Guardians of the Galaxy: Collect Them All

by Corinne Duyvis

  “You have two seconds to convince me,” Gamora said.

  Kiya coughed, gasped. She tried to twist out of Gamora’s grip. No, wait: she was twisting to keep an eye on the Collector. Her pupils were dilated in fear. “He—he can’t lock me up again—”Another deep, rattling breath.

  Okay. Two seconds was perhaps not long enough for someone she’d just choked.

  Gamora pushed up the girl’s sleeve. All along her arm was the line of a scar. A fresh one, still healing, the green skin puckered and uneven. She pulled down the girl’s collar. A horizontal scar stretched from shoulder to shoulder across her collarbone. From the exact center, a straight line slashed down her sternum. Gamora couldn’t see how far it went.

  She grabbed Kiya’s hand and squeezed. There was metal in there, synthetics.

  She had implants.

  Made sense: She was stronger and faster than any DiMavi Gamora had ever met.

  What didn’t make sense was why the Collector would have an augmented assistant. Even more than that—the implants were so fresh, he had to have been the one who augmented her.

  Why?

  Gamora locked eyes with Kiya.

  The girl looked back, her chin defiantly raised even if her breath still came shakily.

  Then Gamora saw it.

  The set of her nose. The precise shade of her skin, lighter than most DiMavi Gamora knew. The scent of hair dye.

  She pressed a thumb brusquely into Kiya’s cheek, ignoring her flinch. Cheekbone. Jawbone. Chin. The structure of her skull—and that knob, right there—

  It was the same as Gamora’s.

  Her grip went slack.

  Kiya took the opportunity to lash out. Gamora deflected the attack without looking. Stepped back.

  “You’re not DiMavi,” she said breathlessly.

  Kiya was Zen-Whoberian.

  12

  THE DEAL’S off, Collector,” Gamora said. “Drax!”

  “Wait, what?” Peter sputtered. “Gamora, what—”

  A crash sounded from down the hall. Peter would have bet money on it: Kiya’s front door was now split in half.

  Drax stepped into the room, with Groot right behind him.

  “I am Groot!” one of Kiya’s Groots said, startled. “I am Groot?”

  “We’re taking the girl,” Gamora told Peter. “Drax, keep the Collector busy.”

  The Collector narrowed his eyes. “You are making a big—”

  Then Drax was on him.

  He couldn’t kill the Elder. But he could buy the team time.

  And, based on his jubilant laughter, he would enjoy it.

  Peter didn’t have a d’ast clue what Gamora was up to, but she’d seen something when inspecting the girl. Whatever it was, he had to trust that Gamora knew what she was doing.

  “Rocket! Groot! Take the duplicates to the ship!” He wanted them out of Kiya’s and the Collector’s hands—and moreover, he wanted them out of danger. This was turning into a brawl with an honest-to-god Elder of the Universe; bystanders could get hurt. And these particular bystanders wouldn’t be able to regrow if damaged too badly, thanks to Kiya’s manipulations. “You guys”—Peter eyed Kiya’s adult Groots—“will you help get them out?”

  “I am Groot,” they said in harmony.

  Of course they would.

  Gamora and Drax kept the Collector occupied, Drax still laughing. Rocket and Groot—all of them—were rounding up the Grootlings. The Guardians’ Groot sprouted extra arms to hold onto the pots of the younger saplings, letting the ones who could survive without earth crawl all over him and hold on tight.

  Kiya dashed for the broken window. Peter spun to catch her, wrapping one arm around her waist. “Hi,” he said, firing up his boots. “Let’s get ouuu—ooow!” He yanked back his hand, flapping it around frantically. “You almost broke my hand!”

  She dove out the window.

  “Get her!” Gamora shouted, fending off an attack from the Collector.

  Peter leapt out after Kiya, landing on the balustrade of a ramshackle balcony. He scanned the cityscape. Several stories below, the street still bustled with nighttime crowds. If Kiya had slipped into the masses, he would never— There! Sprinting across the rooftop of the next building! He saw a flash of white hair before she tugged a hood over her head.

  “Kiya, we’re not handing you over to him! You have the wrong idea,” he called out, shooting off through the air toward her. “I mean…you had the right one, but not anymore!”

