"So when they springin' ya from this place, anyway?" Kraglin asked. He was sitting on the edge of Peter's bed in the Ambassador's Suite in Nova Headquarters.

"Tomorrow."

"Then what?"

"Depends on what this doctor can tell me about my father. I know it's all connected somehow . . . I just don't know how."

"Yeah, we're shippin' out soon too. Got a big job, Cap says."

"Thanks for bringing me this stuff, man. I was goin' crazy here." Scattered across the bedcovers were a handheld video game (Terran, Eighties vintage-though Kraglin's opinion was that "vintage" translated as "old piece of crap"), a few books in that Terran language that both Peter and the Captain read fluently, a coloring book and markers, and the most important item of all, Peter's beloved Walkman.

"Got fresh batteries in there, too. Scored a whole bunch of 'em for ya."

"That's great, Krag. Thanks a lot. So this is your home planet, right?"

"I guess."

"You gonna go check out the old haunts while you're here? Maybe look up some of your family members?"

The Ravager's face darkened. "Ain't nothin' for me here anymore. Family's all dead-ones I care 'bout, anyway. No good memories left. 'S kinda like how you've never been back to Terra in all these years."

Peter looked uncomfortable. "I don't wanna go back to the place where my momma died."

"It's the same for me. She died, an' my uncle sold me into slavery, an' that was that. I'll jus' go back t' the ship till we're ready to leave."

"Sorry, man, I didn't know."

"'s okay."

"Hey, Kraglin?"

"Yeah?"

Peter shifted back into a sitting position. "Yondu knows who my dad is, doesn't he?"

"Dunno. Maybe."

"How come he never told me, if he knew?"

"Why'nt ya ask him that?"

"Cause he won't tell me."

"I'll tell ya what I do know: right after we picked you up, Cap got a call from some guy. Went t' his room to take it. Came back and told me to turn the ship around. Didn't say why. After that . . . he kept ya close t' him. Like he was expectin' trouble. I dunno."

"You don't know who my dad is, do you, Krag?"

For a moment, Kraglin almost said, "Yeah. Yes, Peter, I do know who your dad is. He's the guy who's always stuck by ya, no matter what. The guy who taught ya how to fight, how to shoot, how to fly. Who sat up all night beside yer bed when you were sick or hurt. Who'd put a hole through any man who so much as looked at ya funny. Who's killed eight men who were tryin' to kill you, 'fore they could get to ya. Who only put that bounty out on ya cause he knew you'd never come home no other way! An' he's never said the words I love you, but only 'cause he didn't have to. He's shown ya every day you been with us, Pete. That's your dad. That's who he is."

Instead, he said, "Nope. Cap'n never told me who 'e was. Sorry."

"It was worth a shot, right?"

To his surprise (as well as Peter's), Kraglin reached down and gave the younger man a brief hug. "You take care o' y'rself, hear me?"

"Yeah, sure. Um, I'll be in touch."

"I hope you find yer dad, Pete. I really do." He didn't, of course. He knew there was a reason that Yondu hadn't delivered the boy to his father. He didn't know what that reason was, but it had to be serious, considering the money the man had offered, which Yondu had never collected.

With nothing further to say, Kraglin left the room, the building, and the planet.

He's seven years old, playing on the swings during recess, when it comes up again. Someone asks Peter where his dad is.

And instead of saying he doesn't know, or making up something realistic, Peter tells the most outrageous lie he's ever told anyone.

"Don't let this get around, okay? My dad . . . is David Hasslehoff."

Utter silence on the playground as every head turns to him. He waits to see what they'll say. Then . . . everyone laughs at him.

"It's true! I have proof! Here!" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tattered scrap of paper. "This is the napkin he signed when he stopped at the High Side Diner on December twenty-third, nineteen seventy-nine! See, he signed and dated it!"

They're still laughing. No one ever believes him.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a black car pulls into the schoolyard and screeches to a halt by the jungle gym. The door hisses open, and out steps David Hasslehoff himself.

"C'mon, Peter, I need you!"

Peter looks around with a smug grin. "See? I told you!"

He steps forward, but a laser blast fries the air in front of him.

"That's far 'nough, Pete. Don't you go with this man!" It's Yondu, holding the biggest laser rifle Peter has ever seen. "You step away from him, boy!"

