Xandar was a prosperous world. Outside its cities, everything turned into protected nature preserves. There were no rural towns here, and even the food was produced on industrial hydroponic lines powered by artificial photosynthesis.
Well-dressed alien tourists could be seen all over the streets. The buildings were tall and artistically designed, the infrastructure showed thoughtful attention to everyday comfort, the soldiers of the Nova Corps wore expressions that were both proud and stern, and the people spoke of the Empire with nothing but praise.
A lot of people said Xandarians were lazy and had too much free time, but maybe that was just jealousy, or a failure to understand how easy their lives really were.
Quill rubbed his chin and filled his fellow Earthlings in on the less glamorous side of Xandar. In his words, even the richest city in the universe still needed somebody to scrub the toilets.
In Xandar's urban sprawl, the lower and lower-middle classes made up ninety-nine percent of the population. They handled every kind of production work, and the laborers doing the most dangerous jobs enjoyed fewer rights than a brand-new Nova Corps recruit. As a gigantic institution that combined military and political authority, the Nova Corps maintained strict ideological control at home, which was exactly why everyone spoke of the Empire in glowing terms.
"Still, for all its flaws, Xandar's one of the few decent places within tens of thousands of light-years around here. Compared to a cesspit like Knowhere, this place is paradise. Once I save up a hundred million credits, I'm retiring here. And for the record, Xandar's also famous as a hookup hotspot. That girl I had on my ship before? Picked her up here."
By the time Quill finished his speech and turned around, everyone had already scattered.
"Hey, guys, where are you all going? Wait up. Come on, don't tell me none of you love your charming Star-Lord anymore?"
After leaving the broker, everyone from the Planeswalker split up and hurried off to their own goals, all of them looking for ways to make money and help with expenses.
Skyl took on around a dozen commissions, most of them simple errand jobs, helping civilians and the Corps deal with various annoying problems. While completing them, he also kept an eye on the crowds, searching for any sign of Stan Lee.
Back in the game, he had practically been a god of fetch quests, so Skyl actually found this kind of simple work nostalgic. Tasks that might have been troublesome or dangerous for other people were little more than light exercise for him, so he could handle them in a completely relaxed mood.
Over the next few days, he moved all over the planet, from city sewers to protected tundra zones in the polar regions. Sometimes he was recovering lost cargo, sometimes repairing damaged machinery, sometimes capturing mutated wild animals. The jobs themselves were nothing special, but chatting with clients, hearing local gossip, and stumbling into old messy family drama turned out to be pretty entertaining. Along the way, he even got to know a few major figures in the Nova Empire's Mechanics' Association.
Moonshadow took a liking to a tutoring commission. Centurion Kori didn't have time to look after her child, so she was hiring a private tutor. In theory it was a teaching job, but in practice it was half tutor, half nanny, and it was wildly popular. By the time Moonshadow arrived at the Centurion's residence on an orbital tram, the line of applicants stretched more than a mile from the front gate. (TN: Not sure if Kori=Ko-Rel, so just Kori for now)
Before the Centurion's intelligent robot butler came out to receive the applicants, Moonshadow cast a wide-area illusion. All the other candidates abruptly lost interest in the job, and before long they had all wandered away, leaving the shameless schemer to claim the position with absurd ease.
Compared to Skyl roaming all over the planet, the Centurion's estate was unmistakably a world of the elite. Within the Corps, a Centurion ranked just below Nova Prime and was already among the highest officers on the planet.
It was easy to imagine what kind of material luxury a ruler at that level could enjoy on a world with hundreds of millions of people, tremendous productivity, and supplies flowing in from multiple resource planets. It would not be an exaggeration to say she lived the kind of life where every wish came true.
Moonshadow quickly became one of Centurion Kori's close friends. By pure coincidence, Kori would also be the chief judge of the upcoming mechanic skills tournament.
Penniless as ever, Gali and Jormungand spent their days roaming the city, eating and drinking to their hearts' content, only to find that someone had always paid their bill before they could. While they happily enjoyed alien cuisine, there was always a gaunt, worn-looking man sitting in the corner of the restaurant. It was Galactus. At that moment, he was not a cold god who destroyed planets, just an old man looking after the younger generation.
