Just a heads-up, this is my first fan fiction story of any sort. I realize that my writing style may leave much to be desired. Any constructive criticism is appreciated. If this goes well, the story may continue. Thanks.
-DaBillby
Chapter 1: Job Gone Wrong.
In a spaceport on Knowhere, which was not really a planet, but more of a giant-floating-head-in-space-kind-of-thing, sat a ship, none too worse for wear. It was not particularly impressive one at that either, but none to shoddy for sure. The ship was none to large, and bore a rather distinctive blue and orange paintjob. One could tell from appearance that the thing had recently been given a new paintjob and polish, as it glinted from light of the surrounding facilities of Knowhere's mining colony, and subsequent commercial and trade buildings, that emitted an artificial florescent glow in the barren dark of space. However, most probably to the distress of the ship's owner, the vessel was scathed in a series of scorch marks and dents, thoroughly ruining the otherwise spotless exterior. While it did not appear to affect the ship's functionality or structural integrity, it did little for first impressions.
More importantly, there was a man within the ship, creeping throughout the dark and, for the moment, empty interior, with great care not to disrupt any of the ships furnishings and adornments. This was supposed to be a simple recovery task, and had so far, proceeded without incident. He had infiltrated the security programming without error, and within an almost record time of minutes. He wasn't particularly gifted with an understanding of alien programming. In fact, he was rather slow in comprehending such subjects. But, practice makes perfect, and thankfully, the programming was Xandarian, with which he had prior experience.
The man was dressed rather typically. Well…. as typical as can be expected in a place like Knowhere. The man was rather pale for a Terran, and preferred in his line of work to adorn himself in drab colors, such as the darker green of his leather short-jacket, and the brown of his shirt, boots and trousers. The colors contrasted to make for an all the more fair complexion. While he hadn't embarked on the mission expecting trouble, he would be a fool to come unarmed. From the lip of his right boot protruded the bone handle of a rather large knife, and deeper within his left boot would lie his baton. His blaster hung at his side, and one would suspect for sure, that there were addition safety precautions he would take. After all, when a "recovery agent" robs a thief…..
He was, on this occasion, working on the side of the law, kind of. The Nova Corps had contracted him about two weeks ago to recover a set of rare gems belonging to a national exhibit in a rather expensive museum display on Xandar. He had worked with the Corps before, and after all, the thieves were believed to be in his part of the galaxy, so he was one of the first people they called. He found the thieves about two days ago, and was seizing up their camp, when lo' and behold; another bunch of yahoos came in and stole it from them, causing quite a ruckus in the process! Billy didn't really care who they were, it was his job to recover the jewels, and he wasn't going to be dissuaded by another rivaling band of space pirates! Besides, the job was worth at least 90,000 credits after bargaining!
The man had made his way into the living quarters of the ship, moving throughout them with a professional touch, unparalleled by others in his field. He didn't plan to be around when the occupants of the ship had returned, but he was careful not to displace the contents of the room. Anyone else may have ransacked the room, turning it on its head to recover property, but he prided himself on being a bit more professional. His steely blue eyes reflected an intelligence and cunning, but perhaps also a glint of kindness and comfort. Over his tousled light brown hair, he wore a burgundy red cap of his own making, resembling in part, the old Terran baseball cap, pulled low over the face. Prowling throughout the sleep quarters, he had nearly tripped over a rather haphazard pile of parts and wiring, scattered over the floor on one of the compartments. The jewels were small after all, so he didn't expect to find them in the cargo hold, but rather in the captain's quarters, wherever that was. Then again, the captain could have kept the gems on his person, but the Terran was playing a hunch. Stumbling on a rather large crate of scraps for but a moment, the man swore and regained his footing. "Screw working in the dark, this is getting dangerous." He murmured to himself, before reaching up to his own cap. Clicking a pressure switch on the brim of the cap, the edge of the brim illuminated itself, providing the man some means of light for the purpose of navigating the haphazard ship. As he wandered through some of the other sleeping compartments, making thorough search, he thought a bit more about the conditions under which he had accepted the mission. He never told anyone of his Terran surname, preferring to maintain a vague identity and to stay off the grid in his line of work. He was only ever known among his associates and the occasion friend or companion as Billy. It wasn't exactly a name that commanded attention or even respect, but the quality of his work spoke for itself. He was a professional recovery agent, something he stressed quite often. He liked to distinguish himself from the usual rabble, as well as the Ravagers, though they often served the same clientele. He wasn't a thief exactly. What he did was recover-stolen artifacts and merchandise, no questions asked, no unnecessary information needed. He was subtle, efficient, quiet, and fair in wage. He had only a few rules;
1. If it's illegal - he doesn't want to know about it.
2. Anyone who would double cross him – deserves what's coming to 'em.
3. Make no mistake, he recovered product, but he doesn't do hits, he doesn't take political jobs either for that matter…unless the paycheck persuaded otherwise…..
4. He was a simple guy. He didn't need to know the who or why, the only numbers he really cared about were the ones on the check, so to speak.
5. Billy had a general rule of thumb when it came to taking jobs; he liked to know enough about his employer to sell them out if it ever came to it, but never too much, if it worked in his favor to plead ignorance.
Creeping through yet another sleeping compartment, he began to notice subtleties that distinguished the occupant from the others quite significantly. Firstly, it was filthy. Dishes, trash, and other pieces of who-knows-what, littered the floor and furniture, even cluttering the bed. It was really truly dismal sight to behold. "Ugh, gross." Bill remarked as he tried to weave himself through the garbage littering the floor. But even more distinguishing, Bill began to notice the odd Terran artifacts that were present. They weren't cargo, it seemed, but rather possessions of the occupant. They weren't exactly high value…. Just a bag, cassette player…. Wait, what? Bill came closer to examine the music player. A Terran Walkman, manufactured by Sony, and very dated. "What's something like this, doing this far into space?" Terra was prohibited space after all… a no fly zone…
Just then there was a noise in the entrance hall. In a fraction of a second, Bill turned off his cap-light, and grabbed for his blaster. Eyes darting around the room in a panic, he made for the nearest hiding place, the closet…..
