Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arriving on planet Currus was supposed to be much, much more exciting than this.

During the 40 hour trek from Dendroba to Currus, Zim had filled Dib’s mind with images of some kind of Wild West wonderland. Sparse towns, gruff locals, a vigilante-defended market system, all on a planet with such extreme seasonal variance that sapient life had never even evolved on it. The climate was too inhospitable to cultivate societies, and only the hardiest of immigrants managed to live there year-round.

As they’d descended toward the planet’s surface in a roaring, shuddering fireball, it was easy for Dib to imagine why. Most of the planet appeared to be a dry, craggy wasteland, an expanse of ruddy-gray ground spackled here and there with dusty patches of scrub. The lower the ship went, the more textures Dib had made out: a rise of cliffs here, a series of canyons further off. Though he’d never been there himself, Dib imagined this was something like the Australian outback, though the dirt lacked the distinctive orange coloration.

But Currus wasn’t all desert. During their descent, Dib had caught the faintest flash of light at the edge of the horizon, the suggestion of a lake or a sea somewhere beyond the curve of the planet’s surface. And then there was the town of Calamus, the supposed hub of seedy Irken dealings. The town was settled near the foothills of a broad mountain range, the peaks of which shone with dazzling snowcaps.

All in all, Currus seemed like a setting ripe for adventure.

Even as their ramshackle ship all but outright crashed at the edge of town, Dib fantasized about striding into Calamus in a swirl of sand like the Lone Ranger, his midnight-black coat beating in the wind like a banner…

But it wasn’t meant to be.

Instead, when the hatch of their smoldering ship groaned open, Dib was struck by a wave of heat so intense he felt instantly ill. Between the hot air and the wreath of smoke encompassing the vessel, Dib succumbed to a coughing fit that left him red-faced and breathless.

A pair of Irken claws yanked him back into the cabin.

“Can you breathe?” Zim asked, pushing Dib against the wall in a way which in fact made it harder to breathe.

Dib waved him off. “I’m fine,” he croaked, and cleared his throat one more time. “It’s just hotter than I expected. And we’re on fire again.”

“Only two of the thrusters are on fire this time,” Zim said. “Yeesh. What a queen of dramatics. If you’re going to be such a smeet about it, you can stay in here while I douse the flames. Come along, GIR.”

GIR nearly knocked Dib off his feet as he dashed after Zim to follow his master out of the ship. While Zim shouted orders to his minion outside, Dib reluctantly shrugged off his coat. His space-cowboy daydreams weren’t worth getting heat stroke for.

Once he’d lovingly folded and stowed his poor, tattered jacket, Dib took another shot at stepping through the hatch into the unforgiving sunlight. He shaded his eyes and watched as Zim finished blasting foam at one of the vessel’s fins using some kind of spray-bottle-shaped fire extinguisher. Beneath the fin, GIR was busy making froth-angels from the overflow.

The poor ship wasn’t made for this kind of stress. It was merely a temporary vessel, cobbled together from the ruins of the abandoned civilization back on Oobli A, where their real ship awaited repair. The reason they were on Currus in the first place was to barter for material with which to fix the Voot.

Well, one of the reasons.

Zim lowered his extinguisher and, noticing Dib’s eyes on him, flashed a confident smile and a thumbs-up.

“I take it the ship’s not going to combust or something?” Dib asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zim dismissed. “That said, we should avoid engaging the engines until I’ve had a chance to work on them. But there’s no need for that at the moment. We have SHOPPING to do!”

“What? Are we just going to leave the ship here?” Dib asked as Zim marched back into the cabin.

Zim opened a storage hatch and began rifling through its contents, grabbing goods to trade and chucking them over his shoulder into a pile. “I don’t see why not.”

Dib stood in the hatchway and gestured widely to the dilapidated buildings and husks of looted vehicles around them. “Does this look like a safe place to park to you?”

Zim leaned back to look outside. “Looks fine to me.”

“You don’t think it seems a little shady?”

“If anything, it’s a bit bright and exposed for my liking,” Zim said, returning to his task.

“Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean by ‘shady.’”

Zim sighed and dropped an armful of shiny metal rods onto his pile. “Dib, according to Skoodge, the whole planet is shady. It doesn’t matter where we leave the ship. Besides, we’ll be taking our most valuable materials with us. The ship's security system will take care of the rest.”

Dib raised a brow. “I didn’t know this hunk of junk had a security system.”

“Of course it does! GIR?”

GIR climbed into the hatchway next to Dib, his face completely covered in pastel pink fire-suppressant. “Look! I got a beard! I’m gonna be the next Ms. Universe!”

“Uh-huh. GIR, tell the Dib what your mission is.”

GIR wiped foam from his eyes and stared up at Dib. “World peace!”

“No, GIR. Today’s mission. We talked about this.” Zim tapped his foot impatiently.

“Oh riiiiight, guarding the ship,” GIR said. “I’m not doin’ that.”

Zim spluttered for a moment before he found his words again. “You most certainly are doing that! I’m ordering you to defend the ship while Dib and I are in the market.”

GIR’s eyes flashed red and his voice dropped. “Yes, Sir. I will defend the ship and I will accompany you to the market.”

“You can’t do both,” Zim said. “You can’t be in two places at once.”

The SIR’s eyes mellowed to their usual teal tone. “Sure I can! Check it out.”

GIR balled his fists and began to quake violently. Sensing an explosive outburst of some kind, Dib grabbed GIR’s arms to disrupt him.

“I think we get the picture,” Dib said as the vibrating stopped.

“Did you see it?” GIR eagerly asked Dib.

Dib smiled thinly. “Yep. Sure did.”

Zim shoved Dib aside. “Don’t coddle him, stink-brain. GIR, you must listen to me. You will stay with the ship. I forbid you to leave it.”

“But… But I gotta go with you,” GIR said, his smile drooping. “You need me.”

“I need you to stay here. Now, pack up this equipment. We’re burning daylight,” Zim said.

GIR whined as he hauled a large sack out of the top of his head and began shoveling the goods into it. Zim nodded approvingly and reached for another, smaller compartment in the wall. From it, he withdrew a small energy pistol and holster, which he tossed Dib’s way without warning.

Dib, caught off guard, juggled the pistol in his hands before safely catching it. “A heads-up would be nice next time,” he grumbled as he belted on the holster.

Zim ignored his comment. “That pistol is for show. Don’t get cocky with it.”

“It works though, right?”

“It works, but I’d rather not instigate a firefight in the middle of the market,” Zim said, slamming the compartment closed.

Dib adjusted the holster, secretly pleased at the opportunity to indulge in part of his cowboy daydream. “I dunno, man. Instigating a marketplace shoot-out sounds very ‘Zim’.”

Zim glowered at him.

Dib whistled. “Not in the mood for jokes. Got it.”

“This is a very serious endeavor, Dib-worm,” Zim said. “I’ve never visited this planet, but from what Skoodge shared with us, this is no place for fooling around.”

Dib nodded, and bent to assist GIR with the last of the equipment. Most of what they hoped to sell were scrap parts, only useful for the somewhat rare metal that comprised them. Zim had assured Dib that between their cred and these parts, they’d be suitably funded to buy Voot components. Of course, Dib wasn’t especially concerned about the Voot’s repair, as much as he felt a nostalgic connection to the vessel.

No, the real priority was finding something called an LSI-Ring for Zim’s PAK. If that was the only thing they came away with, then Dib would be satisfied. They could always buy or build another ship, or even give their existing rocket-powered-death-trap a renovation. Maybe it would be time-consuming and expensive, but it was possible.

And yet, Zim barely spoke about the LSI-Ring, even though he’d listed at length the various pieces of hardware required for the Voot Cruiser. He even muttered about prices and negotiation strategies in his sleep. It was weird enough that Zim was sleeping at all, but at least he’d explained that to Dib. Sleeping was merely a method to counteract the corruption in his PAK and give the PAK a chance to re-energize. It was unsettling to see Zim fully unconscious, but if it meant he was acknowledging that his PAK needed a break, Dib wouldn’t dwell on it.

“Dib, you carry the bag.”

Dib blinked away his thoughts and stared at the overstuffed backpack on the floor. The thing could hold at least four GIRs, and Dib’s spine ached just looking at it.

“We don’t have a cart or something?” Dib asked.

“If we had a cart, Zim would have said: ‘Dib, you tow the cart.’”

With a discontented huff, Dib hoisted the bag onto his back. It wasn’t as heavy as he’d feared, but it was cumbersome, and already putting a strain on his shoulders. “Listen, I’m grateful that you’re taking this seriously and are trying to be cautious, but don’t you think hauling around a giant bag of difficult-to-run-with valuables is asking for trouble?”

Zim crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. “If you’re so worried, then I’ll take the bag and go to the market alone.”

“As hilarious as it would be to watch your tiny gecko body lug this thing around, there’s no way I’m letting that happen,” Dib said. He boosted the pack a little higher, trying to relieve some of the pressure. “So, are we heading out?”

Zim nodded sharply, then turned to his minion. “GIR! We will be back shortly. Are you clear on your instructions?”

“Yes, my master…” GIR droned miserably. “You’ll be back soon?”

“As soon as we have what we need, yes,” Zim said.

GIR continued to frown. “And you won’t go out of range?”

Zim tilted his head, confused. “Our communicators will be well within range the entire time.”

GIR twisted his claws together anxiously, but remained silent.

“Oookay,” Zim said, throwing a final, skeptical look at his SIR. “We should get moving. Come on, Dib.”

As they walked away from the ship, Dib watched GIR from the corner of eye. The robot waited by the hatch door with an uncharacteristically morose expression. This wasn’t the first time GIR had been left in charge of guarding the ship while Zim and Dib were elsewhere. In fact, he’d been perfectly content to perform that duty less than two days ago, back on Dendroba. The malfunctioning bot wasn’t known for his consistency, but something about his current behavior felt off.

As they rounded the corner of a collapsed building, Dib spoke quietly to Zim. “I think something’s up with GIR.”

“What do you mean?” Zim asked, picking his way over a low mound of rubble.

“Doesn’t he seem, I don’t know, extra clingy today?”

“He probably just wanted to come along so he could pick out a souvenir,” Zim said.

Dib slipped a little as he followed Zim over the shattered blocks of concrete, but caught himself before he lost control of the backpack. “You’re not worried he’s going to follow us?”

“Naaah. He knows I pick out the best souvenirs for him.”

“I don’t think this is about souvenirs,” Dib said.

“It doesn’t matter. I ordered him to stay behind, and he will stay behind,” Zim said. “Now, hurry up. I want to get there before midnight.”

Dib rolled his eyes and decided the effort of arguing with Zim wasn’t worth the energy. Sweat tickled the back of his neck, and the straps of the backpack were already biting into his shoulders. Dib distracted himself from his discomfort by observing the structures around them.

The closer they got to the town proper, the more intact the buildings became. Most were squat, thick-walled cubes made from some sort of purple-gray cement. Other buildings had a metallic gleam that Dib couldn’t readily identify. Altogether, the architecture was ugly and plain, but likely very practical in the face of extreme weather.

Eventually, Dib could make out the sound of voices up ahead. Zim – who had been several paces in front of him – paused for Dib to catch up, then pulled a tablet from his PAK.

“I’ll do the talking. If anyone asks, you’re my empty-headed alien servant. A bag-carrying service drone who is not permitted to speak,” Zim said.

“Cool. Love it,” Dib deadpanned.

“Alert me if you happen to notice any of these parts,” Zim continued, nonplussed. He scrolled slowly through the tablet, displaying the various coils, batteries, and other gadgets that they were shopping for. He’d talked about the items frequently, but hadn’t shown them to Dib before now. Fortunately, having spent his fair share of time working on the Voot himself, Dib recognized many of the shapes.

When a circular device appeared on the screen, Dib stayed Zim’s hand. “Is that the LSI-Ring?”

“Yes,” Zim said.

“Don’t you think we should try to find that part first?”

Zim stared at the screen as if he were processing Dib’s suggestion. “… Yes, ideally. But we should still be looking for all of these parts. Now, I hope you’ve made note of the items we’re after. And you remember your role?”

Dib sighed through his nose. “Yep. Mute alien servant with a pistol for some reason.”

“You get a pistol because you are a highly valued and deeply trusted service drone,” Zim said, and he flashed Dib a shit-eating grin. “Such a good drone. What an honor!”

“You jerk,” Dib grumbled, but he found himself smiling back.

Predictably, Zim cut the moment short. “Shut up and follow me.”

Dib lumbered after Zim down an alleyway between more purple-gray buildings, wondering how badly his sweat was already staining his shirt. He tugged at his shirt’s collar to get more airflow as he followed Zim into the main Calamus thoroughfare.

Suddenly, the voices he’d noticed before were much louder. Vendors shouted deals into the street, their words instantly translating through the TransDibber on Dib’s wrist and transmitting to an implant in his molar. Pedestrians chatted amongst themselves and called questions to the shopkeepers, and as curious as Dib was about their words, he had to shut them out in order to focus on his surroundings.

A wide road extended in front of him, crowded with vibrant market stalls and colorfully-clothed aliens. Like Dendroba, a diverse array of species wandered through the stands. Unlike Dendroba, a considerable number of the market patrons were Irken. They moved among the other customers in little clusters, and Dib was somewhat surprised to see that the other species paid them little mind. Then again, Calamus was supposedly a hub of Irken trading, which perhaps offered an incentive for all the assorted species to get along. Irk’s tech, if Dib took Zim’s word for it, was enviable across the galaxy. Maybe the interest in Irken goods outweighed the animosity toward their race as genocidal conquerors.

At least in this singular town on Currus, anyway.

“Stay close,” Zim hissed to Dib as he forged a path through the crowd.

The street stalls were a cartoonishly bright contrast to the dull concrete buildings around them. Dib stood on his toes to peek inside one such building and caught a glimpse of stacked crates and long rows of shelving. It seemed the buildings themselves acted as warehouses for the open-air market.

A hand closed around Dib’s wrist and yanked him to the side before he could collide with the corner of a stall selling bolts of luminescent fabric.

“Pay attention!” Zim snapped.

Remembering the instruction not to speak, Dib raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. Zim growled and, his claws still around Dib’s wrist, pulled the human further into the densely-packed market.

After a few minutes of maneuvering through the masses, Zim again tugged on Dib’s arm to draw him toward a larger stand. This one was more integrated with the blocky building behind it. Through the wide doorway, an assortment of engines and other large pieces of machinery awaited purchase. At least one of the engines displayed the telltale organic design of Irken engineering.

“You! Shopkeeper!”

Dib cringed at Zim’s exclamation, but remained in character.

A wide-framed, pink-eyed Irken looked up from the other end of the stall, where she’d been busy assisting a purple-skinned Vortian customer. The Irken murmured something to the Vortian, who nodded and resumed parsing through a box of goods on the counter.

“Can I help you?” the Irken asked as she approached Zim and Dib. Her voice was unexpectedly high and sweet, considering she was nearly Dib’s height and built like a refrigerator.

“I’m looking for Voot Cruiser parts,” Zim said. Dib noticed he was standing on his toes, not that it made him much taller.

“Oh sure, we have plenty of Voot components,” said the shopkeeper, cheerfully. “Looking for anything in particular?”

Zim rattled off a series of parts while Dib bit his tongue. Clearly, Voot equipment wasn’t a rarity. What they really needed were PAK parts. They could always come back here after they secured the ring.

“I think I have a charging cell like that in the back,” the shopkeeper said in response to the last item in Zim’s list. “Why don’t you check that bin over there for the smaller pieces while I look for it?”

Once the shopkeeper had disappeared into the shadows of her warehouse, Zim approached the metal tub she’d directed them to. It sat atop the counter a few feet away, and to Dib, it seemed terribly exposed. For a bustling, Irken-dominated market, the atmosphere here felt oddly lax.

“We could steal this stuff, I bet,” Zim said, apparently riding the same wavelength as Dib.

“You were the one who warned me about fooling around, remember? Let’s not push our luck,” Dib said as he pawed through the collection of Irken hardware. After checking for potential eavesdroppers, Dib continued. “I noticed you didn’t mention the ring.”

“This vendor obviously deals in ship components, not PAK parts. We’ll get to it,” Zim said, inspecting a coil of maroon tubing.

“I know, but-” Dib paused as he found a chunk of circuitry that he recognized from the list. “Oh! Isn’t this for the navigational system?”

“Eh?” Zim snatched the piece from his hands and squinted at it. “It… it is. How did you know we were looking for that?”

“Uh, because you showed me? Like, less than 10 minutes ago?”

“No I di-” Zim cut himself off, and a strange expression flickered across his features, so fast that Dib nearly missed it. A flash deep inside of Zim’s magenta eyes, a spasm at the corner of his mouth. Dib knew Zim’s anger, and this wasn’t anger.

Whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it appeared, chased away by the shopkeeper returning from the depths of her warehouse. She placed a tall, metallic cylinder on the counter in front of them and gave the top of it a proud little pat.

“Excellent shape for its age, this one. What do you think?” she asked.

“We’ll take it,” Zim said quickly.

Dib opened his mouth to speak but, remembering his instructions, swiftly shut it again and settled for pinching Zim’s arm.

Zim jumped away from him. “Ow! Hey! What’s gotten into you, bag drone?”

Dib held up his hand, his thumb and fingers shaping a ring. It took Zim a second to catch his drift, but his resulting snarl assured Dib that the Irken did indeed understand.

Zim composed himself and turned back to the vendor. “There is another matter with which you may be able to assist me, despite this clearly being a shop for vehicle parts.”

Dib rolled his eyes, and the shopkeeper tilted her head, confused. Zim beckoned for her to lean closer, and with some (completely justified) trepidation, she did.

“I am also seeking PAK components. Do you know of anyone who deals in such things?” Zim asked, his voice low.

The shopkeeper’s confusion fell away, and she drew back to laugh. “Oh! Oh, you were just doing a bit. I thought you were looking for drugs or something.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Are you looking for drugs? I know a guy. And you don’t have to be all that hush-hush about it around here, either. This your first time on Currus?”

“What? No – I mean, yes – I mean… URGH!” Zim grabbed his antennae, but before he could pull, Dib placed his hand on the back of Zim’s neck. Zim froze for a beat, then released his feelers and straightened his posture. “I was not doing a ‘bit.’ I require PAK components. Not for myself, of course! For a project.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. This really is your first time here, isn’t it?”

Zim’s antennae flattened against his skull. “So what if it is?”

“No insult intended!” said the shopkeeper. “It’s just that you’re not going to find anything like that in the marketplace. PAKs, robotics, basically anything advanced enough to be manufactured on Machinus is forbidden around here.”

“What? Why?” Zim asked.

“You think the Resisty are still manufacturing Irken tech on Machinus now that they have control of the planet? Don’t make me laugh. Unless you really are doing a bit, and this is still a joke?”

“… Yes… I’m still joking…” Zim said with a painfully fake smile.

“Ha! You’re a funny little guy, huh?” the shopkeeper beamed, oblivious.

“Yes. I’m hilarious. Now, for the sake of the joke, what were you saying about Machinus?”