Hasslehoff turns and looks at the intruder. "He's my son, not yours. You're the one who should leave."

"I told ya you'd get yer hands on him over my dead body! Get back in yer shiny car and get outta here, jackass!"

"Mr. Quill . . ."

One of the teachers is calling him, but Peter can't take his eyes off the two men, his two fathers, facing off in the suddenly empty schoolyard.

"Mr. Quill!"

There's only one thing he can do. He steps forward, just as Yondu fires his weapon, jumping in front of the blast to save the father he loves . . .

"Mr. Quill!"

Peter jerked awake suddenly, still feeling laser fire crackling in his hair. The dream had seemed so real. "Huh? What?" He looked up and saw a woman standing over him. Pink skin. Not Gamora, then.

"I was told you wanted to speak to me?"

Oh, right. The doctor who knew his dad. "Yeah. Uh . . . thanks for coming. Sorry, I'm . . . I had this really weird dream . . ."

She smiled. "What can I do for you, sir?"

Peter shoved the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wasn't getting up, not just yet, but sitting here was good enough for now. "The last time we met, you told me that my father had enemies."

"Yes. What about it?"

"Well, see . . . I never knew who my father was. So I was kinda surprised that you did."

She cocked her head in an expression of surprise. "You don't? I'm sorry, I thought you did."

"Nope. Never met the man. My mom always said he was gonna come back for us, but . . ."

"I see."

"So I was hoping you could tell me what you know about him."

"May I?" She gestured to the chair beside the bed, and Peter nodded. She sat down. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew."

"Knew what?"

"They say . . ." She took a deep breath and waved her hands in the air in front of her as if erasing a blackboard. "It's well-known that King J'son of Spartax traveled extensively in his youth. He visited several planets on the fringe of the galaxy. Terra was one of those. It's rumored that he had a relationship with a Terran woman, and that it was cut short when his father died and he was forced to return home. They say his Terran wife had a child . . . right around the time you were born."

It made sense. "Wow, imagine that. I'm royalty. Maybe. How could I find out for sure?"

"There are simple tests. You'd need a sample of his DNA."

"Right. I'm just gonna march up to the king of Spartax and ask him to spit in a cup."

"It's possible," she said, "that he's been looking for you too."

After she left, Peter muttered under his breath, "If he's the one who's been sending all these assassins after me, then he's already found me."

Later that day, two more doctors came in to check on him.

"Glad to see you two getting along," Peter said.

"We won't exactly be pen pals," Corfla said, "but at least we've come to an understanding. Learned a few things from each other, too."

"I've never done combat field medicine," said Dr. Metla, the Xandarian physician who had been treating Peter for exhaustion, "but I think I may give it a try if I get the chance. It sounds fascinating."

"Well, great. Best of luck to you."

"I have something for you here, my boy." Corfla held out a tall glass of white liquid. "You need to drink this, three times a day for the next week. It's a kind of supplement."

"Really?" Peter took it and drank half before the taste hit him. "Ugh! Tastes like chalk!"

"Finish it."

"Aw, c'mon, Doc-"

"You have to drink it all. It's that or an IV." He gave Peter an uncharacteristically hard look.

"Okay, fine . . . what's that out there in the hall behind you?"

Metla turned to look, but Corfla was expecting trickery. "No, you don't. You're not dumping it out when my back is turned. Drink it."

"Really thought that would work."

"It did work. When you were eight years old. We've come a long way since then, haven't we? Be an adult and take your medicine."

Peter gave up and swallowed the rest of the disgusting swill. "Gross! I really have to drink this three times a day?"

"I don't get it. What am I supposed to be looking at?" Metla peered out into the corridor.

"Never mind," said Corfla. "You can go now. I want to talk to Mr. Quill alone."

"Right. I'll, uh . . . be going."

When he was gone, Corfla took a seat in the bedside chair. "You know we're shipping out soon?"

"Yeah, Kraglin told me."

"We've got to earn a living, you know. Can't hang around to babysit you, assassins or not."

"I know. Thanks for helping out. So, where's the rest of that stuff?"

"The supplement?"

"Yeah. I'll pack it in my bag for when I leave this place."

Corfla smiled. "I've already given it to your lady friend. Didn't want you throwing out the airlock as soon as you were underway."

