Senses.
Most had eluded her in this…body. Smell was a luxury. Taste, inconsequential. Touch only practical to feel pain, her father's favorite. Hearing was necessary, though, and sight…the only one he insisted be perfect. What other senses but hearing and sight could Nebula rely on to perceive an enemy's approach and visualize his next move before he could even contemplate making it.
But sight had disappeared. Only hearing remained, an intentional slight by Thanos as he had wrenched each socket apart, piece by excruciating piece with his bare hands, in punishment for her betrayal. As just another lesson in a line of thousands to keep her in check. The perfect disciple. The perfect puppet. Always and ever desperate for his approval.
And with that single sense, she had heard her idiotic sister, the words, the tone, the whoosh of air that whispered that she and Thanos were gone, and Nebula silently screamed at the loss. Thanos desired the Infinity Stones, and Gamora held a secret about one. The most mysterious and elusive one of all. And now she was gone, and Nebula's body was a heap of spare parts on a burning world saturated by refuse and soaked in bodily fluids and stale alcohol.
But she was being moved, the sounds of grunting and dragging metal reaching the chunk of her face attached to an ear.
It was hours and hours before she recognized the grumbled and growled curses, so familiar after teaming up with her sister's…friends? Teammates? Imbeciles, regardless. Nebula did not understand the connection, nor did she wish to understand it. But a lack of understanding did not dull her appreciation for the expert connection of hand to forearm, knee to thigh, neck to spine.
"Hey. Can you talk?" Rocket asked, beating heavy gloves against his knee as he rubbed a splattered cloth over his snout.
Could she? Her jaw moved, and that action sent a current to her neck, into the wires and microchips in her chest, into her abdomen then legs then feet.
"Yes," she said, opening her eyes without blinking. That was not a necessary function for mechanical eyeballs, a fact that had eternally bothered Gamora. Nebula never understood why. Likely because she had banished so many memories of her life before having wires instead of veins and circuits instead of synapses. There were only three constants to her existence – her father, her sister, and her anger.
Two large guns landed on the table next to her.
"These," Rocket drawled, "are for you. I'm bein' nice here, so try not to kill any of us, okay? We don't have time for a shootout." He sighed. "We gotta save the galaxy. Again."
She flexed her fingers, unbent her knees, spread her toes wide, and rolled her neck to stare at Rocket. "You rebuilt me."
Rocket turned and started to walk away, throwing a hand and a grumble over his shoulder. "Yeah yeah. Come on."
She pushed herself from the table, strapping both guns to her thighs, and assessed her surroundings. The same ship, same scorch marks, same catch in the engine every seventh second, same mess of mangled wiring and storage all around her. Moving, blank space passed quickly outside the wall of windows in the darkest corner of the room. She followed Rocket with one hand on a gun and the other balled into a fist.
He rounded a corner, and a crawling tension rose as he disappeared from her newly regained sight. She squeezed the gun harder before peering into what she assumed was the medical bay. A door across the room hinted at the cockpit, but she heard no movement from there. Autopilot perhaps. She refused to ask, but she was curious where the group was heading and with what purpose.
Nebula stopped at the sight of a woman kneeling over a cot, antennas perking up as she looked up. Mantis. The runaway from Ego. Yet another drawn to Gamora's powerful presence. What else could attract an intelligent being to this ship and its cantankerous mob of morons?
Mantis stood, and Nebula noticed a man lying on the cot, a sheet pulled to his neck. Her father had known this man, had tracked his movements after the failed Asgardian prince's invasion of that backwater planet across the stars. Thanos had taken care to keep meticulous records on this warrior and each of the mortals that had won the fight against his trickster brother. There was little Thanos did not know, but she herself knew little of this man, Thor, beyond what her father had fed her in case of an altercation with him, his father, or his colorfully-garbed colleagues.
Nebula's eyes remained on Thor as she approached. "He is dead."
"No." Mantis watched her, large eyes sad and scared but undeniably resolute. "He is in magical stasis."
She said no more, and Nebula continued to study the man. She could hear no heartbeat.
