Ten minutes can feel like a heartbeat or an eternity depending on what you're stealing. For Leander Hayes, it was just enough time to burn a set of star-charts into his brain that most people would kill to own.
Hatton rolled out from behind the massive sensing array, his mechanical wheelchair whirring softly. In his thick, silver-skinned fingers, he held a small, polished shard of Leander's reinforced metal. He looked like a man who had just found a diamond in a coal mine but was trying his best to pretend it was just shiny glass.
The tablet Leander had been using sat on the table, its screen a dull, lifeless grey. Every byte of the data Leander had just consumed—the files on Peter Quill, the coordinates of Earth, the Ravager flight paths—had been wiped clean. Or so it seemed.
"Alright, kid, time's up," Hatton grunted, tossing the shard onto a nearby tray. "This stuff isn't half bad. I couldn't find an exact match in the galactic registry, but it's a solid mid-to-advanced elemental alloy. High melting point, decent stress resistance. It'd make a hell of a hull plating for a deep-space scout."
Hatton leaned forward, his small, beady eyes squinting. "How much more of this do you have? I'll give you a one-time offer: fifty thousand credits for the coordinates of where you dug this up. Or, if you've got a freighter full of it, I'll buy the whole lot right now."
Leander just smiled—that calm, slightly unnerving smile that made people wonder what he was hiding under his skin. "Never mind, Hatton. That was the last of it. A lucky find in a junk pile. Goodbye."
He didn't wait for a receipt. He turned and walked out, the heavy silver door hissing shut behind him with a final, decisive clunk.
Inside the shop, Hatton's expression shifted instantly. The "jolly merchant" facade melted away, replaced by the cold, calculating look of a predator. He tapped a command into his armrest, and the "wiped" tablet flickered back to life. On a secondary holographic screen, a detailed log of Leander's activity appeared: the specific files he'd opened, how long he'd stared at the Earth coordinates, and the links he'd followed regarding the Ravagers.
"What the hell is so special about Quill?" Hatton muttered, his silver eyeliner catching the light. "And why is a kid with a pocket full of exotic metal looking for a primitive backwater like Earth?"
He started a background search, trying to see if there was a bounty on Leander he'd missed. But a sudden, rhythmic thumping on the door interrupted him. Hatton glanced at his security feed. Leander was standing outside again.
The door slid open. Leander walked back in, but this time his hands were empty... until he reached behind his back. With a metallic thud, he slammed a perfectly square, heavy block of reinforced metal onto Hatton's counter. It was half the size of a suitcase and dense enough to make the reinforced glass groan.
"I almost forgot," Leander said, his tone breezy and informal. "I haven't paid Yumi's finder's fee. Use this to settle the tab."
Hatton's jaw practically hit his chest. The sheer volume of the alloy in that block was worth a small fortune. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, glowing cube—a standard credit-bracelet. "Look, kid, you're clearly not wearing a comm-link or a wallet. Take this. It's got three thousand credits loaded on it. Consider it a down payment on the metal. Give Yumi her cut yourself."
Leander didn't take it. Instead, he snapped his fingers. The small cube flew from Hatton's hand, spinning through the air like a guided missile. But it didn't hit Hatton; it struck the merchant's own wrist, the metal unfolding and snapping into a snug, glowing bracelet around Hatton's thick arm.
"Give it to her in my name," Leander laughed, already halfway out the door. "Keep the change. I'm not really a 'jewelry' guy."
Hatton's face went sour. He tried to rip the bracelet off, but it was locked tight to his bio-signature. He looked at his wrist, the data display showing a balance of three thousand lira. Where did he get that much metal? Was someone waiting for him in the hall? He grabbed a handheld scanner and ran a red beam over the block Leander had left. He was looking for a tracking device, something he could use to follow the boy back to his source.
But as the red beam hit the metal, it sizzled and died. Leander hadn't just left a payment; he had used his internal energy to fry the miniature tracker Hatton had tried to slip into the credit cube.
"Wary little bastard," Hatton cursed. He looked toward the back of his shop. "Yumi! What the hell are you doing back there? Get out here!"
The door to the monitor room slid open, and a frantic, purple-skinned Yumi stumbled out. "Hatton! Where is he? And what's wrong with your security? The whole grid went dark for five minutes! I couldn't see a thing!"