"Crap!" Gamora might actually hurt him if he refused to take the stuff, or tried to hide it. "You're diabolical, you know that, Doc?"

"How do you think I survived living among the Ravagers for thirty-plus years?"

He leaned closer to the bed. "Whatever happens next, have faith. Things will turn out all right. Do you remember when we talked about trusting a higher power?"

"That was a long time ago. I . . . don't know what I believe anymore."

"Don't give me that. The man who reached out and grabbed an Infinity Stone with his bare hands had to have faith in something. You don't make the life choices you've made without believing there will always be a safety net. Maybe life isn't fair, but it all works itself out eventually."

"He never lets me go! I'm ten years old, I'm not a baby! It's just not fair!"

Corfla listens to him rant and then he says, "I suppose you told the captain all this already?"

"He won't listen! He just says, 'Life ain't fair, boy. Get used to it.'"

"He does have a point."

Peter stares at him.

"Life isn't fair. It wasn't fair that you lost your mother at a young age. It wasn't fair that I was forced into the position of choosing between my career and justice for my people. It wasn't fair that the captain was cut off from the other Ravager tribes for . . . for one bad business decision. But those things happened. We can't change that. My boy, when bad things happen to you, you can either whine about it not being fair, or . . ."

"Or what?"

"Or you can wait and see what life has in store for you. Let me ask you this, Peter: what god or gods do you believe in?"

He thinks about it. "Jesus, I guess."

"Tell me about this Jesus."

"Um . . ." He tries to remember long-ago Sunday school classes. "He traveled around, healing the sick and telling people what God the Father was like . . ."

"What's special about him? What's unique?"

"He loved everybody." Grandma taught him that. "Rich, poor, young, old, white, black . . . or blue, green, red, or gray, I guess. He loves us all."

"You trust Him, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"I don't believe in a specific god, but I do believe there is an Intelligence that guides the universe and watches over us. When I lost my license and was cast off Xandar, I found a place in a small clinic that needed medical personnel, licensed or not. It was there that I met Captain Yondu, and found a greater need here. You see my point?"

"I . . . think so."

"Instead of complaining that things aren't fair, keep your eyes and your mind open for whatever your Jesus has planned for you. Trust in Him, and you will never be disappointed."

"Okay."

That night, just before he goes to sleep, Peter says his prayers for the first time since his momma died.

It felt good to be back on the Milano after days of confinement, if you could call a stay in a luxury suite confinement. He hadn't seen anything but the same four walls in days. Now he was home, and everything was going to be all right.

"We're going to Spartax," he told the others. "I'll tell you why as soon as we're underway."

"You haven't filed a flight plan, have you?" asked Rocket.

"Course not. That would be like hanging out a sign saying PLEASE KILL ME. I've had enough of looking over my shoulder for the man with the gun. It's time to move forward."

"First things first," said Gamora, setting a tall glass of white liquid in front of him. "We don't move till that's gone."

"Oh, come on! I'll have it later."

"You'll forget later. Do it now, get it out of the way."

"Okay, fine. I'll drink it. You can go . . . do whatever. Come back and it'll be gone."

She wasn't buying it. "If you dump it on the floor," she said, "I will make you lick it up. Every drop."

"What? No! I would never-"

She pointed to the glass, which was at an angle already.

"Whoops!" He tilted it back upright. "You really think I would . . . don't you trust me?"

"In most things, yes. Not in this. Drink it." She sat down opposite him, her eyes glued to his every move.

Just to show her, Peter drank it all in one gulp. He regretted it a moment later when he gagged and almost threw up, but he managed to keep it down. "There," he said. "Happy?"

"That was one," she said. "There are eighteen more doses." With that, she got up and left him.

Rocket chuckled. "Man, she's got you whipped!"

"She does not!"

"She totally does!"

"I am Groot?"

"It means he does whatever she tells him, that's what."

"I do not!" Peter protested. "If I do, it's out of fear. She could literally kill me using only her pinky toes."

Rocket just laughed and made a whip-cracking sound.

"Hey, I am still the boss here!"

"Yeah, then prove it! Go show Gamora who's boss!"

"I would, but . . . I was raised to respect women, not push them around!"