"So. You met the big guy." She glanced to Rocket for more, refusing to ask for information that he would provide as soon as he grew impatient. "You're just gonna stare at me? That's the thanks I get?"
Nebula continued to stare.
Rocket's snout wrinkled until his teeth made an appearance. "Fine. Fine! Here's the short version. Your sis made a deal with muscle man's brother to bring him to Earth…Terra, Midgard, whatever…once we snuck the Reality Stone off Knowhere. Obviously," his eyes dropped to the floor, "that didn't work out as planned. So now Gamora's gone, Quill locked himself in his quarters, everyone's sad and mad and uncomfortable, and somehow, I get to make the next call. So, I say we're holding up Gamora's end of the deal."
Nebula stared harder, wondering why he felt the need to tell her all of this. Why he would even rebuild her. Unless… Like a lit match, it all made sense.
"You need me-"
"Now wait a second."
"-to pilot."
He startled as though punched. "What? I don't need you to pilot. Jesus! I'm the pilot. How come no one remembers I'm a damn GREAT pilot?! Why would you even ask that?"
She tilted her head and crossed her arms as Rocket turned red under his fur.
"What I need are the coordinates to Earth, and I'm bettin' you have them in that microchip brain of yours."
And there it was. He pieced her back together, because she was his only way to that nothing planet and its nobody inhabitants. Like Peter Quill. Who Gamora defended and saved, even loved if that were possible. Who now had locked himself away.
Good, she thought. Let him rot.
Something glaring stood out to Nebula about the rodent's speech. "My sister made a deal with the God of Lies."
Rocket snorted. "So, you've heard of him too, huh? Nice guy. Sorta. Not a big fan of your dad, let me tell you. But he and Gamora clicked, so she made a deal, and then Mantis and Groot…hey," he turned to Mantis. "Where's Groot?"
Nebula watched the woman's tentacles droop.
"Ah, Christ. And Drax?"
She nodded, lip trembling as her shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. Rocket marched from the room without another word.
Nebula turned back to Mantis. "Tell me the details of this deal."
Mantis raised her wide eyes to Nebula, their sad depths appearing larger as they focused. "The prince's sadness ran very deep, though he attempted to hide it. Sadness for this one," she said as she laid a reverent hand on Thor's forehead. "I felt it. As did your sister, though in a different way. She understood his loss better than any of us."
Nebula waited, growing impatient as the silence stretched. She would not ask what had happened. She would wait out this girl just as she had the rodent. But Mantis only stared back as her fingers idly brushed through the God of Thunder's shorn hair. Questions danced in her eyes alongside an emotion Nebula knew well and hated. One she had seen so often written across her sister's face. Anger overrode the calm she had tried so hard to maintain since Thanos had stolen Gamora on Knowhere. Always Gamora. His favorite, his chosen daughter.
"Hold your pity. How dare you! You are nothing. A speck of dust in the vastness of the universe. I could kill you where you sit and feel nothing but satisfaction." Later, she would wonder why she had not reached for her guns.
Mantis simply tilted her chin forward, her dreamy voice never rising. "We are all specks, I think. Your sister is. As is Prince Loki. But she understood him. All because of you. She made the deal, because of you. She risked her love with Peter Quill, because of you. Every move that Gamora made since last we saw you has been to find and protect you, because she believed and hoped she could save you. And the prince understood that, because he believed and hoped he could save his brother."
The slight woman stood, pulling herself wearily toward Nebula.
"That is why Gamora went to Knowhere. To collect the Reality Stone and then meet the Prince where great warriors wait to defend the world against the Titan. Because he swore to help her find you once his brother was safe."
Nebula cut the distance between them and bared down at Mantis. "Loki of Asgard is a betrayer and liar. The God of Mischief. My sister was a fool to trust him, and the rodent captain of this flying disaster is more a fool to continue Gamora's ridiculous missive. You will all die, and Thanos will win."