“Well, the planet's been locked down for a few years now. There’s even talk that they’ll blow the whole thing up, just in case the last of the Empire loyalists manage to get a new smeetery up and running. Easier to make smeets than to build a new PAK-making facility from scratch, especially without the Control Brains,” the shopkeeper explained. “As you can imagine, then, there’s quite a demand for all the advanced tech that used to come out of Machinus. For a while, you could get away with pirating parts and making a tidy profit off of them, but after the Resisty took full control and cracked down on smuggling? Every market on Currus went crazy over the stuff. It was chaos. People were murdering each other in the streets over it. Eventually, Esh-El’s Order stepped in to ban all Machinus-made technology from the marketplace, or else we wouldn’t even have a marketplace left to trade in.”

“So, there are no PAK parts on this planet?” Dib blurted. Zim glared daggers at him, but made no comment.

“Even the bag drone is in on it, eh?” the shopkeeper said with a wink, apparently still convinced that this was some kind of comedy sketch. “Oh, you can find what you’re looking for here, but it isn’t easy.”

“I demand to know how!” Zim said, his claws splayed on the countertop.

“All the Machinus-made goods that were confiscated after the ban are guarded by Director Esh-El and used as grand prizes for the Round-the-World Rally,” the shopkeeper said. “If you want to get your hands on functional PAK-ware, you have to win the race.”

“Explain this race you speak of,” Zim said.

Once again, the shopkeeper broke out in giggles. “You’re really committed to this joke, aren’t you?” she said as she wiped a tear from her eye.

Dib had had enough. “OK, I don’t know how any of this seems like a joke to you, but it’s not. We’re new here, and we want to know what’s going on. Can you help us or not?”

“Wait, are we still riffing, or…?” The shopkeeper’s brow ridges furrowed in genuine confusion.

“JUST TELL ZIM ABOUT THE RACE!” Zim shouted, his PAK legs boosting him to eye-level with the baffled vendor.

“Yeesh, sorry, I thought we were doing a little scene,” she said, stepping back. “This is why they cut you from the improv troupe, Didi… Anyway, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’m just surprised that you’re here the day before the biggest event of the trading season without even knowing what it is.”

As intrigued as Dib was by the jarring concept of an Irken improv troupe on a lawless desert planet, he forced himself to stay on task. “So, if I’m understanding you correctly, there’s going to be a race around the world tomorrow, and the winner gets access to rare technology?”

“Yes, that’s right,” the shopkeeper said, watching Zim warily as he lowered himself and retracted his metal limbs. “That’s why it’s so busy here today. The Rally draws a huge crowd. It’s great for business. Oh! Speaking of, I was just helping a competitor with something. She might be able to tell you more about the race itself.” She turned back toward the Vortian she’d been assisting previously, who was still stationed at the far end of the stall, carefully counting out pieces of hardware on the counter. “Hey! These guys want to know about the Rally!”

The purple Vortian tensed and shot a withering look toward the shopkeeper. “Actually, I need to get going. Hold these for me,” she said in a lilting, nasally voice as she pointed at the collection of parts.

“Will do!” the shopkeeper said as the Vortian strode away on spindly, goat-like legs. “Must be those pre-competition jitters. That’s alright. Are you two looking for a good spot to watch the start? I know a rooftop where you can see the starting line. The owner sets up a bunch of seats, too. You might have to sit in someone’s lap, but-”

“That’s OK,” Dib said, cutting her off. “Your name’s Didi, right?”

The shopkeeper – Didi – nodded.

“Didi, if we were interested in participating in the race, would we need to register for it or something?” Dib asked.

Didi grinned. “You really are a plucky pair. You two have a Drifter?”

“Is that the type of ship they race here?” Dib asked.

“It’s basically a ship, yes, but it has to stay within a certain distance of the ground. I’m not really the one to ask about it, though. If you want the full set of regulations, you should probably talk to Esh-El’s Order. They’re the ones to ask about registration, too. Their headquarters is just a couple blocks away. You can’t miss it, I promise. Plus, I hear they have the grand prize package on display there, if that’s of any interest.”

“That’s definitely of interest,” Dib said. “Which way did you say that was?”

Didi pointed further down the thoroughfare.

“Great, thanks!” Dib adjusted the bag on his aching shoulders and made to leave the stall, but Zim’s hand stopped him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, bag drone?” Zim said. Dib stared at him blankly. “We have trades to make, remember?”

Dib started to argue, but then realized Zim was right. If they couldn’t purchase PAK parts, then they may as well offload their goods and buy the available Voot equipment. Still, he didn’t want to waste much time here. He needed to see that prize display. If it had what they were after, maybe they wouldn’t need to race for it at all. Dib could already see himself descending from the ceiling, Mission Impossible-style, to secretly swipe an LSI-Ring from a technological treasure hoard. He’d hacked into a giant space station before; surely he and Zim could manage a smaller-scale heist in a town where half the buildings sat in abandoned disrepair.  

Dib shifted the pack off of himself and grimaced at the way his shirt clung to his back with sweat. As gross as it was, at least he could sweat. Zim, on the other hand, had wilted a little during their time in the market. His tongue lolled out of his mouth in a lazy pant as he dug through the bag and hauled out pieces to offer to Didi. Maybe it was a good plan to find a cool place to rest for a moment before they went to this “Esh-El’s Order” place.

Dib was about to ask Didi if she knew somewhere they could get a cold drink when a commotion rose up from a few stands away. Dib, who had been leaning against the counter while Zim and Didi bartered, straightened up to his full height to see over the crowd.

“Ope, someone’s causing a stink again,” Didi commented. She clucked her tongue and went back to typing numbers into a tablet. “You know, things got so, well, orderly once Esh-El’s Order showed up a few years ago. But every year around the time of the Rally, some poor newcomer or other tries to pull something stupid in the marketplace. They never know what they’re in for.”

A sudden electric thrum lifted the hair on Dib’s arms. Over the heads of the rapidly dispersing crowd, Dib glimpsed the pronged tops of spear-like weapons that glowed with crackling blue energy. The marketplace patrons avoided the approaching weapon-bearers, but the street was still too packed for Dib to get a good look at them. Through a brief gap in the crowd, Dib caught a flash of light, a crystalline glimmer that might have been a mask, or might have been part of whatever species was carrying the spears.

Four spears of the eight that had arrived tilted down in flawless synchrony, and a thunderous clap broke the air, followed by a short, tinny shriek. A hush fell over the street as several dozen aliens waited for whatever was coming next. Dib felt the collective tension of the crowd release as the spears lifted upright again, no longer swarming with electricity. The spears formed a circle around whatever unfortunate creature had invoked their wrath, and then, as swiftly as they’d arrived, the spear-carriers paired up and marched away. The crowd flowed back together, and the chatter of the market resumed as though nothing had happened.

“Guess it was just something petty,” Didi said, sounding a touch disappointed.

“Did they just murder someone?” Dib asked, tearing his eyes away from the scene.

Didi shrugged. “Maybe? It’s good that we heard a scream. Because when you don’t hear a scream…”

Dib frowned, needing no additional explanation. When he looked to Zim for his reaction, he found Zim still staring into the crowd, his eyes wide and antennae ramrod straight.

“Hey, you good?” Dib asked quietly while Didi resumed her typing.

“I thought I heard…” Zim shook his head, and his antennae fell limply back.

“Zim…?”

But Zim had already turned his attention back to Didi, with whom he started a debate over the value of the navigational circuitry Dib had found. Dib stood aside and let the Irkens haggle for a while until at last both parties seemed satisfied. The transaction complete, Dib packed the new materials and the remaining unsold goods into their bag and slung it onto his back.

Dib assumed Zim would start complaining as soon as they were a safe distance from Didi’s booth, heading in the direction she’d indicated before. He’d clearly been frustrated with some of her deals, though they’d sounded reasonable to Dib. Knowing Zim, he probably expected the shopkeeper to agree to all his initial, way-too-low offers. All in all, Dib thought they’d landed on some good bargains. He was about to say as much when Zim suddenly tripped over his own boots and clanged into an electronic menu board, causing it to flicker.

Dib lunged to catch Zim and pull him away from the board as the food-seller behind it raised a menacing, vulture-like claw at them and grunted something in a language his translator didn’t respond to.

“Sorry!” Dib called to the vendor as he steadied Zim on his feet.

Whether or not the unidentified alien understood the apology, they seemed appeased enough and went back to stirring their vat of sweet-smelling yellow goop.

“What was that? Are you OK?” Dib asked. With his hands still on Zim’s shoulders, he could feel the heat rising from his PAK. “Whoa, your PAK’s burning up…”

Zim shrugged Dib’s hands away and quickened his pace down the street. “That’s because this horrible place never developed urban climate control. Still, we’ve been on hotter planets. Eeugh, you got your nasty human juices on my shirt…”

Dib checked his wrist, where his TransDibber had automatically adjusted to local time. “We still have a lot of daylight to work with. Maybe we could take a break, grab something to eat?”

“I thought you were in a hurry to get to the ‘Shelly’ Order.”

“We can afford a quick detour. There has to be something I can digest around here. Why don’t we find another food stall, then look for some shade where we can… Hey, what are you doing?”

Zim’s communicator hung in front of his face and he blinked at Dib as if the human were a bothersome child he’d been tasked with babysitting. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m checking in with GIR.”

“OK, makes sense, but do you want to maybe step out of the street to do that?” Dib said, swerving to avoid a Plookesian who had accidentally stumbled into his path.

But Zim was already ranting into the communicator. “GIR! I require a status update. Are you and the ship still secure? Any sign of looters? GIR?”

Static, and then a garbled version of GIR’s voice came through. “M-mas-Master? Hi! H-hi hi! Hi!”

“We’re getting some interference… Standby, GIR. I think I see an open area up ahead.”

Zim doubled his speed, and Dib had to jog to keep up with him. As Zim had anticipated, the street opened up into a wide town square. There were fewer stands here, but they were of a higher quality and arranged in a tidy ring around a 20-foot-tall crystal obelisk in the middle of the square which scattered bands of rainbow light across the scene. A festive, whistling tune carried over the plaza from an unseen stage, and a few small, bird-like aliens (perhaps even children?) danced gleefully to the music.

Skoodge had not mentioned this. But then again, Dib was pretty sure Skoodge had done his trading in a different town. Dib and Zim had only come to Calamus because of its rumored specialty in Irken goods. Unless Skoodge had indeed been here but failed to notice the town square?

No, surely not. He had to have visited somewhere else on the planet. Somewhere far more dubious, and with fewer crystalline spires and skipping youths.

“GIR, can you hear me?” Zim panted, finally coming to a stop.

“Yeah! I c-c-c-caaaaannnn hearrrrr-” The connection seemed to break, but then GIR’s voice chimed in again. “Hi, my Master-ster!”

“I need you to focus,” Zim said, his tone shifting into something softer, a voice he only used for GIR. “What’s your status?”

“I’m in a pal-pal-palace!”

“You can tell me stories later, GIR. I need an update.”

“Hi, my-my-my Master! I love you!”

Dark tendrils of dread creeped from the pit of Dib’s stomach up toward his throat as it dawned on him that it wasn’t bad reception that was distorting GIR’s voice. An idea pinged in his head, and Dib moved away from Zim to get a better look at the buildings surrounding the square, a task made difficult by the taller, sturdier market booths arranged across it.

“GIR, I’m picking out a souvenir for you now, but you’re only going to get it if you report on your status!” Zim said.

“You said-said – You said you wouldn’t go out-t-t-t of range! Of range!”

“Report, GIR. Right now!” Zim demanded, his gentleness breaking into something more strained and bordering on panicked.

And then Dib saw it. On the opposite end of the plaza: a jagged, sparkling pyramid of quartz. A palace if Dib had ever seen one.

“Zim!”

Zim’s head snapped in his direction, and Dib pointed toward the structure. Realization brightened Zim’s tired eyes, and in a flash of metal, his PAK legs deployed. As surprised patrons dodged out of his way, Zim beelined for the crystal castle with Dib in hot pursuit, shouting apologies to the vendors whose stands Zim vaulted over.

Dib’s heart nearly burst out of his chest as they neared the “palace.” An array of guards, all bearing electric spears and gleaming armor, flanked the entrance to the pyramid. Dib had little time to take the structure in, but it reminded him of the wild geometrical architecture that formed in ice caves and crystal caverns.

To Dib’s surprise, even as Zim barreled past the guards, none of them so much as flinched. They simply watched through delicate quartz masks as Zim and Dib raced into the building.

They both skidded to a halt at the sight of an enormous, glowing cube. It floated in the middle of the hollow interior of the pyramid, rotating slowly, casting a shifting cerulean light across the angular walls which housed it. It felt to Dib as though he were in the depths of the ocean, the sunlight filtering down to him through layers and layers of sea. For a few seconds, he forgot why he’d run in here in the first place.

Then his eyes adjusted. The cube – at least the size of his father’s house back on Earth, if not larger – was not a solid block of blue. Instead, suspended within it were dozens of objects, ranging in size from tiny clusters of screws to fully-constructed control panels. Dib knew instantly from the unmistakably Irken nature of the objects that this was the Rally prize Didi had spoken of. He understood now why the guards hadn’t fretted over their rush to the inside. There would be no subtle infiltration of such a treasure. Dib could hack a digital security system, sure. But this?

If Dib didn’t know better, he’d call it magic.

“Oh, h-h-hi, Mas-Master!” GIR burbled through Zim’s communicator.

There, floating front and center, was the singed but smiling form of Zim’s perpetual companion. GIR waved a broken mechanical claw at them.

“Fuck,” said Dib, leaning forward with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He’d gotten what he wished for, he supposed. Suddenly, Currus had become infinitely more exciting.

Chapter Text

Before Dib could do anything other than swear, Zim’s lasers were out of his PAK and powering up. Zim fired a series of bolts into the giant cube which imprisoned GIR, but as soon as the blasts met the cube’s surface, they seemed to splatter and ripple away, as harmless as raindrops striking a pond.

Dib reached for Zim’s wrist as the twin lasers recharged for another round. “Stop it! You’re going to get us killed!”

Zim yanked his hand away from Dib and wheeled to face him, his eyes aglow with blind fury. “They STOLE him!” he screamed. “NO ONE steals from ZIM!”

The guards outside of the pyramid began to file in, their steps slow and synchronized, their trident-like weapons buzzing to life. Dib tasted the sharpness of ozone in the air.

“Zim, you have to calm down,” Dib said, cautiously slipping himself between Zim and the cube. “Maybe there’s someone we can talk to about this, but we can only talk to someone if we’re not dead.”

Dib gestured with a subtle angling of his chin toward the guards circling in around them. Zim followed Dib’s gaze, his manic eyes darting between the crystal-masked watchmen. His lasers still arced above him like a pair of cobras waiting to strike, but the glow faded from them. A step in the right direction.

Suddenly, Zim straightened up and faced the closest guard. “You! I demand to speak with your commander!”

The guard – long-bodied with an angular head, like an oversized stick-bug – said nothing.

Zim crouched, and Dib barely managed to catch the back of his shirt in time to stop him from lunging at the guard claws first. Dib pulled Zim back against himself, wincing as the intense heat of his PAK scalded his stomach.

“Where is your commander?! ANSWER ME!” Zim howled, struggling against Dib’s arms.

“I understand you wish to see us?”

A tall, two-headed form appeared from behind the guards and approached Zim and Dib. Dib was eye-level with the alien’s shoulders, and their slender, reptilian necks gave them nearly another foot of height. Both heads were distinctly snakelike, but with larger, more expressive eyes and a slightly flatter profile. Their pale skin was scaled, yet looked soft to the touch. The scales glittered in the blue light of the cube, and Dib couldn’t decide what their true colors were.

“Why don’t we all introduce ourselves?” suggested one of the heads in a deep, smooth voice that contrasted with the more feminine voice that had spoken before. “We are Esh-El. Individually, my sister is Esh, and I am El. We are the Director of this order. And you are…?”

With a sudden wrenching of his body, Zim escaped Dib’s clutches and puffed himself up in front of Esh-El. “I AM ZIM! And you have ABDUCTED my-” He lost the sentence for a second, but quickly jumped back in. “You’ve stolen my property, and you will release him at once!”

Both of Esh-El’s heads tilted to the left. “Him? Are you speaking of the SIR unit?” asked Esh, the so-called “sister” head.

“The SIR unit is unregistered,” El said in an infuriatingly calm tone. “But even if it were, we could not return it to you. We do not steal, but to maintain order in the Calamus market, we must confiscate prohibited goods.”

“This is all just a big misunderstanding,” Dib said with his hands raised placatingly. “We didn’t know about the ban when we arrived on Currus. We only heard about it when we were in the marketplace. If you give us back the SIR unit, we’re more than happy to get him off the planet.”

Four slit-pupiled eyes locked onto Dib, sending a chill up his spine.

“Oh, I’m sure you’d be happy to take that SIR off-world,” said Esh. Dib could see now that her eyes were a bright tangerine color, while her counterpart’s were a glimmering navy. “We did not hatch yesterday, you know.”

“Esh, easy,” El murmured. He smiled softly at Dib. “Perhaps we do have a misunderstanding on our hands. Let’s address this rationally. But first, we didn’t catch your name?”

“Dib Membrane,” said Dib, suppressing the urge to extend his arm for a handshake, since it apparently wasn’t a universal greeting.

El’s head dipped politely. “A pleasure to meet you. Now, allow me to clear up some things. You may not have known about the ban, but it is effectively a law on this planet, as overseen by our Order. So, even under the assumption that this unregistered SIR unit that we found wandering the market is in fact yours, we have no choice but to detain it. Like all other Machinus technology, it belongs to the Order now, regardless of its previous ownership.”

“What belongs to the Order belongs to the people,” Esh added.

Before either Zim or Dib could counter, the ring of guards spoke en masse.

“What belongs to the Order belongs to the people,” they repeated.

Zim’s entire body quivered with rage. “I see what’s happening here. You’re nothing but filthy, smelly, scavenger worms!”

“Will you be entering the race, then?” El asked, unaffected by Zim’s insult.

“Eh?”

“If you want the SIR, you’ll have to win it,” El said. The hand on what Dib assumed to be “his” side of their body reached into the pocket of their white, silken jumpsuit and retrieved a small data card. “The Round-the-World Rally is a three day Drifter race that starts and ends here in Calamus. Anyone can compete, so long as you use a ship that’s modified to meet Drifter qualifications. I have all the details about those qualifications, the registration process, and the race rules here on this card. Are you interested?”

Dib scoffed. “Right. And how much are you going to charge us for it?”

Both of Esh-El’s faces drew back in surprise.

“There’s no cost. We’re giving it to you,” Esh said, a hint of irritation coloring her words.

“I think perhaps you’re still not clear on the nature of our Order. We value fairness and community, and we intend to help this market prosper,” El said. “The days of bloody brawls and underhanded dealings are over. Calamus is becoming a safer place to trade. Better goods, less risk, all thanks to our alliance with its vendors and visitors.”

Esh-El extended their hand toward Dib, offering him the card. El continued to speak.

“This race is intended to engage the community and to remove controversial goods from the marketplace in a competitive and entertaining way. Charging competitors to enter the race hardly seems fair.”

“The race itself will be costly enough,” Esh said with a smirk.

Dib reached tentatively for the card resting in Esh-El’s palm, but Zim knocked his hand aside.

“This is dookie!” Zim snarled. “I REFUSE to compete for what’s rightfully mine!”