"You are totally whipped and you know it! I got stuff to do. Lemme know when ya need me to blow up stuff. C'mon, Groot."

"I am Groot?" Groot looked around like he still wasn't sure what was going on, but he followed Rocket down to the engineering room. Peter didn't know what they got up to down there, and sometimes he had the feeling that he didn't want to know. But Rocket could be depended on when the others needed him, so Peter let him be, as long as he wasn't building bombs again.

He wasn't, was he?

Nope, no time to worry about that now. They had to get underway and make it to Spartax. He had to find out if King J'son was really his father or not. He'd only waited his whole freaking life to find his dad! There was no way he was gonna back down now!

Drax wandered in. "Do you know where Rocket is?"

Peter pointed downwards.

Drax looked down at the floor. "I don't see him."

"I mean he's down in Engineering."

"Oh." He started toward the hatch, and then turned back. "Where are we going?"

"Spartax. Capital of the Spartax Empire. Hey, wow, I may be heir to a whole empire. Cool."

"Why would you be heir to a place you have never seen?"

"Okay, I wasn't gonna make a big deal of this, but . . . King J'son of Spartax may be my dad."

Drax looked at him blankly. "You don't know?"

"I never knew my dad! He left before I was born. Promised my mom he'd come back for us, but he never did. Or maybe he did, but Yondu had already picked me up . . . anyway, I need to find out if he's really my dad and if so, why he's been sending all those assassins after me."

"No father would want his own child dead."

"Maybe he doesn't know I'm his son. Maybe the whole assassin thing is all just a big misunderstanding. I don't know. I hope we find out when we get there."

There was a sudden boom from the lower deck.

"That better not have been a bomb!" Peter called down.

"It was . . . kind of a bomb!" Rocket called back.

"I will go find out if it was a bomb or not," Drax said, and started climbing down the ladder. Peter decided that now would be a good time to run the preflight checks. He'd been doing them since he was ten years old, sitting beside Yondu (or, more frequently, Kraglin) in the copilot's chair, reading off numbers one after the other. It was second nature to him now.

By the time he was done with the entire sequence, Drax reappeared, Rocket in tow. "It was a bomb," he said. "A small one. This was the only thing damaged." He held something black and smoking out by one corner.

Peter recognized it despite the charring. "Oh, man, not my copy of Lord of the Rings! I paid almost a hundred units for that!"

"This is a holy book?"

Rocket protested, "I wouldn't'a dropped the bomb if the big oaf here hadn't startled me!"

"The other six did not go off," Drax reported.

"Other six? Rocket, we've talked about this! No bombs on the ship! The next one might blow a hole in the hull and kill us all!"

"Well, excuse me for tryin' ta help!"

"I don't have time for this right now! We're about to take off for Spartax. But we'll have a long talk about this once we're underway, buddy!"

"Okay, fine." Rocket shoved something in his pocket and stalked off muttering under his breath.

"Forget the assassins," Peter mused, "my friends are gonna get me killed."

At dawn on the second day, when they were making their final approach, he called everyone together to explain the mission.

"I should have told you this before," he said, "but I was busy." He glared at Rocket, who looked away. "We're going to Spartax, to find my father."

"His father is King J'son," Drax announced. "Maybe."

This made Gamora sit up and take notice. "How long have you known this?"

"Since just before we left Xandar. I'm not a hundred percent sure he's my dad. I'm hoping we can do some kind of DNA test to find out for sure."

"And if he's the guy who's been sendin' the assassins after ya?" asked Rocket.

"I'll ask him why."

"Not without backup, you won't. We're all going." He hefted a huge weapon onto the table, and Peter buried his face in his hands.

"Do we need to have that talk again, Rocket?"

"Maybe. I wasn't listening last time."

"No weapons! We're essentially going on a diplomatic mission. You do not bring weapons on a diplomatic mission!"

"You never leave the ship without your blasters," Gamora pointed out.

"But how often do I use them?"

"Every time."

"Well . . . that's only because we keep getting ourselves into trouble! We just won't get into trouble this time."

"I don't go looking for trouble," Rocket said, activating a second, smaller weapon. "But I'm ready when it finds me."

"Rocket!"

"What? Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. Right, Groot?"

"I am Groot."

"See? Always come prepared."

