We thank you, Guardians, for putting your lives on the line,” Ayesha said from her throne in the great hall. The Guardians stood in a half circle before her. She was flanked by golden-robed Sovereign. Everything was gold: the throne, their hosts’ skin and hair, the decorations in the hall. Only the walls and floor were different, decorated in a blue-and-black starburst design. “We could not risk the lives of our own Sovereign citizens. Every citizen is born exactly as designed by the community. Impeccable, both physically and mentally. We control the DNA of our progeny, germinating them in birthing pods.”

“Please,” Gamora said. She stepped forward. “Your people promised something in exchange for our services. Bring it, and we shall gladly be on our way.”

Ayesha lifted a finger and two Sovereign soldiers appeared from the side of the throne, dragging a figure with a hood over its head. Pushing the figure to its knees, the guards removed the hood.

Nebula. She simply glared at her sister, Gamora, who gazed steadily back.

“Family reunion, yay,” Peter said, trying to lighten the mood a little. There was serious bad blood between the sisters. Nebula had remained loyal to their father, Thanos, and tried to kill Gamora and the rest of the Guardians the last time they had saved the galaxy. That adventure had ended with Peter holding one of the Infinity Stones in his hand, and defeating Ronan, a Kree fanatic, face-to-face. Nobody knew where Thanos was at the moment, but now at least the Guardians had Nebula under their control.

“I understand this is your sister,” Ayesha said.

“She’s worth no more to me than the bounty due for her on Xandar,” Gamora said. She hauled Nebula to her feet.

Ayesha stood. “Our soldiers apprehended her trying to steal the batteries. Do with her as you please.”

Gamora pulled Nebula toward the door at the rear of the hall. Peter gave a slight bow. “We thank you, High Priestess Ayesha.” He turned to go, but she had one last question.

“What is your heritage, Mr. Quill?”

Peter stopped, surprised by the question. “My mother is from Earth.”

“And your father?”

“He ain’t from Missouri,” Peter quipped. “That’s all I know.”

“I see within you an unorthodox genealogy,” Ayesha said. “A hybrid that seems…particularly reckless.”

Peter didn’t know who his father was. His mother had always claimed he was a spaceman, but Peter had written that off to confusion caused by the brain cancer that eventually overtook her. Now Ayesha had brought up all that old sadness, and Peter didn’t know what to say. He did know he was pretty mad.

“You know,” Rocket piped up, “they told me you people were conceited, but that isn’t true at all.” He shot Peter an obvious wink. The assembled Sovereign nobles gasped at the insult. Soldiers raised their weapons. “Ah, I’m using my wrong eye again, aren’t I?” Rocket said when he noticed that they’d seen through his sarcasm. “I’m sorry; that was meant to be behind your back.”

Peter turned and walked out of the throne room before things could get any tenser. Drax picked up Rocket and followed. “Count yourself blessed they don’t kill you,” Drax whispered when he put Rocket back down outside the throne room.

Rocket grinned up at him and lifted the flap on his shoulder bag. It was stuffed with Anulax batteries. “You’re telling me. Wanna buy some batteries?”

He and Drax laughed the rest of the way back to the ship. /HTNKiME+1zW/iP31wpOMPAP9VoFoNFuTUkq/A5YFMdvN5aXmcSqmlPi+KdYCZ7t