With that, Nebula dashed toward the door to the cockpit, ignoring the echo of shouts from the direction Rocket had left. She slid into the left pilot's seat and sealed the cockpit door, typing in coordinates of every system Gamora had visited over the past decade. One after another, names flashed through the console, and one after another, Nebula rejected them. Where could the Soul Stone be? Where could Thanos take Gamora? Back to Titan with three stones? Or find the Soul Stone first? Or would he go to that waterlogged planet where the liar prince had requested Gamora bring his dead brother?
Nebula screamed and slammed a fist into a wire box left open and messy near the communications port. The impact shook loose a cover on a green button that began to rapidly blink. She stood, taking three long strides away from the light and tearing a panel from the wall to use as a shield.
A throat cleared, and her neck snapped toward the sound.
"Yeah, so that's just a blinky light. Always on the fritz. I don't think you'll need a shield. But, you know, maybe. If it makes you feel better."
She pulled a gun from her thigh holster and aimed it at the right pilot's seat, putting pressure on the trigger. A high whistle and a slight breeze left her clutching only air as her gun and the bottom half of her shield clanked to the ground.
A lanky man with a happy grin waved at her, a fiery red fin protruding from the top of his head.
She ground her teeth. "Kraglin."
"Hi again. Sorry you didn't get to kill your dad. I know you really, really wanted to." Nebula tilted her head, slowly reaching for the second gun. Kraglin gave a quick chirp, and that godforsaken arrow stopped an inch from her fingers. "Nope. Can't let you do that. Got specific orders from the Cap'n…well, other Cap'n. Erm. I mean, Rocket," Kraglin's nose pinched in confusion, and he shook his head to clear it. "Anywho. My orders are to follow Miss Gamora's agreement with the scary vampire wizard god. Didn't get to meet him myself. I'm a super heavy sleeper, you know? But I heard he was pretty impressive." He scratched at the tiny hairs along his fin. "You know, for a dude."
A pounding on the cockpit door saved Kraglin from the fine string of hateful words Nebula had been preparing. She doubted the stupidity on this ship could rise any higher.
The door lock disengaged, and Peter Quill burst into the cockpit followed closely by Rocket. Drax and Groot peaked into the door like a pair of nosy neighbors over a short hedge.
"No, Rocket! This is my ship. I'm the Captain. I give the orders. I say where we go and where we don't go. Kraglin!"
The man in question jumped to attention. "Yes, Cap'n?"
"Under no circumstances are we going to Earth."
Kraglin sat. "Yes, sir."
Rocket shoved Nebula aside and jumped onto the left pilot's seat. "Kraglin!"
Kraglin jumped back up. "Yes, other Cap'n?"
"We talked about this. I'm giving the orders since Quill abandoned us and locked himself away for three days. We're going to Earth!"
Kraglin sat. "Yes, sir."
"No!" Peter yelled, ripping Kraglin from his seat by his lapel and grabbing the controls. He pressed several buttons, then slammed them with his fist, before screaming at the ceiling. "How the hell am I locked out of my own ship?!"
Silence descended, thick and ugly, and Nebula looked from one guilty, grieving face to another. No one dared answer, and over two, then five, then ten minutes, the arrogance and fire and fight in Peter Quill drained away.
"She locked me out," he whispered.
Rocket dropped from his perch and wrung his clawed fingers. "She made a deal, Quill," he said quietly. "She thought-"
"She thought. Yeah. She. Thought." A spark ignited in Peter once more. "Gamora thought that the GD God of Lies' mission was more important than me. She thought this," his arm windmilled toward Nebula, but his eyes never left the control panel, "whack job was more important than me. She thought she had to lie and scheme with you, Rocket, about frickin' Thanos, because she thought... She thought..."
Fury stole his voice as he marched to Rocket and pointed a shaking finger in his face, hissing each word.
"I will never forgive you, and I will never forgive her. And I don't care if the entire universe burns to the ground and everyone dies and Thanos wins. I will never take this ship to Earth. She thought a lot, Rocket. A. Lot. And she was WRONG!"
"No." The click of the safety on Nebula's gun echoed behind Peter's bitter words. She stood tall, eyes bright, and pointed the barrel at Quill's temple. "She was not wrong. Everything is more important than you."
