Chapter 1: It Was Raining That Day
As hard as this is, part of me believes that death would be better.
Centaurian IV was in a state of ruin. The political discourse across the planet had led to something of a world war. At this point only a third of the planet was even considered habitable - the rest wrought with crime, poverty, buildings demolished, power sources destroyed, and mass genocide from warring factions caring not for the casualties of their ambition.
The majority of Centaurians could do nothing about this. The price for citizenship in the developed countries was unobtainable - for those that could afford it, it was always 'just' out of reach. Those that were too poor to even consider travel, within the planet or otherwise, were abandoned by the government sworn to help them. Left to rot.
Most inhabitants of the planet did whatever they could to relocate themselves to one of the neighboring Centaurian planets that were not riddled with war. Even then, prices were high. A travel visa, citizenship paperwork and introductory housing for two adults? No less than 25,000 units.
It was for this reason the selling of children to Kree slave outposts became so popular. Children, Centaurian in particular, were attractively priced. No doubt intentional given the political state. Living in the developing countries left families in a persistent state of famine and terror. If not blown up or slaughtered, many children simply starved to death, given the infrastructure was in complete disarray and there was no government aid to be had.
A shuttle trip to a Kree outpost planet however was a mere couple hundred units. For many parents, the heartbreaking choice was made - in an effort to save themselves, both from a very probable fatality rate and the hardship of seeing their own children die.
The weather patterns of the Kree outpost planet in Centaurian IV's local group were swirling with thick grey clouds bordering on black. The precipitation falling in sheets across the land; a Centaurian couple, one half appearing to be a mother and her baby, the baby devoid of clothing except for the middle of its body, held in a secure embrace against the mother's chest. The small family shared the commonality of their skin color; the signature deep blue like that of the vast oceans on Centaurian IV.
The father was dressed in worn black clothing, the color matching the headscarf and outmost layer of clothing adorned by the mother; underneath the protective layer she wore a dark brown garment customary for women in Centaurian culture: long-sleeved dress, thick enough to stave off the elements. They stood under a pavilion with very little coverage from the rain on the side which they stood.
In front of them, the Kree soldier responsible for slave appraisal stood opposite side of the table structured between. The transaction, it appears, had already gotten started.
The soldier motioned at a gray slab to his right on the table. His face had the signature markings of a Kree solider, streaked black with paint in a symmetrical fashion across his blue skin. His dress was also in tune: black headdress and armor in place of clothing on his upper half.
"Place the child down," he stated clearly in a deep voice.
The mother looked reluctantly at her partner. It's unclear if the look he gave in turn was one of sympathy or of impatience; regardless, he relieved her of the weight of the child on her chest. Gentle yet firmly he pried the child away from the woman and placed it on its back on the stone slab.
The baby boy was calm and fidgeted age-appropriately despite his lack of cover from clothing in the pouring rain. The slab was set in such a way that the baby lay lengthwise, his feet pointing to the Kree soldier. He arched his neck and head in order to peer upward and back towards his parents. In that same motion the child characteristically brought both hands to his mouth and began gnawing on his little fists.
He had fiery red eyes.
On the table was a black rectangle-shaped piece with a surface that shimmered like glass. With a brief tap of two fingers at the top, a screen was broadcast in front of the Kree.
"Name?" There was no emotion or inflection in his voice.
The father darted his eyes to meet the soldier's. For a moment he looked bewildered, but he gathered his composure and was about to respond after swallowing to find his voice when the mother interjected.
"Yondu," she said quietly. The baby looked back to her at the sound of her voice. He reached a hand in her direction: she took his hand with her finger and smiled as her eyes filled with tears. "His name is Yondu Udonta."
Yondu gurgled with happiness at the attention from his nurturer and cooed in response, prompting her to laugh through a choked-back sob, her tears falling down her face on her bended gaze.
The outpost solider was unaffected: after keying in the name he tapped a button on the holographic screen that triggered the stone to brighten up with a warm, orange glow. There was a flash of calculations on the screen, capturing the child's height and weight.
The child was lean, underweight, on the verge of malnutrition: a clear outcome of the food shortage that Centaurian IV's warring state had subjected them all to. His length however was above average - this boded well as an indicator that he would not grow to be small and would have a formidable height.
After a few other prompts to record the familial linage, date of birth, and a physical exam, the Kree provided his assessment.
"30,000 units."
The couple looked at each other: the rain seemed to be coming down even harder now.
The mother's face was contorted in pain. The father could tell - she was on the verge of breaking down. He took her face in his hands just as she began to shake her head, more tears welling in her eyes.
