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Leftovers

Chapter 2.

Not All Ships Blow Up

The planet is... dead.

Not that its population has gone completely extinct, but...

There is the kind of quiet and hopelessness that Tony has come to associate with bombed out Afghani villages. There were still people around there, but the few who decided to stay were but a shadow of themselves while the rest was just trying to take from the ruins whatever was left of any valuables to have something to pay for their new start elsewhere.

These people here will probably stay and keep on living, there is nothing wrong with the planet, the town, after all. There have been no bombs. But they are reeling all the same. Reeling from the sudden loss of so many. They probably don't even know why people suddenly started disintegrating into ashes and their fear of more people vanishing is palpable. Various versions of suspicious eyes greet Tony and Nebula as the hatch of their shuttle lowers. Some, maybe the security detail of this spaceport, train what are unmistakably weapons at them, even if they look like a fucking yo-yo. On some level, Tony finds it very fascinating how he can always tell when something deadly is pointed at him just by the way its wielder holds it and by the look in their eyes.

"Strangers," speaks a gray, humanoid creature that is probably the head of town or some other figure of authority. "You come at a dangerous time. Do you know what has happened here?"

"I'm guessing people became dust?" Nebula gifts him with a glare that tells him to watch his big mouth or she'll stuff it with his intestines until he'll shut up.
The gray man (at least Tony assumes it's male) inclines his head in agreement but remains as suspicious of them as all the rest. "What do you know about it?"

"It has happened to the whole universe," Tony carefully tells them. A murmur goes through the crowd.

"Why?" Is the single question, but they can both hear the "Are you connected to this and have you come to make use of the ensuing fear?" that remains unspoken. Tony glances at Nebula.

"Thanos," she says. "The Mad Titan has halved life."

"As he proposed to do on Titan when the planet was dying?" Figures, they are close enough to Titan for people to know what happened there. Nebula nods. The gray guy accepts that as answer, then continues: "Your Shuttle. It is a ship of Titan. Those ships that remained of Titan belong to Thanos."

Ah, so that is probably the main reason for their distrust. And again there is an unspoken question. Are Tony and Nebula Thanos' minions?

"We fled from his capture to try and stop him," Nebula says. It's not the exact right version of how they met and got aboard the shuttle, but Tony agrees that keeping their explanation simple is a good idea.

"You failed," is the assessment of the gray guy, and Tony suddenly feels rage cooking up in his previously so strangely hollow chest.

"Hey, we did our best, okay?!" he snaps. "It's not our fault we were unprepared and outnumbered and out-powered and- and what did you do, huh?! You just sat here and didn't even know!" His breathing is going quick and the familiar feeling of panic is creeping up on him.

"This was no accusation." The gray guy finally seems to have lost his distrust and his shoulders slump. Suddenly, Tony sees someone who is the same as him, who has lost people and is unsure of the future, doesn't even know all about the fucking presence. Who's hiding behind the false bravado that comes from acting like they are their normal self.

"Sorry for snapping. We had-... a lot of stress just now," he says, scratching at his dirty arm.

"I understand. So did we." The crowd starts to disperse as groups go to comfort those who have lost others and try to carry on somehow. The security guard remains, but there is something halfhearted to them.

Gray guy pulls what appears to be a tablet pc from a satchel at his side. "My name is Emrel Tikan Mara-Ba. I am the superintendent of this dock," he says as he powers up the screen and taps it a couple times before holding it out to them. "Please fill out the form, I don't think you're here to sell or load freight, but procedure must be followed if we're to keep some kind of order on this planet. Only thing I can do for you is let the mooring fee drop because in a way this is an emergency landing and you probably don't intend to stay long..."

Mara-Ba seems tired and weary. Tony can understand that. Losing half your planet and having to do the alien equivalent to paperwork will do that to you.

"We actually want to continue to my home planet as fast as possible. Though our little shuttle here won't make that flight. You don't happen to know if there are any ships for sale? Preferably one that can reach another galaxy?" Tony hopefully adds. Nebula next to him is filling out the forms. She doesn't seem all too happy about having to do that but, like him, she's just fought so much recently, even having to argue with Mara-Ba over paperwork seems too much right now. She holds out the tablet to Tony, who after a moment figures out where to press his thumbprint and put in his name. He guesses Nebula lets him sign because he is the less suspicious of the two. And he tries to smother a grin when he sees Mara-Ba's initials in the field that shows who handled their case (Because come on, an alien with the initials E.T.!) and hands the tablet back.