A luminous, blue tongue flicked out of Esh’s mouth and she inclined her head toward her brother’s. “Ugh, El, why can’t we just give it to them and boot them off Currus? I mean, we saw the SIR up close… Its head is full of actual garbage. Nobody’s going to want that broken, defective piece of-”

Zim screamed and launched forward, claws outstretched, teeth bared, and PAK lasers reengaging. A shining blur whipped out to intercept him from somewhere behind Esh-El, striking him across the chest and knocking his PAK limbs back. His lasers fired up at the vaulted, crystal ceiling, which, much like the prize cube, seemed to absorb the energy in an instant. Whatever hit Zim tossed him backwards into Dib hard enough that they both crashed onto their backs. Dib’s backpack stopped him from cracking his skull against the glassy floor, but its blocky, metallic contents prodded painfully into his spine.

Ignoring his own discomfort, Dib wrapped his arms tightly around Zim to prevent him from leaping back up. Zim, however, slumped against his chest and remained limp as Dib pushed himself into a seated position, his PAK iron-hot even through Dib’s shirt.

Dib – acting as a seatback for Zim’s unresponsive body – jostled Zim’s shoulders to rouse him and whispered harshly in his antenna as Esh-El strode forward. “Zim, you fucking idiot, snap out of it…”

Zim jolted a little, groaned, and shook his head. Dib pushed him slightly forward, unable to withstand the incredible heat radiating from Zim’s back as his PAK limbs folded back inside.

“The SIR unit isn’t worthless,” El said to his sibling-head. “At the very least, it can be scrapped. Lots of rare material to be harvested from bots, even defective ones. We can’t simply give it away. That wouldn’t be fair.”

The whip-like appendage that had struck Zim swished again, and Dib realized it was Esh-El’s tail. It twitched across the floor as Esh-El argued with themselves about GIR’s potential value a few feet away. Dib took the opportunity to bring Zim back to reality.

“I don’t think we’re winning this one,” Dib said quietly. “Let’s take the data card and get out of here. We can figure out next steps when we aren’t surrounded by armed guards.”

Zim’s head lolled back against Dib’s shoulder. The storm that had been raging in his eyes had abated, but Dib couldn’t immediately interpret the new emotion in them. He followed Zim’s eyes up, toward the massive cube now towering above them. Inside it, GIR floated tranquilly, his eyes dim, mouth slack. In the midst of the chaos, he’d apparently powered down. Seeing him so still and silent made Dib’s stomach clench.

“I’m not leaving him here,” Zim stated softly.

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Dib said as he checked in on Esh-El again.

Their heads continued to bicker.

“I say we scrap it now, then. Display the parts instead of the whole. Make it more attractive to any last-minute competitors.”

“Yes, Esh, I suppose we could do that…”

Zim shuddered, and Dib felt his quick, hot breath against his ear. His PAK pressed against Dib’s body again, and Dib wondered how it wasn’t burning Zim’s skin. Unless, of course, it was burning him.

Dib started to stand, guiding Zim to his feet as he did, though the Irken was about as cooperative as a sack of potatoes. Zim craned his neck as Dib moved him, still completely focused on GIR’s silhouette. Belatedly, he seemed to realize what Dib was doing.

“No… release me,” Zim muttered, feebly pushing at the hands holding him up by the ribs. He panted between his words. “I’m not… leaving… without my GIR!”

“Then again, it’s easier to advertise SIR materials when they’re assembled in a recognizable fashion. I say we leave it in one piece,” said El.

Dib felt Zim’s body relax, but he continued to pant rapidly, verging on hyperventilation. Zim had never been good with heat, which was probably why his PAK was now a furnace as it fought to regulate his temperature. They needed to get the fuck out of here and find a cool place where they could collect themselves and come up with a battle plan. First, though, they’d have to talk their way out of this without Zim pulling out his lasers again or literally combusting.

“We’ll take the data card,” Dib announced. “Just leave the SIR alone.”

Both heads turned to face him. Unsure of which pair of eyes to make contact with, Dib switched between the two and tried his best to look resolute and unshaken.

“Ah, so you are joining the Rally.” Esh nodded toward Zim. “He’s not going to rip our arm off when we hand the card to you, right?”

Zim didn’t react to her. His attention was still drawn over Dib’s shoulder, up toward his unconscious robot. The flat, vacant look in his eyes made Dib’s skin crawl.

How sickeningly familiar this all felt… Once again, their little family was split apart, with their only hope of reunion lying at the end of another arbitrary competition. It seemed to Dib that the universe was toying with them, tying their fates to the outcomes of cruel games masterminded by strangers who profited from their suffering. The thought flushed him with anger.

“No. He won’t,” Dib said, jaw tight.

Esh-El stepped closer, their taloned, shoeless feet clicking on the smooth floor. They presented the card to Dib, who snatched it out of their hand without breaking eye contact with Esh. The ridges of her brows lifted, amused.

“You really want that thing back in one piece, don’t you?” she asked, her candle-fire eyes piercing into Dib’s.

“We’ll keep it whole for you,” said El. As sincere as he sounded, Dib couldn’t let himself relax. “We look forward to seeing you at the starting line.”

“Best of luck, racers,” Esh said, her strange, glowing tongue flickering out once more.

In response to a silent order, the ring of guards stepped back to allow Esh-El to pass. The guards didn’t follow the Director out of the pyramid, nor did they make any move toward Dib and Zim. Still, the message was clear enough.

“They’re waiting on us. We need to go,” Dib whispered.

Zim shook his head. Despite the glow of the cube, his eyes were dull.

“We’re going to get him back, but we can’t do it from here. Not like this. Do you understand?”

No response.

Dib chewed his lip as the guards edged forward again, their patience waning. “The best way to protect GIR is for us to leave and come up with a strategy. We’re not abandoning him. I need you to trust me on this.”

Finally, Zim’s eyes shifted toward Dib’s face. Zim nodded, a motion so subtle that Dib almost couldn’t see it through his heavy breathing.

To Dib’s relief, Zim allowed himself to be guided out of the crystal structure without causing a scene. Dib held his hand, towing him along as if he were a child. Zim’s unusually docile behavior disquieted Dib, but at least he wasn’t drawing unwanted attention from the guards following them out.

Dib shaded his eyes with his free hand as they returned to the full sunlight of the square. He checked around for signs of Esh-El and, finding none, headed toward a shaded gap between two low, blocky buildings. Blessedly, the alleyway was empty, and the sturdy walls blocked some of the discordant noises of the marketplace. It was as good a spot as any to cool down before working on next steps.

Dib let go of Zim’s hand, slung the bag off of his shoulders, and set it against the wall. Zim wavered on his feet a little and squinted skeptically at him.

“We can’t… stay here,” Zim said, still struggling to get more than a couple words out with each breath. “We… have work to do.”

“Zim. Sit.”

To his credit, Zim sank down next to the bag with only a small hiss of displeasure. “I’m just… a little hot.”

“Yeah, dumbass, I noticed. You’re overheating and freaking me out!” Dib hadn’t meant to blurt that last bit, and half expected it would spark an argument.

Which was why it surprised Dib when Zim muttered a tiny, grumbly little “sorry.”

“Did you just apologize?”

Zim leered at him. “I will take a break. So my PAK can adjust,” he said, his wind already returning to him. “It’s harder for it to process heat now. And then… in there, with GIR…”

Zim’s eyes dulled again and seemed to stare through Dib. Dib shifted nervously on his feet. “We’ll rescue him. I promise. Here… Why don’t you give me the cred chip, and I’ll find us something cold to drink? I saw a stand selling something slushie-adjacent pretty close by.”

“Sure,” said Zim, absently. He reached over his shoulder and rifled through his PAK until he found the cred chip, which he handed to Dib.

“Thanks. Just sit tight and rest, OK? I’ll be right back.” Dib started down the alleyway, but then paused as another thought occurred to him. “Zim?”

Zim had already shifted down a little, reclining against the bag. “Hm?”

“Thanks for being honest about the PAK stuff. I know it’s not your favorite thing to talk about, but I’m relieved that you’re being mindful of it.”

Zim’s antennae flicked and a weird, sickly smile pulled at his mouth. “Uh, yeah. Of course.”

Dib frowned. “You gonna be alright?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“OK.” Dib took a few steps toward the square.

“Wait! Dib-stink!”

Dib turned back. “Yeah?”

“I want purple.”

“You got it.”

*****

Dib was pretty sure these slushie-things were no different than the ones from the convenience store hubs they sometimes stopped at, but Zim still insisted on testing Dib’s with his scanner before he let him taste it. Once he decided it was clear, he passed it back to Dib, who took a long draught of it. The sweet, icy drink soothed his hot throat and sent a delicious chill through his body. It was no “Chocolate-Bubblegum” Suck Munkey, but it still hit the spot.

Zim luxuriated in his drink as well, his eyes closing in ecstasy and his antennae going briefly limp. The few minutes of shaded rest had done him worlds of good, Dib noted. He sat up straighter, and his skin looked less sallow.

At some point during their travels, Zim had explained to Dib that Irkens were artificial endotherms. They couldn’t produce their own heat by natural means, but with the assistance of their PAKs, they could adapt to a wider variety of climates. However, PAKs were much more efficient at generating heat than they were at cooling their hosts down.

“You’re staring. Is something wrong with your drink?” Zim asked.

“Huh? No, everything’s good,” Dib said. “I just… You’re looking better now. I forgot how susceptible Irkens are to hot weather. I got a little worried.”

“Enough with the worrying. Give me the data card,” Zim said. He reached out expectantly as he loudly sucked his slushie.

Dib handed him the card and Zim connected it to his tablet. He narrowed his eyes in concentration as he read the screen, occasionally nodding or muttering affirmations to himself between pulls of his beverage.

“You gonna share with the class?” Dib prompted.

“It won’t take much to modify our ship to meet Drifter standards. Mainly, we need to alter its flight capabilities so it stays low to the ground. Additionally, we’ll have to take the weapons offline.”

“At least that means this isn’t going to be some kind of battle royale,” Dib said.

Zim nodded. “There aren’t many rules listed, but yes, violence does seem to be discouraged. Disappointing.”

“Disappointing?”

“If we could blow up our competitors, we’d stand a better chance of winning,” Zim said.

Dib stirred his slushie. “Yeah, I guess you have a point. We kind of excel at destroying things, and I doubt our ship is going to be much competition on its own. And we still have that thruster to repair…”

Zim’s brows furrowed. “Oh. Right. The thruster.”

“Do we have enough supplies to fix it?” Dib asked.

“It shouldn’t be an issue,” Zim said, but his frown deepened.

As Zim continued reading his screen, Dib mulled over their options. Even if they fixed and modified the ship in time for the race, it wouldn’t stand a chance against the other racers. If the goods in that prize cube were as valuable as they seemed, then the field would be stacked with serious competitors piloting ships that were actually designed for a regatta like this.

“You know, Zim… Maybe we don’t even have to race,” Dib said. “I don’t think we can break into that cube without risking some major repercussions, but maybe we can negotiate with whoever wins it. I mean, all we’re really after is GIR… Oh shit. And the LSI-Ring. I was so distracted with the GIR situation that I didn’t really look…”

“There were four PAKs in the cube. They looked complete, as far as I could tell,” Zim said, still scrolling.

Dib sighed in relief and tried not to consider the implications. “Oh. OK, good. Anyway, we might not be able to trade for GIR and the PAKs while we’re on Currus, but maybe the winner will be open to something different. We could arrange a meeting place somewhere off-world and neutral. If we make it clear we’re only-”

Zim abruptly choked on his slushie, spraying purple juice directly into Dib’s face.

“AH! Zim, what the fuck?!”

As Dib lifted the corner of his sweat-dampened shirt to try to clean himself up, Zim leaped to his feet and pointed furiously at his tablet screen.

“That wretched, hogulus-stinking, two-headed ooze-beast!” Zim exclaimed. “They’re in the race, too!”

“What? Let me see,” Dib said.

Zim thrust the tablet into his hands and began to pace as Dib read through the data card’s registry. At the top of the list, an image of Esh-El’s faces stared back at him.

“They’re competing in their own race…” Dib said, scanning through their registration details. “They talked such a big game about ‘fairness’ and whatever, but they’re competing for their own fucking prize.”

Zim clenched his fists, vibrating with renewed wrath. “And if they win that prize, there’s not a grub’s chance on Sylvestra they’ll be willing to trade with us.”

“Definitely not,” Dib agreed. “Considering the rest of their tech, and the fact that they’re in charge of this whole thing, their Drifter has to be top-of-the-line. This is bullshit! What are we supposed to do?”

A wild, toothy grin spread across Zim’s face, and Dib suddenly recalled his days as a skoolchild facing off against Earth’s greatest threat: an alien menace who would stop at nothing in the name of his mission.

“We do what we have to do,” Zim said, eyes ablaze. “We win the race by any means necessary.”

Chapter Text

Dib didn’t remember falling asleep. The last task he recalled completing was reprogramming the ship's navigational system so that it would better align with Currus's magnetic fields. The outdated software was designed with interplanetary travel in mind, not terrestrial navigation.

Honestly, they could have made do without that adjustment. It would be useful, sure, but it felt like small potatoes in the grand scheme of things. The simple, terrible truth was that their junkheap of a ship was not built for a race like this. Even as Dib and Zim rearranged the thrusters, locked the altitude system, and dumped what ballast they could, Dib couldn’t escape the thought that they were planning a picnic in Pompeii. They could prep all they wanted, but it wouldn’t stop the inevitable eruption.

No. Those thoughts weren’t helpful… Dib made an effort to sweep them to the back of his mind. He’d finished up his reprogramming, then walked out into the cool of the night to help Zim repair a wiring issue with the exterior lighting. After that, the memories turned hazy. He’d been detangling wires by the light of the open hatch and passing them to Zim to install, and he’d started nodding, drifting into sleep’s embrace and then jerking awake again, only to pass out again seconds later.

That’s what must have happened. Maybe Zim was too preoccupied with the ship to notice that Dib had fallen asleep on the job. As Dib slowly returned to his senses and sat up from where he’d slumped against the cabin wall, he discovered that his coat had been removed from storage and draped across his body like a blanket.

For a fraction of a second, a peculiar warmth fluttered within Dib’s chest. It was immediately replaced by annoyance.

Dib threw the coat off of himself and staggered out into the gray-blue predawn light. He marched to the nose of the patchwork ship, which Zim perched atop of, tweaking something in the engine compartment from above.

Hearing Dib approach, Zim paused his task and grinned down at him. “There you are! I was just about to wake you.”

“How long was I out?” Dib asked.

“Not long,” said Zim as he reached back into the engine.

“Long enough that’s it’s almost morning,” Dib said, throwing his hand out toward the horizon, where the glow of the rising sun had just begun to creep into the sky. “I don’t know how long the light cycles are on Currus, but I’m assuming I was down for at least a couple hours. We don’t have that kind of time to waste.”

Zim straightened up again, looking stern. “It wasn’t a waste of time. Your goopy human brain requires sleep to function properly.”

“Yeah, I know, but in case you’ve forgotten, you also need sleep now,” Dib said.

“I haven’t forgotten.”

Even in the thin light, the dark bags under Zim’s eyes stood out against his green skin. Dib swallowed the accusation that had been on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to call Zim out for not taking his PAK situation seriously again, but what right did he have to do that? Hadn’t Zim been honest with him back on Dendroba? And then in the marketplace as he overheated? Zim was finally being truthful with him, and now Dib was repaying him with anger and skepticism.

“Right… I know. I’m sorry,” Dib mumbled, hoping that the dimness of the morning would hide the shame in his face. “Do you have time to nap before we need to be at the starting line?”

Zim procured his tablet from his PAK and checked the screen. “No, not really. The circumstances aren’t ideal, but we’ll both have time to rest tonight. The first leg of the race should conclude before dusk.”

Dib nodded, recalling the sparse racing rules they’d found on the data card. Each segment of the race was only meant to last the day. The competitors were expected to reach their destination by nightfall, allowing Drifters to refuel and species with circadian rhythms to rest before the next start, which would be at dawn. Any participants not at the starting line by then would be disqualified. Other causes for disqualification included assaulting other competitors with shipboard weapons, exceeding the equivalent of 50 feet in altitude, and flying outside of the course’s parameters.

Keeping the flight path low and within the race’s borders was easy enough now that they’d locked their altitude and improved the navigation system. As for the weapons, they’d removed the singular laser turret near the bow. Honestly, for all Zim’s talk of winning by any means necessary, all the work they’d done on the ship so far was above board.

All the work that Dib had witnessed or participated in, anyway.

“So, uh, need a hand?” Dib asked, pointing to the open engine compartment.

“I was just finishing up with the speakers,” Zim said.

Dib cocked his head. “And there are speakers in the engine compartment for what reason, exactly?”

Zim’s lips curled in villainous delight as he closed the panel. “Oh, you’ll see. No time to go into it now, though. We still need to select a name for our registration.”

“OK, you’re not off the hook on the speakers thing, but I thought we registered last night,” Dib said.

“We did, but we didn’t set a name for our Drifter,” Zim said, hopping down from the nose. “It’s an optional detail. Pointless and sentimental if you ask me, but I thought, I don’t know… Perhaps you’d want to name it anyway.”

Dib accepted the tablet Zim placed in his hands. “You’re letting me name our ship?”

“Is that not what I said?” Zim huffed. “Name it or don’t. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Dib grinned deviously. “In that case, I’m calling it ‘Dib Is Always Right.’”

Zim’s feelers jumped in indignation. “What? You can’t call it that!”

“I thought it didn’t matter to you,” Dib teased.

“It doesn’t matter to me. I just refuse to pilot a ship named after such an egregious untruth. That’s all,” Zim said with a haughty jut of his chin. “Besides, naming a vehicle after yourself is tacky.”

“Fine,” Dib said, feigning defeat. “What if I named it after you instead?”

Zim eyed Dib with wary interest. “… I’m listening.”

“Let’s see, how about: ‘Zim… Is… Stinky,’” Dib said, pretending to type the words into the tablet as he spoke them.

Zim gasped in offense and reached for the tablet, which Dib easily hoisted out of range. “LIES! It is YOU who is the stink-beast!”

“‘Nasty…. Smelly… Spacebug,’” Dib fake-typed, holding the tablet above his head to keep it away from Zim as the Irken swiped for it again. “Ooo, here’s a good one! ‘Zim… Eats… Packing… Peanuts.’”

“Give it back! I’m revoking your naming rights!” Zim exclaimed as he leaped onto Dib, knocking him off his feet.

They tumbled into the dirt together, Zim scrambling for the tablet while Dib swung it around in a clumsy game of keep-away. Eventually, Zim wrestled Dib onto his back, straddling his stomach and using one claw to pin his shoulder while the other snapped the tablet out of Dib’s hand.

Zim waved his prize triumphantly in the air. “HA! Victory for Zim!”

“Not so fast, frog-face!”

Dib’s free arm shot up to grab Zim’s wrist, which he pulled down in an attempt to dislodge the tablet (he’d seen Zim hurl the thing against a wall more than once – a short fall to the sandy ground wouldn’t hurt it). Instead of dropping the tablet, however, Zim lost his balance and toppled forward onto Dib’s chest. He caught himself before their foreheads could smack together, his hands on either side of Dib’s head, their faces barely an inch apart. Zim’s eyes – as pink and bright as pomegranate seeds – filled the whole of Dib’s vision.

Dib’s breath caught in his throat.

An infinite second clicked by.

Zim jumped off of Dib as if he’d been scalded, his tablet still in his hand. He swatted the dirt from his knees before he inspected the device, making sure none of the names Dib had suggested had actually been typed in.

“We don’t have time for this. We need to complete our final preparations for the race,” he stated, his back to Dib.