"And how's it gonna look if we arrive on Spartax with guns blazing? You think they won't shoot back? They're a militaristic society-Yondu called them a bunch of nutters. They've been in a constant state of war for centuries."

"With whom?" asked Gamora.

"Whoever. They'd fight themselves if no one else was around. That's what I've heard, anyway."

"All the more reason we should come prepared." Rocket would not release the death grip he had on his weapon.

"All right, fine!" Peter relented. "We'll bring weapons, but not that thing! Small ones that can be hidden away in a pocket. There's a difference between being prepared and looking for a fight."

"Carryin' concealed, huh?" The raccoon grinned broadly. "Sounds good to me."

Landing on Spartax was not a simple matter. First they had to find an empty berth at the central spaceport. It took nearly an hour of circling overhead before one opened up, in about the farthest spot that existed. And fuel cost about three times on Spartax what it did on outlying planets. Peter winced at the thought of forking over a substantial portion of his hard-earned units just to fill the tank, as it were, but they couldn't make it to the next refueling point on what they had left in the tank.

"Now what?" Gamora asked him. "We can't just march up to the royal palace and demand to see King J'son."

"We can request an audience," Peter said. "If we ask to see him instead of demanding, we might just get in."

"About that . . . is it necessary for us all to see the king? As a group?"

"Absolutely!" In a lower voice, he said, "I don't trust Rocket to wander around the city on his own, and Groot will stick with him. And Drax won't get ten yards without saying or doing something to get himself in trouble. But you're free to go where you want. I know you can take care of yourself."

"Trying to get rid of me, are you?" she said in a teasing voice. "No, I'm sticking with you. And keeping an eye on the others as well."

"Then I guess we go as a team. So now who do we talk to who can let us in to see the king?"

"There's a directory over there," Rocket pointed out. "I saw someone else usin' it. You tell it where you wanna go, and it shows ya."

The directory looked like a tall, flat phone booth. There was a screen which lit up at their approach. WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TODAY?

Peter cleared his throat and said loudly, "Royal Palace."

Nothing happened.

"Royal Palace, please?"

Rocket gave him a withering look. "Can you not read the screen?" He pointed to the perfectly visible instructions: PRESS HERE TO TALK.

"Oh, right. Do I press and hold, or-"

"Oh, for the love of . . ." Rocket rolled his eyes so far back in his head they just about disappeared. "I'll hold, you talk."

"Fine." This time Rocket pressed the small sensor and held it, and Peter spoke again. "Royal palace, please."

The screen lit up with one of those annoying whirling gear images used to indicate loading, and then a grid appeared. YOU ARE HERE and a green arrow appeared on the bottom of the screen. On the top right was a red dot labeled ROYAL PALACE. A dotted line in alternating red and green connected the two.

"That looks easy enough to find. Let's go, then. Stick together, everyb-where's Groot?"

Rocket looked back over his shoulder. "I'll get 'im. You go, we'll catch up."

He scampered back to a huge wrought-iron fountain in the middle of the square. "Hey, Groot, get outta there!"

"I am Groot?"

"Yeah, now!"

"I am Groot!"

"We'll get ya water soon's we get where we're goin'. C'mon!"

"I am Groot?"

"If we hurry we can catch up t' the others! Let's go already!"

"I am Groot!"

"Yeah, I think this is a crazy pointless quest, too, but it means a lot to Quill. Poor guy just needs to know who he is."

"I am Groot?"

"I know he's Peter Quill! I-never mind." The raccoon climbed up onto Groot's shoulder. "Move out!"

The royal palace was . . . not that impressive.

Peter stood staring at a huge concrete block of a building that looked more like a high school or a housing project than the seat of government. His maybe-dad lived here?

"What's wrong?" Gamora asked him.

"Well, it's . . . not what I was expecting. I mean, it's a bit . . . utilitarian, don't you think?"

"Don't look like a church to me," said Rocket.

"I am Groot."

"Well, why didn't he just say 'plain'? Sheesh. Humies." Rocket shook his head and sighed. "Always gotta make ever'thin' complicated."

"A military culture tends to be somewhat stark in its architecture," said Drax. The others looked at him. "What? I read."