Mara-Ba reaches out with his four-fingered hand to push back some of his light green hair (Though those might just be thousands of teeny tiny feelers, Tony is not entirely sure) while he thinks. "There is a ship that could get you out of this Galaxy. Though it would take quite a time, I'm afraid. We are a small port, we survive because many of the old ravager ships need to stop here to refuel. Or other private ships that are too small or too old for a jumper drive. New ships are not needed by the people living here and seldom come by. We could probably find you a ship that has a long reach, but it won't be a fast one."

"How long to the edge of the Galaxy?" Tony asks, fidgeting on the edge of his seat, nervous. A slow ship is better than no ship, maybe they can get another one on the way? Not to mention an old ship might be cheap enough to be traded against the truck-shuttle. He doesn't know if Nebula's got some fancy digital alien money with her, all he is pretty sure of is that they won't take his credit card.

"Approximately two months," Mara-Ba guesses.

Tony takes a deep breath. Okay, two months. Hopefully earth time month. He needs to find some sort of scale for time and distances that he can understand. He also needs to find out why the fuck everyone seems to be capable of speaking English. But, one step at a time. First, they get a ship. A slow ship. Which is still better than nothing. He keeps clinging to that notion.

"Okay, that's a start," he says.

"What do we do if we can't pay for whatever ship they have on sale?" he whisper-questions Nebula as they follow Mara-Ba's lead away from their shuttle and further towards the town connected to the docks.

"We steal it," is her pragmatic answer.

"Ah. Well, problem is, I don't want to steal someone's ship. They have enough problems what with all the missing people, I don't want to dump a potential financial disaster on someone's head by stealing the ship they need to feed their family. Because I doubt I'll get the chance to come back here and make it up to them later on." Usually Tony doesn't mind "borrowing" and crashing other peoples stuff, but usually, he's rich enough to pay up for it later on. Out here he has nothing of value.

Nebula rolls her eyes, then just says: "We will be able to pay here. And you will be able to pay for both of us on Earth."

And that's the end of that discussion, but Tony is fine with it. It's not like he cannot afford to host her and it's quite fair if she pays up for the both of them out here.

There is some chaos on the streets still, the wrecks of a couple transport vehicles that might or might not have hoovering abilities have not been cleared from where they crashed as their operators vanished. And even though many things here are far more technologically advanced than earth would be even in a hundred years (If Tony had no say in it), he can still make out that distinctive dinginess that proclaims this place to be a dump compared to other planets. Mara-Ba is right in saying this is a small place that just so gets by, living off whoever has to stop here. But Mara-Ba is also a decent and friendly guy so far and so Tony won't judge the town and her people.

They reach a couple of structures that appear to be ship hangars and Tony feels something stir in him. The scientific curiosity he's thought died back on Titan rears its head and stares wide-eyed at the workshops and the ships. This would be heaven to him if he knew Pepper was safe and sound. Since he doesn't know it's just a mild version of paradise but that doesn't make it any less awesome.

So even though work has mostly stopped and shops are closed off as people just sit there and try to understand what has happened to those who vanished, Tony stands (probably gaping like a fish) and stares at the shops while Mara-Ba goes and talks to a mechanic who is equally gray-skinned and green haired. (Or green tentacled.) The guy points them to a hangar to their left and Nebula's elbow meets his not injured side to make him stop gaping and start moving. Rubbing the now tender side, Tony follows.

He hears the ship's name and knows it will be perfect for them.

The Catastrophe XI is a MK 107 Explorer (and Tony nods along like he knows if that's good or bad, looking for Nebula's reaction out of the corner of his eyes) and about as old as Tony, which only endears the ship to him even more. There is something poetic in thinking that this ship had been built at his birth and waited for him all this time, and even though Tony usually isn't into such pathetically fantastic imaginations as fate, right now he wants to cling to the notion that life does have something good up its sleeve for him after all.

Nebula doesn't bat an eye at the ships age, just asks "Why would you name it like that?!"

It turns out a MK 107 Explorer is some alien species' type of military reconnaissance ship, constructed to bring a crew of four deep into enemy territory. It's a spartan and durable little thing, all streamlined (Yes!) to reach high speeds on planet and yet holding enough space in its belly to allow for lots of provision and separate sleeping quarters. Unfortunately for the military, the series had an unknown manufacturing error, causing two-thirds of the MK 107 Explorers to go boom in a matter of three days, only one month after launching. Understandably the military canceled any further orders of MK 107s and sued the manufacturer, who went bankrupt and understandably never invested into finding out where the error actually was. The remaining fourteen MK 107s were sent to be scrapped because the military didn't care to find out either. The one who did care was the scrapper, who, instead of immediately scrapping the ships, tried to find the error, hoping he could maybe make some money by fixing it and selling the otherwise perfectly fine ships.