“I know, I know.” Dib pushed himself up on his elbows and tried to ignore his inexplicably racing heart. “I still want to name the ship, though. No goofing around this time.”

Zim glanced at him, assessing his sincerity. “Very well. What do you want to call it?”

“How about: ‘Mothman’s Rev-’”

“No cryptids,” Zim interrupted.

Dib groaned as he got to his feet. “You’re such a killjoy. Let me think for a sec…”

Dib stepped back so he could review the full length of the ship. For something cobbled together from scraps and broken dreams, it had an odd charm to it. There was a friendliness to its rounded shape, and the combination of its small fins with its large, bubble-like thrusters almost made it cute, despite the welding scars that striped its hull. The thing was a deathtrap, but it was their deathtrap.

“Doom Buggy,” Dib said.

Zim squinted at him. “If that is the name of another monster, I swear on the Tallest, I’ll break this tablet over your giant head.”

“Calm down. It’s a pun on ‘dune buggy,’” Dib explained. “But I guess it could be a monster name, too. Actually, you’re kind of a doom bug.”

Zim’s face scrunched in confusion. “What?”

“Like, you’re my little doom buggy,” Dib said in an obnoxiously cutesy voice, fully aware he was inviting another outburst.

But no such outburst came. Instead, Zim clicked his tongue and typed something into the tablet. “Ridiculous. That’s its name now. I hope you’re happy.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Zim said, tucking the device back into his PAK. He motioned for Dib to follow him back inside the newly-named Doom Buggy. “Now, let’s go. We need to top off our fuel before the start.”

Dib entered the hatch after Zim and closed it behind them. “By the way, don’t think that I’ve forgotten the whole speaker situation. I know we have to get creative if we want a shot at winning, but whatever you did up there isn’t going to get us disqualified, is it?”

Zim shimmied around the corner of the pilot’s bench. “Not at all. It’s not technically a weapon, and even if it was, we-”

Something squeaked as Zim sat on the bench, disrupting his explanation. He dug into the seat corner and pulled out a mangled rubber piggy. For several long seconds, Zim simply stared at the old toy in his hands, his mouth a firm line, brows drawn tight. His thumb passed over the piggy’s gnawed ear, tracing familiar ridges with a feather-light touch.

Dib watched him in silence from behind the seat. His understanding of GIR had gone through several evolutions over the years. As a kid, he knew GIR as Zim’s robotic minion (and possibly pet? The doggy suit – while not convincing – muddied the matter). He was at once an evil henchman and a walking doomsday device, and initially, Dib considered him as great a threat as Zim himself. It didn’t take long, however, for him to realize that GIR’s main interests involved TV, junk food, and unintentionally terrorizing the local wildlife. At some point, Dib developed an almost chummy relationship with the weird little bot. He started to see GIR as Zim’s mostly innocuous little brother.

But there were more layers to that relationship, layers that Dib was still excavating after all this time. Zim frequently ordered GIR around and condescended to him, but he also bought him souvenirs, and stocked the fridge with GIR’s preferred snacks, and carried him to a cozy resting place when he fell asleep in a jumble of crayons and half-finished drawings. More than once, Dib had caught Zim singing softly to the robot while Dib was supposed to be asleep. Quiet, chirping lullabies, barely audible over the hum of the dark ship.

But casting Zim as GIR’s parent didn’t sit quite right, either. Dib reflected on how GIR rushed to Zim’s aid way back on Sirus Minor, and then again at the Battle Zoo… And even yesterday, now that Dib thought about it. GIR had been so anxious about being separated from Zim. Dib had assumed GIR was nervous about being left alone somewhere new, but that had never been a problem before. Perhaps it wasn’t himself that GIR was worried about. He’d complained over the communicator about Zim getting “out of range,” after all. Out of range of what?

Before he could follow that line of thought any further, Zim loudly cleared his throat and stuffed the piggy into his PAK.

“The speakers aren’t a weapon,” he said flatly as he settled into the pilot’s bench.

Dib squeezed into the seat next to him and decided not to push the matter any further.

Calamus was oddly quiet and calm, even as dawn broke. The Doom Buggy rumbled around the edge of town, hovering a couple meters off the ground and only stinking mildly of melting plastic. But the engines maintained an even purr, and the yoke in Zim’s hand seemed responsive enough. It wouldn’t be the prettiest Drifter in the running, but Dib was more confident in its capabilities than he was the night before.

As they piloted closer to the western edge of the city, where the data card said the starting line would be, they began to notice other vehicles similar to theirs, hovering in from the desert wastes or pulling out of concrete garages. A couple of them occupied pumps at the same fueling station that Dib and Zim now stopped at. Dib surreptitiously watched the other crews as he filled the Doom Buggy’s tank. They worked quickly and quietly, and Dib wondered if they sensed the tension in the air, too.

It was only when they departed the station and turned the corner to the city’s western face that the spell of silence began to break. Spectators chattered from their positions on rooftops and hovering platforms high above. More and more Drifters joined in the slow parade toward the starting line, their engines buzzing at a dozen different frequencies. Far away, the same festive music Dib had heard in the plaza the day before drifted in and out of audible range.

As much as he knew he shouldn’t, Dib relished the thrum of adrenaline through his veins. The stakes were high and the circumstances dire, but he couldn’t resist the romantic appeal. If child-Dib could see him now: entering a circumnavigational race on an alien planet, competing against a host of advanced species, all with their eyes on the same prize… The bit about racing alongside Zim as a copilot/best friend would have been a bit of a shock for his younger self, but the point still stood.

Zim handed him the tablet, and Dib fed him instructions to reach a specified point in the starting grid. He’d expected a broad corridor of bleachers to witness the start of the race, but only a few sets of stands flanked the starting line, which was painted across the dirt, blood red and five feet wide, several dozen feet long. A tall, crystalline pagoda towered over one end of the line, gleaming in the sharp rays of the rising sun.

The Doom Buggy was assigned near the back of the field, but apparently, starting position held little significance. Each Drifter was individually timed – all that mattered was having the lowest average time at the end of the last leg.

A chalk rectangle marked their spot in the second to last row. About 50 such slots existed in the grid, and Dib’s mind boggled at the wild varieties of vehicles which occupied them. He recognized the saturated purples and pinks of Irken vessels, as well as a few angular Vortian designs, but some of the Drifters wouldn’t have clocked as ships in any other context. A couple rows up, a snot-green, gelatinous tube undulated a few feet from the ground, its apparent pilot sitting astride it as if it were a stallion. A little further forward, a black sphere the size of a helicopter throbbed in an eerily heart-like rhythm. When Dib stared at it too long, his head began to ache.

Dib rubbed his eyes to relieve the tension and decided to spy on their closest neighbors instead. As Zim hovered the Doom Buggy into position, Dib leaned forward to check out the Drifter directly to their left. The vessel was distinctly Irken, though it was boxy compared to the usual Armada vessels. The closer Dib looked at the sloppy magenta paintjob, the more convinced he was that the thing was actually a food truck, its menu hastily covered and peeking through the paint.

Good. So they weren’t the only repurposed Drifter in the fleet.

Through the windshield, Dib made out two Irken silhouettes in the food truck’s cockpit. The taller of the two seemed to be reading through a checklist on her tablet while her companion tapped at the control panel. As if feeling Dib’s eyes on them, the Irken working on the panel looked up at Dib, then offered a chipper little wave.

Surprised by the friendly gesture, Dib waved back, only to be startled by a third, even smaller Irken popping out of a hatch on the roof of the food truck. The new Irken fixed Dib with a fierce glare, and Dib had the sense to turn away before he made an unnecessary enemy.

He moved on to the next row-neighbor. Unable to see past where Zim was running through his own checklist in the middle of the pilot’s bench, Dib went for the back hatch instead.

“Hm? What are you doing?” Zim asked, twisting around in his seat at the sound of the hatch unsealing.

“Checking out the competition,” Dib replied. “Can you lower us a little?”

“No.”

“Guess I’ll jump, then.”

“UGH. Don’t do anything stupid,” Zim growled. “Come back with something useful.”

The Doom Buggy dropped down a few feet, nearly costing Dib his balance. It was still a short hop to the ground, but Dib safely dismounted, kicking up a little cloud of dust as he did. Already, the sun had burned the coolness of the night away. At least they’d be protected from the heat inside the Buggy.

At first blush, the ship to the right of the Doom Buggy appeared Vortian – all clean lines and sharp corners. Its dark blue, wedge-shaped hull floated perfectly still and level compared to the slight wobble of Zim and Dib’s Drifter. The top of the ship resembled the deck of a submarine, complete with a low railing around its edge. The Drifter with the three Irkens had a similar platform on top, which instilled a new sense of unease in Dib’s stomach.

But he didn’t have much time to reflect on the feeling. A panel in the ship’s side folded down, forming a narrow ramp with which its Vortian passenger disembarked. The satyr-like alien paid Dib no mind as she exited, her entire attention absorbed by some sort of multitool in her hands. She extended a circular appendage from the end of the device and held it to the side of the ship for a few seconds.

“Can I help you?” she suddenly asked, shooting a prickly look at Dib over her shoulder.

“Just checking our aft thrusters.” Dib rubbed his chin and knocked on the thruster housing. “Yep. Thrusters are… definitely aft.”

Idiot. Dib blamed the garbage reply on sleep deprivation and let out a breath of relief as the Vortian shrugged and returned to her work. Her purple coloration and the way her horn-like growths curved down to frame her jaw jumpstarted his memory.

“I think we saw you in the market yesterday,” Dib said, keeping his tone light and conversational in the hopes of getting something helpful out of her. She seemed confident in whatever the hell she was doing, after all.

“Better check on those thrusters again. Make sure they’re still aft,” the Vortian said as she folded up her tool and slid it into a holster on her waist.

Ah. Perhaps humility was the better approach.

“Maybe we got off on the wrong foot… We’re new to this,” Dib said.

“What, to social interaction? Clearly,” said the Vortian.

Dib bit his tongue. Most of the Vortians he’d met in his travels were friendly folks, generally willing to answer Dib’s questions or spend a few minutes chatting. One such Vortian even gave him a crash course on faster-than-light technology at a fueling station once. It was possible that he’d made a few sweeping assumptions about the affability of an entire species.

“I mean that we’re new to Drifter racing,” Dib said. “You seem like an experienced pilot. I was wondering if you had any advice for first time racers?”

“No.”

Not a surprising answer, but a disappointing one nonetheless. She was their competition, and obviously not interested in a conversation in the first place. Still, it had been worth a shot.

The Vortian climbed the ramp of her ship but paused with her hand on the hatchway. “Actually, I do have some advice for you.”

Something about her creaking, accented voice struck Dib as familiar.

“When the race begins, stay out of the way,” the Vortian said, her beady eyes locking with Dib’s. “You have no hope of winning. If you insist on participating anyway, keep to the back of pack. Not that you’ll have a choice. You’ll be safer back there, and you’ll be further from me. Which is good, because if the two of you come anywhere near me, I will obliterate you. Understood?”

Dib said nothing.

The Vortian turned toward him, her lip twitching up in a snarl. “I said, ‘understood?’”

“Yeah, I got it. Thanks for the hot tip,” Dib said flatly.

As the hatch closed behind the Vortian, Dib took the opportunity to flip her off. So much for that, then. But there were plenty of other ships around, and maybe Dib could pick up some useful information just by observing them.

Dib was about to head to the next row when a series of ringing notes cut through the air. They sounded like wind chimes: random, harmonic pitches, somehow louder than the sea of crowd and engine noise, but not unpleasant. Around him, crew members scrambled into their vehicles, cuing Dib to follow suit.

As he hoisted himself into the back of the Doom Buggy, the chimes amplified. From the open hatch, Dib watched a massive crystal spike pass overhead, as light and effortless as a cloud. Its sharp facets threw beams of rainbowed light over the field of competitors, a dazzling display that left spots in Dib’s eyes when he blinked.

“Oh my god,” Dib said, more to himself than to Zim. “That’s the spire from the town square…”

“It has to be that Shelly-creature,” Zim hissed from the cockpit.

Dib leaned over the back of his bench and squinted through the windshield as the ethereal vessel floated to the front of the field, where it paused for a beat, then lowered until it was level with the other Drifters. The stands flanking the starting line exploded with applause and flashed colorful banners.

Dib scoffed. “I don’t get why people are cheering for Esh-El. Doesn’t it seem rigged, having them compete for their own prize like this? Does nobody else see the problem with that?”

“Apparently not.” Zim sneered at a hovering spectator platform as its passengers cheered and fired off confetti canisters.

“Maybe we’re missing something,” Dib said. He reached forward to request Zim’s tablet so he could scan through the data chip again, but a ringing fanfare swept across the grid before he could ask, as resonant as church bells. The Doom Buggy shuddered with the sound.

“Racers, to your Drifters,” a chirpy, computerized voice announced, spurring another swell of applause.

Dib swung around the pilot’s bench, squeezing in next to Zim. “It’s already starting?”

Zim tapped at the globally localized clock in the dashboard. “It’s on schedule. Why are you surprised?”

“I don’t know… I thought there would be more of a… spectacle? Maybe?”

“What, a race around a black market hell-planet isn’t enough of a spectacle for the Dib?”

Dib chuckled at the playful jab. Zim grinned and hummed to himself as he revved their cobbled-together Drifter, his mood seemingly improved by the approach of the race’s start. Dib’s heart hammered in his chest, but for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Maybe they stood a chance after all. They’d faced wilder odds, hadn’t they?

“All racers, start your engines,” the electronic announcer continued. “Initiating countdown.”

A holographic screen appeared across the front of the field, displaying a grid of numbers in various languages. Dib lifted his TransDibber to process the assorted symbols as they flickered by, counting away approximately one minute’s worth of time.

The noise of the crowd grew louder and louder, and though Dib heard the distant boom and crackle of fireworks, he couldn’t look away from the timer. By now, his heart felt ready to crash through his ribs, and his hands trembled in anticipation.

When the timer hit 30 seconds, Dib no longer heard the crowd at all. It was as though he’d fallen into deep, deep water, all sounds muffled, barely discernible over the rush of blood through his ears. He felt as though he were floating, no longer touching the seat, not entirely present in his own body. A reflex drew his hand to Zim’s leg, a place to tether himself, an anchor.

At 10 seconds, Dib realized what he’d done. But he didn’t move his hand from Zim’s knee, nor did Zim shirk his touch.

Five seconds: the briefest moment of eye contact between the co-pilots, and a surge of energy up Dib’s spine.

Three, and Dib swore he was a ghost, watching the timer from beyond the confines of the Doom Buggy.

One.

A thousand things happened at once. Distantly, Dib thought he heard the sound of a cannon, but the sudden thunder of accelerating engines drowned it. The Doom Buggy lurched forward and to the left, aiming for an opening between the rows ahead and knocking Dib back against the bench. As quickly as they took off, Zim pulled the yoke to the right again, weaving the Buggy around the smoking husk of a ship that had apparently combusted upon the signal.

Dib could hardly see the shadows of the other Drifters through the haze of kicked-up dust, but Zim reacted effortlessly. The Doom Buggy danced between the silhouettes, and even as Dib flinched at the near misses, he found himself starting to laugh.

And he wasn’t alone, either. Zim’s cackle overpowered the rumble of dozens of ships, manic and vibrant, ridiculous and wonderful.

The air ahead of them started to clear as they broached the front of the pack. Dib twisted in his seat to watch the stands flash by in a blur of color.

“Holy shit,” he said as they overtook the undulating worm-like vessel that had started ahead of them. “We’re actually passing people!”

“Don’t act so surprised!” Zim shot back.

Even as the city vanished into the dust clouds behind them, Dib counted more floating platforms waiting ahead, hovering above the sandy wastes. Among them, tiny camera drones zipped back and forth, occasionally diving down into the action for a closer shot. Just how many people were watching? Dib’s hand moved unconsciously to smooth his cowlick.

“Dib! Look!”

Dib leaned forward to look in the direction that Zim pointed. Ahead of them, Esh-El’s magnificent vessel led the fleet. Dib had assumed the crooked director would have put a greater distance between themselves and the rest of the field by now, but it appeared that the Doom Buggy was actually gaining on them.

Dib’s face split into a crazed grin and he shook Zim’s shoulder. “Not bad for a shitty little scrap-ship! When do I get to drive?”

“Pfft, with your pitiful human reflexes? Dendroban muck-mold has a faster reaction time than you.”

“You can’t expect me to sit up here being useless for the entire race,” Dib argued.

Zim swerved to avoid a dense swirl of dust. “You’re not useless! You’re my, erm, navigator!”

Dib frowned. “You’re not sidelining me that easily, Zim. You can’t pilot this thing alone for three days straight.”

Zim opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by an impact to the Buggy’s flank. The ship veered to the left, and as Zim scrambled to course-correct, Dib pulled up a diagnostic screen on the dash.

“Something punctured the hull,” Dib said, already out of his seat. “I’m checking it out.”

“What?! If something punctured the hull, something could puncture the Dib-worm!”

“Eyes on the road, Speed Racer!” Dib shouted as he hurried to the port side of the ship.

The cabin itself appeared to be intact, but when Dib pressed his face to the porthole to get a view of the outside, he discovered a smoldering mark that looked a little too much like laser damage for comfort.

“I think someone shot us!” he called forward to Zim.

“Impossible! Weapons are forbidden!” Zim shouted back.

Dib stumbled as another blast rocked the Doom Buggy.

“Apparently, not everyone got the memo!” Dib said, grasping at the pilot’s seat to maintain his footing.

A clunky shape approached through the haze of sand to the left of the Buggy, and it didn’t take long for Dib to recognize it as the food truck that had started the race next to them. The tiny, angry Irken that had given him the stink-eye before was still on the vessel’s roof, clinging to a low railing, a mask protecting his face from the flying grit. The hand that wasn’t braced on the rail brandished a mean-looking energy rifle, which the Irken now aimed at the Doom Buggy’s cockpit.

Zim noticed the threat at the same time and pulled to the right as the rifle fired. The shot missed the windshield but struck hard enough just behind it to the throw the turn, causing the Buggy to careen into the path of another Drifter. The other vehicle – a sleek, turquoise little speeder – darted up and over them to avoid a collision, scraping its keel across the Buggy’s roof in the process. Dib grit his teeth at the screech of metal-on-metal.

“Why didn’t you just brake?!” Dib demanded as they leveled out.

“And let them pass us?” Zim spat, incredulous. “We’re fine! Sit down before you brain yourself!”

Dib pointed toward the food truck, which was closing in again on their flank. “They’re still after us! Just drop back until we figure out a way to deal with them!”

“Zim will not be intimidated by some scrawny Irkens in a junk-ship!”

“Zim, you are a scrawny Irken in a junk-ship!” Dib said, his voice cracking in frustration. “Whatever. I’ll handle them.”

Zim risked a look at Dib, eyes widening in alarm and confusion. “What?”

Dib slammed his palm on the hatch release and ran aft, toward the opening door and the weapons compartment.

“DIB!” Zim moved as if to scramble after him, but when the Buggy wobbled, he remembered himself and gripped the yoke again. “We’ll be disqualified!”

Dib pulled a laser pistol from the compartment, along with the mask Zim had constructed for him on Sirus Minor. He pulled the mask over his face and hooked his arm through a handhold by the open door. “That doesn’t seem to be stopping them! We have to defend ourselves somehow, right?”

