The Dark Aster slid through the final jump and materialized in Earth's upper atmosphere.
Ronan activated the stealth systems before the ship had fully decelerated. The hull went dark, the power signature suppressed to background noise, and the vessel became functionally invisible to any detection grid operating below its current altitude.
He stood at the forward viewport and looked at the planet.
He'd been near it once before, years ago, when a woman had single-handedly dismantled a substantial portion of one of his patrol formations in open space. He'd ordered an immediate retreat and had never come back. He'd learned her name afterward — Captain Marvel, Carol Danvers, something the universe had decided to produce and inflict on anyone who crossed her path without adequate preparation.
She didn't appear to be here now. The intelligence from the network suggested she hadn't returned to this system. That was one fewer problem on the list.
He turned to Korath.
"Pull everything available from their network. Powerful individuals on this planet, and anything related to Dragon Balls."
Korath inclined his head and moved to the intelligence station.
The infiltration took less time than Ronan expected. Earth's network infrastructure was extensive and sophisticated by local standards, but it wasn't designed against external penetration by a Kree intelligence system. Within minutes, data was flowing.
Korath organized the results and brought them to the main display.
"Chief. We have comprehensive data."
The first result set was the World Martial Arts Tournament. Ronan watched the summary data populate — participant list, match outcomes, final standings. Then the eight finalist portraits appeared on screen.
Korath said, "One hundred and thirty-seven registered competitors with confirmed combat capability. These eight were the strongest. And then there is this individual—"
The next image was Smith Doyle.
Ronan looked at the match footage excerpts. The sparring match at the end — the brief visible portion before the fight moved inside the domain. What the cameras had managed to capture at fifty times slowdown.
He noted the absence of Captain Marvel's profile anywhere in the data.
"The woman from before hasn't come back," he said. More to himself than to Korath.
"Confirmed absent from the tournament and all recent intelligence," Korath said.
"Dragon Ball information."
Korath pulled up the second data set.
The screen filled with orange spheres — toys, replicas, novelties, priced from a few dollars to a few hundred. Manufactured goods bearing the name Dragon Ball, being sold in bulk across a dozen commercial platforms.
Ronan looked at the volume of it and said nothing.
"The counterfeits are obvious," Korath said. "Too many, too cheap, no consistency. However—"
He filtered the data.
Several acquisition listings surfaced. Historical records, most of them deleted, which the Dark Aster's system had recovered from their trace signatures. Transaction prices in the million range. Description parameters that appeared in multiple independent listings: spherical, indestructible, stars visible from every angle regardless of position.
"These match the parameters Thanos gave us," Korath said. "The acquisition listings have all been closed. Whoever was collecting them either finished the process or the competition ended."
Ronan processed this.
Seven objects. Whoever held all seven got a wish granted by a dragon. The tournament format replaced the collection game. The intelligence brief Thanos had provided was already outdated by the time he'd left. The Dragon Ball collection was apparently over, the wish had been granted, and the objects were no longer in circulation.
He considered the practicalities. Finding seven individually hidden artifacts on a planet that had demonstrated the ability to annihilate Dark Elf invasion forces, while avoiding the attention of the individual who had just casually ended a sparring match with one of the oldest beings on Earth—
He said, quietly, the word for a fundamental recalculation in the Kree language, and did not elaborate.
Korath said, with the careful tone of someone offering a suggestion to a superior who might not welcome it, "Chief — there is one alternative approach."
Ronan looked at him.
"We could post a bounty through the Cosmic Bank. Attract external contractors — space brokers, independent raiders. If they collect the Dragon Balls for us, we don't need to operate on the planet directly." He paused. "The complication is ensuring the collection reaches us rather than other buyers."
Ronan thought about it.
The other complication was Thanos. Ronan was under no illusions about what his relationship with Thanos actually was. Thanos wanted the Dragon Balls because something about them was useful to his larger purpose. He'd dispatched Ronan as a probe — capable enough to succeed if Earth was weaker than suspected, expendable enough that losing him wouldn't compromise anything important.
