Post by Drake on Apr 4, 2015 15:11:52 GMT -5
#11: Prelude to Infinity: Rebellion Part 3
Human Rocket
By Drake
“…and then Peter said ‘drop your pants or I’ll drop you!’” Heather giggled at the end of her story. The abrupt, high-pitched laughter drew a frown from Quie. Heather blushed and looked away. She hadn’t giggled in years…
“That sound...” Quie began emotionlessly.
“Was it that bad?” Heather asked.
“No,” Quie’s frown turned upside down, “It was quite pleasant actually. I’ve never heard a laugh so beautiful in all the cosmos.”
Heather’s face lit up like a star. Pushing some of her hair behind her ear, she said, “So, Quie, do you have anyone special back home?”
Quie wasn’t quite sure how to take the question. She nodded. “Yes. I have many special people.”
“Oh, right, awesome,” Heather spurted, before quietly continuing with, “Didn’t realize Centaurians were like that.”
“I do not understand. I simply explained that I do, in fact, have people back home I care about. Was that not the question?” Quie replied.
Heather looked up, eyes bright with curiosity and hope. She didn’t know what that meant, but maybe…
“So you don’t have a partner?”
“A…soldier partner?” Quie questioned.
“No. A, um, romantic partner,” Heather finished.
“Oh.” Quie flashed a sly grin, “No, I do not. Do you, Heather? The way you speak of Peter—“
“No. Oh no. Peter’s definitely not my type. He’s like a brother, actually. A really promiscuous, stupid, incredibly brave brother,” Heather admitted. She sat back in her seat. Quie leaned forward. Heather paused and then did the same.
So close she could feel Quie’s breath on her face, Heather asked, “How do you feel about Terrans?”
“I will let you know when I am done.”
“With what?”
Quie leaned in. Her lips slid over Heather’s, but before anything more could happen the ship lit up with warning lights. Quie pulled away and focused her attention on the monitors around her.
“Approaching projectile,” the ship’s AI blared.
“We’re being attacked?” Heather wondered, a switch in her clicking.
“No…” Quie shook her head, staring out the windshield, “We have a visitor.”
Quie stopped the ship, bringing into view a glowing golden object. A helmet emblazoned with a red four-pronged star and encompassed in a golden energy field floated out in front of the Spacecruiser. The helmet remained empty. The voice that came over the speakers was metallic and robotic. Heather realized with shock that it was the helmet speaking.
“Nova Drone 2113 requesting information for docking,” the helmet said.
“It’s a talking helmet,” Heather said dumbly.
“Yes,” Quie nodded, “It’s a scout for the Corps. It contains just enough of the Nova Force to fly and power its AI, but beyond that it’s useless. Should we prove a threat, I have no doubt a considerably more powerful Nova will present itself.”
“I’m not worried about the threat of a helmet,” Heather retorted. She massaged her forehead. “God, I thought the talking raccoon was weird.”
“We are Knowhere Resistance officers requesting permission to meet with the Nova Prime,” Quie spoke into the ship’s mic.
“Permission denied. Nova Law 46 states that no covenant shall be made with criminals. Involvement with Knowhere, by order of Nova Law 217, is deemed a criminal activity as it is a planet-state outside of the Corps’ jurisdiction because of the Treaty of Knowhere, signed—”
“Enough with the BS! Captain Quiestia and I want to meet with the Nova Prime.” Heather demanded, before jokingly adding, “Take me to your leader.”
“BS—short for bull shit. A Terran slang term.” The drone paused and added, “Are you perhaps born of Earth?”
“Yes,” Heather admitted. She gave Quie a questioning look and the Centaurian nodded her on. It was clear they were getting somewhere. “My name is Heather Douglas. I’m a member of—“
“The Guardians of the Galaxy. We have been expecting you, Heather Douglas of Earth. Please follow me to the Prime docking bay,” the drone finished. It floated off with a puff of golden energy.
Heather looked at Quie. “What the hell does that mean?”
Quie grinned, “It means, Heather, that we are to meet with the hardest woman to reach in the galaxy: the Nova Prime.”
…
“You know, Peter, it could be worse.”
Yondu stood just a few feet behind Peter as the young war commander pulled Milago’s console to the right, swerving to dodge blaster fire. The young potential-Terran shrugged his mentor’s voice away. He had a battle to win.
