiting me?”

  “Consider it a test,” Gamora said.

  “I see. And did I win, or did I lose?”

  “You told us the truth. You win. The truth means you’re a terrible creature. You lose.” She leaned in. “Open your comms. We’ll talk to these other Groots.”

  “I am Groot.” The voice rumbled from the corner of the room. Disturbingly, Gamora couldn’t identify who the voice belonged to: their Groot, or his duplicate from Pirinida. Only when she turned did she see it was theirs.

  “I know,” she told him quietly. She didn’t like knowing they’d left those Groots behind at the Collector’s museum, either.

  The Collector let out an abrupt laugh. “Ha!”

  “What’s so funny?” Rocket said, immediately wary.

  “The fact that after billions of years in this universe, you can all still surprise me, dear Rocket.”

  Rocket turned to Groot, his face a mask of disgust. “Did he just call me dear?”

  “I am Groot.” He pointed a long finger at the holo.

  The table fell quiet, staring at the projection. This time, they weren’t looking at the arboretum. The Collector had patched them into a massive, white-tiled room. A couple of water troughs and potted shrubs stood to the side. A trio of Groots sat on the dirt floor, talking to each other in voices too low to understand. The middle one had to be about a week old. The Groots were hemmed in by a force field on both sides of the room—that twitching in the air left no doubt about it.

  The Collector cleared his voice. “You can talk to them.”

  “Groot?” Rocket climbed from his chair atop the table. “Groot, buddy? It’s us. You remember us, right?”

  The three Groots looked around. One pushed to his feet, confused. “I am Groot?”

  “They are receiving audio only,” the Collector said.

  “I can see that,” Rocket said, irritated. “Listen, Groot, we’re coming for you. All right? Hang in there.”

  “I am Groot,” their Groot said urgently, leaning in behind Rocket. “I am Groot!”

  “I am Groot!” Pirinida’s Groot added.

  “Is it just you three?” Rocket said. “Are you in the big frog museum? We’ll set a course.”

  “No, we will not,” the Collector said. “Can we focus on finding my assistant?”

  “Oh, shut up, Tivan,” Quill said.

  The Collector’s head snapped up. Gamora tensed at that look—cool, a hint of annoyance, then a false smile. “Star-Lord. Friend. Do not mistake my amusement for acquiescence. As much as I enjoy the ride, I would also quite like to find my assistant. Another day in my care will not kill the Flora colossi. As a sign of goodwill, I will, naturally, toss these three specimens in with our deal.”

  Quill chewed over those words—literally, it seemed, from the way he was rotating his jaw. The Groots and Rocket were still talking rapidly.

  “Okay,” Quill said, shifting his attention to the three holo Groots. “You, in the middle. You’re smallest. Can you tell us where…”

  11

  THEY couldn’t trust him.

  They had to trust him.

  They couldn’t trust him.

  “Shut uuuup, brain.” Peter turned over in bed, shoving his face into his pillow—as if that would help him get the sleep he needed.

  They didn’t have much choice but to work with the Collector. Every encounter with him was a game. Once he decided to stop playing…

  Peter had enough trust in the Guardians to know they could deal with whatever situation came up, but he’d also seen enough of those situations go from minor to galaxy-wrecking that he wasn’t eager to piss off an Elder just yet. He’d play it carefully—for now.

  The Collector really had passed the t
est: He hadn’t lied about his assistant being his top priority. If he’d wanted, he could’ve easily let the Guardians continue talking in circles while he kept the Groots he’d already found safely in his collection.

  For all Peter knew, he still might try something like that. Peter had hoped Kiya might be holed up near the Collector’s museum. That would’ve given them an excuse to crash by and pick up the Groots on the way, before the Collector tried anything funny. The location they’d gotten from the younger Groot had been in the exact opposite direction, though, near the center of the Turunal system.

  Which meant they would simply have to trust that the Collector would hand over the Groots afterward.

  Except they clearly couldn’t trust him—

  And there his brain went again.

  He stared at the ceiling. “Maybe I should be counting Groots.”

  GAMORA did not like this one bit.

  “There are too many people.”

  The six of them stood on a rooftop across from the location the small Groot had given them: a fourth-floor apartment in a busy port city on a tertiary Kree planet inhabited by a bustling mix of Kree, Spartoi, DiMavi, and others. Ships flew overhead every other minute, the roaring in the air masking the chatter from the street.

