Peter Quill's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Peter Quill's face hung on a wanted poster nailed above the bar, and the bounty printed under it climbed by the hour. He tore the poster down and stuffed it in his coat. Six weeks ago his crew had split for good, scattered across the galaxy after one argument too many. Now he needed them back. One clean job, done together, could wipe his name from every poster like this one. But he had no idea where any of them had gone. The dive bar smelled like burnt oil and spilled ale. Rough spacers packed the booths, trading lies and coin. Peter had come here on a hunch. Someone always knew something at a place this old. He asked the bartender the same question he'd asked in three systems. Had anyone seen his people? The bartender didn't answer. He just tilted his head toward the back corner. Peter looked. A woman sat alone, boots up on a crate, cleaning a knife she didn't need to clean. His stomach dropped. He knew that posture. He'd flown beside it for years. She was one of his, the one who fought hardest and forgave slowest. He crossed the room before he could talk himself out of it. "You look terrible," she said, not glancing up. "You bought a bar," he said. "You hate people." "I hate flying with you more." She set the knife down. "You've got a price on your head now. I heard." "That's why I'm here." He pulled the crumpled poster out and dropped it on her table. "One mission. All of us. We clear my name, then you can go back to pouring drinks for drunks who can't pay." She stared at the poster a long moment. Then she laughed, short and mean. "There is no 'all of us.' You broke that." "So help me fix it." "I don't know where they went." She leaned back. "But I know who does." She slid a data-chip across the table. "Coordinates. A contact. He tracked the others after the split. Wanted to sell the locations to the highest bidder." Peter picked up the chip. "And the highest bidder is?" "Whoever posted your bounty." She met his eyes. "You've got maybe a day before he sells. After that, every hunter in the sector knows where your crew is hiding. Including the ones who'll shoot first." Peter closed his fist around the chip. He had come looking for a rumor. He'd found a clock instead. "You coming?" he asked. "No." She picked the knife back up. "But I'm not stopping you. That's the best you'll get from me today." He left the bar with the chip in his hand and the poster in his coat. His crew was findable now. So was he. And someone was already racing him to reach them first.