Alrighty then...so this chapter is sort of a filler. Yeah, I know...a filler. I just wanted to have the next chapter be the whole trip to Knowhere, but we'll se how that goes. This chapter also features a lot of Jax (you'll see what I mean) not really sure what to say about that except I hope you like it.
Thank you for everyone who added this story to their favorite/alert list. And to MaddySan5926, areskickass13, CatGirlFireflare, Guest, random gal, and Reish95 for reviewing. SIX reviews in one day! Let's just say my family kept asking me why I was punching the air...
Bracing his hands on the top of the windowsill, Peter swung his body to kick out the fractured glass that remained in one of the more damaged viewports. One by one the escapers alighted on the dura-steel floor, some more lightly then others.
"Come on," Rocket called, standing at a double door with the armband in hand, "Impound's through here."
"How could you possibly know that?" Philly, skeptically, as the doors slid open.
He gave a nonchalant shrug, "Nova Core only knows how ta build one kind a prison. As big and bad as The Kyln seems…it's just a standard issue holding station when ya get down to it."
The impound room was full of gyro-shelves from wall to ceiling, contents organized in boxes alphabetically in Xanderian by last name. The six beings split up, eager to reclaim their stuff.
With slight frustration in the filing system Philly located the Rs, punched the button for the shelf to gyro. It took about twenty names but finely a sloppy labeled RESH rolled by.
She pulled it out, eagerly ripping off the lid like it was a gift from Peter's silly tree holiday. Her red pants and faded yellow shirt were sort of neatly folded next to her boots and her zapper.
"Do you see the ship?" The pilot asked Peter, who'd run to the window.
"Yeah, there it is!" The Terran tapped on the glass, bouncing up and down excitedly, "Get my ship!"
"My ship!" Philly snapped automatically, draping her clothes over her arm, zapper and boots in hand.
Peter compromised with an eye-roll, "Our ship, It's the Milano. The orange and blue one over in the corner."
"They crumpled my pant up in a ball. That's rude, they folded your's." Rocket complained as he jumped to the ship impound's computer system. A taps on the touch pad had large robotic arms transport the starship to the docking bay like a giant vending machine.
The bounty hunter had hopped down and started out another door without so much as a 'follow me'.
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…
With a jubilant laugh and a spring in her step, Philly, with Drax and Groot, both clutching theirs or their friend's belongings, followed Rocket impatiently. The bounty hunter seemed to know where he was going and hadn't been wrong yet, so he was followed until they arrived at yet another dura-steel double door.
The air lock was opened by Rocket holding the security armband. The Zeldonian danced ahead on the balls of her feet through the Milano's familiar cargo hold to the twisty steps that led to the rest of the ship. Humming and twirling as she went, not reducing speed in the slightest as the pilot made a beeline for her domain.
Vaguely aware of foot steps, both heavy and light, behind her, Philly navigated through the common room, past the bedrooms, bathroom and shower, and ascended the steep steps that went up to the cockpit.
A deep breath in through the nostrils, sighing out from the mouth as she surveyed the room without breaking stride.
It seemed just as she'd left it, two sets of flight chairs, colored in the ship's signature shades of orange and blue. Floors clean, but not obsessively scrubbed. Her hammock was hanging limply in a corner, looking so very inviting…
But no time for that now, Philly-girl. There was an escape to finish.
Her gray eyes zeroed in on the pilot's chair…her chair. Lips curled into a giddy smile. Eyes lighting up like a child beholding a pound of their favorite treat. Her fingers fondly traced the chair's back as she sank down slowly, filled to the brim with a warm and cozy feeling at the way she fit in the soft, well-worn leather.
She sensed the others' presences and heard them climb through the hatch but didn't pay much attention. She was too far-gone.
With a few flicks of her wrist Philly did the necessary motions to switch on Milano. The engines hummed to life, faintly vibrating the whole ship. There was a subtle quake that told of sealing the cargo hold and lift off. Her left hand rested on the steering stick, guiding the ship out of the impound. Her left drove the thruster control forward, border-lining un-safe with in an enclosed hanger.
"Ya'll might want to buckle up!" the pilot called over her shoulder, eyeing the creaking as they closed bay doors.