  “So we’ll take a different approach.” Quill looked down at the street, one foot propped on the rooftop ledge. Night was falling, but the streets were crowded. His helmet’s red eyes glowed fiercely in the dark. “We can’t allow her to run. She’ll get lost in the crowd. Worst-case scenario, bystanders get hurt. So we go in from multiple angles. Spook her, grab her, then go for whatever Groots she’s harboring. I count at least three shapes on my scanner.”

  “You are certain it is her this time?” Drax asked.

  “Seems to be the right size, and all scans check out. Let’s take a look. Rocket, you and me will go in the back. Gamora, you and Tivan take the window on this side.”

  Gamora sat crouched on the ledge. She nodded her assent and continued to check the crowd and surrounding rooftops for signs of danger.

  “Groot and Drax—I want you inside the building, by the front door. Block her way out, but don’t go in until we say so. It’s too small a space. Try not to give anyone a heart attack on your way up.”

  “I am Groot?”

  “Jeez, I dunno. Look harmless.”

  Groot tried a grin, revealing mossy, splintered teeth.

  “Yeahhhh, that’ll do the trick.” Quill kicked off to hover a couple of feet over the roof. Rocket latched onto his leg and clambered up to settle on his back.

  “Let’s fly,” Rocket said.

  Groot and Drax went next. They jumped down, slammed onto the ground below, and made it to the apartment building’s front door in seconds, the crowd breaking apart before them. A single kick from Drax knocked the door off its hinges.

  Gamora walked backward from the ledge, keeping her eyes on the window Quill had indicated. No movement yet.

  “I’m interested. How good is your eyesight?” the Collector asked.

  She didn’t answer. She visualized Drax and Groot bolting up the stairs. One second. Two. Three. Four. They’d be at the apartment door by now. Time for her to make an entrance.

  “Move,” she told the Collector.

  Gamora took a running leap off the roof. Legs bundled up—hair wafting behind her—the crowd beneath gasping—

  Mid-flight, she pointed one leg. The tip of her boot shattered the window. Glass flew in all directions as she landed inside the building in a crouch. A split second to absorb the impact. Another split second before she was upright and moving to make room for the Collector. She took in the apartment. Mattress on the floor, no pillow, the sheets a bundle. Hooked knife beside the mattress, within easy reach. Nothing on the walls. Pots strewn all around, some filled with dirt, others empty. One corner—comparatively tidy—featured a miniature lab setup: table, microscope, an assortment of glass-covered trays of dirt, some with tiny plucks of green or brown sprouting from the earth. Another blade nearby. The scent: dust, earth, water, plants, sweat.

  The Collector landed beside her, sending a tremor through the floor. He’d taken longer than she’d expected. Scared to take the leap, in case he slipped and hit the pavement four stories below? Doubtful. Taking the time to watch her jump and land, with that same intrigued, delighted look he wore now? More likely.

  A crash came from deeper inside the apartment—another window breaking; had to be Quill and Rocket—followed by a scream. Female. Kiya.

  Gamora sprinted across the room, hurdling over a tipped-over chair.

  “I am Groot! I am Groot!” The voice sounded alarmed. Wondering what was happening. Not their Groot—one of Kiya’s.

  Down the hallway. Past a bathroom. Past a startled Groot duplicate half her size. Past the front door Drax and Groot had to be waiting behind. Around a corner—

  Where the hall opened into a makeshift greenhouse. A fine, opalescent barrier hovered in the doorpost, holding in the humidity. Behind it: movement.

  “Who the flark—” That had to be Kiya again. Loud. Angry. Her voice skipped on the a in flark, betraying shock or fear or both.

  Gamora strode through the barrier, which fizzled around her. The cool hall gave way to wet, hot air inside the greenhouse. Quill and Rocket stood covering both windows. A moist tarp hung from the ceiling and walls. Crappy kitchen in one corner. Almost a dozen pots containing Grootlings in various stages. Kiya, halfway between the door and windows, had her back to Gamora. (Firm shape—stout with muscle and fat. DiMavi-curved ears, the angle indicating youth. Short, white hair. Dark green skin. Gun on her hip. Her stance suggested one thing—threat. She’d either gotten over her shock quickly, or she knew how to suppress it. Either way, she was ready for a fight.) Two grown Groots stood near Kiya, startled, their eyes on Rocket.

