Chapter 2

Tony: Ship's Log, Earth Year 2018, September 3rd. Day Two.

Nebula and I were able to get the—Quill called it Benatar? (A slight chuckle is heard.) We were able to get the Starkship's mainframe back online in record time. Nebula is still sorting through the overall damage to it before we even attempt to test fly the thing. It has great infrastructure for a spacecraft, if I must say. Her previous owner took very good care of her when it came to upgrades and maintenance. The cassette player is a nice throwback. It's difficult to refrain giving it a spin since preserving energy is crucial. A shame, really. The kid has good taste in his mixtapes.

My injury is being uncooperative and reopening with every movement I make, it seems—

(Nebula is heard scolding Tony in the background.)

Nebula: You're the one being uncooperative and agitating the wounds. I told you to rest while I handle the repairs. This stubbornness is going to kill you.

(Tony half-ignores the statement.)

Tony: Wouldn't be the first time.

Despite this minor setback, notable progress has been made on the ship, and the exit wound appears to be healing quickly. I will be sure to thank intergalactic medicine for my relatively speedy recovery if I… when I…

(There is a long pause. A labored breathing is heard before a slightly hoarse voice continues.)

Tony: Rations have been calculated and stretched out to last about ten to fourteen days between us. Seems like the space traveling type only stock a few days worth of emergency supplies, which seems so reckless considering our circumstances. The fact this supply came from three different ships shows that space-folk have a lot of confidence in not getting stranded out here.

We hope to get a test flight in tomorrow at the earliest, and out into the unknown by sundown if all goes according to plan. With the way we've been able to tune up the thing already, this goal is feesabile to achieve.

To keep the inevitable gloom from setting-in and taking over, I constructed a chess table and pieces during my involuntary time-out instilled by Nebula. Keeping the mind focused and sharp is Survival 101—for me anyway. Nebula seems to run on all cylinders at all times and doesn't understand the meaning of taking a break, yet she expects me to oblige.

(Tony laughs humorlessly at what he said.)

Tony: She is still somewhat jumpy and defensive when I make any sudden approaches or movement toward or around her, and is a bit aggressive when I coax her to stop and play a game when I have exhausted myself physically but still need a mental break. Though from what little she has told me of her upbringing, it puts the reactions all in a very different perspective for me.

Nebula busied herself in rehooking the wires and cords back to where they belonged after ripping them out of the dash a few days ago. She seemed confident that she restored the necessary parts needed for the spacecraft to fly and navigate through space, and she expressed the same confidence while putting it all back. Tony was thrilled to hear this, but knew she refused to tell him anything more in regards to the integral gift all spaceships were crafted to have—warpspeed, hyperspeed, lightspeed, jumpspeed, wormhole time-bending travel, whatever the movies called it that involved the word "speed" or "travel" that he could apply and used to fix this very real life situation—and would get them back to Earth that wouldn't involve him aging a hundred years or be dead before arriving there.

"The navigation system is faulty. Setting a direct course to get to your planet will only locate general coordinates instead of precise ones," she said.

"Alright. Well, if I didn't know any better, Earth is near the Sun. So we aim in its direction and go from there," Tony said sarcastically, impatience starting to seep through his reasoning.

"It isn't that simple."

Tony huffed, disgruntled by the reply. "What we should be focusing on is getting the hunk of junk to fly and not explode in the process."

"We can only work with what we are given," Nebula scolded, "and right now the ship is showing me what is somewhat functional and operational on the inside. I will inspect the thrusters and engines now that there is enough power to charge them and have them reveal potential faults and damage."

Tony threw his hands up, stopping his attempts to mend the dash with the alien laser-like tools. "We should have been doing that yesterday! At this rate it'll be another two or three days before we even get off the ground."

Nebula watched as he got up and paced the small space in frustration. She herself appeared annoyed, but more by his emotional reactions than the situation. His hand subconsciously rested over the wound on his side, and as he continued to pace and kick at the scraps of metal, he seethed and winced from his body warning him to stop.