  She veered left and leapt over the side of the rooftop. He sped up just in time to see her bolt into the crowd.

  He flew lower. She was running—that made it easier to keep an eye on her. She swerved through the crowd, into an alley, and back onto a public square. He saw his chance. He clicked his element gun loose, leaving it barely hanging on his belt for easy access, then slammed to the ground in front of her. He spread his hands out wide, hoping the bystanders wouldn’t see him as a threat. Most of them ran. Others frantically yelled into their communicators. Calling law enforcement? Great—he really needed angry Kree in the middle of this mess.

  “Look, we won’t hurt you, and we won’t hand you over to the Collector.” Apparently. Gamora had better know what she was doing. “We’re the—”

  “I know who she is!”

  Kiya hadn’t stopped running. Peter planted himself on the cobblestone street, ready to intercept her. Instead, she sprinted past and effortlessly plucked his element gun from his belt. She swerved toward him and fired.

  The gun clicked pointlessly.

  She inhaled sharply, pulling the trigger again. Click-click-click.

  Perfect. She’d fallen for it. Peter used the distraction to crash into her, pulling her down to the ground with him. A chorus of gasps sounded in the crowd as people dashed aside.

  Peter snatched back his gun, spun it around, and aimed at her face. “Hey,” he said, and pulled the trigger. Brown dirt splashed out. “You have mud on your face. This gun is keyed to my DNA, by the way. I should’ve mentioned that.”

  “Rah!” She knocked him off, scrabbling to her hands and feet. The mud dripped from her face, and she squinted her eyes shut to keep them clean. She blindly swung a fist out through the air.

  From his position sitting on the ground, he took aim and fired a second time. “You’ve also got ice on your boots.”

  Kiya dropped to the ground, taking the impact on her shoulder. She rolled onto her back. Wiping the mud from her face with one hand, she used the other to beat at the ice on her legs. It was already cracking.

  He fired a third time. “Oops. Got some on your hand, too.”

  She was still writhing on the ground as he crouched closer and hooked his arms under hers. “Let me go!” she yelled. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Can you fly? No? Gotta have some touching, then, sorry.” He pushed himself to his feet, then activated his boots. He ignored the yells from the crowd below. This didn’t look good on the surface, and he didn’t have time to correct them. “Got her,” he said into his comms as they rose straight up.

  “I got the Groots,” Rocket replied. “I’ll fly the ship over to grab you.”

  “Get Gamora and Drax away from Tivan first. You two still alive?”

  Gamora snorted. “Please, Quill. Have some faith—” A thud. A pained grunt he recognized as hers.

  “Get them,” he snapped to Rocket.

  “On it.”

  WOW,” Gamora drawled, as Quill entered the ship with Kiya tossed over his shoulder. “You’ve been busy.”

  Quill deactivated his boots, thudding to the floor. It was just Quill, Gamora, two Grootlings, and Rocket in the cargo bay. Most of the Grootlings they’d recovered from Kiya’s apartment were in the crew quarters, getting caught up on the situation, while Drax was tending to the bridge and nursing his wounds. The Collector handed out a hell of a beating when he wanted to.

  “How long did it take you to find her?” Rocket stabbed at the control panel in the wall. The doors sl
id shut, abruptly cutting off the wind soaring through the room. Good. It had been messing up his sense of smell and tangling his fur. “I like the mud and ice. Good look on her.”

  Bet she wouldn’t be able to dodge his blast now. It was damn tempting—but if Gammy wanted the girl alive, Rocket would roll with it.

  For now.

  “She managed to shoot Gamora. I wasn’t taking chances.” Quill gently lowered the girl to the ground, then stretched, windmilling his arms and making a satisfied sound.

  “It was only a surface wound. Don’t insult me.” Gamora’s eyes were fixed on the girl.

  Kiya scrambled away—kind of a funny sight, with that ice still weighing her down—and watched them. Eyes wide, breaths sharp.

  Eh, she could sit tight for a bit.

  “You missed all the good stuff, Quill!” Rocket said. “Flew the ship right between the buildings—had to tilt it to fit, people were screaming in the street, it was hilarious—and then Drax ’n’ Gammy jumping right out the window—I caught them perfectly.”