Bill had screwed up on jobs before, because professional though he was, he was the type to make up things as he went. In part, this could be due to complacency. After all, it had been some time since he had received a job that caused him trouble. Besides, in his line of work, conditions were prone to rapid change, a plan could really only account for expected resistance. But now, Bill was in a fair pickle; he was trapped between the back of a closet, and the newcomers aboard the vessel. "There was no way the crew could be back yet." He had thought to himself, panic tightening its vise grip around his chest. Controlling his breath he listened to the noises aboard the space pirate's ship.
"Yeah, gimme a minute, still can't believe I left my damn credits!" called a voice from the hall. Inwardly, Bill relaxed, "This guy doesn't sound so tough, at least he isn't one of those hulking, brooding alien types, I may be able to incapacitate him….I just hope he doesn't….Oh no…" The footsteps got louder, as the intruder made way for the living quarters.
The door was flung open with some gusto, as Captain Peter Jason Quill stepped in into his quarters, looking about the room, trying to remember where he had hid his money. It's not that he didn't trust his comrades, quite the opposite in fact, he would trust them with his life. However, they were still newly reformed thieves, and old habits die hard. Peter looked about the mess-of-a-room, trying to locate his credits' location. He stopped still a moment when he recalled his most recent hiding place. "Under the socks!" he spoke aloud to him, turning and making a beeline for the closet console. By the time Bill heard the word "Socks" his stomach dropped considerable, mentally screaming every profanity that came easily to mind, as his mind raced. He holstered his blaster, and came up with an impromptu "Plan B".
Stepping over to closet, Peter grasped the handle and pulled it open rather casually, being met with the sight of another Terran, back pressed against the hanging clothes, with a panicked smile on his obviously terror stricken face. The awkward moment hung in the air for but a moment, as Peter looked at the man, dumbfounded, hand still on the closet handle. They stared into each other's face, attempting to process. Peter opened his mouth, as if about to say something, when the baton Bill had been holding behind his back, came out, crackling with electricity, as he jabbed it into Peter's ribs.
Peter collapsed to the ground, body shuddering violently as electricity arced though his body. Bill watched him collapse, maintaining an almost lingering contact with baton, before he stopped. You could easily imagine the wafting odor of fried terran, yet the man was miraculously, still conscious, He looked up at the assailant, panting heavily with exhaustion. "Why does this all seem so familiar…and who the hell are you?" He gasped, regarding the other Terran standing over him. "Don't worry about it." Bill replied, almost nonchalant in nature, as he stuck the electric baton back into Peter, cutting short his inquiry.
Pulling back the cracking baton, after a few moments, Bill observed the other Terran, curl into the fetal position, moaning. If Bill were paying attention, he might have noticed the sounds of another pair of feet approaching the room. "Quill, what is taking so…" At that moment, a green-skinned woman poked her head in the doorway, catching sight of Bill, standing over a crumpled and groaning Peter, with a surprised looked etched onto his face as he regarded the female. Before he could blink, Gamora had entered the door's threshold and had drawn her sword, moving into a combat stance, staring death into the eyes of the invader. At this point, observing the confidence and aggression of the woman, he knew he was facing a warrior, unlike any he had ever seen. He just about crapped his pants. His natural reaction? He dropped the baton, as his hands went up in a sign of surrender. He knew that might not help his situation, as she looked just about ready to kill him anyways. So what did he do? He played the last card he had. He bluffed his ass off.
"Kill me, and your signing your own death warrant! As we speak, no less than thirty agents of the Nova Corps. have surrounded your ship! I am a recovery agent, functioning on the behalf of the Xandarian Government, sent to recover a set of gems stolen from the Xandarian National Museum. We know your crew to be in possession of these gems, and in exchange for your cooperation, leniency will be granted! Please don't kill me!" he spurted off, adding the last bit as an after thought, as quickly and coherently as he could, wincing as if he could lose his head at a moment's notice.
The room had gone so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop. Peter, having partially recovered, was silent. Gamora's mouth opened ever so slightly, as she maintained her combat stance. Realizing her mouth to be slightly gaping, she tightened her expression. Taking a step closer, she pointed the sword at his chest. "You lie!" Having recovered, she was seething over the attack on her friend, and was fully prepared to impale him on the tip of her blade. Billy was in full panic mode at this point. He was cringing more than ever, trying to shield himself with his hands and forearms. "I swear, I swear, it's true! I can put you in contact with my superiors; provide my assignment details, anything! I swear I'm legit!" As another awkward silence followed, Bill stood, sweating at the brow. Peter, with a grunt, sat up, swiveling to look at Bill, and address with a degree of irritability "WE are working for the Corps., that is OUR recovery assignment!"
At this point, sensing no obvious threat from the man, Gamora lowered her word, while Bill still stood, dumbstruck. This was the LAST thing he had ever expected to hear. After a moment, when the gears in his head whirred into place, his look of terror was replaced by one of stupor. "Ohhhhh….. well shit."
Well, this is what I have so far, tell me what you think. If it's any good, the story may continue. Constructive criticism is appreciated. (Spoiler: These fools may find themselves stuck working together on a mission to Earth, home to Peter and Billy, on a Nova Corps. orders to investigate strange activity on the planet, believed to have a Kree connection.) Thanks for the feedback!
-DaBillby