Soooo I'm not gonna bore you with the reasons for my long hiatus. Enjoy the chapter :)

Leftovers

Chapter 4.

Houston, we have a problem

„Okay, stuff we need to gather next time we're on planet..." Tony says and scrawls "Stuff:" at the top of the touch screen that's hanging at the wall, ready to serve as their digital whiteboard. They're lounging in the Catastrophe's galley/common room for a planning session, as Tony likes to call them.
He thoughtfully taps his chin, contemplating what they might need in the near future. Then blinks and realizes: "I for my part would love a good razor, if I'm to keep using the thing I found in the bathroom I'm never gonna get my beard straight again!"
So far he has managed to keep his goatee relatively in its usual shape, but damn it's a tedious job. So he adds "razor" to the screen. Nebula throws him a look that says she was thinking about more pressing supply problems when she called Tony up to the cockpit than his facial hair. Tony clears his throat and straightens up, because that look reminds him a lot of the "This is serious, please stop fucking around!"-glance he sometimes gets from Pepper and nothing good has ever come from ignoring that glance.
"Okay, what did you have in mind?"
Obviously pleased with his attempt to stay on topic, even though meetings have never been his specialty, Nebula starts talking: "So far we have only ever filled up enough fuel to get to the next planet and some extra for emergencies. We need to work out how to pay up for a full tank if we want to cross the space between galaxies. And we better start worrying about that now before we are at the edge of Andromeda. There won't be any inhabited planets for a pit stop once we're out there. We also need a new map. This ship is fitted with the whole of Andromeda and then some, but it won't be enough. If we don't feed the ship new and detailed data we have to navigate the space between galaxies and your galaxy by sight, at a speed that won't allow you to see Earth again before the end of your life…"
"So we'll stop on every planet we're close enough to and hope someone has a map for sale that reaches to the Milky Way?" Tony concludes.
"We have no other choice."
Tony frowns. This doesn't sound good. "How high's the chance we'll find one?" he asks.
"Your galaxy only holds a hand full of species that are even remotely intelligent enough to be known by those who reside in Andromeda. None really knows they are not the only thinking species out there, and no species of Andromeda will offer them the knowledge or technology to include them in the net. There is nothing to gain from it, and usually, species who didn't evolve to invent the necessary means by themselves are still too immature and greedy to handle them. Whatever would come from offering something so powerful to them would be horrible."
Tony raises his brows. He didn't pick Nebula as someone to care to know all this. That this that doesn't sound good at all.
"So chances aren't high," he concludes and feels a weight settling in his stomach.
"We need to find someone scientifically curious, who would study those of the Milky Way simply out of interest." Nebula shrugs.
"Okay, find the Andromeda version of Discovery Channel and see who provided them with the footage. Should be doable," Tony says if only to convince himself that this might not be the point where their journey turns out to be futile. It's unlike him to be that much of a pessimist, usually, despite all comments he might make, he's got this voice in the back of his mind that tells him he and his genius will find a way eventually. But it seems that voice fell victim to Thanos as well. "And find a way to make some money without investing all that much of the time-we-don't-have because we need to feed the gas guzzler. Should be doable as well."
He adds "money" and "map" to the list like it's no more of a big deal than the razor.
"Anything else?"
"We still got enough food and water aboard for quite a while, but even with the things we took from the Kree we will have to restock eventually."
Tony adds "food, eventually" to the list. He once again thoughtfully taps his chin. "Are there many Kree around here?" he asks slowly.
Nebula narrows her eyes at him, obviously trying to gauge if she is guessing his thoughts right. "They aren't what they used to be, but there are quite a few... Are you worrying about us being attacked again or are you planning to attack them?"
"Well, I don't want to steal from the common, hard-working alien who's just trying to lead a normal life, but I wouldn't be above stealing from the meanies who're after us. We could be some sort of space pirate Robin Hoods, only we don't give away our loot for free, we use it to support local business by buying their stuff." He grins widely.
"You are aware that this is a reconnaissance ship, not a fighter build to commandeer other ships?"
"Okay, so no epic space battles, I'm all for not damaging our only ship. But could we pull off raiding a parked ship of theirs again? I mean, that way we get both fuel and food and don't have to waste time working for however long it takes to earn the money to buy both."
He expects a no. But so far Nebula is silent and thinking things over. And that means he's probably going to hear a yes. It's weird because usually people around him are more sensible than him and want to talk him out of this kind of idea. But Nebula is a whole different caliber than his people on Earth. From the way she dealt with their last ordeal with the Kree Tony suspects raiding peoples' ships is a completely normal thing for her. She's not thinking about whether it's a good idea or not, she's thinking about whether they can pull this off without taking too much damage or getting captured.
"First we'll deal with getting a map. The Kree will be after us, if they aren't already, the moment we steal from them. Our best chance is to fill up on all we need and immediately set off to Earth. They will have a hard time following us. We just need to keep them off our tail until we reach the space that common maps no longer cover. Parallel to looking for the map we can scout for a suitable target." She crosses her arms in front of her chest, probably mentally running through all the info she has on Kree ships they could prey on.
"Alright, sounds like a plan!" And it really does, so Tony feels a little of the weight in his stomach disappear.
"Do Kree wear any jewelry by the way? I'm thinking about bringing Pepper a nice souvenir!"