If the mission failed, Thanos would be unhappy. If Ronan died, Thanos would lose an asset but not a friend.
And if Ronan died before Xandar burned, Xandar would continue to exist.
He made the decision.
"Structure the bounty this way," he said. "Each Dragon Ball carries a hundred million Star Coins, payable from the Cosmic Bank account. The payout is automatic — whoever delivers to the specified vault coordinates receives payment without my direct involvement." He paused. "And add one condition to the posting. Anyone other than me attempting to collect on the bounty must first destroy Xandar."
Korath looked at him for two seconds.
"Chief — is that to—"
Ronan didn't explain. "Draft the posting exactly as I've described. Set it to publish automatically if we fail to deliver within the mission window."
Korath said, "Understood," and did not push further. He moved to the communications station and began drafting. A separate Cosmic Bank sub-account was initialized, seven hundred million Star Coins transferred into it, and the publication parameters set to trigger on a timer unless manually cancelled.
If Ronan succeeded, the posting never went live.
If Ronan failed — or if Ronan died — Xandar burning became the price of admission for anyone who wanted the reward.
He looked back at the planet through the viewport.
"The Accuser Legion deploys," he said. "The top one hundred and thirty-seven individuals on the planet are the priority target list. Engage and assess combat capability against Kree standard. Any spherical object that survives maximum-force contact is collected and brought back. Those that break are counterfeit."
Korath relayed the order. The hangar decks opened, and dozens of smaller craft began dropping from the Dark Aster's belly toward the surface.
On the far side of the galaxy, at the edge of Tivan's collection.
The building looked like everything the Collector had ever accumulated about excess — too much gold, too many textures, the aesthetic of someone who had been acquiring things for long enough that curation had been replaced by accumulation. Taneleer Tivan received them with the energy of a man performing welcome at a party he'd always known was coming.
He recognized Gamora immediately and moved toward her with the focused pleasure of a collector who had just identified an item he particularly wanted.
"My dear Gamora. An honor."
"Skip the ceremony, Tivan," Gamora said. "We have what you want."
The Collector's attention shifted to the rest of the group. It moved across Star-Lord, across Drax, across Rocket, and then arrived at Groot and stayed there.
"What is that?"
Groot met his gaze. "I am Groot."
The Collector circled him slowly, studying the structure. "A tree-form sentient species. Extraordinary." He brightened. "I'd like to purchase you immediately." He considered the logistics. "The acquisition would naturally occur post-mortem. When you die, your body belongs to me."
Rocket's hand went behind his back. "Why?"
"The structural complexity alone is—"
"You want to make him into a chair?"
The Collector looked at Star-Lord. "Is the raccoon yours?"
Star-Lord stared at him. "What?"
Rocket had the weapon out now, pointing at nothing in particular but ready to point at something. "Who are you calling a raccoon?"
Gamora stepped forward and put herself between the weapon and the collector by the simple method of taking two steps closer to Tivan. "We came across half the galaxy to show you this sphere," she said. "Focus."
Rocket held the weapon for another two seconds, then put it back.
The Collector brought them through to his display room and placed the orb on the examination instrument. He turned to the group and began his presentation with the composure of someone who had given a version of this speech before and enjoyed giving it.
"Before all things were born, six Strange entities existed in the void. The universe came into being after the Big Bang. These entities were forged into concentrated particles — the Infinity Stones."
The projection appeared. Six Stone profiles, each one distinct. Their natural forms, and then the artifacts they'd been housed in — the Tesseract, the Aether, the scepter, others.
"These gems contain boundless energy. Their wielders can destroy civilizations as easily as cutting wheat."
A Celestial appeared on the projection — average height by Celestial standards, which was to say enormous — holding a scepter topped with a purple gem. The gem flared. A planet collapsed inward, and then wasn't.