"You need to rest. Your body is not handling the exhaustion, and your wounds are going to reopen."

"What I need is to get back home!" he shouted, slamming his hand hard down on a flat surface beside him.

Tony wasn't prepared for Nebula's reaction to his outburst, given her honed reflexes were perfected to respond quickly, she subdued him in under three seconds and stabbed something into his neck. He was out by the time she laid him down on the cot.

When Tony came to, thankfully only a couple hours later, he was calmer and slightly embarrassed by his outburst. The stress and reality was starting to set in with the exhaustion. He knew Nebula was right, trying to keep up with a cybernetically modified alien was not something he was going to manage for much longer. But he couldn't simply rest, either, that would start to make things all too real for him. Idling was not in his vocabulary, and remaining stationary was definitely not one of his practiced habits, so he instead grabbed a few things around him and tinkered, keeping his movements to a minimum to avoid agitating his injuries.

Nebula must have been outside inspecting the engines and thrusters when he pulled his focus away from his makeshift chessboard creation to scan the compact space of the ship, seeking her out. He lifted up the fresh shirt he put on that he found under the cot to inspect the wound, which seemed to appear remarkably better, even if whatever gel-like substance that was lathered over it made it appear purple and sickly. He couldn't see the exit wound, but after a careful touch inspection he determined that it was healing better than the front, which was expected given how it was smaller and narrower.

She re-entered the ship and moved to a panel that lit up at her touch. Tony watched her for several seconds before clearing is throat, prompting her attention.

"I'm sorry."

"I am aware your kind strongly run on emotions, but know that those sorts of reactions will set me off as well. I may not react harmlessly next time out of instinct rather than maliciously," Nebula warned, not pausing in her poking at the digital screen and reading the ship's vitals.

Tony registered the warning loud and clear, but still snuck over to look over her arm in an attempt to read and decipher what was on the screen.

"Green. It's green! Green is good!" he said, tone expressing relief when he saw the meters in the outlines of thrusters and an image that appeared to be in the shape of an engine were a pale green color.

"It's progress, but not a promise. Two are red, which means once the power flow is restored to them, it will equalize and they will hover in the yellow."

"Yellow is still… still good," Tony hedged, falling back onto the cot from sudden dizziness.

He gave a weak whistle and waved Nebula over. "Come see what I've been working on."

She rolled her head in that particular way Tony identified to be her way of showing annoyance before coming over. She looked at the table in front of him. He had set blue and silver squares into a pattern on its top and constructed crudely shaped miniature statues of varying sizes that lined up in two rows on opposite sides the table.

"What is its purpose?"

"It's a game we play on Earth. It's called chess. One of several strategic games we play down there," Tony explained. "It's simple to learn how to play. Well, simple enough anyway. I'm sure you will nail it in no time, though."

Nebula was unimpressed by the description. "So you fight your opponent using small status as the weapons?"

"No."

It was clear after Tony went over the pieces names, how to use them, and the general concept of how the game was played that Nebula had never played anything like it. The version of what she perceived as a game, she so gruesomely detailed, entailed beating the crap out of her siblings or going on missions that involved killing everyone on sight. Tony pitied her, and found himself calmly attempting to show her how to play. Nebula was very determined to eliminate all the pieces by any means necessary rather than following the rules, so he tried a different approach.

"Let's uh, let's try something a little bit more straightforward. Yes?"

Nebula got up. "Later. Enough time has been wasted."

"They call it taking a break! It's good for you to do from time to time. Or so I'm told," Tony called after her as she exited the ship again.

He flicked his king piece in the air and caught it as he reflected on his lessons. Despite her obsession with metaphorical killing of the chess pieces, she seemed to be getting the hang of it somewhat. He would still start simpler, take out the aggression some, but for now he had taken enough of a break, and got to his feet to join her on the inspections.