“He’s right. After everything you’ve done, you should die a slow death. This will be quick,” Heather said, her hand on Peter’s shoulder. He bit his lip. They’re wrong. Ignore them. He was doing fine. He wasn’t going to die. He didn’t deserve worse. He was saving the d’ast galaxy.
“C’mon, Peter. Don’t fight it. It’ll be over in a flash, just like my death,” A lanky horse-headed Korbinite whispered into Peter’s ear. “At least you won’t have to die alone, knowing your best friend in the whole galaxy abandoned you…”
Sweat beaded down Peter’s neck. He gulped down saliva.
Ignore the voices. Ignore the feeling on your shoulder. They aren’t real. You’re crazy. You’re just having another fit. Breathe and focus on the battle, you lunkhead, Peter thought.
“You’re a murderer, kid, just like me. You deserve to die. Face death like a man. Surrender,” Yondu demanded. “That’s an order, Peter.”
“Shut up, Yondu!” Peter growled, dodging a missile.
“Yondu’s dead, my friend. My name is Yinuet.” The blue-skinned Centaurian war chief put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, opposite Heather’s. Peter shivered. Just his imagination, just his imagination….
The ship shook. Milago alerted Peter that they had been hit. He could not think of that now. All he could think of was that he was about to die. He deserved it. This would be fast. Milago began to plummet through space. A Skrull ship flew just behind, readying its cannons.
“Quill, fly the bloody ship!” Yinuet demanded. Peter remained frozen, blue eyes glowing slightly.
“Don’t be afraid, Peter,” Heather whispered.
“You deserve this,” the Korbinite promised.
“Death is like the sweetest sleep you’ll ever have. Just relax and let it wash over you,” Yondu said.
“I am ready to die,” Peter muttered, eyes glazing over.
“What in the creator’s name is going on?” A Centaurian yelled as Yinuet took the controls from Peter. He pulled the ship to the side to avoid Skrull blaster fire. Even still, the ship was falling apart.
“I don’t know. Focus on manning the weapons,” Yinuet ordered, pushing Peter out of his seat. The young man slumped to the ground.
“You have to stop them, Peter. They’re fighting back against what is natural, what is right,” Heather said.
“Shut up,” Peter retorted. “You aren’t real.”
“To you we are, yeah? That’s all that matters,” the Korbinite stated.
“What the hell is going on? You’ve never been so vivid before,” Peter said.
“Wake up, Quill!” Yinuet shouted, still flying Milago.
“The past has come back to haunt you, Peter, just like you thought it would. I’m back.” The Korbinite knelt down next to Peter. He pointed to Yinuet. “Yondu’s back.” To the half-faded form of Heather now. “I can only imagine why she’s here. There’s more, Peter...you have to know…”
“What?” Peter wondered.
“Your asses are saved! Beta Ray Kill’s on the scene and you ain’t go nothing to worry about!”
Peter frowned. “Bill…?” The voice had sounded just like his fallen friend, but why the hell would it have come over the intercom? The Korbinite ghost—Bill—was gone, along with the others.
“Who in the creator’s name…?” Yinuet muttered, staring out at something in front of the ship. Peter pulled himself off the ground and looked outside. A silver and blue ship shaped like a needle was racing around and torching every Skrull in its sight. Peter hadn’t seen moves so fluid, so powerful, so impossible since Yondu himself.
“Glad you decided to get in your right mind again, Quill,” Yinuet said, eyes never leaving their rescuer, “Because we’re gonna need all the sane we can get.”
“Who is he?” Peter asked.
“I have no idea,” Yinuet paused, before adding, “But I think I like him.”
The Centaurian had good reason to. Their newfound ally wasn’t quite turning the tide of the battle, but he was certainly putting a dent into the Skrull forces. Their dome-shaped ships couldn’t touch him as he soared through space, blasting them left and right.
Something in Peter’s stomach sank. This felt wrong. Nobody could do that…should do that! It was murder!
Peter took the controls from Yinuet, who chortled out, “Quill!” in response. Peter proceeded to fly straight for Beta Ray Kill. He matched the starship captain move for move until he could at last lock on, and…
“Hey!” Kill’s voice came over the comm after he narrowly avoided Peter’s blaster fire, “Didn’t you hear me? I’m on your side! Get off my tail!”
“Quill, he’s helping us!” Yinuet shouted.
“Murderers. Must. Die.” Peter muttered. He locked onto Kill’s ship.
“You idiot—can’t you see I’m killing the D’AST BAD GUYS?!” Kill roared.