Star-Lord watched this and said, with honest assessment, "That scared me considerably."
The Collector continued. "At some point, a group attempted to absorb the Stone's energy directly into their bodies."
The scene showed figures in dark robes attempting the absorption. Then not existing anymore.
"The energy destroyed them instantly."
He turned back to the instrument and opened the orb's containment seal with the particular reverence of someone uncovering something they'd wanted for a long time.
The Power Stone was there. Purple. Dense with contained output. It looked like something that shouldn't exist at this scale.
The Collector said, "Magnificent. There is nothing like it."
Rocket said, "Great speech, old man. Where's the money?"
The Collector turned to his desk. Carina, his attendant, was moving in his peripheral vision.
He saw the direction she was moving in relation to the Power Stone.
"Carina—"
She grabbed it.
The energy didn't release gradually. It erupted immediately, the Power Stone not recognizing a distinction between willingness and capacity. Carina had neither the biology nor the training to hold what she was holding, and the Stone responded to that gap with absolute efficiency.
The energy discharge didn't pause for anyone present to register what was happening. It bounced off every surface in the collection room simultaneously, each reflection carrying the same output as the initial burst. The display cases shattered. The specimens inside them did not survive the pressure differential. A fragment caught the Collector in the head and dropped him.
Rocket hit the floor. Groot wrapped around him before he'd finished falling, forming a protective shell from his own body. Star-Lord pulled Gamora behind a display case that was still standing, which it stopped doing approximately one second later.
Drax, in the instinctive assessment of someone who had survived more fights than he could count, identified the situation as one where hiding was correct, and hid.
Carina reached the point where the Stone exceeded what her body could contain.
She came apart.
The final energy release from that moment destroyed what remained of the display room, the south wall, and a significant portion of the structure's superstructure on that side.
The silence after an explosion has a particular quality. This one lasted about four seconds.
Star-Lord stood up. He looked at what the Collector's facility now was and processed it.
"Impressive," he said, which was the word that arrived first.
Gamora had already moved to the control panel. She retrieved the orb and walked toward the exit.
"I cannot believe I thought Tivan could safely hold this," she said, to no one in particular, with the flat delivery of someone whose assessment had been comprehensively disproven.
Outside, walking away from the building, Rocket looked at what Gamora was carrying and his voice went up. "Why do you still have that?"
Star-Lord said, "We can't leave it there."
"You had it in your bag before this whole thing started."
"It's a satchel—"
"We're handing it over to the Nova Corps on Xandar," Gamora said. "They have the infrastructure to secure it."
Rocket stopped walking. "We're wanted by the Nova Corps. Walking in there is the same as handing ourselves to Ronan."
Star-Lord said, "You want Ronan to get it instead?"
Rocket said, with the emphatic precision of someone who felt their position was being mischaracterized, "I want to discuss options. I'm not saying we give it to Ronan. I'm saying we think."
"We live in this universe," Star-Lord said.
"What has the universe done for you personally, specifically?"
"I live in it."
Gamora said, "We need someone who won't arrest us, who has demonstrably good judgment, and who can provide real security for this object." She looked at Star-Lord. "Do you have someone like that?"
Star-Lord thought about it. He did, potentially. The question was whether the approach worked from where they were standing, and what a reasonable asking price looked like for something this dangerous.
He reached for the orb.
Gamora pulled it back.
He said, "I'm just going to hold it while I—"
She said, "No."
He withdrew his hand. "Fine. But the person-with-good-character-and-money route has real merit and I think we should discuss it seriously."
Gamora was about to respond when she looked up.
"We're out of time," she said.
The ship above them was Q-shaped, wide and flat, the silhouette of something designed for boarding and capture rather than transit. It had come in low and quiet.
Nebula dropped from it with Black Dwarf behind her, landing between the group and the only reasonable exit route, and the expression she was wearing was the one she reserved for encounters that were going to end badly for at least one person present.
"Sister," she said.