Zim screamed through his teeth. “FINE. If you fall out the back, pray that you die on impact, because if you don’t, I’ll come back to kill you myself, and it will be MUCH less pleasant!”

Dib laughed. “Promise?”

“You are INSUFFERABLE.”

Dib leaned out of the hatch, pointedly not looking down at the ground as it rushed by. He aimed first for the Irken on top of the vessel, but his throat clenched at the idea of actually shooting the short, red-eyed little monster. Irkens could withstand considerable damage, Dib knew that, but he still felt nauseous when his finger tightened on the trigger.

But the Irken was powering up another shot, and Dib had to make a move. Dib lowered his pistol and shot at a panel with a gas cap built into it instead.

The resulting explosion wasn’t as dramatic as he’d hoped, but it knocked the food truck off course, and Dib smiled a little at the surprised cries of the Irkens aboard it. Their Drifter dropped back as smoke billowed out of its side, but the vessel remained airborne. One hit wouldn’t be enough to ground it; it must have had other fuel reserves to fall back on.

Zim laughed madly from the cockpit. “YES! Again! Shoot them again!”

Dib readjusted his stance and lined his pistol up with the front of the truck. Before he could fire, the ground beneath the truck liquified. Dib blinked and shook his head, assuming the heat had warped his vision, but when his eyes opened again, they beheld and even stranger sight.

The ground lifted in a wide plate beneath the other Drifter, sand pouring away from it like water over a cliff. The Drifter swerved ahead of it, and as the earth swelled higher, it revealed a fleshy, pink expanse.

An enormous, trap-like mouth, rising out of the desert, looming over the tiny food truck and its horrified crew.

The top of the mouth snapped down on the truck and crashed back into the ground, spraying sand several meters into the air as it settled into place.

Dib nearly dropped his weapon along with his jaw.

Zim craned his neck to see over the back of the bench. “What was that sound? Did they crash?”

“Monster mouth,” Dib said, stupidly.

“Eh? What was that? Did they crash or not, Stinky?”

“There was a giant monster mouth in the desert, and it ate a ship, and I didn’t even get a picture!”

“WHAT?!”

Dib resealed the hatch and rushed forward to join Zim. “It’s not just the other racers we need to be worried about. Some sort of creature just ate the ship that was shooting at us. Swallowed it whole.”

“Ha! Serves them right,” Zim said.

Dib pulled his mask down around his neck and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If we’re not careful, we might be next on the menu. You focus on driving… I’ll keep watch for whatever that thing was.”

Zim nodded. “Stay up here, watching forward. I’ll have GIR keep an eye on the stern.”

Zim spoke with such confidence that for a second, Dib almost agreed with him. But then the words clicked in Dib’s head, and despite the heat that not even the Buggy’s air system could tame, a chill lifted the hair on the back of his neck.

“Zim… GIR isn’t…”

Zim’s claws tightened on the yoke. “Force of habit,” he muttered.

“Maybe I should go aft again,” Dib suggested, ignoring the vines of anxiety twisting their way through his gut. “That way, if anyone fires at us from behind, I’ll be able to see them coming. Will you be OK up front?”

“Of course,” Zim snapped, his usual vigor returning. “Now, go. You’re distracting me.”

Dib did as instructed, positioning himself by the rear hatch, where he could keep watch over the sprawl of competitors behind them through the hatch window. Most of the Drifters had spread out considerably, likely to defend themselves from other racers.

Most Drifters. Not all.

Following in the Doom Buggy’s wake was a dark blue Vortian craft with a familiar pilot. The very pilot that had warned Dib in no uncertain terms to stay far away from her. And yet here she was, barreling toward their stern.

To her credit, she seemed surprised to see them, indicating that she hadn’t intended to wind up so close. Her shocked expression swiftly morphed into anger.

“We have a tailgater,” Dib announced to Zim.

“Tail-gator??? Is that what you’re calling the creature?” Zim asked.

“No, I mean we have someone coming up behind us, very close,” Dib clarified. “But she’s faster than us… She’s going to pass.”

On cue, the Vortian ship adjusted its course to overtake them.

“Oh, IS she?” Zim said, his words utterly drenched in sarcasm. “She’d better do it quickly, then.”

Sensing a bad decision on the horizon, Dib turned toward the front of the ship. Ahead of them, the desert sloped up and splintered into a series of canyons and ridges, as if an enormous explosion had occurred beneath the surface, and the landscape was forever frozen in that moment. The leading racers branched away from each other, aiming for the higher, wider paths through the rock maze.

Zim piloted the Doom Buggy up one such ridge, framed by a jagged wall on one side and by a narrow chasm on the other. Dib smirked as the Vortian’s Drifter was forced behind them again, lest she smash into the canyon’s side. Maybe pinning her behind them wasn’t such a bad move after all… Though Dib couldn’t hear her, the Vortian appeared to be screaming at him from her cockpit. Dib waved innocently at her, casually showing off his pistol but making no move to actually threaten her yet.

For a while, everything went perfectly. Zim expertly rode the ridge higher and higher, and the Vortian could do nothing but follow. Dib supposed she could float over the chasm side to pass the Buggy, but it would violate the hover distance rules. She had no choice but to sit in their exhaust, and Dib couldn’t help but flash her a cocky grin every time she drew close enough to see his face through the porthole.

And then the Buggy swerved and clipped the cliff wall.

The impact – though glancing – threw Dib off balance. He caught himself against the hatch door, his heart in his throat.

“Zim?!”

“It’s fine.” Zim’s words melted into each other.

The Buggy bobbed, and Dib launched himself forward, leaping over the back of the bench to land next to Zim. Zim’s head drooped a little, but his eyes remained locked on the path ahead.

“Let me take the wheel,” Dib said, already reaching for it.

Zim perked up a little, the haze clearing from his eyes. “I said that it’s fine!”

“Just for a few minutes!” Dib pressed.

A jolt from the back of the ship threw both of them forward against the dashboard. Dib grabbed the yoke and righted the Buggy as Zim swiveled in his seat to look behind them.

“She rammed us!” Zim exclaimed, offended. “No… She’s trying to push us down so she can go above us!”

Dib couldn’t afford to look away from the twisting route in front of him. “We can’t go any higher, and I don’t think the Buggy can take many more hits like that…”

“Then drop down and let her pass.”

Dib resisted the urge to stare at Zim. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No. Let her get in front, and I’ll show you what I was working on this morning,” Zim said, voice low and ominous.

Dib had nearly forgotten about the speakers in the nose of the ship. Whatever Zim intended to do with them was surely better than being smashed to pieces in a slot canyon, so Dib carefully lowered the Drifter. Within seconds, the Vortian ship was overhead, and Dib briefly considered pulling up and colliding with it from below. Unfortunately, the Buggy would probably fare worse in that clash than the Vortian craft.

The other ship passed them without incident, already putting distance between them as it resumed its previous altitude. Zim reached for a button to the left of the yoke, but paused before pressing it.

“I’d warn you to cover your ears, but… You should be fine,” he said.

“Should be? Zim, wait-”

Dib braced for the worst when Zim pressed the button, but no deafening sound wave followed. Instead, the Buggy began to vibrate so intensely that Dib could barely keep his hands closed around the yoke. Dib fought to control the ship as it drew closer to the canyon wall, but the longer the vibrations lasted, the less he could resist the pull.

“Shut it off!” Dib shouted.

“Just a little longer,” Zim said, sounding strained.

The Vortian ship shuddered and slanted to the left, dangerously close to tipping into the crevice. Zim was right… With a little more time, the ship might be forced into a collision. Dib would just have to be ready to dodge in time to avoid being caught in the fireball.

The edge of the Buggy’s starboard fin scraped the wall again, and Dib’s arms ached with the effort of centering the ship on the path. As his forearms went numb, Dib considered shutting the speakers down himself. He loosened his grip as much as he dared and moved toward the button.

Dib wasn’t sure what happened first, whether the yoke jumped away from his hand and lurched the Buggy into the wall, or whether the front of the Buggy struck the suddenly nosediving Vortian vessel. In whichever case, the compounded collisions spun both Drifters into the side of the canyon. In a tangle of metal, both vessels bounced off the wall and then tumbled down, down into the chasm.

Dib didn’t have time to scream before Zim’s arms were around him, yanking him up and out through the suddenly detached windshield. PAK legs deployed instantly, spidering across the width of the ravine. The Irken and his human cargo dropped down several meters, the metal limbs squealing against the rocks, too splayed to stop the fall. Beneath them, the ships crashed back and forth between the narrowing walls before coming to a booming stop on the canyon floor.

Zim’s steely hold on Dib only tightened as their descent continued. Finally, they slowed and halted about 15 feet above the wreckage. They dangled there for a few moments, choking on the rising smoke, Zim’s arms locked across Dib’s chest and only making it harder to breathe.

Until suddenly the arms loosened, and Dib flailed his hands up to lock behind Zim’s neck. Dib coughed at the noxious air and strained to see up into Zim’s face through tear-blurred eyes.

He couldn’t get much of a read on him before Zim’s auxiliary legs buckled and gave way completely.

Dib clung tightly to Zim as they both clattered down onto the side of their ruined ship and then rolled the rest of the way to the mercifully sandy ground.

Dib managed to pull Zim around in front of him just in time to land on his back. He gagged as the wind was knocked from lungs and lay still, trying to assess whether he’d broken anything. Meanwhile, Zim sprawled across Dib as total deadweight, his eyes closed and PAK legs still jumbled behind him.

When he had enough breath to move again, Dib sat up, shifting Zim’s unconscious form into his lap. His body ached, but as far as he could tell, nothing had been too badly damaged. Dib quickly checked Zim over and, finding no immediately apparent wounds, patted the Irken’s cheek in an effort to wake him.

As Zim’s eyelids fluttered, a sharp voice spoke up from across the rubble.

“You stupid little dirt-monkey...”

The Vortian racer leaned against the hull of her grounded Drifter, and a static pulse traveled over her body. A hologram losing power, Dib realized. She tapped something on her shoulder, and the overlay vanished.

Though it had been years since he’d seen her last, Dib recognized the purple eyes and distinctive cranial implant immediately. He ground his teeth, angry with himself for not identifying the voice sooner.

Tak straightened up and brushed the soot from her uniform. “I told you to stay the fuck out of my way.”

Chapter Text

In different, less stressful circumstances, Dib would have slapped himself for missing the obvious clues. As a kid, he’d spent months arguing with Tak’s voice in the form of her ship’s AI, for crying out loud! The memory of her grating accent should have been permanently seared into his brain.

But realistically, what were the chances that their fates would intertwine again, and on neither of their home planets? The odds were so impossibly small that Dib couldn’t fault himself too much for not making the connection. Once again, Dib wondered if some incomprehensible cosmic force was at work, uniquely dedicated to fucking him over.

Maybe that’s why Tak hadn’t already blasted a hole through him. The malicious and unknowable entity pulling all the strings wasn’t done torturing its toy just yet.

Tak gestured limply at Zim, who was still curled in Dib’s lap, slowly coming out of his daze. “What’s wrong with him?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Dib volleyed back, a fraction of a second too quickly. He nodded toward the leg Tak was favoring.

Tak’s eyes narrowed into venomous slits, but she seemed to respect the touché. She turned away from Dib and limped back toward the smoldering hull of her Drifter.

While Tak assessed the state of the vehicle, Dib turned his attention to Zim, keeping a weather eye on the other Irken as he spoke in a low voice.

“You OK?”

Zim’s eyelids blinked out of sync as he stared up at Dib’s face. “Who’s driving?”

“Neither of us, because whatever you did with those stupid speakers wrecked both of our ships,” Dib hissed, his concern for Zim momentarily outweighed by his frustration.

Zim’s antennae thwacked Dib in the face as they sprang to attention. “What?!”

“Shh!” Dib placed a hand over Zim’s mouth and checked on Tak. If she’d heard the exclamation, she wasn’t responding to it. “OK, so there’s been a development, and I need you to be chill about- HEY! Did you just lick me?”

Dib retracted his hand and wiped the alien drool onto his pants, grimacing in disgust. Zim snickered and pushed himself upright, but Dib held him back from attempting to stand.

“Take it slow,” Dib advised. The last thing they needed was Tak taking advantage of this moment of vulnerability. She seemed preoccupied enough, but she’d already seen Zim unconscious. There was no undoing that, but Dib still wanted to play his cards close to his chest.

“You’re fussing. I’m fine,” Zim sneered as he wrested his arm away from Dib and got to his feet.

“Really? Because you didn’t seem fine when you passed out and dropped us into a pile of burning rubble,” Dib said.

Zim’s lip quivered in the beginnings of a snarl. “I already told you. I need sleep in order for my PAK to recharge. Saving your big, ugly meat-body required significant energy, so perhaps you should be thanking instead of nagging me.”

For some reason, Zim’s insult stung more than usual, but Dib chose not to respond. He simply stood and brushed himself off, wincing as he discovered the fresh bruises and abrasions on his limbs. Just once, it would be nice to go on an adventure that didn’t completely kick his ass along the way.

“Eh? Who is that?” Zim pointed at Tak, who continued to review her Drifter as if she were alone in the ravine.

“That’s what I was trying to warn you about,” Dib said.

Zim crouched, claws splayed defensively. “Where’s the Vortian?”

“She’s the Vortian.”

“But-”

“Yes, I know she’s an Irken. Don’t you recognize her?” Dib massaged his throbbing temple with the heel of his hand. “I don’t know why I bothered asking that… It’s Tak. Remember Tak? Wanted to steal your mission and turn Earth into a giant snack bowl?”

Zim blinked at him. It might have been cute if Dib wasn’t resisting the urge to throttle him.

Dib sighed. “Forget it. Anyway, I’m assuming she still hates us for stopping her scheme back in the day. Unfortunately, I think she’s our only way out of here. The Doom Buggy is trashed, but her ship looks like it might be salvageable.”

“Are you seriously suggesting we team up with this shipwrecking stranger?” Zim asked.

“Again, she’s not actually a stranger and it was your bullshit that caused the crash, but that’s hardly the point,” Dib said. “But yes. That’s EXACTLY what I’m suggesting. Believe me, I’m not psyched about it either, but our choices are kinda limited right now.”

“Would you two quit your squabbling? I can’t hear myself think,” Tak snapped.

Dib bit his tongue, surprised that Tak had heard them from this distance. But it didn’t matter… They’d have to strike up a conversation at some point. And quickly, if they had any hope of catching up with the other racers.

Dib cautiously approached Tak, doing his best to keep his demeanor casual. “So, how bad is it?”

Tak stopped jotting notes in her tablet to glower at him. “What does it matter to you? Worry about your own dumpster fire.”

“I guess you didn’t catch what we were talking about over there,” Dib commented as Zim joined him. Blessedly, Zim kept his mouth shut as he gave Tak the up-down, but there was no telling how long the silence would last.

“You’re wasting my time,” Tak said.

“We have a proposal for you,” said Dib, plunging ahead.

“I’m flattered, but I’d rather be consumed and then shat out by a Digestor.”

“Perhaps that can be arranged,” Zim said, ruining Dib’s hopes for diplomacy.

Tak laughed – a discordant, banshee-like noise, exactly the way Dib remembered it from childhood. “Oh, you’re making threats now, are you? Terrible ones, at that. Now, let me take a stab at your proposal… You’re looking for a lift out of here, is that right?”

Dib slid his hands into his pockets to hide the nervous fidgeting. “You called it. Your ship is in better shape than ours, but we can scrap ours and use its parts to help repair yours.”

“And then you’ll ride along with me to the end of the race, and we split the reward?” Tak asked flatly.

“We don’t even need to split it. We’re just after a few things, and you can take the rest of the prize,” Dib said. Part of him feared he’d said too much, but he sensed the need to sweeten the deal.

Tak rubbed her chin, as if contemplating the offer. “And what’s to stop me from killing you both, scrapping your ship, and finishing the race alone?”

Zim took advantage of Dib’s hesitation to step in. “You’ll take us with you because you don’t stand a chance without a crew.”

“What did you say?” Tak’s eyes narrowed again, and Dib mentally rehearsed the action of drawing his energy pistol. If this came to blows, then by the stars, he’d at least get a shot in before the end.

“Even in the unlikely event that you could kill us and take our supplies, then what do you think would happen to you the next time someone attacks your ship?” Zim asked.

Dib couldn’t conceal the smirk of realization that formed on his face as Zim spoke. He joined in, pointing up at the railed platform on top of Tak’s Drifter. “That’s what that’s for, isn’t it? It seems like the other racers all have teams on hand to defend their ships. Flying solo, you’d be a sitting duck.”

Tak shifted her focus to Dib, and for the first time, Dib registered how much shorter she was than him now that he was an adult. She was still terrifying, sure, but something about the height difference boosted Dib’s confidence.

“What does that even mean?” Tak asked, her face pinched in genuine confusion.

“It’s an Earth idiom,” Dib said. “It means you’re fucked.”

Zim mirrored Dib’s smug expression. “Say you manage to get to the front of the fleet. Now you’re completely exposed, with no one to defend you from incoming attacks. You’ll be shot down faster than a loogarp-beast swallows its own young.”

Tak’s hands clenched around her tablet, which audibly creaked under the pressure. They had her cornered. All she needed was one more little push.

“The longer we debate this, the further behind we fall.” Dib made a show of checking the time on his TransDibber, noting the way in which Tak’s eyes tracked him.

“I think you value yourselves too highly,” Tak said through her teeth. “I shouldn’t have to explain why I don’t need the help of a visually-impaired ape-creature from an inferior, planet-bound species. As for you, Zim…”

“You know me?” Zim schooled his mildly shocked expression back into a cocksure grin. “Of course you know Zim! What am I even saying?”

Tak proceeded undeterred. “You’re a defective with an obviously damaged PAK. Killing you might be considered merciful.”

Zim took a step back and raised an arm as if to block a punch. He stammered an incomprehensible series of syllables while Dib tried to come up with a retort.

“Honestly, the two of you are barely worth my breath. You’re garbage to be disposed of,” Tak concluded.

Dib set his jaw. “Call us what you want, but we’ve taken you down twice now, right? Which makes the score Garbage: two; Tak: zero.”

Tak’s antennae flattened back, but Zim interjected before she could speak.

“The condition of my PAK is none of your business,” he said, his voice calmer than before.

“It is if it’s going to interfere with the defense of my Drifter,” Tak said. She must have sensed Dib’s spirits lift at that, and quickly added, “Not that I’ve decided to keep you around just yet.”

“Let us prove ourselves to you, then. We’ll help repair your ship – all to your specifications, of course – and cover you to the finish line of this leg. If we’re not useful to you, then you can dump us there,” Dib suggested.

Zim bristled. “Dib…”

Dib held a hand up to Zim, quietly requesting his (notoriously limited) patience. “I know we’re not your first picks for crewmates, but something’s better than nothing, and like I said before, we’re burning time arguing over it. And besides, we’re not even asking to split the prize with you. We only need a few things. If we win, the rest is yours.”

“I’m guessing the parts you’re after are for his PAK?” Tak asked.

Dib angled himself to intervene in case Zim decided to escalate things, but he remained unexpectedly subdued.

“Our top priority is the retrieval of GIR,” Zim stated.

Tak’s brow quirked up. “Who?”

“My SIR unit. He was stolen from me and added to reward,” Zim said. Only the slight quiver of his antennae betrayed the emotion hiding beneath the surface of his words.