Peter’s finger inched towards the trigger, but something held him back. Was he really doing the right thing? Why would he attack someone out of the blue? What the hell was going on with him?
“Hit me,” Peter growled, his finger sliding over the trigger. Yinuet tightened his fist and smacked Peter right out of the chair without hesitation. Another Centaurian held Peter down while the war chief took control of the ship again.
“We are all blue in here, flyer,” Yinuet said into the ship’s mic.
“Chief, Captain Quill is…well, he surely isn’t blue,” the Centaurian holding Peter down said, drowning out Beta Ray Kills’ guttural curses. The young soldier wasn’t quite sure what to do with the mess before him. Peter Quill shook violently in his arms, foaming at the mouth, his blue eyes tinged with purple.
…
Elsewhere, outside the Skrull Godship, a smaller golden disc-shaped flyer docked with ease amidst the chaotic battle raging around it. Inside the Godship, the Spartoi Royal Starship’s main doors slid open and out walked a handsome, proud man dressed in the finest clothing his race could develop. J-Son of Spartax was—at face value—a man to envy.
Flanked by two armor-shrouded guards, J-Son greeted the brute of a Skrull before him with a sly smile. Raksor, his green skin unblemished despite the numerous battles he’d fought in, and J-Son shook hands.
“It’s good to see you, old friend,” J-Son said.
“Friends? Like hell. We have never been friends,” Raksor growled. He led the Spartoi away. “Leave the pleasantries for more deserving men…and times.”
“Why? Are you not winning the battle? Am I not here because, at last, my greatest dream has been achieved?” J-Son retorted, still smiling.
“Do not lie, Spartoi. We both know your greatest dream is to behead the Badoon bastard who took Spartax and sit once again at your throne. Finding the boy was merely an afterthought, else you’d have found him sooner. He is nothing if not conspicuous,” Raksor said. As J-Son opened his mouth to speak, the Skrull continued, “Moreover, I am afraid you will not be able to relish in whatever victory you have achieved. Thanos has grown tired of your incessant misbehavior.”
“Ha! I mirror Thanos’ feelings,” J-Son retorted.
Raksor stopped and looked at J-Son incredulously, “You too have grown tired of yourself?”
J-Son paused and frowned, “No, my friend. I have grown tired of Thanos.”
“Ah,” Raksor nodded and continued walking, leaving J-Son to merely shake his head in disgust. The two leaders came to a halt inside the Godship’s control room. Both stared out the window before them onto the ever-growing interspecies starship battle.
“I find it quite droll that you mentioned Thanos’ feud with me,” J-Son began.
“A feud implies a fight. A fight requires both sides have an equal—or near equal chance—of victory,” Raksor grimaced, “This will be an execution, King J-Son.”
“Yes, yes, it would be if Thanos had this,” J-Son produced a golden gauntlet that shimmered with power. A single purple stone rested in one of six indentions on the glove.
“The Infinity Gauntlet?” Raksor took a step back, jaw agape, “How? Lord Thanos never parts with it…”
“Certainly not to his knowledge, yes, but even the almighty Thanos must sleep. Provided one had a mole in his ranks…well, I believe the rest explains itself,” J-Son grinned devilishly. Raksor wasn’t sure how to respond. If the Spartoi spoke the truth, then the entire war—both with the Badoon and with the entire galaxy—could change drastically.
“Why have you shown me this?” Raksor wondered.
“I need allies, Raksor, my friend,” J-Son slipped the gauntlet onto his hand smoothly. Raksor gulped.
“And if I refuse your invitation?”
J-Son paused, frowned and turned away, “I suppose I’ll have to discuss the proposition with Ronan.”
Raksor sighed in relief. His muscles unclenched and he loosened his grip on his blaster pistol. “Thank the Creator. For a second, King J-Son, I thought—“
Raksor quieted and straightened himself in the time it took for J-Son to discharge his mental command. His eyes glistening purple, the Skrull found he could not move. In fact, he could not even think of anything but the incredible, powerful, kind, wonderful man before him.
“Skrulls…” J-Son shook his head, his lips creased back into a half-smile. Looking back up, still smiling, he said, “Raksor, you insolent fool. I am your leader now. The galaxy is mine. Thanos shall be dethroned from his silent tyranny. I will rule everything from the Spartoi Empire to Ronan’s pathetic excuse for an imperium to your blasted star system and all the backwater planets in between…”
J-Son turned towards the bloody, chaotic view of the battle. Raksor followed. “…Alongside my son.”