  “We jumped perfectly, Rocket.” Gamora sounded toneless. Still studying the girl like she’d never seen a DiMavi before.

  “None of you got any appreciation for what I do,” he huffed. “Anyway, the Collector tried to follow, but Groot shot him back into the apartment and may or may not have set the place on fire. There, I’m done. It was awesome, and you missed it.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Quill.

  “Kiya.” Gamora leaned forward, arms on her knees. “Are you all right?”

  “I am Groot?” The two Grootlings, who barely reached Rocket’s shoulders, came running across the cargo bay. One lingered near Gamora, who sat on a rusty staircase leading to a higher platform. The other went straight to Kiya, who was pushing herself into a sitting position. The blocks of ice around her feet and hand were dripping, creating a puddle that ran down the grates.

  Her hands were starting to claw at the ice. Her breathing was heavy. She watched Gamora, matching the woman’s intensity, but every few seconds her eyes flickered to the rest of the room, taking it in bit by bit.

  As if satisfied there weren’t any other imminent threats, Kiya’s gaze fixed on Gamora.

  Gamora stared back.

  Rocket narrowed his eyes. “Am I…interrupting something…?”

  13

  FIVE weeks of surviving on her own and staying out of Tivan’s hands.

  Five weeks of deciphering Tivan’s impossible notes, growing the Groots, finding buyers.

  And just as Kiya had finished the final batch of Groots, over a dozen that she could sell off all in one go—

  In the space of a few minutes—

  All her efforts, destroyed.

  Pain and cold shuddered through Kiya’s legs. She clawed and beat at the ice, a rhythmic thumping, as she tried to get a handle on the situation.

  Cargo bay. A big space, with aged-looking metal all around her. Several places to hide. Three exits. A fourth, if she counted the hatch they’d flown in through, but that seemed securely locked for now. Nearest possible weapon—a pair of magnospatial pliers near the control panel—wasn’t within reach. Too risky, especially when she could barely move.

  She counted three opponents. The angry, chatty, furry creature—Rocket, Gamora had called him—stood across the room, near the control panel. Didn’t seem likely to shoot Kiya again within the next few minutes. She dismissed him for now.

  The man who’d iced her stood by her side. Close enough to punch in the throat, if not for the ice. The man was a pink Kree, based on his appearance, though he acted nothing like one. If he was actually Kree—

  The thought almost made Kiya want to laugh, a panicky sound already bubbling in her throat. She flung the useless impulse aside.

  If he was Kree, then her freedom had been snatched away by the combination of a Kree, Gamora—Gamora!—and Tivan himself. A trifecta straight out of her nightmares.

  Call me Taneleer, the Collector had chastised her, his voice an echo in her mind. We are on a first-name basis, are we not?

  She flinched.

  The final person in the cargo bay was Gamora.

  Kiya could no longer look away. Every few seconds, her heart twitched and skipped a beat, knowing that Gamora was sitting right there on that staircase—a dozen feet away

  Watching her.

  The ice was starting to crack. Every thud sent another jolt of pain through her legs, but she bit through the pain, thudded harder. She was used to pain. And she needed to get out. Now.

  Aside from her three opponents, there was just the pair of week-old Groots. No sign of Tivan. He wasn’t on board. If he were on the ship, he’d be standing right across from her, welcoming her with open arms and a vicious smile.

  So she had only these three to deal with. Four, if she counted the muscly, tattooed one who’d barged into her apartment. He had to be flying the ship.

  Four was doable.

  If one of those four wasn’t Gamora.

  Knowing that Gamora had turned on Tivan the moment she realized the truth about Kiya was a bright spot, but only barely. Kiya still didn’t know what Gamora wanted from her. Only that it could not be good.

  The ice wouldn’t hold Kiya for much longer.

  She needed a plan. At a minimum, it’d involve that control panel Rocket had been operating, the maybe-Kree’s propulsor boots, and as many Groots as possible. Where were the other Groots? Her captors had taken her d’ast wares. She needed those things—

  “Are you all right?” Gamora’s pose was casual, unthreatening. The look she gave Kiya, though—it was too intent, too focused. As though she had found a target.