Dib held his breath as Tak stared at Zim. For what felt like a full minute, the only sound in the ravine was the fading crackle of the remaining fires. Once more, Dib’s fingers twitched toward his energy pistol.

“You’ll repair only what I tell you to repair.” Tak spoke so suddenly that both Dib and Zim flinched. “I rebuilt this Drifter from a much worse state than this when I first acquired it. If you follow my instructions exactly and without complaint, we can be airborne within two hours.”

Zim raised a claw. “What if-”

“What if nothing. Now, fetch me whatever intact sheet metal you can find. Also, any of your weapons that survived the crash, which should go without saying and yet my exceedingly low expectations of you require me to say it anyway.”

Dib took Zim by the wrist and led him back toward the Doom Buggy before he could spout something that would change Tak’s mind. Zim tripped along behind him for a few steps before indignation set in, at which point he shook Dib’s hold off and marched ahead of him.

Dib groaned internally and quickened his pace to match. Zim obviously wasn’t happy with the arrangement that had been settled on, but Dib didn’t have the energy to bicker with him over it. Instead, he wordlessly joined Zim next to a peeling panel on the ship’s smashed hull and braced it up while Zim retrieved a wand-like tool from his PAK and set to cutting the metal free.

“You’re a shitty negotiator,” Zim said, once they’d harvested a small stack of mostly unbent panels.

“We’re alive and have a ride out of here. I’d say that counts as successful negotiation,” Dib said as he added another panel to the pile, tossing it down a little harder than intended.

Zim checked over his shoulder to make sure Tak was out of range. “We could take her.”

“Are you seriously suggesting we knock her out and steal her Drifter? You were the one who argued that having more crewmembers on the ship would be beneficial to everyone,” Dib said.

“Yes, but we were doing fine before. Just the two of us. Better than fine, really, until she showed up to spoil everything with her terrible driving.”

“For fuck’s sake, Zim, that was your fault. I know she got under your skin about your PAK and…” Dib course-corrected. Dropping the D-word now would only fuel the flames. “… And so on, but we don’t have time to be petty about it.”

“There’s always time to be petty,” Zim said, yanking down a smaller panel and shoving it into Dib’s hands. “But I am not being petty. We can’t trust her. She’s a lying liar. How about this: You cause a diversion, and I’ll sneak up behind her and-”

“She’d kill you,” Dib said. “She’d kill both of us.”

Zim stopped burning through the next panel, his expression somewhere between angered and… hurt? Dib wasn’t sure what was roiling behind those liquid eyes, but whatever it was, it was powerful. “I wouldn’t let that happen. I am an Irken Elite. My combat skills are second to none.”

Dib – despite his frustration – softened his approach. “I’m not trying to knock your abilities, but you’re not exactly in ideal fighting shape at the moment.”

“Like you know what Zim’s ‘ideal fighting shape’ is.”

“Oh yeah? When was the last time you looked in a mirror, Zim?” Dib angled the shiny side of the metal panel toward Zim. “Tell me: does this look ideal to you?”

Zim grimaced at the flash of light from the panel and then blinked at his own reflection. Dib expected him to launch back into a rant, but instead, the sharp angles of Zim’s anger melted from his face as he stared, the argument temporarily forgotten. While Dib held the panel as still as possible, Zim reached one claw toward the dark rings beneath his eyes.

The cold dread that had been dwelling in Dib’s gut like a parasite for the past few days writhed with new anxiety. “Zim…?”

Zim dropped his fingers away from his face and tucked both hands behind his back. “If she fucks us over, Dib-stink, it’s your fault.”

With that, Zim turned his back on Dib and resumed his task of stripping the hull. Apparently, Dib had won the argument, but it hardly felt like a victory.

For the rest of their task, Zim was silent. He didn’t even mock Dib when he tripped while carrying a box of salvaged food and water to Tak’s ship. What Dib wouldn’t give to hear Zim gripe about the heat or fling an insult his way…

Dib tsked to himself, disappointed by his own insecurity. This was what he wanted, after all. Zim was taking the agreement with Tak seriously, and that was perfect. Dib distracted himself from his inexplicable nausea by redoubling his repair efforts.

As Tak had predicted, her Drifter was close to shipshape within a couple hours. The vessel bore scars from its fall and reeked of melted plastic, but when the three reluctant crewmembers powered up its engines, it miraculously lifted from its crater and hovered with the ease of a machine that hadn’t been dashed against a cliff and chucked into a ravine.

Dib would never voice such an opinion, but he was impressed.

“Good,” Tak said from the square pilot’s seat in the center of the cockpit. “Now all we have to do is navigate the lowest tiers of the canyons without breaking the altitude rule, catch up to the rest of the fleet, and then place first in the last two legs.”

Dib genuinely couldn’t decide whether she was being sarcastic or not. He had little time to debate before Zim spoke up.

“Pssshhh, not a problem. Now, step aside so I can dr-”

Tak floored it, flinging both Zim and Dib backwards with the momentum. Reflexively, Dib grabbed the back of her seat with one hand and caught Zim in the crook of his opposite arm. Grunting with the effort, he heaved Zim forward so the Irken could catch hold of the seat to steady himself.

The circumstance was far from perfect, Dib couldn’t deny that. But as the rocky walls blurred by, he allowed himself the smallest sliver of hope.

They weren’t out of the running just yet, and once they won, he’d no longer have to worry about the exhaustion in Zim’s face, or his fading complexion, or way his body sagged against Dib’s as they stood behind Tak’s chair.

They had to win. No – they were going to win. And that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

In order to convince Zim to take the first shift of sleep as Tak piloted, Dib cheated in a game of rock-paper-scissors, if knowing his opponent only ever threw “scissors” could even be called cheating. Still, it felt unsporting to Dib, and he tried not to use the technique very often. Surely, it was only a matter of time before Zim caught on and changed his tactic. Probably.

Whatever the case, the game had settled the debate, and Zim – grumbling graphic but baseless threats under his breath – stomped off to the back of Tak’s Drifter to make a nest of the scraps of fabric recovered from the Doom Buggy.

Which left Dib alone with Tak. He stood just behind her seat, lightly holding onto the back of it in case of a rough turn, and weighing whether it was more awkward to strike up a conversation with her or to remain silent.

As the clay-colored walls of the canyon finally melted back into a flat desert landscape, Tak made the decision for him.

“So, he’s really sleeping back there, huh?” she said, gassing the Drifter a little now that they were out in the open.

“Yeah.” Dib leaned forward for a better view of the terrain, hoping that he’d appear casual and that Tak wouldn’t have follow-up questions. To his surprise and relief, several distant dust clouds marked the passage of other racers ahead of them. A few other ships must have been delayed in the canyons, too. Unfortunately, the sun sat low in the sky, and without his navigation system, Dib wasn’t sure how far they were from the finish line for the first leg.

Suddenly, Tak raised her voice. “Hey! Zim! Your mission was fake and the Tallests always hated you! You’re the worst Irken in the history of the Empire!”

Dib flinched at her words, but stopped himself from responding to them. Her antennae – sharply-angled and somewhat glossier-looking than Zim’s – lifted, sensing for a reaction from the back of the ship.

When none came, Tak’s antennae relaxed again. “Huh. You weren’t lying.”

“Why would I be lying?”

“To throw me off. To give Zim the chance to sabotage my ship. There are plenty of reasons to lie,” Tak said, glancing over her shoulder at Dib. “Ugh, it’s impossible to have a conversation like this. Here. Sit.”

Tak reached forward and flicked a bulky switch. The ship shuddered beneath Dib’s feet, and the pilot’s seat drifted to the left to make way for a second seat to emerge from a panel in the floor. As it clicked into place, Dib restrained himself from asking why Tak hadn’t deployed it sooner. He was pretty sure he knew the answer… This Drifter was hers, and she was making a point. The hidden copilot seat surely wasn’t the only ace up her sleeve, and she wanted Dib to know it.

Dib kept his eye on Tak as he settled into the blocky chair. “Thanks.”

“It’s not for your sake. It’s so I don’t have to keep straining my neck to talk to you.”

Dib folded his arms warily. “You want to talk to me about something?”

“I wouldn’t use the term ‘want,’ per say.”

Stars, she was almost as impossible as Zim. “Are we having a conversation or not, Tak?”

Tak shrugged. “I suppose we’re not.”

Dib laughed dryly. Fine. He could handle a few awkward hours in Tak’s company. He wasn’t exactly eager to talk to her, either. Though he’d wondered for years about what had become of her after the snack bowl incident. Casually wondered. No, strategically wondered. Because she’d proven herself to be a serious threat to the planet back then, and when she left, Dib figured it was only a matter of time before she took another swing at Earth. Knowing Zim, Dib felt it was safe to assume that all Irkens were equally maniacally driven. Relentless space pests, undeterred by repeated defeats.  

Dib feigned cleaning his glasses with a singed corner of his shirt and cast a glance at Tak. Was it possible she’d gone back to the Empire after her scheme fell through? Dib only knew scraps of her backstory from what he’d pieced together between their interactions and Zim’s less-than-reliable explanations. Zim had fucked her over somehow, that much he caught. Then something about being a janitor? But that sounded like something Zim might make up on his own.

Whatever the case, things hadn’t ended well for Tak. She’d failed to give her leaders what they wanted, though Dib wasn’t sure they knew of her intentions in the first place. Did she return to them empty-handed? Did she go back to being a janitor (or whatever she was actually doing before her attack)?

Dib settled his glasses back into place, cringing at the additional grime they’d collected from his “cleaning.” Tak wasn’t wearing her uniform – or any uniform, for that matter. Her clothes looked much like the Vortian civilian outfits Dib had seen on other planets. It was a navy bodysuit, banded with dulled silver loops and patched here and there with mismatched material. No Irken emblems in sight. No SIR unit in sight, either.

The curiosity gnawed away at Dib’s brain so intensely that he couldn’t be bothered to care about the beautiful tangerine, magenta, and cyan of the alien sunset ahead of them. He had to know what Tak had been doing since their childhood encounter, but he suspected directly approaching her with his questions wouldn’t end well. Maybe he could bait some information out of her instead.

“I can’t get over how infinitesimally small the odds of running into you like this are,” Dib said as he inspected the array of unfamiliar controls in front of him.

Tak’s eyes flashed briefly in his direction. “Are you suggesting our meeting was intentional? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I just meant that it’s crazy improbable that we’d wind up here together.”

“Not that improbable,” Tak said. “Considering this is one of the few planets left where one can safely acquire advanced Irken tech.”

“Which we both need, apparently,” Dib said.

Tak’s claws tightened around the yoke, but her expression remained flat and focused forward.

Dib continued. “Also, I wouldn’t call this ‘safe,’ exactly.”

“Then you don’t know what real danger is like,” Tak said.

“Oh, I know danger,” Dib retorted.

The slightest smirk twisted the corner of Tak’s mouth. “Sure you do, ape-thing.”

Dib opened his mouth to argue but checked himself before he could derail the conversation. “Anyway. This race still feels like a lot to go through just to pick up some rare parts.”

“It is what it is.”

Fine. If Dib had to push, then he’d damn well push. “You must really need whatever it is you’re racing for. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Just because you and your defective companion entered this race out of desperation doesn’t mean we all did. I’m in it for the monies. You can keep your PAK parts, but the rest of the haul is mine,” Tak said.

“The PAK parts and GIR,” Dib corrected, slightly suspicious that she’d left that bit out. He twisted in his seat, checking out the sparse, angular hull of the Drifter. The design was minimalistic: no divisions within it, except for the corner which constituted the head, and a couple small storage panels. In the center of the cabin, a ladder stretched to the port in the ceiling which allowed access to the exterior platform. There were few places to hide, but even so…

“Speaking of robots, where’s yours?” Dib asked, straightening in his seat.

“MiMi is no mere robot.” The iciness of Tak’s tone chased a chill up Dib’s spine. “She is far more advanced than any robot you could conceive of.”

Dib swallowed, determined to stay the course, regardless of the venom in Tak’s voice. “Was she taken, too?”

Tak shot a withering glare at Dib. “Of course not, you mindless meat-lump. I would never be so stupid as to bring her to a planet like this, and even if I were, I would never allow her to be captured.”

“Then where is she?”

“This conversation is over.”

Dib’s curiosity overcame him. “Did something happen to her?”

A PAK limb zinged out from behind Tak, pinning the shoulder of Dib’s shirt to his seat. “I said we’re DONE. One more word, and I’ll-” She cut her sentence before the threat could be completed, her purple eyes breaking away from Dib to stare across the barren plain.

Dib followed her gaze to a distant plume of dust, reddened by the sinking sun. He wanted to speak, but the proximity of the PAK leg to his jugular gave him pause.

“What is that?” Tak muttered to herself, leaning forward for a better look. She retracted her PAK leg, and Dib inspected the slits she’d left behind. At least she’d only damaged his clothes, he supposed.

“Is it not another racer…?” Dib ventured, smoothing down the torn shoulder of his shirt.

“Fool. It’s coming straight for us,” Tak said.

Dib filled in the blanks for himself. They were still at the back of the pack… What racer in their right mind would drop back to try to take them out? The mysterious plume had to be caused by something else. Dib’s hand curled around his blaster as he recalled the giant mouth that had erupted from the desert and devoured another Drifter whole.

“Maybe it’s a dust devil,” Dib said.

Tak cocked an antenna toward him. “A dust what? Never mind… It looks small. I can evade.”

She adjusted the Drifter’s path, but the approaching swirl of sand realigned itself to match. Tak altered her trajectory again, this time angling even further off track, and still the clouds stayed their collision course.

Suddenly, Tak threw the wheel to the side, turning so sharply that Dib had to brace his foot against the dashboard to prevent himself from being flung from his seat. Once again, the approaching shape swerved to stay on target, taking advantage of the Drifter’s loss of momentum to rapidly close the distance.

It was close enough now that Dib could see the low, circular shadow of whatever was stirring up the sand. “There’s something there.”

“OBVIOUSLY there’s something there!”

Before Tak could take another jab at Dib’s intelligence, the shape launched itself up and struck the windshield with a thunk. Dib recoiled from the chitinous tangle of legs and ridged exoskeleton that splayed halfway across the glass. A lamprey-like ring of teeth suctioned onto the windshield and began to ooze a hissing, yellow slime.

Dib jumped from his seat, pistol in hand. “It’s melting through! I’ll take care of it.”

“With that little spark-shooter?” Tak erupted in nasally laughter.

Dib stomped toward the roof hatch ladder, determined not to let her under his skin. “Unless you have a better idea, YES.”

“There’s a compartment on the starboard side of the cabin. Open it. Quickly.”

Dib slid open the compartment door and withdrew what he could only assume was a Vortian-made rifle. The black metal of the blocky weapon sat heavy and cold in his hands as he held it in front of himself. Dib had never handled a gun quite like this. He’d created an arsenal of alien-fighting weapons in his time, true, but none were meant to be lethal. Dib had wanted to capture Zim alive, though his reasons for that had evolved over the years.

This thing, though… This made the little laser Zim had given him look like a novelty keychain.

“QUICKLY.”

Dib slung the strap of the gun over his shoulder so the length of it rested across his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a harness hanging next to the empty compartment, and as swiftly as possible, he clipped it around his middle. There was no time to fit it properly, but something was better than nothing.

With a final glance at Zim’s nest – which still contained one former invader, somehow sleeping through the turbulence – Dib hurried up the ladder and through the hatch.

The force of the wind stole the breath from Dib’s mouth. Keeping his head low, he crawled along the Drifter’s roof until he was close enough to the guard rail around its edge to clip his harness to it. After giving the safety line an experimental tug, he continued forward, hunched against the wind as it roared around him.

Once he reached the bow, Dib rotated the rifle around himself, grateful for the intuitive fit of its grip and trigger. Below him, the spider-scorpion-nightmare-hybrid remained latched to the windshield. Dib swallowed nervously. Just staying on his feet was difficult enough at this speed, though it felt like Tak had slowed down slightly. He wasn’t sure what kind of kickback his new weapon packed. Plus, he’d have to be extremely careful with the shot. At the wrong angle, he could damage the Drifter.

Long, rust-colored legs spread further across the front of the ship, reminding Dib that he didn’t have time to indulge his nerves. He could only take the shot and hope whatever form of violent energy the rifle had to offer would be sufficient to pierce the carapace of the parasite.

Dib took a knee to stabilize himself, aimed the gun toward the section of shell he assumed contained the brain, and squeezed the trigger.

The gun bucked into his shoulder as it blasted blue plasma into the creature’s back. Dib flinched but held his position as the alien squealed and writhed. Its legs scrabbled for purchase, but the hole left by the plasma must have damaged something important to its motor control, because the limbs couldn’t coordinate fast enough to save the creature from sliding off the front of the ship and crashing to the ground.

Reflexively, Dib pumped his fist in victory, only to wince as he pulled his bruised shoulder. He let the gun dangle on its strap so he could massage his sore arm for a moment. As he did, he took a quick scan of the horizon.

“Oh. Fuck.”

Three more dust clouds tore across the plain, heading straight for the ship. Dib could make more sense of the shapes now. The scorpion-like aliens rolled themselves along like wheels, somehow able to move at incredible speeds, kicking up swirls of dirt as they went. They were predators, preying on ships, but why? Were they hunting the passengers of the ships or the ships themselves? With their acidic saliva, perhaps they were breaking down and digesting the inorganic materials of the Drifters…

Dib swung the gun forward again, forcing aside his scientific interest in favor of survival. Below him, he could barely catch Tak yelling something. Probably a warning about the other approaching insect-monsters.

The new attackers sped toward the ship, side-by-side. Dib aimed for the one in the middle, leaning forward and adjusting his grip on the rifle so it wouldn’t knock back into his shoulder as powerfully. He absorbed the recoil better this time, but the ache in his shoulder told him that he could only fire the thing a few more times without losing his accuracy.

Fortunately, Dib hit his mark. The middle creature uncoiled as it was struck and tumbled to a stop. One of its companions peeled away, apparently no longer interested in chasing the ship, but the other stayed true to its course.

Dib rolled the tension out of his shoulders and aimed again. He fired too quickly, cursing as the ball of plasma spun wide of its target. By the time he readjusted, the creature had already pounced, hitting the Drifter broadsides. Dib grabbed the railing to catch himself as the ship jolted. Tak shouted again, her words lost to the screaming wind.

Whatever she had to say, it could wait. Dib stood and edged his way to the side where the monster had attached itself. Hitting this one was going to be tricky… He had to lean the gun over the railing to shoot straight down, making it difficult to steady the shot.

Mindful not to let the strap float away from him, Dib held the gun over the edge of the ship and gripped it as tightly as he could. When he fired, the rifle jumped in his hands, but not enough to blow the shot. The creature shrieked, released its hold, and spiraled down to the rocky terrain below.

Dib drew the rifle back, smirking triumphantly. “So long, you ugly xenomorph wannabes!” His smile faded as he rethought the insult. “You know, because you kind of look like face-huggers, except bigger? Ship-huggers?”

Tak’s voice pierced the air. “Idiot! Left!”

Dib lifted his head to look, but it was too late. The impact of another of the creatures threw the ship to the side, sending Dib over the railing. He screamed as he fell face-first toward the blur of ground, only for his scream to be cut short by the jerking of the harness around his waist. The safety line stopped his fall, but the momentum knocked him into the hull of ship, dazing him.