"Can you open that?" Gamora demanded someone, probably Rocket.
He yelled back, "Give me a sec!"
Philly threw her head back, laughing. She gunned it, pushing the engines to 72%...79%...86% capacity. The spot she was aiming for was where the doors, four slabs of thick dura-steel, formed a rapidly closing square shape in the dead center. Like a bull's-eye.
"You're not going to make it!" The green skinned alien told her, swiftly fasting the chair's restraints around her chest.
The pilot gave no sign she heard. A wide grin stretched across her face, her hands expertly, simultaneously pushed the thrusters to 93%, and manipulated the steering control.
The opening got smaller and smaller…
…the ship went faster and faster.
Last second Milano dipped its port wing down 45 degrees, and soared through the opening with inches to spare.
The other beings not at the controls gave an almost collective sigh of relief.
Philly giggled, pulling the thrusters back down to a safer pace, "Not too shabby, eh Petey-Boy?" she twisted her torso around, ready to except the praise, scoff, admiration, or any admittance of her superiority her Terran friend could offer. Except he wasn't there.
"Um…where's Peter?"
"He is retrieving something. He also said to keep the ship close." Gamora added, unbuckling.
The Zeldonian groaned quietly, "Not again…"
"How's he gonna get to us?" Rocket demanded.
"He declined to share that information with me." Through a tense jaw.
"Well screw this then," The bounty hunter scoffed, "I ain't wait'n around for some humie with a death wish."
The ship gave a sudden jerk as Philly banked right, turning around and backtracking to the Kyln. "We're not leaving without him. Peter said 'keep the ship close' then the ship stays close."
"We cannot stay here." Drax tried to persuade her, albeit rather forcefully. And loudly.
"Well we are," The Zeldonian snapped, "so suck it up."
"Suck this, Blue," Rocket hoisted his blaster to his shoulder. For one horribly long instant there was so much tension, it couldn't be sliced by any thingy, no matter how sharp. The only sounds in the cockpit were the highly customized gun booting up and expanding. Engines rumbling.
"Either you turn this ship around, or I will." He said with a hit of a snarl.
"I am Groot."
Philly stiffened, taking a few unsteady breaths. She subtly pulled the thruster control back to buy some time, but didn't turn around.
"Rankweed sucking womp rat."
Rocket's upper lip scrunched up, other then that reflex the insult was ignored, "You got the orb right?" He asked Gamora over his shoulder, not looking away from where his blaster was pointing. His finger teased at the trigger.
"Yes." The green skinned woman nodded, digging in Peter's satchel. Her search became more and more frantic until she reluctantly admitted; "He must have taken it with him."
"HA!" Philly snorted a laugh, once again grinning till her face hurt.
Irritably, Rocket powered-down and lowered his blaster with a huff, "If we don't leave now, we will be blown to bits."
"NO, we're not leaving without the orb."
"And Peter!" was a chirped reminder. Hands pushed the thrusters back up. The ship started a moderate orbit around The Kyln. "Oh, come on, we left that place in shambles. There's no way the guns can fire on what's left of their man-power."
"No need, all defense systems 're automated." Rocket, bluntly.
"Oh…well then if he's not here soon we're out of here."
"Behold!" Drax interrupted the beat of stillness, eyes fixed on the window. The rest followed his gaze. Peter was flying with his thruster boots and helmet in a wide, smooth arc straight for them.
"Son of a gun," Philly's smile got wider (if possible) as she angled the ship's air lock toward the approaching Terran. "How's about you'll go down and greet him."
There was reluctant, yet un-protested shuffling as the beings descended the steps. Whether it was to greet Peter or get away form her she couldn't tell.
Before leaving Gamora gave her a set of coordinates for, not a city or a planet, a system. An outer rim system.
That set of coordinates had to be in her top ten of vague, undefined, remote destinations she'd been given in her flying career.
And she flew with Peter Quill.
Oh, well off to…somewhere.
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Xander
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...
Panic.
Frustration.
Dread.
All of these and more negative emotions were fighting for dominance in young Nova cadet Jax Do'nal. Served him right though. The summons had specifically stated he be at Nova Core HQ no latter then 0800, it was now…
What time was it?
The platinum blond checked his watch, being carful not to unsholder his duffel bag or lose speed. 7:48.