  Rocket was aiming his gun square at the girl. “Guess what, lady. You start cloning and selling people, their friends might come help ’em out.”

  “Listen—” Kiya said.

  (Commanding. Not aggressive yet. Gamora adjusted her initial assessment: ready for a fight, yes, but not eager for one.)

  “Listen to this,” Rocket said. “It’s my favorite sound in the galaxy.”

  “I am Groot!” a handful of Grootlings yelped. “I am Groot!”

  “Rock—!” Quill and Gamora began.

  He fired.

  Kiya was hemmed in by Groots on either side. Dodging forward or back would get her killed. She went low instead, her body whipping backward in a perfect curve. As her face flipped upside down, her eyes caught Gamora’s.

  And widened.

  The blast seared across Kiya’s torso, singeing the front of her jacket. Almost absentmindedly, Gamora twisted her body sideways and flung one arm through the barrier behind her, shoving the Collector out of the way.

  The blast went past both Kiya and Gamora and slammed into the hallway wall. It left behind a scorch mark the size of Gamora’s head.

  It took about half a second, all in all.

  Quill yelled at Rocket. The Collector said something; he sounded surprised. The Groots were yelling. Gamora didn’t listen. She focused on Kiya, who’d snapped upright and whirled on her. Shock flashed across the girl’s face.

  “It’s you,” Kiya breathed.

  “We’re here for our friend,” Gamora said. “Don’t give us a reason—”

  Kiya pulled her gun, aimed, and fired.

  Gamora dove sideways and slid past a table. Dodged the first three blasts. A fourth skimmed her arm. She kept low. One leg went out from under the table to swipe at Kiya, who stepped out of the way. Leaning back, Kiya sent another two blasts at Gamora under the table.

  Kiya was better than Gamora had expected.

  Surprising.

  Also annoying.

  Gamora heard the familiar sound of Quill’s element gun. She shot forward, knowing Kiya would be distracted by the new threat, and flung her into the wall. She pressed a knee into the g
irl’s hand—which felt strange, too tough—forcing her to drop the gun. Spun her. Wrapped an arm around her neck from behind. Gamora moved in close, her nose in the girl’s hair, her breath on her neck. As she tightened her grip, her gaze landed on Kiya’s shoulder. A scar disappeared under the line of her jacket.

  Kiya tried to fight back, hands clawing for Gamora’s hair or eyes. Not a bad move, but basic. The strength with which she strained under Gamora’s grip, though… Gamora managed to contain her, but it took more effort than it should’ve. This was a DiMavi teenager, for crying out loud.

  “I am Groot!” The duplicate Groot sounded anxious.

  Another Groot let out a snarl of frustration. “I am Groot.”

  “Kiya.” The Collector stepped through the barrier. “You have been a challenge to find.”

  Kiya should’ve been weakening, having her air cut off for so long. Instead, she went rigid—then bucked and flailed, screaming with breath she didn’t have.

  This wasn’t anger.

  This wasn’t shock. It wasn’t even fear.

  This was terror.

  “Allow me.” The Collector lifted one hand, presenting a circular metal patch Gamora recognized as a neural subduer.

  “I am Groot—I am Groot—” The tallest of the Groots flung himself at the Collector. His shoulder hit Tivan’s chest, knocking him back. Tivan recovered quickly, tossing the attacking Groot aside with a single gesture.

  Another Groot ran straight for Kiya and Gamora. “I am Groot!” he pleaded.

  Let her go?

  “Groot? What’re you talking about?” Rocket said.

  The younger Groot yanked at Gamora’s arm. Her gaze went from the Collector to Kiya.

  “Gamora?” The Collector took a threatening step closer. “We have a deal.”

  They did.

  It wouldn’t be breaking the deal to gather further intel, though.

  Gamora spun Kiya around to face her, easing her grip, and pushed the girl up against the wall. Kiya gasped for breath. Gamora’s arm pressed into her neck, loosely enough for Kiya to talk and breathe, but offering no chance of escape.

  They were inches apart. Gamora narrowed her eyes, scrutinized the girl’s face for any signs of what she was hiding. Because someone was hiding something. The girl’s panic, the Groots helping her—this situation didn’t feel right.