The next two planets have nothing they need, only Tony's razor. Tony refuses to be discouraged by that and instead concentrates on how amazing the sheer number of aliens out here is, especially since not that many years ago no one was entirely sure that extraterrestrial life existed. Finally being able to shave properly also helps.
Nebula seems happy enough to be able to slink off and gather information. Apparently, it's what she knows and what she's good at, it calms her down. Tony can understand that. What he doesn't understand is her need to make sure he knows she's useful to keep around. He'd be screwed out here if he was alone, but Nebula still eagerly takes on what duties on the ship she can. For now, he chooses not to comment on it.

The one reason why Tony chose to charge his phone even though there is no hope that he can use it to phone home (he he) so many light-years away from Earth, is that once he managed to make the alien computer swallow the MP3 files he can blast his music all through the ship. Currently, he is all holed up in the Catastrophe's server room, typing away at the code that is his current project while enjoying the familiar sound of Metallica. Humming along, off-tune but passionately, he finishes his last line of code with the last line of the song and celebrates the awesomeness of that with a fist bump to the air. He tests the results of his binge coding and grins at what seems to be a success.
Of course only time would show any bugs, but for now Tony is all giddy and excited and practically skips down the hallway to go and find Nebula. He wonders if this will be something new and awesome to the alien cyborg or if she will look at him in the way people look at apes who learned sign language. A little impressed but mostly amused and condescending at the ape's attempt to reach the human level.
Nebula, of course, is down in the freight bay, using the space for training. It's her favorite pastime when Tony hides away somewhere in the ship's engine or server room.
Tony checks his watch to make sure the upload is complete and rolls his weight from the balls of his feet to the heel and back, impatiently waiting for Nebula to finish an exercise that involves twisting the body in a way Tony might have thought impossible before. He knows she won't pay him any attention until she's done with untwisting herself. Finally, she straightens into a normal stance and graces him with a questioning glance.
But before Tony can say anything another voice speaks up, male and tinny. "Commander, incoming object detected, change of course suggested, otherwise impact in 4, 3, 2, 1-"
And Tony is still raising his brows at what he thinks is a rather weird bug when there is a bang and suddenly everything is in motion.
He can't tell which direction is which if they're rolling or tumbling. Whatever is happening, the internal dampeners can't counter it, neither can the artificial gravity. Tony is thrown all across the place until his arm is jerked back because Nebula has gotten a hold of him. She pulls him to the crate she's clinging to and Tony smacks into it hard but manages to grab a hold of the net that keeps the box in place. He clings to it and squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to feel sick.
"No pilot response. Activate emergency protocol." The tinny voice is barely distinguishable over the sound of loose things smacking into ship walls and the sound of rushing blood and panicked heartbeat in Tony's ears, but it's there. And it sounds like heaven and salvation even though the lurch that goes through the ship as the thrusters try to counter their endless somersault might just rip off the fingers he still claws into the freight security net.
When they are still haphazardly tumbling around after what seems like forever, Tony begins to doubt he'll live through this whiplash until his construct has managed to stabilize the ship. He just contemplates losing the contents of his stomach after all, when finally (FINALLY!) the artificial gravity and internal dampeners win over the force of their movement and drop the both of them to the floor.
Neither Tony nor Nebula get up. They just lie there, while their vestibular system tries to recalibrate their sense of balance. Tony stares at the ceiling, sick to his stomach and trembles running through muscles weak from clinging to the crate.
"Is everything alright, Commander?" the tinny voice asks over the intercom.
Tony swallows, tasting bile. The dampeners might work again, but the ship could still be tumbling through space, going who knows where, off course for who knows how much distance. They could be having a cracked hull, losing air, they could be dead in the water (dead in fucking space!) once they manage to stop. They could smack into a planet. They could be even farther from Earth…
