Chapter 1
“Tell me, what do you know about Celestials?”
They’re assholes, Rocket didn’t say. But they were. Ego, definitely. A total asshole. And the Collector had shown one destroying an entire planet with an Infinity Stone. Definitely an asshole. Quill was half-Terran and half Celestial, and about fifty-percent moron, fifty-percent asshole.
“I’ve heard a few things,” he said instead.
“Rumors, undoubtedly.” The client waved his hand. “Contradictory stories. Some don’t even think they’re real.” He turned to Rocket, after what was probably meant to be a dramatic pause. “But I met one. A live one, in the flesh.”
Had this jerk met Ego?
The client pulled out a vial of pale blue liquid. “Distillate of the blood of a Celestial. Two months ago, this glowed. The smallest taste would give you visions of vast cosmic wisdom. People would pay a fortune for just one drop. But then, the light went out.”
Definitely Ego. He’d died, and this jerk had lost his best money making scam.
“I need you to find him,” he said.
“Alive or dead?” Rocket asked. He could probably scrounge up some of the remaining rocks.
The client looked shocked. “Alive, of course! I wouldn’t ask you to kill a Celestial! For one thing, I’m not sure if mere mortals could kill them. I doubt an army could defeat them, let alone any resources you could put together.”
Rocket grinned smugly.
“For another, I don’t want to harm him, just keep him to refresh the supply of blood.”
“But what if he’s already dead?”
“I doubt that. They’re nearly impossible to kill.”
“Nearly.” Rocket’s grin widened.
“True. I will pay you ten thousand in advance, to cover search expenses. Find proof of death, you keep it. Bring him back alive, you get one million units. Take the money and don’t keep your end of the bargain, and you will die slowly, screaming in agony.”
“Yeah, yeah, got it.” Rocket technically did die screaming once, but it was back the he was in the lab, and he’d been revived. He had made backup plans so it would never happen again.
“Good. Here is a photo of the Celestial, before he was taken from me by a pack of Ravagers.” He pulled up a picture of a small, dirty-looking boy. “Based on the responses, I believe I had an actual juvenile. He went by the name Bee-dur. This was more than twenty-five years ago, but their species lives so long I doubt he’s reached maturity by now.”
Maturity? Definitely not, Rocket thought, looking at the picture. Just his luck, the Celestial this freak was hunting had to be Quill.
“He also went by Star Lord.”
Rocket briefly contemplated what he could do with a million units, then regretfully decided to do the right thing.
He’d take the job, run out on the client, and hope he didn’t get caught.
“Sure,” he said. “Kid like that, I bet I could track him down.”
“Be careful. He may be young, but he is connected to vast cosmic powers and unfathomable wisdom. Do not underestimate him.”
—
Peter was standing in the galley of the Milano, a lighter held near his butt, desperately trying to muster up a fart.
“You are stalling,” said Drax.
“No, it’s coming. I swear, it’ll be cool.”
“This is a bluff,” said Drax. “No species can survive with combustible gas in their intestinal tract.”
“No, this is totally real! My uncle used to do it after a few beers! Watch!”
“Watch what?” Mantis walked in.
Peter took the lighter away from his butt. “Nothing.” Just then, the fart let loose.
“Quill claims he has flammable gases inside his butt,” said Drax. “He was going to light one on fire as it escaped.”
“Dude!” Peter turned to Drax. “You don’t talk about farts in front of girls!”
Drax gave a puzzled frown. “Why not? Surely, if the male of a species generates intestinal gasses, a female would have a similar intestinal tract.”
“You just don’t. Girls hate farts!”
“On the contrary, it sounds like an interesting scientific demonstration,” said Mantis. “I would like to see it.”
“I can’t do it now!” Peter squirmed uncomfortably. “I…missed my chance.”
Drax sniffed the air. “Indeed. He has released the gasses.”
Mantis inhaled deeply. “I can smell it!”, she said with a delighted grin. “It is truly disgusting!”
“Quill excels at producing disgusting smells. I suspect that is the primary way his species defended themselves before the invention of the blaster.”
Just then, Gamora popped into . “There is a call for you,” she said. “Denarian Dey from Nova Corps. He wanted to discuss a job.”
“Good timing,” said Peter. “We need money for ship maintenance. With all the parts Rocket’s been scrounging, our atmospherics are held together with spit and chewing gum.”
“That does not make sense,” said Drax. “Chewing gum is of limited usefulness as an adhesive, and spit would be even less effective.”
“So we are not going to see the scientific demonstration of his flammable gases?” Mantis asked.
Gamora frowned. “What is going on here?”
“Nothing,” said Peter. “Nothing at all. I’m totally a normal adult, and nothing gross or weird was going on at all.”
He walked out.
—
“Yo,” said Peter. “What’s up?”
“Yo?”
“Terran greeting.”
Dey gave a very serious nod. “Yo, Star Lord. What is up is that Nova Corps could use the assistance of the Guardians of the Galaxy on a delicate matter of galactic importance. If you could come to Nova Prime, my colleague Aooo Eiaua can brief you in detail.”
“Cool, we could probably fit you into the schedule. Um, on the whole matter of money? Like I don’t want to be a dick or nothing, and be all only in it for the money, but if I don’t have the units to keep my ship running, I can’t keep saving the galaxy.”
He was pretty sure he’d saved the entire universe last time, and he hadn’t been paid at all.
“We’ll come to a suitable arrangements,”
“Excellent! See you soon.” Peter closed the call. That name, Aooo…why did it sound familiar?
Aooo, Aooo… Peter snapped his fingers.
Now he remembered. Aooo, Aooo, Werewolves of London. Warren Zevon, 1978.
It was his new favorite song on the Zune.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his headphones.