Rocket sighed. "Geez, and I thought Drax had the least tact." He drew his gun and shrugged, pointing it halfheartedly at Quill. "Sorry, Quill, but this thing with Thanos? It's big. Bigger than you. Bigger than any of us."
A hesitant whistle wound through the group, and a red arrow joined the weapons pointed at Star-Lord.
"Sorry, Cap'n," Kraglin said with a trembling lip. "But I don't think Miss Gamora would want anyone else to die."
Peter straightened under their scrutiny, betrayal and agony and crushing sadness reddening his face, wetting his eyes, and tensing his jaw. He stared at Nebula, ignoring Mantis as she slipped between Drax and Groot, her eyes soft and fixed on Peter.
"She's going to die, isn't she?" Peter whispered.
Nebula nodded once, face blank as she hid the pain carving up her insides, worse than any torment Thanos ever dealt her.
A single tear slid down Quill's cheek, and he swiped it away with a roll of his shoulder against his jaw. He looked to Rocket, one open palm raised and pleading. "We gotta get her back." His voice cracked on the final word.
Rocket shook his head, not even trying to hide his own tears. "Quill, I… You know we can't." He cleared his throat. "She told me Thanos might take her, and she put all her money on us getting to Loki and whatever super heroes he was talkin' about. Maybe…maybe if we all gang up on Thanos and stop him, maybe...maybe she'll get through this too. You know? Maybe nobody has to die."
Nebula hated hope, but even she prayed in that moment that Rocket was right.
Mantis stepped to Peter Quill, a tentative hand raised in invitation. She waited for his eyes to meet hers. A question etched lines in his forehead as another tear raced from his eye. He didn't wipe it away.
"We cannot know the future. But for now, I can ease your hurt and let you rest during our journey. We will need you in this fight."
He did not move, only breathed in and out heavily as though his lungs no longer understood their function. Then he sighed, his entire body expanding with the effort, and he gave Mantis a small nod. She smiled in return, a tenuous thing full of sympathy and relief as she wound her delicate fingers through his. Light filled her antennae at the contact with his bare skin.
She led him from the cockpit, through the doorway, across the med bay, and patted the cot beside Thor. A fresh pillow and clean blanket had been made ready, and a tall glass of something issued wisps of steam from its place on the panel next to the cots. Mantis handed it to Peter, taking care not to release his hand until she placed the glass between his relaxing fingers.
"Drink this, and lie down."
He obeyed as a tired child, Mantis' emotional soothing already affecting him just as it had affected his father for so many years. Thankfully, it was simple grief that exhausted Peter Quill, not the vapid ambitions of a mad man. Peter climbed onto the cot, arranging his head comfortably on the pillow. With soft, cooing sounds and a palm to his forehead, Mantis sifted though the agonized heartbreak and betrayal inside Peter Quill's mind and allowed him respite from all of it, if only for a short while.
Nebula watched from the doorway, half hidden and as far from the others as possible. She would deny it if ever asked, but in that moment, she began to understand why her sister had stayed with this group of obnoxious vagrants. There was compassion here. And sharing. Sharing of grief and hope and mission. And understanding. And forgiveness. Constant and painful forgiveness. It tempted even her, and she wanted so badly to shoot something if only to distract her from these soft feelings.
The rodent – no, Rocket – was staring at her just as she was sure he had stared at Gamora before they stepped off this miserable ship and onto the soiled shores of Knowhere. Questioning, but also knowing. She ignored him and walked with sure and quick steps to Kraglin's vacated seat. She plugged her circuitry into the wall of the ship and set the coordinates.
Only then did she meet Rocket's eyes as he took the Captain's seat. She looked to Kraglin as he stood between them. Drax, Groot, Mantis. She catalogued each one of them as they squeezed into the cockpit and looked to her. Depended on her.
Believed in her.
She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the foreign feeling of being needed. Wanted. And needing and wanting in return. Her gaze again found Rocket, and they shared a nod.
"We go to Earth," she said.
He leaned forward over his controls. "Yeah, we sure do."
She watched the stars as the ship burst forward. "And we stop Thanos."