J-Son clenched his gloved hand into a fist. His smile gone, expression determined, and the Skrulls around him long past under his control, J-Son made one last declaration.
“It’s time to come home, Peter.”
…
“Time to come home...time to come home…” Peter Quill rocked back and forth in a ball, frothing at the mouth. His Centaurian keeper watched over him with shock and fear. Purple energy simmered around the star captain’s form as his panic attack caught the attention of everyone on board. Or nearly everyone, as Yinuet remained firmly fixed on the battle at hand, piloting a half-broken ship with dozens of men’s lives and the planet underneath them at stake.
“I hate to say it, but the battle’s lost,” Beta Ray Kill’s voice came over the communication system.
“Like hell it is! We’ll fight till our last breath for Pra’estor!” A Centaurian war captain retorted.
“Listen, I’m the best d’ast starfighter in the galaxy, and I’m telling you it’s finished. Save what lives you can. Pray the Skrulls leave Pra’estor’s civilians alone,” Kill said.
“Outsider, you do not—“
“Enough!” Yinuet demanded, firing upon a Skrull ship, “I’m afraid that our new ally is correct. We are losing the battle. It would take a miracle to turn the tides.”
The Centaurian war chief spoke precisely how he felt. Witnessing the massacre before him was nearly too much to bear. They had barely put a dent in the Skrull armada, and certainly hadn’t damaged the Godship while the rebel forces had nearly been cut in half. Pra’estor was as good as lost.
“At least somebody’s got a brain on ‘em,” Kill said, “Everyone form up on me and we’ll push our way out of here.”
“And we’re supposed to just trust you? We don’t even know you!” a Centaurian demanded.
“You don’t really have a choice,” Kill shot back, “So make the only one you can. Follow me and survive.”
“Do as he says, soldiers. We must return to Knowhere,” Yinuet said. Silence on the other end of the line. Eventually a chorus of willing acceptance came through. Yinuet’s expression remained grave as he piloted Milago towards Kill’s ship.
“I have researched Beta Ray Kill,” the ship’s AI began, “He appears on no intergalactic directories. Only tales of a deadly mercenary by the name of Getra Kill even resemble what we know about him.”
Yinuet did not respond, ignoring the looks of fear his fellow Centaurians gave him as Milago dodged Skrull blast after blast, nearing Beta Ray Kill.
…
Knowhere
Sprog’s slimy hand gently touched Phyla’s Skrull prisoner’s face. Upon contact, the Skrull’s eyes widened. Sprog merely frowned and concentrated. Seconds later, he was finished. Sprog removed his hand from the shapeshifter’s face and turned to his Kree ally.
“I take it your mind-reading is complete,” Phyla said, tucking some of her short white hair behind her ear.
“Yes,” Sprog agreed. Before he could say more, Phyla jerked her right arm back and the Skrull’s neck broke in her quantum energy grip.
“Was. That. Necessary?” Sprog asked, stepping way from the corpse as Phyla let it fall to the ground.
“Skrulls do not deserve mercy. They are cruel and undeserving of any kindness,” Phyla replied, sliding her hand over the Quantum Bands. “So, what did you discover?”
Sprog wasn’t excited to continue working with someone who so easily killed but he knew he had no choice. He took a deep breath and continued. “Their. Goal. Is. The. Passport. System. They. Plan. To. Use. It. To. Teleport. In. An. Army…With. The. Soldiers. Gone. Knowhere. Would. Be. As. Easy. To. Conquer. As. Cqord. Is. To. Win.”
Phyla raised her eyebrow questioningly.
“A. Game. Involving. Dice. And. Prositutes.” Upon Phyla’s continued silence, Sprog asked, “You. Have. No. Such. Game?”
“No, but I do know of a card game Heather once explained to me that sounds similar. I believe it was called…strip poker,” Phyla said.
“Yes. Well. If. We. Survive. You. Must. Teach. Me. Strip. Poker,” Sprog said.
“When we defeat the Skrulls, I’ll want to celebrate, not punish myself,” Phyla retorted, leading Sprog back to the Hub’s entrance.
“How. Rude.”
“Just teasing, Sprog. Once we’re done with this I’ll be happy to explain strip poker to you,” Phyla pressed her hand against the doors separating them from the rest of the capitol. Sprog quieted, knowing all too well what came next. Their brief spout of fun was over. The battle came next.