"Let's just get this over with." Peter strode up to what appeared to be the main door. There was one guard on it, an attractive brunette in armor which didn't cover as much as it probably should have. This would be a piece of cake. "Hey there. We're the Guardians of the Galaxy. We're here to see King J'son."

She gave him a hard glare. "Do you have an appointment?"

"We don't need an appointment. I told you, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy. We're famous. In fact, you might have heard of me. Star-Lord?"

"No. No, I have not."

Okay. Minor setback. He could still do this. "King J'son's gonna want to see us. Just bump us to the head of the line. I promise you'll be . . . rewarded." He gave her his thousand-watt smile.

"I do not need your money."

"Wasn't talking about money. You're a nice girl. We could go for a stroll and just talk. What time do you get off work?"

She gave him a dubious look. "Who did you say you were?"

"They call me Star-Lord."

"You call you Star-Lord," Rocket muttered. Peter ignored him.

"And why do you need to see my father?"

"Your . . . father?" The implications of that statement hit him, and the thousand-watt smile crashed under the weight of sickening realization. "J'son is your father?"

"I am Captain Victoria of the Royal Guard. Only daughter of the king."

"Well, hi there, Vicky-may I call you Vicky? Yeah, turns out I'm your brother. Well, maybe."

Gamora rolled her eyes.

"Vicky" didn't look very happy that her long-lost brother had come home. Peter wondered idly if she'd been the one to hire the assassins, to get rid of the competition. No, that couldn't be; if she hadn't even heard of him before, she wouldn't have known where to find him or that he was a threat to her.

She brought them inside to a small, plain-looking room and told them to wait.

"Yeah, sure," Peter said. "We've got nothing else to do today."

Victoria gave him a glare and then left the room.

"What is wrong with you?" Gamora demanded of him.

"What? Okay, so maybe I'm a little nervous. Maybe a lot nervous. I mean, I'm meeting my dad for the first time. I hope. Most people are a lot younger than me when they meet their dad. I hope he likes me. This would be a lot easier if I was a cute little baby-"

"Will you cease this inane chatter?" Drax grumbled.

"Okay, okay. Sorry. Like I said, nervous."

What made it worse was that there was absolutely no furniture in the room. No chairs, no tables, no artwork on the walls . . . it was a stark, white room with no comfort or familiarity at all. It almost felt like a prison cell. In fact, Peter had been in prison cells that were homier than this room.

And like a prison cell, there were no windows, and only one door. Which severely limited their escape plans, if it came to that.

Groot sat down on the floor. "I am Groot."

"Yeah, I know," said Rocket. "I'll ask for water if someone ever comes back for us. They have to give us some water, at least, right? Unless they're plannin' ta kill us."

"Not helping!" Peter exclaimed, closing his eyes. He hoped that Rocket was just being overly dramatic and not prophetic.

After what seemed like an hour, Captain Victoria returned. "If you are my brother," she asked Peter, "who was your mother?"

"Her name was Meredith," he said. "She lived on Ear-on Terra. Hey, can we get some water here? And maybe some food?"

"First things first," she said, and jammed something sharp and pointy into his arm.

"Ow! What the hell was that?"

"I need a sample of your blood for the test."

"Test? Like a DNA test? To prove we're related?"

"Among other things. You and your companions will be escorted to your temporary quarters here. You are guests here, not prisoners, but I must advise you to keep only to the public areas of the palace. Any door with this symbol on it," she said, displaying what looked like a crest, "is private family property, and not to be opened."

"But . . . I am family."

"That has yet to be determined. Until it is, you are under restriction. Your food and water will be delivered to your room shortly. Follow me."

She led them through a maze of passages to a dimly lit hallway on the far side of the palace, and stopped at the fourth door down. There was no key to this door; to enter, she swiped a card through the mag lock. She then handed the card to Peter. "I have a duplicate," she told him, "but I am very busy right now. I don't wish to be called up here every few minutes because someone forgot their key."

"Don't worry, sis. I got this." He tucked it into his jacket pocket and immediately forgot its existence, let alone where he had put it.

"I will leave you now. Remember what I said: stay out of any rooms marked with the family crest. Your food and water should arrive shortly." Her face softened into something like a smile. "Welcome to Spartax, brother."

And then she was gone.

"Well, she seemed nice," Peter said, and Gamora gave him a look.

"That is your idea of nice?"

