Sun is shinin' in the sky
There ain't a cloud in sight
It's stopped rainin' everybody's in a play
And don't you know
It's a beautiful new day, hey hey

- Lyrics from Mr. Blue Sky

Chapter One: Ordinary

Nova Corps base, Xandar, an open lot adjacent to the primary Xandararian spacecraft hangar

A light breeze emanates off the northern shores of Xandar's industrial coastline. The intermittent current helps alleviate a solstice-inspired heat wave, the effects of which are magnified by the environmental damage wrecked by a single Celestial's seed.

While Guardian Peter Quill, a.k.a., Star-Lord, and Drax the Destroyer tour the devastated landscape wrought by Quill's egomaniacal father, Ego; Guardian Gamora, a Galaxy Class warrior, opts to remain near the main spacecraft hangar. It is difficult to gauge that which is more surprising, 1) that Gamora does not verbally protest when Nova Corps' Denarian, Rhomann Dey, complies with Quill's request to survey the Celestial seed's destruction, or 2) that of her choice to stay at the largely vacant, and painfully sweltering, Xandarian hangar.

Since the Guardians battled Ego, Gamora has been all but Peter's shadow. Today, her desire for news of the transport and delivery of Peter's impaired Milano appears out of character for an individual who is generally passive about subjects that are outside her field of expertise. Nonetheless, Gamora has faithfully tracked the salvageable wreckage en route from its explosive crash landing on Berhert one earth week prior.

Currently, Gamora meditates beneath the heavy bow of an M-Ship, a vessel that is a slightly larger twin of Quill's Milano. Her eyelids twitch upon sensing the slight movement of another sentient being.

"How long have you been standing there?" Gamora poses, her fingers hover but inches above the hilt of her sword.

"Long enough to do something rash." Guardian Rocket sasses back. "But it's only 'coz of my ardent desire for self-preservation," he artfully arcs into full view, "that I've learned to suppress most of my injurious behaviors. Especially when dealing with notoriously dangerous humanoids."

Gamora arches her right eyebrow, "To disturb my meditation? Now I know you have news."

"I do," Rocket confirms. "Although you've one helluva 'to do' list," he gripes. "The majority of which relies on undeterminable information….at least until the SRU delivers the goods."

"The SRU?"

"Spacecraft Recovery Unit," Rocket enunciates condescendingly, "But don't get your hopes up. The types of humies the Xandarians hire are class B junkers at best; slow as Groot's processing, and as uninspired as Drax. And wasting precious time means that the Milano was likely stripped of anything remotely interesting."

Gamora leans forward to brush the dust off her pant legs, her face a mixture of reflection and resignation.

"So why do you care?" Rocket leans his agile frame against the aircraft's massive wheels, his foot balancing on a wooden chock.

Gamora's patience wanes, "For the same reason you do."

"Please," Rocket scoffs, "the Guardians might be the closest thing me and Groot ever had for family….. but that doesn't mean I'm gonna let my feelings override my noggin. You realize Quill ain't ever gonna be the same."

"How do you mean?" Gamora glowers.

"With Ego out of the picture, Quill's nothing more than a Terran with some Ravager experience."

"Are you quantifying Quill as an asset?" Gamora doesn't bother disguising her disgust.

Rocket glares back, "Well if it helps you understand the scope of your break with reality…. then, yes! Speaking of quantifying, it's been hard for me to quantify how much of Quill's skill was enhanced by that sociopathic celestial. But please! Don't tell me that you haven't noticed a huge difference in Quill now that Ego is out of the picture."

"Quill is our friend!" Gamora fumes.

"Wait! You really don't see it? Quill's all humie now. Assets? He's a damned liability."

"Inconceivable, Rocket! Peter is recovering from an unimaginable trauma."

"Ha! That's just what I thought," Rocket shakes his head, "you believe by recovering a few trinkets, Quill will rediscover his groove, and poof, he's Star-Lord! Thanos' best and brightest?! Ha! It's clear your judgment is clouded by some unspoken thing."

"You will find those items," Gamora orders sans emotion, "but know this. Outside of Guardian business, you and I have nothing further to communicate."

"Suit yourself," Rocket shrugs, slipping off to find cooler digs, a last-minute slight hanging from his tongue, "Given that Quill's bodyguard is the 'most dangerous woman in the universe,' I guess he's got nothing to worry about. Personally, I'd rather die after castration."

Chapter Two: Manifest