Xandar, capital of the Nova Empire.
The Planeswalker was docked at the starport, where the dockmaster gave them the parking rate, nearly four hundred credits per stellar day. Docking a ship on an alien world was anything but cheap.
These broke Earthlings were going to have to find some way to make money if they wanted to survive out here. Turning stone into gold was not much use in this part of the galaxy. Some advanced civilizations could build proton-decay furnaces and mass-produce gold by stripping protons from mercury, so gold had long since lost its role as a universal standard of value.
The credits used across the galaxy were a backed fiat currency supported by advanced civilizations, the only broadly circulated monetary system in interstellar society. That said, they were not the only currency in existence. Plenty of civilizations used their own money, and many of those currencies could not be exchanged for credits at all. So when visiting the homeworlds of different civilizations, it was best to carry some hard assets too, power cells, high-grade ingots, quantum chips, that sort of thing.
For the past several days, Quill had been footing most of the team's bills.
But as a petty outlaw, Star-Lord's account balance had always lived on a roller coaster. In his own words, he could go six months without making a dime, then live off one score for the next six.
People like him, desperate drifters living on the ragged edge of the law, made their money by taking contracts. They were bounty hunters, space cowboys, people with no real future. Most of what they earned got burned away at casinos, bars, and alien hookups, and then one day some random disaster would cut their messy little lives short.
For people used to stability, that sort of life was terrifying. But for a homeless wanderer like Peter Quill, it had become fate.
After prepaying one day's docking fee for the Planeswalker, Quill finally glanced at the painfully small single-digit balance left in his account and could not help muttering, "A whole bunch of rich freeloaders, that's what you are. Whatever... call it tuition."
His eyes darted around, then he raised a finger. A weak blue flame flickered to life at the tip. This was the ability Star-Lord had gained from that strange dream the day before. He had managed to tap into a hidden energy sleeping inside him.
The power was still pitifully small, but it was supernatural all the same, and Quill was thrilled out of his mind about it.
A red-skinned beauty stepped down from Star-Lord's ship, the girl he had hooked up with earlier on Xandar. Quill had completely forgotten there was still a living person on board, so at least now he had safely delivered her home.
Before leaving, the red-skinned beauty slapped Quill across the face, her punishment for dragging a bedmate off to another planet for no apparent reason.
"Mr. Quill!" Skyl called from not far away.
"What is it, Captain Skyl?" Quill hurried over with obvious caution. After spending these past few days with them, he had already realized just how mysterious and terrifying this young man really was.
Back on Maklu IV, when the group had gone hunting an extraordinary dragon, Skyl had done nothing more than wave the Infinity Scepter once and calmly stop a world-shaking avalanche. He rarely made a move, but as long as he was present, even the harshest environment somehow turned easy and comfortable.
Quill had once asked Lady Moonshadow how long he would need to study magic before he could compare to Captain Skyl. She had looked him up and down for a while, then uncertainly said, "About seven thousand years? If you really work at it, you might come close to where he is now."
Ever since then, Quill had privately given Skyl the nickname the Thousand-Year Wizard.
Skyl looked Quill over and faintly sensed the active Celestial aura inside him. He could not help feeling happy for his new friend. "Mr. Quill, thank you for taking care of us these past few days."
Star-Lord immediately panicked. "Wait, Captain, you're not kicking me out, are you?"
"Don't misunderstand. I'm just planning to lead everyone out to make some money. It doesn't feel right to keep spending yours all the time. And besides, Mr. Quill, your wallet's looking pretty thin too, isn't it?"
Star-Lord was overjoyed. At last, the Thousand-Year Wizard had apparently grown a conscience. Finally, he understood that earning their keep was not easy.
Right away, Quill started getting ready to take his fellow Earthlings to the black market to pick up work. "Not gonna lie, I've had my eye on a few big scores for a while now. I just didn't dare take them alone before. But now? Now I've got you guys. In a galaxy this big, where is there that heroes like us can't make a name for ourselves? Heh-heh-heh."
Lady Moonshadow shook her head and laughed. "You little punk."
Tony waved a hand in front of Quill's face. "Hey, Missouri dance king, nobody said we were going with you to do anything illegal."
"What are you talking about? We're all upstanding citizens here. Would men like us ever do illegal work? It's just that the really lucrative jobs sometimes happen to have a tiny little conflict with local law. Necessary compromise, that's all."