"I can't do it," she sobbed. "I-I just can't do it..."
"Shh, shh," he whispered lovingly, trying to reassure her. "Look at me" he tilted her face to meet her eyes "we can start a new life with this." Pressing his forehead to hers, "we can have another baby. I promise... this will be okay."
His words seemed to be an effort to convince himself just as much as they were in an attempt to convince her. She gripped his hands with her own and closed her eyes: she knew. She had known the entire shuttle to this wretched outpost that they were out of options. They had no money. They had no worthwhile possessions to sell. They had no food. The only shelter they had was in a village already riddled with bombings.
This was the option.
It was this, or watching her son die, or all three of them dying through one disastrous means or another.
The father noted her look of complacency but still waited for her nod. Once received he turned to the Kree man and nodded in turn.
"We'll take it."
The Kree said nothing in response; he gestured with his head down towards the table, having prepared a tablet with a screen prompted for their interaction.
The father pressed his thumb to the screen for a few seconds: a box highlighted with white flashed quickly and darted in a triangular pattern across the screen from left to right.
The transaction now made.
Following this the soldier spoke aloud the summary on his holo-screen in his sullen, formidable voice:
"Yondu Udonta.
Centaurian.
Age: six months.
Weight 14 lbs, length 25 inches.
Now property of the Kree Intergalactic Army.
Service: battle slave. "
The rectangle on the table had ejected from its side a small tray with a silver chip no larger than the size of one's fingernail. With a swift fluidity to his actions that could only reflect the natural procession that came with countless repetitions, the Kree took the small chip and slid it in place of the handheld piece that resembled a compressed air gun he had retrieved from his side. With one hand, he forced the baby's head to lay flat on the right side, exposing the space on the scalp between the back of the head and the ear as he used his thumb to press down the ear. Once his grip on the child's head was steady he pressed firmly against the space behind the babe's ear with the gun and pulled the trigger to secure the chip into the child's skin.
This was not a painless procedure: the child's demeanor was already degrading into a fuss, but now with this harsh action there was an immediate escalation into loud, long, pain-filled cries.
The mother was practically brought to her knees by this torture, her eyes closed as her insides twisted in pain. Her partner gripped her arm tightly and stepped out to the rain from the coverage of the pavilion.
"Come on, let's go." He implored her as the rain fell on his face, pulling her to follow him.
The baby's arms and legs moved widely, his cry non-stop and uncontrollable. At some point the solider must have summoned the Kree woman that appeared at the station now peering over the crying child. Like the solider her face was painted, hers in a pattern of thick waved stripes of black and gold. The colors of the paint coordinated with her clothing and headscarf, which was also black with the exception of the gold waved across her sleeves and midsection. She apparently was there to retrieve the child.
"Come on," the father urged once again, pulling the arm of the mother who had at least gotten to her feet but could not rip her eyes from the child.
"My baby," she uttered helplessly, practically whimpering, "my baby..." her feet moved mindlessly as she was drug through the pouring rain by her partner in the direction of the space shuttle bay.
Everything in her told her not to look back.
The Kree maiden - as emotionless as her soldier counterpart - picked up the crying child and carried him pressed against her shoulder. He was still quite occupied with his sobbing, but the motion of being held and carried brought his cries down for a brief moment.
Everything told her not to look back, but she did anyway. For a brief second her fiery red eyes met the matching eyes of her baby as he looked at her over the shoulder of the maiden, much to the mother's regret.
It was only for a second, but that second could have been slowed down to a hundredth of its frame. The mother turned her head and sobbed as she strode forward with her husband's hand in hers. She did not look back again.
As the baby watched her walk away, he immediately went into another fit of wails. This time however it was not the physical pain that inspired it. It was the abandonment of his nurturer - his sole source of care, of love - and as a baby all he could do was cry to get her to come back to him, to hold him as she had done just a little while ago.
They would never see each other again.
It was only for a second that their eyes had met, but in that second the hole that would forever persist within each of them was solidified. No matter how hard they tried, it was sadly a void that neither mother nor child would ever be able to fill.
A/N: Anything I write is going to be focused on staying canon to the movie version of GotG. I'm really not going to mess with things like units of measurement, measurement of age/time, translating languages, etc. I'm just going with what I know.
Thanks for reading; if anyone is re-reading (god bless you) you may notice edits, just trying to make the best of this. If you like this chapter, please review! Each chapter is written like an episode in a series - your feedback means the world to an aspiring writer like me :)