“They’ll be here soon, if they’re not already waiting outside. We have to get across the hallway to the Passport System no matter what. Prepare to fight,” Phyla said.
“With. What—“
Phyla silenced Sprog by using her bands’ energy to pick up the fallen Skrull’s blaster and tossing it to him. Sprog held the blaster awkwardly, unsure of what exactly to do with it.
“I’m. Not. A. Soldier.”
Phyla turned to him and smiled, “Then consider this basic training.”
And without another word, the Kree used the Quantum Bands to blast open the doors and charged outside, energy sword at the ready. However, such force was not needed. No one waited for them in the hallway.
“Hurry, they’re on their way,” Phyla sprinted down the hallway and entered the code to the Passport System. Sprog struggled to match the Kree’s speed, but managed to meet her at the doorway as she opened it. The sight before them made Sprog regret running so quickly to catch up with Phyla.
Three Skrulls were stationed at the Passport System’s control panels. The teleporter itself was glistening blue as an arc of light connected the upper and lower halves of the machine together. Out from the gate of light marched the beginnings of a squadron of Skrull soldiers.
“Oh. No…” Sprog whispered.
They were too late. The true invasion had already begun.
…
Darkness engulfed all the light in Peter’s mind until all he could think of and all he could see was a shadow standing before him. The figure wasn’t clear. Nothing was. Peter could not even recall his own name, but somehow deep within his heart of hearts he knew the figure before him was his father. It was a thought, a feeling submerged so deeply within his being that he couldn’t shake it. Everything he was, everything he wanted was directed at the form before him. He was exposed and weak and wanted nothing more than to know the figure before him.
Nobody spoke. Nothing moved. Peter could not bring himself to do anything. The figure reached out for him, called his name, then just as quickly as the apparition had come the shadows disappeared, and Peter was in Milago, sweating and shivering, surrounded by a dozen Centaurian soldiers.
“W—what the hell is going on?” Peter muttered, sitting up.
His Centaurian keeper looked him over incredulously, “I could say the same.”
“Quiet, Perood. Quill, it’s good to see your fit has ended,” Yinuet said, sitting in the pilot’s chair but leaving the actual flying to Milago.
Sweaty brown hair sticking to his forehead, eyes bloodshot, Peter couldn’t have looked more ill if he tried. Even still, he felt fine. The only problem was his yearning desire, the one thing on his mind: his father.
“I saw him, Yinuet…” Peter stared down at the dark metal floor, “I saw Yondu.” Yinuet raised an eyebrow. “I saw others too. They all seemed real. I could feel their touch, and…and I wanted nothing more than to leave the ship. I wasn’t sure what for until I saw him.”
“Yondu?” Yinuet inquired.
“No,” Peter ran a hand through his greasy mop of hair, “My father. My real father.”
Yinuet crossed his arms and looked down intensely at Peter. The Terran didn’t bother to look back up at him.
“What did he look like?” Yinuet asked.
“I don’t know. He was shrouded in darkness, but I…I just knew it was him. He was calling to me.” Peter finally looked up. “I have to leave. I have to find him.”
“Captain Quill…”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I can find him. If I just followed this feeling, I’d go right to him. Honestly with all the crazy frag that’s happened the last few months, it has to be possible,” Peter said.
“Yes, well, we need you now, Quill. Your father will have to wait because the rebellion can not,” Yinuet pointed outside the ship to the remnants of the rebellion fleet. Peter stood up to follow the war chief’s hand. His jaw dropped.
“We lost?”
“Horribly,” Yinuet agreed.
Milago continued the thought, “Of the initial 37 starships plus one mercenary ship—“
“—Beta Ray Kill—“ Peter interjected. Yinuet nodded.
Milago continued, “Only 11 made it out of the battle. Additionally, a measly two out of the total eleven ships are relatively undamaged with minimal casualties. One of those ships is Beta Ray Kill’s Protocraft. I, myself, am only at 53% working capacity.”
“D’ast it all,” Peter cursed, slamming his fist onto the dashboard. Yinuet gave him a moment to let it sink in. Despite the horrid sight before him and the knowledge of what needed to be done, Peter still felt driven to leave. That was what really drove him mad. Rage and fear pushed him to leave, not continue leading and fighting. He had to keep up the act though. He could push past this.
“Can we trust Kill?” Peter asked.