Dib gasped to regain his breath as he bobbed against the side of the Drifter like a balloon held outside of a car window. He spun several times, failing to orientate himself, before he finally managed to twine an arm around the line and plant his feet against the hull. Judging by the weight across his back, he still had the rifle. Good. All he needed to do was climb back to the roof, get to the other side of the Drifter, and blast away one more spider-thing.

A scuttling sound froze the blood in his veins. Four claw-tipped legs arched over the edge of the Drifter’s roof, dangerously close to where Dib’s line was secured. A many-fanged, circular maw followed soon after, dripping globs of yellow mucus. Dib swung out of the way of the falling acid and scrambled to pull the rifle forward again without losing his position against the ship.

A string of drool narrowly missed his cheek as he hefted the rifle into place. His sweat-slickened hands slipped over the trigger, and in his moment of hesitance, one of the legs lanced toward him. Dib kicked off from the hull as the leg zinged by. He’d hardly touched down again before another limb followed. In his attempt to dodge to the side, he lost his footing and rotated completely around before finding it once more.

Another leg positioned itself as a harpoon. Dib pulled the trigger without realigning his shot, his eyes squeezing shut in preparation for his imminent skewering.

By some miracle, Dib didn’t become a shish kebab.

He squinted up just in time to see the creature’s carcass plummeting toward him. Dib flattened himself against the metal to evade it, cradling the rifle to his chest as if it were a living thing to protect. The monster whooshed by and exploded into the dirt below.

For a few seconds, Dib continued to dangle there, breathless and shaking with the aftermath of adrenaline. Then, with half-numb limbs, he hauled himself back to the top of the ship. He scanned the horizon for more monsters before collapsing onto his back to stare up at the star-speckled twilight sky.

“Did you die?” Tak’s voice carried to him through the open roof hatch.

“Yeah,” Dib shouted back.

“Fuck you.”

Dib chuckled and closed his eyes, waiting until his trembling had subsided enough for him to crawl to the port and back into the ship. Once he did, and he’d made his way to the bottom of the short ladder, his knees gave out. He slumped against the rungs as the hatch sealed overhead.

“You certainly took your time,” Tak commented from the pilot’s seat, not looking back.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be sufficient.”

“Fine. Thank you.”

Dib pulled himself upright again. “Huh. Didn’t expect you to actually say it.”

Tak groaned. “You did the job you said you’d do. Congratulations on accomplishing the bare minimum. That said… You did surprisingly decent work for a squishy, smelly dirt-creature. Take my thanks and don’t push your luck.”

Dib smiled to himself as he stowed the rifle back in its compartment and removed his harness. The cabin had darkened significantly with the onset of night. His vision wasn’t worth much in the dark, but he still wanted to stay up for a couple more hours so that Zim could rest.

Speaking of…

Dib limped to the back of the ship, where Zim had cocooned himself in scraps of blankets and Dib’s ruined clothes. His bed had been tossed around a bit by the altercation with the creatures, but he’d apparently slept through all of that, along with Tak’s yelling. Dib would have found it amusing if he didn’t also find it ominous.

Ignoring the complaints of his battered body, Dib knelt next to the blankets and watched the slow rise and fall of Zim’s ribs. The Irken seemed even smaller than usual in his sleep, curled up so tightly, his head half-buried in the shredded remains of Dib’s hoodie. Dib carefully rested his hand on Zim’s blanketed shoulder for a moment, resisting the impulse to nudge him awake just to make sure he was alright.

Zim needed the sleep. Dib, begrudgingly, would give him a little more of that. Is this how Zim felt? Every time Dib slept during their journey through the stars?

“Hey. I need more eyes up here,” Tak called from the front.

Right. Dib still had a job to do.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered to Zim’s lax antennae before he returned to the cockpit.

Through the windshield, the sun had almost completely vanished below the horizon, leaving behind a purplish haze of dusk. Dib inspected the wound in the glass where the first creature had latched on. Its erosive saliva hadn’t broken all the way through, put that patch of glass was badly warped. Another hit might shatter the whole thing.

Tak spoke as if reading Dib’s thoughts. “It should hold for now. I treated the glass with my own polymer blend. It’s much more resilient than standard Vortian materials.”

“Nice.”

Tak’s antenna flicked and Dib thought her eyes flashed his way for a second. “Yes. It is nice.”

Dib sank into the copilot’s seat, feeling like one giant, sapient bruise. The left side of his head throbbed from where he’d clunked it against the ship’s hull, and when he felt that part of his scalp with his fingertips, he winced at the tender goose egg that had sprouted there.

As Dib prodded at his bruises, Tak reached beneath her seat and procured a small white box. She tossed it into Dib’s lap without looking at him.

“Here.”

“What’s this?” Dib asked, inspecting the object as if it might detonate in his hands.

“Med kit.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

The silence that settled over the Drifter as the night deepened wasn’t as awkward as it was before. Or perhaps Dib was just too exhausted to care. Still, he grinned as he sorted through the kit for human-safe medicine.

Maybe this partnership would work out after all.

Chapter Text

Waking Zim up took a little more prodding and antenna-tugging than Dib felt entirely comfortable with, but eventually, he got a reaction out of the space bug. The reaction – hissing and burrowing deeper into the makeshift nest – wasn’t ideal, but it was progress. As Dib peeled away scraps of bedding and half-ruined clothes, Zim’s sleep-fogged brain seemed to clear a little, and the hissing transitioned to discontented grumbles and pleas for a few more minutes of rest.

Dib wanted to give him that rest, but Tak had already chewed him out for nodding off a couple times when he was supposed to be watching her radar screen. Better to stick to the original plan and trade off with Zim before Tak decided the agreement was no longer mutually beneficial.

Which brought up another concern. Tak had barely tolerated Dib’s presence, and he’d been on his best, most placating behavior. Leaving Zim alone with her felt like starting a bonfire in a room walled with dynamite. It was only a matter of time before a few stray sparks kicked off an earth-shattering explosion.

But he had little choice. Zim shoved Dib down into the scrapheap of a bed and stomped off toward the front of the Drifter before Dib could give him any “don’t start shit with our new ally” advice. There was a distinct possibility that such advice would only worsen the eventual eruption of tempers, so perhaps it was for the best.

Still, Dib resolved to stay awake for a bit, in case he needed to jump up and intervene. As he wadded himself up in the nest, he pictured the act of scruffing both Irkens by their PAKs and pulling them away from each other as if they were laser-wielding housecats. He chuckled at the mental image and made the mistake of closing his eyes.

“YOU’RE TOO SLOW! GO FASTER!”

Dib crashed into consciousness. He sat up, his head leadened by sleep, his movements uncoordinated and stiff. “Wha…?”

“Oh, you think I should go faster? You think I should will the ship to go faster than it already is? Here’s a thought, Zim. Perhaps the engines would perform better if we hadn’t had to piece them together after you and your pet mammal shattered my ship in the bottom of a bloody canyon!”

Dib threw himself to his feet and staggered, noodle-limbed, to the cockpit. He straightened his glasses, smeared as they were by his accidental nap.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Dib slurred as he gripped the back of the copilot seat.

“We’re not going to make it to the starting line is what’s going on,” Zim sneered beneath him.

Dib squinted out the window at the low sandstone buildings that flashed by in the darkness. “Where are we?”

“The next checkpoint,” Tak answered. “We just passed the time marker.”

“So we made it?”

“Pay attention! I just told you that we’re going to be late to the starting line. If we’re not there by dawn, we’re disqualified.”

Zim’s suddenly level, serious tone chased the last of the sleep-fog from Dib’s mind. He leaned forward to see the dark gray of the sky. The thick blanket of clouds had the gray glow of early morning light. “Shit… What counts as dawn? How much time do we have? How far are we from the line?”

“Would you two shut up for a second?” Tak snarled. “We’ll make it, but we won’t have time to recharge.”

“Do we need to recharge?” Dib asked.

Tak glanced at an indecipherable array of meters. “Hm. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I thought I told you to shut up!”

“Hey, we’re on the same team now. I have the right to question our strategy,” Dib said.

Tak smirked nastily. “’Our strategy,’ he says. We stop to charge up, we miss the start, we’re disqualified. With our current power level, we could still feasibly make it to the next leg, but we’ll have to be smart about it. That’s the only strategic option we have. Now stop distracting me.”

Several blocks ahead of the Drifter, a familiar holographic screen hovered, much like the one at the start of the first leg, staining the low clouds with a blue-green light. Dib held up his TransDibber to read it, but between the distance and the pre-dawn haze, not much was legible.

As Dib tinkered with the settings in hopes of a better reading, he remembered something. “Wait… Tak, aren’t you supposed to be a Vortian?”

Tak’s curled antennae bounced up in surprise. For a split second, Dib thought he saw her cheeks flush in either embarrassment or anger before she activated her disguise. “See? Distracting.”

Before Dib could comment, a yawn forced its way through his jaw. Though Dib tried to stifle it, Zim twisted in his seat to squint up at him.

“Are you not fully rested?” Zim asked.

Dib braced himself against the roll of the Drifter as the road doglegged. Honestly, it felt like he hadn’t slept at all, even though he must have been out for a few hours. But considering how fretful and smothering Zim had been over him lately, Dib figured it was best to downplay it. The nonstop action was as exhausting as it was exhilarating. Just two more days of racing, and then maybe he’d get to properly recuperate. Besides, years of obsessive all-nighters and investigative wilderness adventures had prepared him for exactly this scenario.

Well, perhaps not exactly this scenario, but close enough, Dib reckoned.

“Just waking up,” Dib said through another yawn. “Did you two play nice while I was sleeping?”

“You do realize that we’re mere seconds from disqualification, don’t you?” Tak asked. “You’re being awfully flippant.”

“Insanely close calls are kind of our thing,” Dib explained with a shrug.

The street broadened, and through the windows of the drab buildings lining the road, Dib caught glimpses of alien spectators. The mood wasn’t as jovial as it had been at the race’s start, and there were no floating stands to be seen. Dib wondered if the town (if it even counted as a town) had been more active yesterday, when the frontrunners had presumably arrived.

Tak rounded a corner, and suddenly, a new starting field sprawled in front of them. The Drifter braked, nearly chucking Dib over the backrest of the copilot’s seat. As he regained his balance, Dib craned his neck to see the holographic screen above the field. According to his translator, they’d arrived with almost a minute to spare.

Zim must have noticed, too. “Ha! You see? I told you we’d make it.”

Tak glowered at him as the Drifter settled into a starting position. “You were screaming at me to defy physics just a moment ago.”

Dib’s stiff shoulders relaxed a little, even as his Irken companions began to bicker. The countdown for the next start would begin shortly, and the chaos of the previous start was still fresh in his mind. As he took inventory of the neighboring Drifters, however, Dib realized that a significant change had occurred since the beginning of the race. Yesterday, the fleet had consisted of perhaps 50 racers. This morning, only 30 or so ships hovered on the starting grid, and of those, several appeared to have limped into place. The holographic screen illuminated the torn hulls of the nearest vessels and colored the coils of smoke which rose from them with sickly neon greens and blues. Dib recalled yesterday’s massive, ship-devouring subterranean predator and the acid-mouthed scorpion monsters he’d fended off with Tak’s rifle. Between the aggressive wildlife and the unforgiving environment, the competition had been considerably thinned.

Perhaps they’d been the last to arrive at the checkpoint, but they certainly weren’t in last place.

A grating electronic voice cut the air. “All racers, start your engines.”

“Déjà vu,” Dib muttered.

“Initiating countdown.”

Seconds ticked away on the screen, and Dib’s heart spun in his chest. He leaned over the seat, angling for a better view of the remaining ships. Hoping against hope, he searched for the telltale gleam of Esh-El’s crystalline ship and cursed when he caught sight of it, several rows ahead, its glassy hull refracting the murky light and somehow transforming into something purer, brighter. Of course those bastards were still in the race. They were probably in the pole position. Assholes. Or asshole…? What was the proper way in which to insult a two-headed entity?

Dib dug his nails into the seat. Now was not the time to unravel such mysteries. No, the best thing he could do was look ahead. Literally. Even with the thick cloud coverage, there was enough light to make out the track ahead of them. Or, there should have been. For a second, Dib wasn’t sure what he was seeing between the floating ships in the first rows. Pale haze, nothingness…?

No.

Water.

A vast stretch of sea, dark and horizonless.

“Oh my god.”

“SHH. I’m trying to concentrate,” Tak said.

“That’s water. The next leg is over an ocean, isn’t it?”

“I thought those ugly circles of glass were supposed to help you see better.”

Zim stood up in the copilot’s seat and for some inexplicable reason shaded his eyes, as if it would improve his sight. “The Dib is correct… They’ve placed the starting line at the edge of an ocean! Idiots. We must notify them of their mistake. Where’s the com button on this thing?”

Tak swatted his hand away. “We’re in a Drifter, shit-for-brains. We could fly over lava for all I care. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if we run out of fuel,” Dib said.

“Pure Vortian tech doesn’t use solid fuel. It uses energy.”

“Great. You can explain the difference to me while we sink in the middle of a fucking ocean,” Dib said.

“We have enough to get across,” Tak said as she revved the engines.

“Do we?” Dib eyed the complicated energy-dial that Tak had referenced before. “Look, what if we circle back and recharge after the start?”

“We can’t afford to lose that kind of time,” Tak said. “We have to be among the first across the finish line of this leg, if not the first, to stand a chance of winning. And that’s assuming we lose another dozen or so ships.”

Dib watched the countdown clock and tried to keep his voice level. “We could die out there, Tak. I think the detour is worth the risk.”

“It’s not happening,” Tak said. “You can always jump ship. You still have a few seconds to decide.”

Zim looked up at Dib, his brow ridges drawn tight, his expression concerned and expectant. “GIR…”

Dib felt like a sea urchin was stuck in his throat. He didn’t like the undisguised vulnerability in Zim’s eyes, or the way he’d turned the decision-making over to Dib so immediately. “We… Maybe there’s another way to get GIR back, even if we don’t win. Maybe we could steal what we need from the winner.”

Tak laughed humorlessly. “Participating legally in the race is far safer and more realistic than that, trust me. So what is it? Stay or go? We’re nearly out of time.”

Dib glanced between the rear hatch and the timer. Trust Tak and her fuel estimate, or ditch her, find a ride back to the finish line, and figure out a way to steal the unstealable?

Zim’s eyes shimmered, waiting for Dib’s answer.

“I guess we’re in,” Dib said, but his voice sounded papery.

Tak’s mouth twitched into a lightning-quick grin. “Terrific. Hang on to your butts.”

Before Dib could place why that phrase sounded so familiar, the countdown flashed and a cannon boomed. Dib threw his arms around the back of the copilot’s seat, half-aware of Zim’s hand rising to clasp his forearm in place. The Drifter rocketed forward, accelerating so rapidly that it seemed inevitable that they’d smash into the sterns of the ships in the next row.

At the last possible moment, Tak veered the ship away from the rear engines of the barge-like Drifter ahead of them, diving into a narrow opening between racers. With supernatural ease, she wove forward through the slower starters, skimming by with mere inches of clearance, guiding the ship as if it were an extension of herself.

Dib noted the bizarre sense of security he felt as they plowed forward through the ranks. He did not trust easily, and yet…

Tak snickered with the voice of a chipmunk being electrocuted. Within seconds, Zim’s air of anxiety vanished, and he joined her with his own jagged-edged laughter. The cryptozoologist in Dib wondered if this behavior could be compared with the social howling observed in wolf packs. The realist in Dib wondered if it was worth letting go of the seat to cover his ears.

The ship shimmied around another square-hulled Irken vessel and suddenly they were shooting across the low wake of the bay. Dib counted eight Drifters in front of them, Esh-El’s included. A fog bank squatted low over the water, but the crystal ship sparkled through it like a diamond in smoke.

Dib grabbed Tak’s shoulder without thinking. “Can we overtake them?”

Tak didn’t shrug him off. “We need to keep an even pace. Besides, we don’t want to make ourselves a target.”

She had a point. Zipping into first position would draw negative attention, and though shipboard weapons were restricted, other forms of warfare still appeared to be allowed.

“Sounds good,” Dib said. “I can watch the stern in case anyone comes for us.”

Tak nodded sharply and Dib started for the back. Zim caught his wrist.

“Wait. When did you last eat?”

“Who are you? Foodio?” Dib asked with an anemic smirk. Now that Zim mentioned it, he sensed the sharp talons of hunger closing around his stomach. He also became aware of a need to relieve himself, and was glad of the fact that Vortians apparently required similar facilities as humans did, and that Tak hadn’t reconstructed this ship’s head into a weapon closet or something.

Zim roughly threw Dib’s hand aside and reached for his PAK. He muttered to himself as he fumbled around in the topmost port and grabbed a fistful of objects, which he dropped into his lap and parsed through. Dib sighed impatiently as Zim inspected the items with increasing agitation.

“Don’t worry about it, Zim. I’m going to the back. If you find something edible, chuck it at me. But tell me you’re chucking it first.”

“Shut up, stink-face,” Zim hissed. “I’ve got it right… here…”

Dib – who had been mean-mugging the glint of Esh-El’s ship in the distance – returned his attention to Zim as he trailed off. Zim’s claws held something thin and black, but before Dib could identify it, Zim had jammed it and the other odds and ends back into his PAK.

“What was that? Some kind of dagger?”

“Eat your breakfast and mind your own business,” Zim growled as he launched a packet at Dib’s face.

“Ow! Hey! You eat something too, OK?” Dib rubbed the sore spot on his forehead left by the snack. “Asshole…”

“I hate you both so fucking much,” Tak said through locked teeth.

For a couple hours, Dib watched through the rear hatch as various ships approached or fell further behind. The first few times a racer came within range, he’d announce it to Tak and Zim and wait with a pounding heart for it to make a move. And yet no one acted aggressively. Perhaps the most rambunctious of the pack had been eliminated in the first leg. Or perhaps starting shit while speeding over an ocean was simply foolhardy, especially when many of the competitors appeared to be Irken. Who knew what toxins permeated the seas of a planet such as Currus, to say nothing of the fauna that could be lurking just beneath the surface. While sapient life hadn’t been able to take permanent hold here, a host of fierce predators seemed to be thriving.

As much as he knew it would jinx him, Dib acknowledged his boredom. He rolled the hem of his shirt between his fingers, scratched at the soft stubble forming on his chin, clicked his tongue, hummed. In theory, the sun should have been high by now, but the fog still clung to the water, bleeding the barrier between sky and sea. Dib imagined shapes in the dense gray.

In fact, when the lightning first flashed, Dib assumed it was a trick of the eye. The following roll of thunder was harder to dismiss.

“Coming up on a storm system,” Tak said. “Still nothing behind us?”

“Pretty dead back here. Haven’t seen anyone in a while,” Dib said.

“The fleet’s spreading out. That’s always how this portion goes,” Tak said.

Dib moved forward to hear her better, his eye still on the rear window. “Always? Have you participated in the Round-the-World Rally before?”

“Of course not,” Tak replied, sounding offended. “I’ve never needed to engage in such a risky and wasteful competition before now. I merely did my research. Something the two of you have clearly never heard of.”

Dib slung his arm through the rungs of the ceiling port ladder. “Sure. What did your ‘research’ tell you about this leg?”

“For starters, I learned that touching the seawater is a death sentence,” Tak said. “It’s incredibly corrosive. If a ship goes down, no one bothers trying to retrieve its crew.”

Dib’s suspicions were confirmed. “So no one picks a fight out here without being certain they can end it.”