Tony and Star-Lord went off together to find someone to enter the competition. As a local, Quill knew Xandar fairly well, and it did not take long for him to lead Tony into a lower-city market district. The streets there were just as clean and orderly, but the shops were more cramped and crowded, and the pedestrians moved with much greater urgency.
"This is the biggest secondhand market on all of Xandar. You can dig up junk from every corner of the galaxy here."
Tony casually stepped into an unremarkable repair shop. The mechanic inside was a weary, sickly Xandarian with blue skin and a thin frame. His left hand was clearly crippled, fitted with three prosthetic fingers. His old work clothes were stained with grease that would never wash out, the seams under his shirt sleeves had already split, and yet both his beard and hair were neatly groomed. Even the way he spoke was gentle.
"Welcome, cough, cough, what do you need repaired?" the owner asked. He started coughing so hard that his whole body shook, and he could barely keep hold of the welding torch in his hand.
Tony explained why he was there. The owner was obviously tempted, but after a troubled sigh, he said, "You can see the state I'm in, sir. There's no way I'd pass the physical exam or the preliminary screening as the main competitor."
Quill did not think much of him either, and hearing that, he happily started saying goodbye.
Tony kept a straight face and changed the subject instead. "Do you have anyone else at home? A brother, a sister, a son, a daughter, somebody who could compete in your place?"
The owner hesitated. "I do, but the kid's still too young. She hasn't even passed the basic mechanic certification yet."
"Let me try."
A blue-skinned alien girl crawled out of the storage room. She wore plain work clothes, had neat short hair, and a smear of dust across her face. She looked like a handsome little tomboy.
"I can use your mechanic's license."
Her father immediately snapped at her. "Stay out of this. Your only job is to focus on your studies. I'll handle everything else. Cough, cough, please leave, gentlemen. Try Ms. Varina nearby. I'm sure she'd be happy to help."
How many families like this were there on Xandar?
Too many to count.
Tony shrugged. "Why not let your daughter give it a shot?"
"Enough, offworlder. I'm not gambling with Jojani's future."
Quill pulled Tony along to find Ms. Varina. This female mechanic had huge, flashy curls, dressed in expensive, carefully chosen clothes, and wore enough jewelry to blind a person. She stood there directing her apprentices while never getting even a speck of grease on her own hands.
As they entered the shop, they happened to run into Rocket Raccoon. Varina was the client who had posted his commission.
Rocket was still furious when he saw Tony, and immediately flashed him a vulgar gesture.
"Eat shit, hick!"
"Keep talking, trash panda. We'll settle this later."
The moment Varina heard why Tony had come, she burst out laughing. "I only want the best. You backwater offworlders would be better off next door, with that sickly loser drowning in debt."
Even Quill frowned. "My friend is the best!"
"Cut the lovey-dovey act, pretty boy." Varina blew a ring of smoke at Star-Lord with open contempt. "Only people with no real skill feel the need to brag."
Tony looked at the vain, arrogant shop owner with cool indifference and calmly fired back, "A washed-up old woman like you could pour on all the perfume in the galaxy and still not hide the stink. Start planning your funeral and stop daydreaming about entering the competition."
Varina exploded into curses. Off to the side, Quill, Rocket, Groot, and even the apprentices in the shop all started snickering.
"Forget it, nobody's taking you into the competition now! You damned alien, want to see how fast I can get a Corps officer to arrest you? I know a Centurion!"
Tony raised his hands in mock surrender and walked out of the lavishly decorated workshop.
Even Rocket Raccoon, who came out with him, could not help praising him. "Didn't expect that. Guess I underestimated your mouth. I'm starting to believe you might actually be a real mechanic."
"Doesn't it embarrass you, cheating for a client like that?" Quill asked with a sneer, spitting toward the workshop entrance.
"Business is business. Credits are innocent. You'd better worry about getting yourselves into the venue first. Registration closes in a few hours."
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