"She didn't try to kill us. That wins her points in my book."

"You have written a book?" asked Drax.

"I mean, she seems to be on our side. Which is useful, if we should need an ally, especially a powerful one."

"I dunno," said Rocket. "What if she changes her mind?"

"Then . . . we'll . . . deal with it. I guess. I hadn't thought that far ahead yet!"

"You hadn't . . ." Rocket sighed and rested his face in one paw. "You always have a plan!"

"I guess I didn't this time. Sorry, guys. I was just so excited about finally meeting my dad that I didn't . . . why are you all looking at me like that?"

Fortunately, the other Guardians were spared having to answer by the arrival of their food and drink. Two guards in plain black uniforms pushed in a cart loaded with all the best food the planet had to offer. There was a pitcher of water, and one of a strange green liquid that Rocket sampled and then rejected. "Fruit juice! Bleah! Couldn't they spare some 'a the good stuff?"

"You are not getting drunk," said Gamora. She helped herself to the green juice. "Not bad. Nicely chilled, too."

The food was even better. Peter had a sample of almost everything on the tray before an unpleasant thought occurred to him. "Guys, wait a minute! We haven't even scanned any of this for poison yet!"

"Little late for that, don't ya think?" The raccoon was trying to fit his snout into a glass that was clearly too small. He gave up and poured the water into a bigger glass.

"If someone here is the one behind all those assassination attempts, don't you think they'll try something now that they have me exactly where they want me?"

"I still do not think your father is trying to kill you," Drax reassured him.

"It doesn't have to be him. It might be someone else in the royal family-"

"Like your sister?" asked Gamora.

"Are you jealous? You are, aren't you? Look, I stopped flirting with her the second I found out she was-might be-my sister. Anyway, she didn't have a clue who I was."

"She could have been faking that."

"I don't think so. She seemed pretty sincere to me."

"You have not had even a nodding acquaintance with sincerity in your life!"

"I am Groot!" Groot suddenly stepped between them, extending his branches to keep them apart.

"He's right!" said Rocket. "Fightin' each other ain't helping. We need to stick together, no matter what. You guys with me?"

Drax bounded to his feet. "Hell, yes!"

"Quill?"

Peter looked around at all his friends. "It's my dad," he explained. "I've been looking my whole life for this, and now-"

"And now what? You're just gonna leave us?"

"I didn't say that!"

"You're the guy that got us all together in the first place! We're all here cause 'a you! You don't get to walk away from us!"

"I'm not!" He took a deep breath. "I promise you, Rocket, no matter what happens, we're all in this together. I won't leave you. I won't."

"Better not."

They turned to the final member of the group.

"What?"

"Gamora . . ."

"I do not trust these people. Especially her. You said yourself that they were . . . what was the word you used? Nutters?"

"That was what Yondu said about them. He could have been wrong."

"There is something wrong with this place, these people. I will stick close to you and watch your back. Together."

"Together," said Quill.

"Together!" Drax roared.

"I am Groot!"

"That's the spirit!" Rocket beamed. "Let's go get 'em-wait, are those cream twisties? I love cream twisties!" He scooped up the entire tray and gobbled them all down at once. "Okay," he said around a mouthful of cream, "we'll go get 'em after we eat!"

"C'mon, you jackass, answer me a'ready!"

"Cap'n? We're ready in the-what're you doin'?"

Yondu whirled around and saw Kraglin standing in the doorway. "I'll be right there!"

"You ain't callin' that jackass ag'in, are ya?"

"He's avoidin' me. Don' wanna talk t' me."

"So stop tryin'. Been days an' yer still callin' him. Give up a'ready!"

Yondu gave his first mate a long, hard look. "You mind yer business! I'll be there in a minute!"

"Yes, sir." Kraglin slunk away, and Yondu tried to call again.

And got the same response. Or lack thereof.

It was his own fault, really. The last time he'd spoken to the other man, he'd told him he didn't want anything more to do with him. That their business was finished. He'd thought they'd come to some sort of agreement about that, but now . . .

"You have my son?" Ego asked.

"I got 'im," Yondu confirmed. "Right where you said 'e'd be."

"Deliver him to the usual coordinates. I'll be waiting."

"Hold on a minute. Lemme say hi to Nyssa first."