“I do not know, but for now we must. He was the most dangerous pilot in the battle. It was quite an impressive sight to behold, actually—the carnage he caused,” Yinuet stated.
Peter nodded, “And Pra’estor?”
Yinuet’s expression darkened. Gravely, he said, “We can only pray that the Skrulls do not terminate it.”
Peter swiveled around and leaned against the dashboard, head in his hands. After a moment, he looked back up, faking a humorous expression.
“Maybe I should’ve taken that day off after all. Lord knows they aren’t having it that bad at home.”
…
Nearly fifty Skrull soldiers had already infiltrated through the Passport System. Phyla only had seconds to prevent that number from doubling. Without a moment to lose, she activated her Quantum Bands and did the only thing she thought she could. Phyla smashed the control panels and the Skrulls running them under a wall of golden light.
“The. Passport!” Sprog exclaimed, but couldn’t say more as the Skrulls began to fire upon them. Phyla protected them with a golden shield, but she knew even the Quantum Bands wouldn’t hold the Skrulls back forever.
“We’ve got maybe thirty seconds before they break through the wall. After that we’ll have to fight our way out,” Phyla explained through gritted teeth.
“You. Mean. We. Will. Die. Trying.” Sprog retorted.
“I meant what I said,” Phyla forced a half smile, “I won’t let you die, Sprog, I promise. We’ll win. The good side always does.”
“How. Can. You. Be. So. Optimistic?” Sprog wondered. “I’ve. Heard. Of. Your. Past…Our. Future.”
Phyla quietly laughed. She couldn’t believe it, but she actually managed to laugh. “I honestly don’t know, my friend. I’ve become so incredibly hardened and cynical, and yet I remain optimistic in many regards. You can call me crazy, I suppose.”
“Or. Just. Normal…Real.” Sprog replied.
Phyla smiled, “You know, I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me since I showed up in this time period.”
The golden wall of light cracked as an explosive hit it. Phyla glanced at the wall and frowned.
“Alright, it’s time, Sprog. I’ll keep you safe. Just stay behind me…” Phyla paused and then added, “And give ‘em hell. 3, 2, 1…”
“(STOP!)”
Whether the command was intended for the Skrull soldiers firing upon Phyla and Sprog, or the unlikely partners themselves was unclear, but both the rebels and the Skrulls froze. The brief second of respite gave Phyla the time and energy she needed to rebuild the Bands’ energy wall. She looked out over the squadron before her.
A single Skrull stood in front of the others. He was dressed in different attire than the usual purple and black uniform the Skrulls wore. In fact, he didn’t wear much of anything. The Skrull leader was nearly naked, wearing only a black loin cloth, his green-skinned body covered in tattoos.
“(We need not waste our firepower. The Kree will die with but a word.)” The Skrull declared with the assumption Phyla couldn’t understand him.
“(Better men than you have tried and failed,)” Phyla shouted back.
The Skrull paused and turned to the Phyla-Vell. “(Ah. An educated Kree infidel. Amusing. It will not change the outcome of this battle.)”
“(Really?)” Phyla began to expand the wall, ready to send it crashing into the Skrulls.
“Wait. Phyla—“ Sprog began.
“(AWAKEN!)” The Skrull leader roared. Nothing happened for a moment. Phyla smiled.
“Stupid, crazy son of a—“
SHWOO!
Phyla-Vell looked down at her torso in shock. Blood seeped out of a hole over her stomach. Her assailant, armed with a smoking Skrull blaster was…Sprog?
“(Let. The. Creator’s. Word. Be. Made. Reality.)” Sprog said.
…
Heather and Quie’s ship slowed to a stop in what the Terran woman could only describe as a parking lot for spaceships. Surrounding them were dozens, maybe hundreds of golden star-shaped ships. Glowing helmets and people flew around in a hurry, off to do God-knows-what. It reminded Heather of something, but she couldn’t quite be sure of what.
The Kree Spacecruiser’s doors opened and the Nova Drone floated patiently outside. A larger gold field surrounded it, shimmering with newfound power.
“If you would please step into my Nova field, I will take you to the Nova Prime,” the drone stated. Heather looked at Quie. The Centaurian nodded. The two stood up and took a leap of faith. Rather surprisingly—or maybe not if Heather had actually grown used to the ludicrous happenings around her—they did not plummet to the ground but encountered what felt like a hard floor.
