Complex Cosmonautics (IV)

"-. 25 March, 1989 .-"

Nobody besides the "forget everything and run" crowd of villains and malcontents actually managed to make it off the station by the deadline. But that was still the vast majority of people. Those that didn't dismiss it all as a drugged or drunken fancy anyway. Or the ones crazy or stupid enough to try their luck against a god. Those had to be persuaded or removed in more permanent ways, though more often hired by Cosmo or whoever else was suddenly strapped for muscle. Fortunately, the criminals were really the only ones that could pose a risk to the new status quo that Star-Lord had set out to establish, through sheer belligerence if nothing else.

Cosmo said half-way through the second week of the whole kerfuffle.

Which was a lot harder than they expected because bigshot science didn't… work as easily as it did in older 'times.' Star-Lord had tried to explain it in terms like Substance, Motion, Consciousness and how the last of those had been way too far ahead of the other two back then, before the cosmos corrected for the imbalance. All Rocket got out of it despite his, reasonably speaking, high intelligence was 'We've gone from soft sci-fi to slightly less soft sci-fi.'

Somehow.

Everyone please ignore the literal god stomping on this here balance, no need to ask questions about that. We good now, lowlifes?

Even with their own god involved, though, asserting full control of a moon-sized godhead turned space station slash minefield – heh – was no quick task. There were shootouts, gang wars to stomp on, clan wars to evacuate off the premises, and no small number of lodging, protection and research-related negotiations between everyone else and the 'exalted representative of the dreaming god' i.e. Star-Lord. And by 'everyone else,' Rocket of course meant the few descendants left of the original, legitimate settlers. As well as non-criminal business groups, special interest groups, galactic powers that had (or sent) representatives to investigate the new upset in the underworld, various corporations. Hell even the Tivan Group sent new reps about two weeks after the 'Day of Reclamation' as the more thespian of the remaining refugees had taken to calling it.

Everyone was certain the Tivan Group delegation had only come back in a bid to worm their way into a position where their boss – the Collector – could reclaim control later. Fortunately, Quill hadn't come down from his victory high enough to have qualms about refusing them representation. On the basis of 'relations can't go much more sour than they are right now' except that Quill resorted to the much less diplomatic statement of "I don't deal with slavers and your boss is worse."

Rocket might have demanded they go out for drinks to celebrate this oh so healthy and firm moral compass, if he weren't a wee bit worried about Quill maybe moving a bit… well, fast.

And blatantly.

Fortunately, on the third day of the third week, Jason Quill finally deigned to grace Knowhere with his august presence. 'Fortunately.' Rocket had actually meant that wholeheartedly. "Seriously, old man, please don't be evil."

"Hmm?" Peter asked from next to him, where he was dutifully acting as the welcoming committee as mandated by the Spartoi hospitality ritual. "You said something?"

"Yeah but it ain't your business."

Peter laughed. It always eased something in Rocket's mind to see that he hadn't developed even a shred of arrogance or paranoia, or whatever other mean-spirited defects Rocket saw too often in the villains they fought. He wasn't sure if that spoke good or bad of how things would go down, though, the next time Star-Lord decided to follow on his ambitions.

Whatever they were. Rocket was almost afraid to ask, and Quill seemed content assuming Rocket had already guessed them all even though he hadn't. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect even from today, what with the size of the crowd that had gathered even without any special announcements that something big was going to happen.

Jason Quill stepped off the much bigger and fancier ship that he must have traded all his captures for, wife in tow.

Peter bowed in greeting. Lower than he had for anyone. "J'Son of Spartax, welcome. The hospitality of Knowhere is yours, Father."

"A hospitality I gladly accept, my Son." The man took and consumed the offered bread and wine as everyone watched.

The penny called 'high-profile comeback' very belatedly dropped and Rocket Raccoon almost couldn't refrain from gaping in his most ungainly manner. He could practically feel the moment the rumor mill, news reels and every intelligence asset within a hundred lightyears started churning.

To the old man's credit, though, he didn't seem to have approved or even been in on Peter's plans to do this for him. Which was fair, Rocket thought with an absurd burst of relief. If there had been more collusion, not only would Jason Quill have proven duplicitous about his stated concerns, but Peter probably would have made it a big, official holiday or something similarly ridiculous.

The Father's disapproval, when it came, was as subtle as it was obvious. Which is to say, he dismissed the matter of his reception and all its implications entirely. Instead, he waited until they were in private and then brought up something completely unrelated when saying the first words spoken to his son since they'd last seen each other all those weeks before. "Mer called. She has news."

A varied gamut of emotions played over Quill's face, too quickly for Rocket to parse them. When he spoke, though, he was noticeably not smug or conceited. Which, okay, there hadn't been much of even before. The former hadn't been entirely absent either though. "Did she find Anna Marie?"

"More," Jason Quill said. "She found Richard."

And because his month hadn't already been troublesome enough, the penny that dropped now was even bigger.

Richard. Richard Rider.

"Well," Star-Lord said. "Looks like we're going back to Terra."