"Nyssa? She's . . ." Ego's image had wavered, just for a second. "She's out playing."

"Karn? Tigo? They out playin' too?"

"They all are. They like to play outside."

"Call 'em in f'r a second. Jus' so I can say hi."

"I don't think that's-"

"No, I didn't think so. I d'livered six kids t' you. Each time, I looked for the last one, and they weren't around. Funny how they just . . . weren't there."

"I don't know what you're-"

"Y'know, I ain't a father, but I know men who are. An' ya can't shut 'em up 'bout their kids. Cute things they done today, the funny li'l things they say, how big they're gettin'. You never talk 'bout yer kids. Not one damn word. Why is that?"

"So I don't talk about them. So-"

"I scanned th' planet fer life signs!" Yondu exploded. "Ain't nob'dy there but you! No kids! None at all! What'd you do with 'em?"

Ego was silent for a long time. Then he said, "They weren't what I was looking for. But Peter is. I'm sure of it."

"A parent's s'posed ta love 'is kids no matter what! Not kill 'em!"

"You don't understand-"

"What? What don' I understand? A pile o' bones bigger 'n a city, at the core of yer planet? How long you been doin' this?"

"Longer than you can imagine. I'm what's known as a Celestial, an ancient immortal-"

"Means y' can't be killed?"

"Means I've been waiting a long time for the one to share my dominion with me. I believe Peter is that one."

"An' that's worth a pile o' dead kids?"

"You will deliver Peter to me immediately."

"The hell I will! You ain't never gettin' yer hands on that boy! Not 's long's there's breath in my body!"

"You won't get paid, you know."

"Don't care 'bout the money!" Yondu raged, but he would miss Ego's sizeable payouts. That money had paid for upgrades to the ship that weren't possible any other way. It had kept Yondu and his crew going through tough times. But now that he knew what that money had really bought, he felt sick. No amount of money was worth a child's life. Let alone six. And how many more had there been, brought by others with whom Ego had his "business arrangements"?

Ego's electronic avatar did not seem perturbed in the least by this turn of events. "You don't understand," he said. "I've been around a long, long time. A hundred years is the blink of an eye to me. You won't be around forever. All I have to do is wait till you're gone, and then come for Peter. He should be fully grown by then. It's easier to teach them when they're younger, but if he's like me, and I'm positive he is, he'll just be coming into his full power by age fifty or so. And he'll be by my side when you're no more than a distant memory."

"Ah don't think so. I'll take him so far away you'll never find 'im."

"Good luck with that."

"We're done 'ere. Have a long, lonely life, jackass." And with that, Yondu cut the transmission.

He stormed out of the Captain's Quarters and back to where he'd left the kid with Kraglin. They were in a small room off the galley, eating some packaged foodstuff that Yondu had picked up on Terra.

He pulled Kraglin aside and gave him the order. They were going to Knowhere instead of the drop-off point. And if Ego followed . . . well, Knowhere was made from the severed head of a Celestial. So he'd see that they weren't unkillable after all.

So what was Ego's plan now? Why was he sending assassins after his son? It didn't make any sense, but Yondu wasn't concerned about the sense of it. He just wanted to keep the boy alive.

He entered the bridge and sat in his command chair. The troll doll that Peter had hidden in the fake orb was standing tall in the place of honor. Cute little thing. According to the boy, his dad had won it for his mom at a fair or something. Yondu stared at it, and suddenly it was wearing Ego's face.

Y' ain't gettin' yer hands on that boy, he vowed again.

"Y' gettin' a signal fr'm the tracker we put on Quill's ship?" he inquired.

"Got 'im," said Kraglin. "Y' ain't gonna b'lieve this, Cap'n. He's on Spartax."

"Spartax? What th' hell's he doin' there?"

"Dunno. Should I set course?"

"He in danger?"

"Nah. Ship's just sittin' there. Parked."

"We wait, then. Keep a safe distance away till we know what 'e's up ta. We don' go to Spartax 'less we have ta."

The first mate nodded. "Maintainin' position, sir."

They hadn't gone anywhere near Spartax or any of its imperial possessions in nearly thirty years, and everyone on board, except the newest newbies, knew why.

He sat in his chair, grinned at the troll doll with Ego's face, and waited.