“Allow me,” the drone said and closed their ship door with a golden energy hand. The drone then proceeded to float away, dragging Heather and Quie along with it. The living helmet began to spout out nonsense about the history of the Corps, but Heather became far too entrenched in the sight below her to listen. Blue clouds and glowing people floated as far as the eye could see. Far below, beautiful metallic continents rested on the planet’s surface. It was, rather realistically, like something out of Star Trek.
Eventually, Heather had to divert her attention elsewhere as they made it to an enormous platinum building shaped like the star on the drone, only marked with considerably more edges—eight, in fact. The building was probably the most magnificent thing Heather had ever seen.
Once they had entered the star skyscraper and passed all defense tests—including a checkpoint where the rebels had to remove their weapons— Heather discovered the floor they had entered into was actually one giant room. The room itself remained fairly empty with only a few dozen monitors and a hologram of the galaxy decorating it, but it was occupied by a single floating woman: The Nova Prime.
The Nova Prime was gorgeous, golden-skinned with long, flowing white hair and piercing blue eyes. She wore blue and golden armor. Three glowing holes marked her chest in a triangular pattern—one on bottom and two on top, all spread equidistant. On her head rested a golden helmet emblazoned with a crimson eight-pointed star. Just looking at her made Heather’s jaw drop. If gods existed, Heather could only imagine they looked like the Nova Prime.
“Welcome, travellers,” the Nova Prime greeted in a gentle, echoing voice. A pause quieted the room as there appeared to be a silent exchange between the Nova Prime and the drone. The floating helmet’s energy field shrunk and Heather and Quie dropped a foot to the ground. Then, the drone left, leaving the Prime alone with her guests.
“Greetings, Nova Prime,” Quie bowed, “We come—“
“In search of assistance. Yes, we have been made aware of your plight.” The Prime lowered down slowly to the rebel’s level, but even when her feet touched the ground her energy field remained, “But we can not help you. Not as long as Knowhere remains outside of the Nova Corps’ jurisdiction.”
“Then we will sacrifice our independence! Please, we are doomed without the aid of the Corps!” Quie argued. Heather continued gazing in awe at the Nova.
“It is not so simple. Knowhere has embarrassed Nova far too many times for our forgiveness to be so easily given,” Prime declared.
“So you would doom the entire galaxy to protect your pride??” Quie retorted. Nova Prime had no response to that. That was all the answer the Centaurian needed. “You do know everything. You know of the Infinity Stone in our possession and the forces who seek to claim it.”
“Yes, we are aware of the stone.”
“Why?” Heather blurted. Quie and the Prime turned their attention to the now-outspoken Terran. Heather blushed. “Why do you address yourself with ‘we?’”
“Heather Douglas, the Terran…” The Nova Prime floated over till she stood directly in front of Heather. “You are so naïve, so unaware of the galaxy. You do not know of the Hive.”
“The Hive?” Heather wanted to address Quie, but she couldn’t turn away from the Nova.
“The Hive. Xandar. The Nova Corps. One and the same,” Prime replied cryptically.
“What she means to say is that Xandar is most accurately translated as Hive,” Quie explained.
“Like a bee hive,” Heather muttered, finally understanding, “Drones, soldiers…” Her thoughts became clear. She remembered what she couldn’t place before—the Novas looked like a bee hive, “And you’re the Queen Bee.”
Nova Prime nodded, “The Xandarian culture is united under one mind. It is why the Nova Corps is such an effective peacekeeping force. There is never any doubt. There are no orders. There is simply the Hive and the needs of the Corps.”
“A homogeneous species hellbent on ‘protecting’ the galaxy,” Quie retorted sarcastically, “They’re a dictatorship. Now you know why Knowhere refused their help in the past.”
“We are aware of our faults. It is why the Nova Augur declared our greatest hero would not be of Xandar,” the Nova Prime said.
“Oh, yes, after all these centuries of denying other species entrance into the Corps you’ll let just anybody in!” Quie pushed.
“No, not anybody,” Prime remained staring intently at Heather, “You.”
“Me?” Heather’s eyes widened.
“The prophecy speaks of a Terran hero. Heather Douglas, we believe that hero is you.”
“What?” Both rebel women replied simultaneously.
Continuing on calmly, the Nova Prime said, “For the promise of our assistance in the war against Thanos, will you, Heather Douglas, join the Nova Corps and become the first ever non-Xandarian Corpsman to protect the galaxy?”