"No," Tony says. "HOUSTON we have a problem."
And saying that is not even one percent of the fun he imagined it would be.
"Indeed," is the answer he gets. "You have left your previous course and are still moving, Full stabilization will be archived in approximately 27 minutes."
Tony groans. And drops his head back to the deck, abandoning the thought of getting up. Great, this is just great.
"Did we sustain any damage?" Nebula asks. Unlike Tony, she does eventually sit up and might even stand up soon. At the moment, she seems to be checking herself for injuries while waiting for an answer.
"Shrapnel has damaged solar panel unit five to sixteen. More damage has successfully been prevented by engagement of the shields."
"We have shields?" Tony is impressed and concentrates on that rather than the pain flaring in his side. "Like, an energy shield? Is that standard?"
"No," Nebula and HOUSTON reply at the same time.
"The Explorer is a reconnaissance ship and as such has been fitted with a shield suited to repel dangerous, hostile or unknown objects in not yet scouted territory. According to the ship computer this particular shield has never been engaged before, nor has it been maintained. This might be why the shields engaged one point five seconds late, allowing damage to the solar panels," HOUSTON dutifully explains.
"The previous owner didn't know the ship had a shield generator, he'd have never sold it so cheap if he did." Nebula staggers to her feet. "And what hit us?"
She is met with silence. Nebula turns to Tony, unimpressed.
"Oh, come on, I built us an AI from scratch, isn't that even a little impressive? God, you aliens depress me, acting like you're always ahead of me. Give him a moment, he only just hatched! And this is not how I wanted you two to meet. I wanted to present him to you with a nice introduction and then ask if there's some kind of alien internet I can connect him to, because contrary to what some people believe my AIs ain't omnipotent and need to gather knowledge before they can share it," Tony grouches.
"According to the data accumulated by the ship before impact, you've been hit by a smooth criminal," HOUSTON throws in.
Tony's head audibly thunks back onto the floor. "And just when I defended you... where the hell did you even get that reference? That song's not on my playlist..."
"What reference, Commander?" And Tony can see how Nebula rolls her eyes at the title. She doesn't seem confused by HOUSTONS analysis though. Which means...
"Wait, wait, what, does this mean you really mean we've been hit by a smooth criminal? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Maybe he did smack his head too hard after all.
"It is the most accurate term I could find, commander. I had to reconstruct it from mentions of similar objects."
"This is probably a translation error," Nebula draws her conclusion.
"Translation error?" Tony finally struggles to his feet as well, grateful that nothing seems broken. Though his side felt a lot better before this whole ordeal.
"We do not speak the same language, Stark."
"But I can-" the metaphorical light bulb lights up in Tony's head. "It's like with Thor, right? You speak something that can be understood by all and understand me though I still speak English. That's why for you HOUSTON's ramble translates into something understandable because you hear what he means, not what he says... so what does he mean?"
"A kind of missile. Made by Kree," Nebula summarizes for him.
"Ah. So hitting us was an attack? Were they planning to enter out ship?" He mentally files away the language info. If he could just learn that translation trick sometime, that would be quite useful.
"No entering, they meant to blow us out of existence."
"Maybe I should repaint the ship after all…" Tony carefully admits.
"They didn't find us by looks. Had they gotten close enough to admire your painting skills we would've seen them coming. No, out here you locate and recognize ships by their energy readings and communication signature. And they probably squeezed our data out of the port workers back on that planet. We need to check if our identifying features have been uploaded in a headhunter network and we need to change them. But before we do any of that we need to find out where we are and what's the ship's status." With that, she stalks off towards the ladder that leads out of the freight bay and up into the corridor towards the cockpit.
Tony scrambles after her with a groan. Hopefully, wherever they are now, will bring something good.