Quill led everyone to a black-market broker. The shop was full of rare odds and ends, all neatly arranged and sparkling clean, with none of the shady atmosphere one might have expected.
The broker was a strange-looking Xandarian who resembled a half-finished triceratops, with short, rough horns growing out of his face and sparse, wild hair. In short, he fell well outside normal Earth beauty standards.
The unscrupulous Star-Lord tried to sell off the empty Orb, but the broker was not an idiot. He opened it up to check the goods. Inside there was no treasure, only a pretty pebble picked up off the roadside, mostly silicon dioxide, basically the same stuff as sand.
The alien broker's face went longer than a horse's, and the two of them immediately launched into a loud, furious argument.
While looking over the job board, Tony spotted a mechanics competition. The winner's prize was fifty thousand credits, enough to keep them going for a while. "Quinn, can I enter this?"
"It's Quill, thanks, and no, not without local papers."
Tony unfolded the contest rules. "Mechanics are allowed to bring in outside help. There's no restriction on that."
The broker drooped his eyelids and gave Tony a sideways look. "Earth boy, don't embarrass yourself by showing off whatever little tech your planet has. This job was posted by a client looking for a capable specialist, not some random backwater primitive."
Tony arched a brow. Without another word, he accepted the job. "Take me to the client."
"You'll need to put down a deposit."
Quill instantly jumped in, shouting, "Since when? I've been in this business twenty years and I've never heard of any deposit."
"If you fail the commission, the client stands to lose a lot."
"Then that's his risk to take. You're just trying to squeeze money out of both sides. Broker, that's low, even for you. Is our friendship really worth that little?"
"You showed up with an empty box. At that point, friendship stopped being part of the conversation."
Tony waved a hand. "Forget it, Quill. We can just grab some random local off the street to enter."
"It's Quill!"
Just then, a fresh new duo walked in through the shop door, a small raccoon-like creature walking on two legs, and a towering tree-man.
The raccoon shouted, "Broker, got any work?"
The broker immediately broke into a smile. "You. Rocket. There's a mechanics contest here. Interested in entering on behalf of a client?"
"What's the payout?"
"Fifty thousand credits. Seventy-thirty split, in your favor. Want me to sign you up?" The broker was incredibly warm toward the small raccoon from start to finish and never mentioned any deposit, which made Quill unable to resist flipping him off.
After Rocket signed up, he tilted his head back and looked over the group, his eyes stopping on Tony's arc reactor. "Well, well, Earth boy, what's that, a pacemaker? Or a prosthetic lung? If it needs repairs, come find me, Rocket. Fair rates, guaranteed. But just so we're clear, once the goods are delivered, they're your problem, not mine. Heh."
Tony politely declined.
Gali crouched down and, before Rocket could react, gave his head a quick scritch. "What an adorable little raccoon."
Rocket exploded on the spot. "Don't call me a damn raccoon!" He launched himself straight at Gali's head and started kicking and punching her. Tiny as he was, the force behind those little fists was on Tyson's level.
Gali giggled helplessly under the soft flurry of blows. Then she grabbed Rocket and hugged him tightly to her chest. "I want to keep him."
Skyl shook his head and vetoed the idea. Tony and Lady Moonshadow, however, both agreed that the little guy was pretty cute and would make a great mascot for the ship.
Rocket's companion, the tree-man, muttered, "I am Groot."
As he spoke, the tree-man reached a hand toward Gali.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize he was yours."
Rocket practically lost his mind. "You're the one who belongs to a tree! Can't you tell I'm the boss?"
He yanked out a huge gun from behind his back, practically slinging it like a rocket launcher, clearly on the verge of trashing the entire shop. The broker shrieked and hurried to stop him. Rocket barely restrained his rage, put the weapon away, and said to his partner, "Let's go."
The tree-man followed the raccoon out at a slow pace, but before leaving, he turned back and gave everyone a big, honest smile.
Tony narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "If we run into that little guy in the competition, he definitely won't go easy on us."
Skyl gave the Infinity Scepter a light shake and teased him. "What's this? Earth's genius scientist is backing out already? Want me to make you a time chamber so you can spend two hundred years studying before you come back out?"
Tony tossed his head and curled his lip with effortless swagger. "Won't be necessary. Just watch me wipe the floor with these alien Muggles."
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