"He's gone," Hatton said, his voice low. "He looked at the Peter Quill files and vanished. Didn't even take his change. Do you have any idea who that kid is? Does he have a grudge against the Ravagers?"
Yumi stared at the door, her face contorting with greed and frustration. "I don't care if he hates the Kree or the Queen of England! That metal is an exoskeleton-grade alloy! Do you know what the tech-corps would pay for a steady supply of that? I'm going after him."
"Don't be a fool," Hatton warned. "He's not as green as he looks."
"Nonsense!" Yumi shouted, already halfway to the exit. "I brought him here, he's my score. And who the hell took down the statue at the entrance?!"
She rushed out into the street, her mind already calculating the price of a new ship.
Xandar Streets
Leander stepped out into the blinding Xandarian sun. The crowds were thicker now, a river of colorful skins and strange languages. He looked up at the sky, watching the sleek, needle-like patrol ships of the Nova Corps screaming overhead.
Should have taken the money, he thought with a sigh. He realized he didn't have a single credit for a taxi, and he was already forty minutes late for his rendezvous with Jason. He had twenty minutes to cross three kilometers of high-tech urban sprawl.
He closed his eyes, extending his senses. In the chaotic noise of the city's electromagnetic field, he looked for a specific frequency—the jagged, angry "hum" of the Ghost Shadow's reactor. He found it. Jason hadn't left. In fact, he was less than three kilometers away, tucked into a shady corner of the industrial district.
Heh. At least he's predictable, Leander thought.
He didn't want to fly—using his powers in the middle of a Nova-protected zone was a one-way ticket to a high-security prison—so he settled for a fast, ground-level jog. He moved through the crowd like a ghost, his body naturally adjusting its density to slip through gaps that shouldn't have existed.
Meanwhile, in a dark, grease-stained corner of the district, Jason emerged from a shop specializing in "unregulated" hardware. He was carrying a brand-new electromagnetic pulse-rifle, its casing a matte black that seemed to swallow the light. He'd also updated the stabilizers on his waist and replaced several worn-out components of his flight suit.
"Damn Kree," Jason muttered, adjusting his mask. "Signing peace treaties with Xandar? They're just looking for a new way to stab us in the back."
He hadn't even taken ten steps toward his ship when he saw a familiar figure leaning against a cargo crate, watching him with an amused expression.
"Let's go," Leander said, pushing off the crate. "I've got what I need. Take me back to the ship."
Jason jumped, his hand darting toward his new rifle before he realized who it was. He didn't say a word. He just grunted, hailed a drone-taxi, and gestured for Leander to get in.
"The ship," Leander asked as they sped toward the landing strip. "Does it have enough juice for a long haul? You said you needed to resupply."
"It's already done," Jason said, tapping a display on his wrist. "Automated docking fees include a standard fuel-dump. Cost me five thousand credits, though. Xandar is a rip-off."
"Five thousand?" Leander whistled. "That's a lot of fuel."
"It'll get us through the next few sectors," Jason said, his eyes lingering on Leander. "Usually, we only top off like this once every three months. You plan on going somewhere far?"
"Far enough," Leander replied.
They reached the hangar and climbed aboard the Ghost Shadow. The ship groaned as the engines cycled up, the familiar vibration of the deckplates under Leander's feet feeling strangely comforting. They lifted off, clearing the Xandarian atmosphere and punching into the velvet black of the starscape.
But they weren't alone.
Shortly after the Ghost Shadow cleared the orbital ring, a strange, triangular ship—painted a garish, sickly yellow—slipped out of a nearby docking bay and fell in behind them.
Inside the triangular ship, three yellow-skinned aliens sat in a cramped cockpit. One was at the helm, eyes fixed on the heat signature of Jason's engines. In the back, Yumi sat with a companion, both of them checking the power cells on a massive, heavy-duty disruptor cannon.
"They're moving fast," Yumi's partner said, a jagged smile spreading across his face. "Think the kid's got more of that metal in the hold?"
"He's a walking gold mine," Yumi replied, her eyes dark with malice. "And gold mines don't need to be alive to be profitable."
Back on the Ghost Shadow, a red light began to pulse on the dashboard. Jason looked at the expensive, deep-space sensor he'd just installed. His jaw tightened.
"Leander... we've got company," Jason said, his voice tight. "And they aren't Nova Corps. They're following our wake perfectly. Someone wants what's in your pockets, kid."