Twelve minutes.
He had twelve minutes until his first day in the final step before he would become a full-fledged member of the Nova Core. Twelve minutes for a thirty-minute walk. That's what he got for forgetting his alarm clock.
A life long dream ever since Jax witnessed a corpsmen risk his life to save a woman. To his six-year-old eyes that shopping cart had been moving awfully fast. That day he'd declared to his lawyer father he wanted to be a hero. His father had patted the boy's head and ushered him along, dismissing the declaration as the fantasies of a child, something the boy would soon grow out of.
But as the years went on and that spark slowly but steadily grew into a flame, his to-do parents began to fret. Study the law, they'd said, insisted, take over his father's practice and be a hero in the courtroom.
Finely at seventeen and almost at the crossroads of his life, Jax had respectfully, yet firmly, said no.
Managing to bury her skepticism and natural fear of letting her first-born son leave their plush nest, his mother (after a few tears) had tried to be supportive. His father had been furious, practically disowned him. Somehow they'd come to a tentative agreement. If Jax could complete all required training with flying colors and still wanted to peruse this absurd notion (his father's words, not his) then by all means, leave already.
Almost a year later and required training a distant memory of colors flying, Jax had been given the sought-after opportunity to shadow a veteran Nova Core officer for six months. He accepted, packed his bag and found himself assigned to Corpsmen Tash, an officer aboard a prison transport shuttle.
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…
Face flushed and out of breath, Jax stumbled through the door with seconds to spare. A not so subtly giggling secretary pointed him in the right direction. Off he raced to the 'two rights and a left, second door on the left, if you hit the locker rooms you went too far' conference room. Jax burst in the room, nearly tripping on the threshold as he made his un-fashionably late entrance.
There were a handful of other people inside. Some of them wore the same standard issue cadet uniform he had on. One was a real corpsmen, if his attire had anything to say.
"One minute and twenty-three seconds late." He 'tut-tuted', making a show of clicking a stopwatch off, "anything you want to say, cadet?"
The winded young man wanted to say a lot. If only he could catch his breath. Till then he bowed his head and panted, "Sorry, sir."
A corner of the corpsmen's mouth twitched up. His dark eyes twinkled in suppressed mirth, "I'll let this one slide, as long as you don't let it happen again."
Frantic, grateful nodding.
"Now then," he continued addressing the whole class, "welcome to Nova Corps headquarters and final phase of your training.
"Here you will have the opportunity to get a feel for the inner workings of the Corps, in all aspects of the organization. There will be chances to observe and work at, Criminal Possessing Units, fire houses, dispatch, court houses, etc."
Jax noted the irony.
"My name is Corpsmen Rhomann Dey, I'll be you supervisor until you're ready to take you final exams. Any questions?"
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After the Q&A session Corpsmen Dey led the small group down the hall to the locker rooms. They were told to store the duffel bags in assigned lockers and report back.
They would stow their uniforms in the locker rooms, after arriving on time (a quick, teasing look at Jax) then go about whatever task they were issued.
The rest of the official tour was uneventful, highlighting the meeting places, garages, shooting range, workout room, hangers, and the like. Wide-eyed, absorbing every detail like a sponge Jax followed with the eagerness of a puppy. A sponge puppy. Or puppy sponge.
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…
Three hours after arriving he was posted at the front door with one of the other cadets for the rest of the day.
The sullen, dark-haired lad, Rhollis grumbled, "all that studying and prep and now look at us. Over-hyped doormen."
Jax stayed observant, watching the crown bustle along at the bottom of the white steps, "We're just new is all. Tomorrow will be better."
"Today, tomorrow what's the difference? We'll still be shinnies till we pass final exams."
"Well then, we've got plenty of time to prove we've got what it takes."
"Are you for real?" Rhollis deadpanned, "Face it Jax, nothing is ever going to happen around here. This'll just be another boring assignment like our six month waste of time."
The blond kept mute, turning the words over in his head. This wasn't a waste of time, this was important training. No matter what anyone said he'd worked hard to get here and was grateful. But there was that miniscule sliver of him that hoped, for whatever stupid reason, that something…that anything would happen.
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How does that saying go again?
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Be careful what you wish for.
