Teamwork Lesson

Once upon a time, the Milano picked up a signal from a very small, very far away place called Vesper Station.

The signal was a distress call — a message sent into the dark by people who were frightened and had no one else to turn to. The kind of message that might go unheard in a busy galaxy. But the Guardians heard it, because they always listened for the small signals most.

"Forty-three people," Gamora said. "Twelve children."

Star-Lord set their heading.

Vesper Station orbited a planet whose name no one could pronounce, and which everyone agreed to call Gravel Planet. The miners there worked hard and asked nothing of anyone. A crime syndicate called the Sovereignty wanted what they had.

The mission split on arrival. Gamora and Rocket went below to handle the weapons array. Star-Lord and Nebula flew the perimeter in the Milano to cut off reinforcements.

That left Drax inside. With the forty-three miners. And twelve children.

He stood in the main meeting room — round, low-ceilinged, benches bolted to the walls — and they all looked at him. He was very large in the room. Tattoos covered both arms. Daggers at his sides. Not someone you would expect in a small room when you were already frightened.

One small girl — six years old, braided hair, tears on her cheeks — was sitting in the corner crying. Her name was Mirava.

Drax stood at the door for a moment. His job was clear: hold the entrance, let nothing through. That was what a Guardian did.

Then he looked at Mirava. He crossed the room and sat down on the floor next to her.

THUD. A very large thud. Cross-legged on the metal, at approximately her eye level, which required a significant amount of Drax to be on the floor. He settled, patient and still.

Mirava looked at him, still crying but quieter now.

"You are safe," Drax said — plainly, as a fact. Because she was six and intelligent, she heard the difference between a promise and a wish.

"I will tell you why. There are five Guardians protecting this station. Gamora is below us right now. She is the best warrior I have ever seen. Rocket is a genius and the weapons array is already handled. Star-Lord is flying outside. Nebula is with him." He met her eyes. "And I am here. I will not move. Nothing will get past me."

Mirava stopped crying.

"Is the raccoon real?" she asked.

"Yes," said Drax.

"Does he like being called a raccoon?"

A pause. "No. But he is one."

She leaned against Drax's arm and closed her eyes.

One by one, the other children crept closer and settled around him. Some of them fell asleep. The room went quiet except for the steady hum of the life support systems in the floor.

Drax sat on the floor with twelve children asleep around him and held that position with the same absolute stillness he had held every position in every battle of his rebuilt life.

When the mission was over, Rocket came to find him and stopped in the doorway.

Drax was on the floor. Mirava asleep against his arm, her small head resting on his tattoos. The other children nearby in the soft way of kids who have been very scared and are now very tired.

"You've got to be kidding me," Rocket said.

"I was protecting them," Drax said.

Something in Rocket's face did the thing it sometimes did when he was feeling something he did not plan to explain to anyone, including himself. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Okay. Yeah. That counts."

Mirava grew up to be a mining engineer — first on Gravel Planet, then the best in her whole system. She designed drill patterns still in use today. Her first deep-core drill, the one she built entirely herself in her own workshop, she named the Destroyer. She named it for the enormous green warrior who sat on a floor in a frightened room and told her the plain, simple truth: you are safe, here is why, I will not move, nothing will get past me.

She was never afraid of the dark again.

Close your eyes. You are safe. Someone is here, and they are not moving, and nothing will get past them.

Sleep well.