  Kiya’s free hand still beat relentlessly at the ice. Her skin was turning pale from cold, her knuckles already split.

  Gamora was angling for something.

  For a fleeting, frightening moment, Kiya actually wished she were back with Tivan. The world outside his museum was too damn big, and too damn much to deal with all by herself.

  It was not the first time she’d had that thought. As she did every time, she fought it off, shoved it into a deep, dank corner of her mind.

  She had gotten away from him.

  She would stay that way.

  She focused on the pain in her bones, the cold seeping into her skin, and the textured metal she sat on. They grounded her. Kept her present, instead of letting her fear run off with her.

  “Hey, teeny tiny question, Gamora.” The maybe-Kree man leaned casually against a steel beam curving along the wall. “We took your word on it and all, but mind telling me why the krutack we just declared war on an Elder of the Universe?”

  “Ain’t that what we do on Wednesdays?” Rocket wondered aloud. “Collector ain’t gonna be happy we left him on that backwater of a planet. Or, y’know, that the Destroyer and the deadliest woman in the galaxy beat him up. Never trusted that he’d make good on that promise to hand over the other Groots, but I’m pretty sure that option’s gone out the airlock now.”

  Kiya freed one heel, the ice falling away.

  Rocket’s words matched the group’s actions in her apartment. That didn’t mean she could trust them, though. She slowly considered her options. Too slowly. She couldn’t think with Gamora right there, on those stairs only a dozen feet away—Gamora could cross that distance and slice all their throats before any of them realized she’d even moved—

  Pain. Cold. Metal.

  Focus.

  “Rocket, shut it,” the maybe-Kree said. He seemed to be the one in charge. Laughable. Gamora had to be humoring him. “After pulling that weapon, you don’t get to talk about risking our deal.”

  Gamora was still studying Kiya.

  “Gamora?” the maybe-Kree said.

  “You’re not an assistant.” Gamora’s voice was frighteningly level. “You were a specimen in his collection.”

  Kiya tore her eyes away from Gamora as the ice between her feet cracked. She could move her legs independently, even if she couldn’t walk yet. A wav
e of pain caught her by surprise. She rode it out, let it pass.

  Cold sometimes suppressed her pain. Now, it seemed to make it worse.

  Kiya shifted her focus to her encased hand. Looking away from Gamora was a foolish move, she knew. Eyes on your opponent. At all times.

  She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  She ducked her head lower, letting loose locks slip into her vision. The dried mud clumps stood out sharply on her stark-white hair.

  “He augmented you.”

  Kiya scratched at the ice, more forcefully now.

  “You’re Zen-Whoberian.”

  “Whoa, hang on.” Startled, the maybe-Kree pushed himself away from the wall. Kiya’s head snapped back up, following every movement. “Zen-Whoberian?”

  “As in—?” Rocket drew a finger along his neck and made a choking sound.

  Gamora shot him an annoyed look that made Kiya’s breath stick in her throat. It didn’t seem to faze Rocket one bit. “Yes,” Gamora said. “As in nigh extinct.”

  “Not cool, Rocket,” the maybe-Kree said.

  “I am Groot.” A Groot shoved him.

  “You’re all so sensitive. Jeez.” Rocket rolled his eyes. “Weren’t you, like, a little kid when the Zen-Whoberi’s massacre happened, Gam?”

  The maybe-Kree still stood closest to Kiya. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “You’re really Zen-Whoberian?”

  “Half,” Kiya said, her voice rough.

  It was the first thing she’d said since coming on board. She regretted it instantly. She couldn’t buy into the banter, the harmlessness. Tivan had been friendly, too. Until he wasn’t.

  “How?” Gamora asked.

  “Well, Gammy,” Rocket said, “when a DiMavi and a Zen-Whoberian have got the hots for each other—”

  “You Kree?” Kiya asked abruptly, looking up at the man by her side.

  “Me?” He gestured at himself. “Uh—no. Long story. Definitely not Kree. Call me Star-Lord.”

  Gamora leaned in to Kiya. “Your mother? Father? Are they still alive? Please. Tell me.”