The first ship went boom on its (unmanned) test flight and was therefore jokingly referred to as Catastrophe I. The name was continued until Catastrophe XI, who did finally not blow up, and together with her three better named and likewise fixed siblings was then sold.

Nebula looks at the ship skeptically, but Tony already knows he wants it. This is the sort of ship that needs him meddling with it, that he can take apart and make better. It's like an old car that allows you to patch it up again and again with only basic knowledge while the technological overload under the hood of a new one would confuse the hell out of you. Tony knows he's a genius and though he can admit he's arrogant he also knows he's not as arrogant as to believe he will immediately get the hang of alien spaceships. Eventually, yes. Faster than anyone else, yes. But still not immediately.

And if he can bury himself in the ship's metal guts he might just not go mad with not knowing until they reach Earth.

Nebula agrees to buy the ship after all, mainly because there is nothing better on offer and because the owner agrees to take the freight shuttle as payment. They add a little money on top (or rather Nebula does) and instead of being given a key they get a master code which they change into their own.

"Do you intend to start immediately? You look like you might need medical attention," the ship's previous owner asks. "My wife can fix you up, you paid a good price for the old Catastrophe and she will be happy to be able to fix something after most of her patients vanished. It disturbed her greatly to not be able to finish healing them." He looks worried, almost kind of hopeful.

Tony considers it. He hates strangers touching him. One-night-stands are fine, he can control that, knows how it will go. But otherwise... just, no. On the other hand not getting this looked at might just end really bad for him. His temporary fix has sterilized the wound but he doesn't know if some space germs have gotten in and survived, ready to give him sepsis soon.

"Um sure...", he finally agrees, and the man's shoulders drop in relief. "Just, I'm not sure my physique matches yours, so... please don't experiment on me, this body has already had to live through enough unprofessional patch-ups. If you have no clue, let it be," Tony tells him. "And I might be a horrible patient, I don't trust people much," he feels the need to add.

"I will use the time to gather provisions. How much does your kind need in a week?" Nebula asks. She doesn't seem interested in showing him how good her bedside manners are.

"A guy needs about 2500 calories a day, I think." He should have listened better to Pepper's lectures about his eating habits. Nebula is just staring at him though, so it doesn't matter anyway. "Um you know, calories are- ah never mind. Just say one meal a day is good, three is what's best. And at least one bottle of water. Water is important!" He underlines that with a raised finger.

"I will see what I can get." And Nebula walks off.

"Huh." Tony shrugs and makes his way towards medical attention.

Mr. and Mrs. Tomba-Ba (Tony begins to suspect the -Ba might be similar to the Japanese forms of address that are added to the end of the name) have a small clinic. And Mr. Tomba-Ba was right when he said his wife was distraught by the vanishing of her patients. She is sitting in a chair, rather catatonic, until she is asked to look after Tony. She almost jumps at him.

Even though she is a little hectic in her excitement her hands are steady and sure, so Tony holds still and lets her work. He grunts in pain when the gel he has injected into the wound to disinfect it and stop the bleeding is removed and everything gets cleaned up. Finally, something else is injected into the wound and Tony watches, fascinated, as it slowly begins to change into something that resembles his flesh or might actually be flesh.

"It will be replaced by your own flesh once this is completely green, until then it will act in its stead," Mrs. Tomba-Ba says and hands him a thumbnail-sized disk with a red rim. Tony thanks her and she smiles widely, gray cheeks stretching. Taking her white cap off her head (Covered in the same short, green might-be-hairs as her husband and Mara-Ba have) she leads him back to the door. He says goodbye, thanking her again. Mr. Tomba-Ba leads him back to the hangars, thanking Tony for cheering up his wife.

He feels a little like happy when he meets Nebula at the ramp that leads into the freight bay of their ship. Together they take a look at the provisions and Tony finally feels hungry, happily eating something that resembles chilly-con-carne right next to the crate he took the can from. He tells Nebula she did a good job finding stuff that will keep him fed and she looks a little surprised and almost ducks away. Not used to praise that one, Tony thinks to himself.

Two hours later they lift off Morka, water tanks filled, fuel tanks filled and food stocked. They could have done that in one hour, but Tony insisted on painting a good old flame job on the Catastrophe XI.

He knows Pepper will be worried about him if he isn't a little late because of theatrics.