Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3

Chapter 17

Dock Level 3, Dolo-Mayan

"So, why exactly are we here again?"

The question came from Rocket not five minutes into their trek through the docking levels of Dolo-Mayan, and Nebula looked over her shoulder to cast the raccoon a pointed look. "I'm sorry, would you rather go back to Knowhere with the warlock?"

From the back of the group, Drax grunted. "I would."

That earned him a round of pointed looks from the others, and Rocket huffed before explaining, "I didn't mean 'why exactly are we here,' I meant, 'why exactly are we here?'"

Drax narrowed his eyes. "You have just said the exact same thing twice."

"No, I didn't!" Rocket bristled. "One had emphasis."

"That sounds like a made-up word."

"You're a made-up word!"

"Hey!" Peter's snap silenced the argument. "How about we stop fighting for five minutes and focus on...why Nebula brought us here."

Rocket muttered something about that being his question, but he didn't offer anything else in reply.

"We know why we're here," Drax pointed out. "Because all of you are too cowardly to face the stupid golden man."

Peter was tempted to stop in his tracks and slap some sense into his teammate, but his sister did it for him. Well, sort of.

"You will stop talking about the stupid golden man." Mantis's hand remained firmly plastered to the back of Drax's neck until it was clear her spell had taken effect.

"I despise that." Drax shook off her hand, his gaze hardening to a glare. "Just like I despise..."

His lips snapped shut, and the man was left with unintelligible grunts to complete his sentence. Mantis, however, seemed very pleased with herself, and Peter made sure to give her a nod of gratitude before turning back to Nebula.

"Okay, real talk now. What's so special about Dolo-Mayan?"

Nebula raised her eyebrows. "I thought the Sovereign might not have a place like this in their databases."

One look at their surroundings proved her theory more than accurate. They were just descending the levels of the docking bays, and already Peter had laid eyes on a least seven makeshift gambling rings, a handful of scantily dressed women cooing for customers, and too many substance smugglers to count. The amount of scandal and impurity could probably give any Sovereign a heart attack.

"And"—Nebula hesitated for a moment—"I have a contact here."

Peter blinked, uncertain if he'd heard the right word. "You have a what?"

"A contact." Nebula bristled as they descended another set of stairs to the next docking level. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just thought having contacts was for social people..." A warning glare made him reroute the thought. "And you're great at being social, so I am not surprised."

Nebula rolled her eyes, shrugging off the compliment—if it could even be called that. "It's not a 'social' contact. Everything is kept strictly professional." She paused to consider him, brow furrowing. "I suggest you try and do the same."

The subtle shift in tone should have signaled that something was up, but it wasn't until they got down to the next level of the bay and headed towards a very prominent ship that Peter began to question her.