Mackenzi Lee - Gamora and Nebula: Sisters in Arms

2021 MARVEL

All rights reserved. Published by Marvel Press, an imprint of Buena Vista Books, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Marvel Press, 77 West 66th Street, New York, New York 10023.

First Edition, June 2021

Designed by Kurt D. Hartman

Cover art by Jenny Frison

Cover design by Kurt Hartman

ISBN 978-1-368-05670-0

Visit www.DisneyBooks.com

and www.Marvel.com

For Dad

We Are Groot.

TRANSCRIPTSECURITY FOOTAGE

THE GRANDMASTERS COSMIC GAME ROOM

19:00 HOURS 90-190-294874

[THE GRANDMASTER IS SEATED ON HIS THRONE. HIS HAIR IS PERFECT. HIS CLOTHES, TAILORED. HIS MAKEUP, FLAWLESS. ALL CAMERAS HAVE BEEN PLACED IN THIS ROOM ACCORDING TO HIS SPECIFIC INSTRUCTIONS TO CAPTURE HIS BEST ANGLES.]

[A GUEST ENTERS THE FRAME OF THE SECURITY CAMERA.]

[ID CHECK: ERROR. FACIAL RECOGNITION: ERROR. BODY SCAN AND VOICE CHECK INDICATE MALE. AFFILIATIONS UNKNOWN. SECURITY TEAMS ON STANDBY.]

GRANDMASTER: So the rumors are true.

GUEST: What rumors?

GRANDMASTER: I heard you were in my neighborhood. Though I was expecting an entourage. You usually have an entourage. Or at least your girlfriend. Whats her name again?

GUEST: You know who she is.

GRANDMASTER: I dooooo. Its so weird. Can I tempt you with a libation?

[THE GRANDMASTER STANDS AND CROSSES TO THE BAR.]

GRANDMASTER: Is the Fizzy Minion shooter still your poison? Do you take it chilled or gargled?

[THE GRANDMASTER POWERS UP THE BARTENDER, THEN ACCEPTS THE TWO GLASSES HE PREPARES. THE GRANDMASTER WOULD LIKE A NOTE ADDED TO THE OFFICIAL RECORD OF THIS MEETING THAT THE NEW WAY HE HAS SWOOPED HIS HAIR IS VERY SEXY.]

[THE GRANDMASTER GENEROUSLY EXTENDS THE SHOT GLASS OF VERY EXPENSIVE LIQUOR TO HIS GUEST. THE GUEST DOES NOT TAKE THE DRINK.]

GUEST: I have business to discuss with you. Private business.

GRANDMASTER: My third-favorite kind of business, after public business and not-my-business business.

[THE GRANDMASTER DOES THE SHOT HIMSELF, THEN POWERS DOWN THE BARTENDER.]

GRANDMASTER: Did you come for a rematch?

GUEST: I dont have time for games.

GRANDMASTER: Oh, sweetheart, then youre on the wrong station. You should know by nowonly visit my Game Room if youre ready to play.

GUEST: I have come to ask you for a favor.

GRANDMASTER: Ooooh, groveling. Yes, I love being groveled to. It makes me feel shiny. Hold on, let me put on my sunglasses.

[THE GRANDMASTER PUTS ON HIS SUNGLASSES. THEY ARE, AS THE EARTHLINGS SAY, ON FLEEK.]

GRANDMASTER: All right, go on, kiss my ass. Tell me Im pretty.

[PAUSE. THE GRANDMASTER TAKES OFF HIS SUNGLASSES.]

GRANDMASTER: Fine. Whats this [AIR QUOTES] favor you need so badly from me?

GUEST: There is an item in your possession that I seek.

GRANDMASTER: You know I just dont give things away. I dont believe in gifts.

GUEST: I know.

GRANDMASTER: Is this an item youre willing to barter for?

GUEST: I am.

GRANDMASTER: Beg?

GUEST: Yes.

GRANDMASTER: Betray your friends? Do you have any left that you havent already? You could fill an arsenal with the knives youve used to stab people in the back.

[PAUSE.]

GRANDMASTER: So. This item in my possession. What will you give me for it?

[PAUSE.]

GUEST: Anything.

H er father sees Death everywhere.

Not in the metaphorical way of poetry and songs, nor of kings who hire decoys and food tasters, squandering their fortunes on protection from an enemy that exists only in their heads. He is not the paranoid sort, who peers around corners and checks rooftops for snipers, convinced the galaxy is conspiring against him from end to end.

Instead, Death calls upon him.

Her father has conversations with Death. Brings her flowers and embroidered sashes and rare fruits with jeweled skin from exotic planets whose locations are not marked on any charts. Sometimes he invites her to their table for meals and sits her at his right hand. Serves her first, refills her glass before his own. He plays Vigirdian dice games with Death, and when she throws a winning hand, he playfully accuses her of cheating, like she is any other woman he has brought into his company and not a mistress of the universe at whose touch more than dice fall in line.

Her father courts Death. He pulls her close and kisses her hair as he breathes deep her woody perfume. He writes her love songs, his scarred face softening when he looks upon her as it does for no one else. If Death loves him, when his chips are finally down, she will spare his life. That was what he must have thought. The love of Death would spare him from her handthat was what he had told her when he first brought Death home to his daughters. It was a business arrangement, just like so many others he had with so many beings far stranger than the long-haired lady on his arm.

Now she suspects he loves Death more than anything else.

Death was once his only friend, when he was young and abandoned and outcast. Now she is his closest, her presence in his court a reminder that she is a stranger to no one. She is everywhere.

One day, his daughter thinks, her fathers friendship with Death will be to her advantage. Death will recognize her on the battlefield and pull her punches. She will remember the girl who sometimes sat at her feet and listened to her stories of the heroes shed known in her time. But when she does see Death, whatever and wherever and however that meeting occurs, she hopes her father will not be there. For though she lives for him, fights for him, trains for him, bleeds for him, serves him, and has long known she will likely someday die for him, she does not want to witness the moment her father chooses Lady Death.

She does not ever want to know just how much her father loves Death more than he loves her.

T hirty-six seconds after Gamora landed on Station Rango-15s only public docking bay, her ship was being stripped for parts. Vagrants wrapped in dusty clothes, their faces covered with sheer scarves being used as makeshift filters to keep the Crowmikite dust from their lungs, leaped from their hiding places and swarmed before the landing gear had had a chance to fully engage, climbing onto the nose of her ship and hacking at the paneling to get to the wires beneath.

Gamora sighed, already regretting taking a job on such a garbage pit of a planet. She hadnt even reached the surface, and they were already trying to rip her to shreds. She unclipped the safety restraints crossing her chest and kicked the button to release the hatch. As it opened with a low hiss, she stood, pulling her blaster from its holster, and took aim at the closest of the scrappers. She flipped the setting to stun with her thumb, then fired twice. The scrapper flew off the prow of the ship, limbs flailing. The rest scattered at once, shrieking like they had been shot too. Half of them dropped the broken mining tools they had been using to pick apart her ship, leaving Gamora standing amid what looked like the galaxys most useless rummage sale.