“You’re not as stupid as you look. And that’s saying something.”

“’Don’t crash in the ocean’ seems pretty obvious to me,” Zim said. “Did you learn anything of actual value, or was that it?”

To Tak’s credit, she remained level. “I also learned that our greatest foe in the oceanic portion of the race is the environment itself. Frequent storms, waterspouts, impenetrable fog, those sorts of things.”

An electronic chirp sounded from that dashboard.

“What was that?” Dib asked.

“Energy warning. Disregard it,” Tak said.

Dib frowned. “Are we still on track to reach the shore before we run out of power?”

Tak didn’t answer right away. Dib couldn’t see her expression from behind the cockpit seats, but her silence didn’t bode well.

“If we fly a straight course, we’ll be fine,” she eventually said.

“And if we don’t?” Zim asked.

“Do you really need to ask?”

Another crescendo of thunder rumbled through the Drifter, and dark swirls of storm clouds stretched across the windshield.

“I’m guessing our ‘straight course’ takes us straight into that, doesn’t it?” Dib asked. “Can this ship handle a hurricane?”

“Calm down. It’s not a hurricane. So melodramatic,” Tak said.

“I know, right?” Zim said.

“Zim. Really?”

Zim stood in his seat and faced Dib. “It’s just a little rain. Nothing to get worked up over.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Mr. Cowers-Under-the-Bed-During-Thunderstorms,” Dib deadpanned.

Zim’s face purpled. “LIES AND SLANDER!”

“I have photographic evidence.”

“Even if that were true, it was years ago, and it was a strategy to lull you into a false sense of security! A strategy which succeeded! Victory for Zim!” Zim raised his arms in a triumphant pose and almost lost his footing on the seat.

“I should have dumped the two of you as ballast at the last port,” Tak said.

“But you didn’t,” Dib said with a tight smile.

Tak dragged her hand down her illusioned face. “I am excruciatingly aware of that. Now, if you’re done testing my patience, I suggest we all focus on getting through the storm.”

Dib’s smile flattened. “Right. Anything we should be doing to help?”

“I don’t fucking know. Just… brace yourselves and don’t distract me.”

Dib wondered if asking her whether the ship had another hidden seat somewhere counted as a distraction. He settled for holding onto the back of Zim’s seat as the thunder tolled louder and the gray wall of water approached. His eyes wandered toward the complex energy meter that Tak had checked before. Its red glow did nothing to ease the knots in his stomach.

The first smatterings of rain burst across the windshield and were swiftly whisked away by a wiper system. Dib almost chuckled at the normalcy of it, such a mundane but admittedly necessary component to an alien craft. He found a strange comfort in that.

But then the deluge came. The hull shuddered as the torrent pounded down with the sound of a thousand mallets striking a steel drum. The previously comical wipers struggled to catch up with the  blur of water outside.

The yoke rattled and jerked in Tak’s hands. She grit her teeth, straining to maintain her flightpath. Lightning flashed white through the cabin, brighter than Dib thought possible. The immediate boom of thunder resonated in Dib’s chest, and suddenly, the gravity of the situation magnified in his mind. Images of ship shrapnel sinking into black water, the distant, diminishing pink glow of Zim’s PAK…

“Why aren’t we above the storm?” Zim shouted as the Drifter wobbled under the downpour.

Tak’s beady Vortian eye darted toward him. “What are you talking about?”

“Only an idiot flies directly into a storm like this,” Zim said. “You should let me drive!”

“You can’t seriously be this stupid,” Tak said. “You know the rules. We have to stay close to the ground. Er, water. The rules didn’t magically change for this leg of the race.”

An uneasy twinge pulled at Dib’s heart, but Zim spoke before he could chime in. “I know that. Of course I know that. I meant to say, ‘why aren’t we flying around the storm?’”

As if in answer, the fuel meter chirped again.

“We don’t have the energy to risk it, remember?” Dib reached over the seat to touch Zim’s shoulder. Zim flinched away from his hand.

“Yes! Yes, I remember. Obviously,” Zim said in a brittle voice. “But… But this is impossible! Can’t you see that? The storm will tear us apart!”

“I’m not repeating this conversation with you,” Tak said.

Another blinding flash, punctuated by gut-roiling thunder.

“But the waterspout!” Zim said.

Dib saw it just as Tak began to ask what he meant: a spiraling column of water, almost indistinguishable in the unending rush of gray, stretching from the sea to the sky and drawing rapidly closer. Or rather, the Drifter sped rapidly toward it.

“Fucking sure,” Dib cursed. “What next? Sea monsters?”

Tak’s fake horns pricked up like dog ears. “Where?”

Dib’s nails bit into the hard seatback. “Nowhere! It was a joke! But you see the waterspout, right?”

“I see it.”

Dib gave her a second to react, but she held the course. “So avoid it!”

Her eyes darted toward the energy meter. “Can’t.”

“Are you telling me it will take less power to fly directly into a fucking tornado?” Dib’s voice scraped his throat and was still barely loud enough to be heard over the storm.

“I…” Actual fear flickered across Tak’s features. “I don’t know. We can’t afford to swerve too far.”

The gauge chirped. The Drifter bucked against the building vortex.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Dib didn’t care that the words came out in a whisper. “We can’t afford to avoid it, but we can’t afford to fly through it either… There’s not enough power to get to shore, is there?”

He hadn’t expected Tak to hear him, but judging by the way her shoulders tightened, he guessed that she had.

Zim – who until now had been staring silently at the waterspout – stood from his seat with uncharacteristic composure. “Then we have to swerve. Do everything we can to avoid it.”

“This ship can’t handle a water landing,” Tak said. “The water’s too corrosive, and if you knew about the creatures that dwell in the deep…”

“We’re not going to crash, scaredy-smeet,” Zim sneered. “We just need more time. Dib!”

Dib reflexively jumped to attention.

“I need your lanky body. NOW.”

Dib clenched his teeth to prevent the slap-happy impulse to accuse Zim of flirting from escaping his mouth. Zim grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the cockpit, toward the line of lockers along the cabin wall. The Irken began throwing open the locker doors, inspecting the jumble of machinery within them.

“Hey! Is any of this stuff important?” Zim shouted forward, waving a bundle of copper wires above his head.

“Of course it’s important! I don’t travel with deadweight!”

“That’s almost a compliment,” Dib muttered under his breath as Zim loaded his arms with assorted bits of metal.

“I’m borrowing it anyway!” There was a hint of sing-song inflection to Zim’s voice. “Don’t hit the waterspout! It’s the big swirly bad thing you’re flying toward! In case you weren’t sure!”

“The only thing I plan on hitting is you, Zim! You’d better not ruin any more of my shit!”

Zim repeated her last sentence in a squeaky, mocking tone, but fortunately for him, a growl of thunder drowned him out.

Wind buffeted the ship and Dib stumbled, almost losing his hold on the material Zim had laden him with. Zim steadied him with a hand on his elbow, then pulled him down into a clear space on the cabin floor.

“OK… We’re building something here, right?” Dib asked as he splayed out the components for Zim to peck through. “What are we making?”

“A system to recharge the ship’s batteries.” Zim selected several lengths of metal tubing and arranged them parallel to each other on the ground.

A flash, followed by a boom like an ancient tree splitting.

“Zim… You’re not seriously thinking of harvesting lightning…”

“It’s free electricity,” Zim said as his nimble fingers knit lengths of cable together into a wide-gauged net. He moved so swiftly, as if powered by muscle-memory, as if weaving an energy harness out of scraps was as natural to him as any other hobby.

Despite Dib’s uncertainty, he held the structural poles steady for Zim to construct around. “Yeah, I get that, but even if we manage not to electrocute ourselves or fry the ship in the process, lightning is so concentrated and so fast… There’s no way we could capture enough to power a ship of this size. Not without prolonging the charge somehow, and we don’t have time to build something that could do that.”

“We don’t need to,” Zim said. “This is a Vortian vessel, which means its batteries use time-crystal circuitry to repeat charges.”

Zim passed a loop of wiring to Dib, who reflexively continued the same weaving pattern that Zim had started on his side of the net. “Time-crystals? As in the hypothetical, infinitely-repeating state of matter?”

“Not hypothetical. Actual, but imperfect.”

“Holy shit… Shouldn’t that mean the batteries never need recharged?” Though Dib hadn’t been terribly invested in his father’s Perpetual Energy Generator back in the day (considering he’d been preoccupied with thwarting an alien invasion at the time), he’d overheard plenty of rambling sessions about it. Professor Membrane had intended to synthesize his own time-crystals to power PEG, but when that fell through, he moved on to other, more classified methods. In theory, time-crystals were the key to true perpetual energy… If only they existed.

 “Pay attention. I told you that the system is imperfect,” Zim said. “The artificial crystals can refract and extend electrical charges, but only within certain bounds.”

Dib rotated the metallic web they’d constructed, tweaking stray bits of wiring into place as he did. “I take it a direct lightning strike could be contained within those bounds?”

“Mhm!” Zim stepped back to admire their handiwork, which Dib held up for his inspection. “Excellent! Now, to connect it!”

Zim dropped to his hands and knees, feeling along the floor’s paneling until his fingers found some kind of tab. He pulled it, causing a square of metal to fold aside and expose a glass cannister approximately the size of a fire extinguisher. Within it, blue tendrils of energy danced and splayed in spidery patterns. Dib noted the delicate fractals embedded within the cannister.

“That’s the battery?” Dib asked. “It’s tiny…”

“It’s efficient,” Zim corrected, drawing a long cable out from beneath the battery’s bed.

When Zim handed him the end of the cable, Dib immediately set to work. He toyed with the receptors for a few seconds, recognizing certain structures, intuiting the purposes of others. This energy system might have been new to him, but so many of the components felt familiar in his hands. The sound of the storm faded into a cottony thrum as he directed his full attention to attaching the charging cable to their makeshift capturing device.

Zim’s hands brushed against Dib’s as the two fell into a silent and easy rhythm. Even with the thunder and the rocking and the impatient and unrepeatable exclamations from the cockpit, a peculiar calm swept over Dib. This wordless choreography of work felt natural, comfortable. Correct. He sensed where Zim’s hands would go, predicted when to pass a curl of wire his way. He felt warm, and not just from the exertion. His eyes flitted up in time to catch Zim’s smile, and the warmth intensified.

Once the connection was complete and a wrap of something foamy and theoretically shock-proof had been affixed to its base, Dib sat back on his heels and gave it a final check. Satisfied with what he saw, he handed the unwieldy contraption to Zim and headed for the ladder to the roof hatch.

He’d made it up two rungs before Zim grabbed his shirt to stop him. “Where are you going?”

“To the roof. You can pass me the net and I’ll secure it to the rail.” Dib released the latch above his head and prepared to push it up. If he moved quickly enough, maybe he could evade an argument.

“You need a harness!”

Shit, Zim was right. Judging by the alarm bleeping from the front of the Drifter, however, there was little time to waste. “I can reach from the hatchway. You just hold onto my ankles, OK?”

“Fine. Go, then! Quickly!”

With a hum of surprised agreement, Dib shoved the hatch open. Even though he’d braced for it, the onslaught of frigid water and ripping wind knocked him backwards a rung. Warm arms encircled his calves and he regained himself, trusting Zim to hold him firmly in place on the ladder. Dib angled his head to the side to catch his breath and call for Zim to pass the device up.

Getting the awkward hunk of would-be modern art up through the hatch took some maneuvering, but Zim balanced and steadied Dib as he worked. Dib made sure to grip the lightning rod by the insulated base as he reached for the nearest railing. Rain blurred his vision and threatened to tear his glasses from his face, forcing Dib’s head low as he strained forward.

The rail remained just out of reach.

“I need to go up a step!” Dib screamed to be audible above the tempest.

Zim must have heard him, because he eased his iron grip just enough for Dib to move up another rung. Half of his body now lay flattened along the roof, soaked and wind-torn, with his arms extended in front of him in a blind search for the railing. His rapidly numbing fingers finally made contact with the railing’s base.

A sudden gust tossed the Drifter. Dib’s stomach flipped as he slid on the deck, one hand clamped around the device, the other clinging to the railing.  Lightning flashed far too close for comfort, and the accompanying thunder quaked the hull beneath Dib’s torso, adding to his queasiness. He willed his shaking hands to work faster as they bound the rod into place.

It could only have been a minute or two, but it seemed like hours before Dib felt confident that the rod was securely attached. He released his hold and began pushing himself back with the heels of his hands, keeping as low a profile as possible to reduce his chances of being sucked from the hatchway and into the whirling void.

Another blast of wind knocked the ship, but this time, it didn’t correct itself and level out right away. Instead, the deck abruptly dropped away from Dib. He cried out in alarm as he floated up, either to be tossed into the sea or bashed against the deck when it rose again. Strong hands wrapped around his thighs and yanked him straight down through the hatchway before either horrible outcome could occur.

Dib crashed onto Zim ass first in a tangle of metal and organic limbs. Rather than throwing him off right away, Zim curled around Dib’s back and rolled him to the side, his PAK legs arching over the two of them in a protective cage. His chest against Dib’s back radiated beautiful heat, and for a moment, the tension melted out of Dib’s waterlogged body.

And then the lightning struck.

By luck alone, Dib’s eyes were closed, but he saw the awful brightness of the strike even through his eyelids. Cannon-loud thunder shook the ship and set his ears ringing. Too slowly, he pressed his hands over his ears and folded in on himself. Zim’s arms crossed over his chest, squeezing him closer as a second strike wracked the Drifter.

Dib coughed the ozone taste from his mouth and raised his voice. “Tak! Is it working?”

“Yes!” she shouted back with manic glee. “We’ve got power! We’ve got a surplus of power, and we’re nearly out of the storm!”

Zim’s PAK limbs slowly retracted and he loosened his bearhug. “Are we back on course?”

“We’re on course, the skies are clearing, and there’s not a ship in sight!” Tak replied. “Get up here! You need to see this!”

Dib and Zim scrambled to their feet and raced to the cockpit. Sure enough, the clouds were parting, replaced by bright patches of blue. A clear, sparkling seaway extended before them, and on the horizon, the subtle shadow of land awaited.

Without landmarks, it was hard to tell at a glance how fast the ship was moving. Dib scanned the dashboard, searching for an indicator. This felt so much faster than before, but then again, they’d not been running on a full charge.

He twisted to see through the rear porthole, where water fanned away from the ship’s engines in two towering walls of wake. No other Drifters appeared to be tailing them. In some ways that should have been a relief, but Dib couldn’t shake his sense of dread.

“How far are we from the finish?” Dib asked as he tried to wring the rainwater from his clothes.

“That land mass ahead of us should be it. We’re lined up with it perfectly,” Tak said. Something about her frank, non-insult-laden tone unsettled Dib.

Zim asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Where are the other ships?”

The sun hung low in the sky. Their battle through the storm had taken longer than Dib had realized, and he feared that the answer to Zim’s question was that the rest of the fleet had already arrived at the finish.

After everything… Last again.

No one spoke. As thrilling as their speed was, and as cheerfully as the waves reflected the sinking sun, a suffocating unease stifled the crew of Tak’s unnamed Drifter. Minute by terrible minute, the continent grew taller and more detailed on the horizon, until at last Dib could pick out trees and cliffs and the ghostly silhouettes of far-off mountains. Neither Zim nor Dib sat in the copilot’s seat, both preferring to stand at attention on either side of it, hardly daring to breathe.

“There.” Zim pointed a claw toward a shining quartz tower which protruded from the bay they were approaching.

Tak nodded. “I see it.”

The time checkpoint. Passing that would lock in their race time… It was essentially the finish line for this leg. Passing this meant they’d be able to land, refuel, and recuperate. Dib placed a hand over his cramping stomach. However they placed, he hoped they’d still have the chance to get something to eat before planning their next steps.

The closer they got, the more signs of sapient life appeared. Several floating platforms drifted over the bay like low-hanging clouds, crowded with spectators. Cheering spectators. Or maybe jeering?

Several marine vessels lined the final stretch as well, their decks bustling with onlookers. Many were smiling and waving bright banners. Dib distrusted the fragile blossom of hope that sprouted within him at the sight.

The ship zoomed past the time tower, and over the roar of the engines, Dib could hear the spirited cries of the crowd. He traded a look with Zim, who smiled confidently back at him. Dib returned the smile, though he wasn’t sure he should be celebrating yet.

Tak pulled back on the thruster and the ship slowed, the engines dropping in pitch to a low buzz. She steered toward a vacant shipyard on the beach and lowered the Drifter into the sand. Dib found he could breathe more easily now that they’d stopped moving, despite the presence of a small platoon of aliens jogging across the beach to greet them.

Tak leaned back in her seat and shook the tension from her hands. “Great. One of you idiots should go see what they want,” she grumbled, glaring at the approaching group.

Dib was first out the back hatch, with Zim close on his heels. His knees nearly gave out when he stepped onto the white sand, and he had to catch himself on the hull of the Drifter. Zim snickered at him but struggled with his footing as well. Dib knew this ground was solid, but after so long on a wobbling ship, his mind still expected some unsteadiness.

A dozen excited alien faces surrounded the two of them, all asking questions that the TransDibber couldn’t keep up with. Fortunately, a single, hooded alien about half Dib’s height pushed forward and addressed Dib directly.

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?” Dib asked before thinking.

The hooded alien continued. “You were last to the starting block before.”

“Yes? What of it?” Zim challenged, shoving himself in front of Dib.

“Where are the other ships?” Dib already knew it was a stupid question by the time it left his lips, and yet he was in such a state of disbelief that he couldn’t stop himself.

The hooded alien laughed, their glowing eyes narrowing in amusement. “Behind you, of course. You’re the first to the penultimate checkpoint. Congratulations!”

Chapter Text

“We’re… first?” Dib feared the simple act of speaking such a thing would undo its truth.

The hooded alien – the de facto spokesperson of the gaggle of spectators – nodded. “And straight through a storm, no less! How did you know you’d be able to weather it?”

“Ha! Storms pose no threat to an elite team such as ourselves!” Zim replied, puffing out his chest and radiating his signature obnoxious confidence.

Zim drew a deep breath, surely preparing to launch into a self-aggrandizing version of their voyage across the sea, but a strange tinkling noise interrupted him. Dib turned toward the jingling and immediately recognized its source.

Esh-El’s crystalline Drifter shot across the water and flashed past the time tower. With a sound like wind chimes clashing, the ship slowed and coasted over the crooked docks of the bay. As it angled itself toward the empty shipyard where Tak had landed, a cold lump formed in Dib’s throat. He didn’t imagine Esh-El would take kindly to coming in second, least of all to himself and Zim. Dib wanted to feel smug, but indulging in such an emotion tempted fate in a way they couldn’t afford.

While Esh-El’s vessel parked itself across the beach, a scattering of other Drifters appeared on the horizon. Dib, Zim, and the little audience they’d gathered watched quietly as the ships zipped by the timer one by one. The racers slowed well before they reached the low, ugly buildings of the bayside town and altered their courses to settle on the sand. Dib cringed at the jagged scars that ran along the keel of an Irken ship and wondered whether the damage had been caused by a collision or a creature. Tak had mentioned marine monsters… Were any capable of that kind of destruction?

Some of the aliens that had flocked to Tak’s ship started back up with their questions, but Dib couldn’t look away from the newest racer to arrive in the bay. To his shock, the bizarre, worm-like Drifter had managed to make it across the ocean. Its once fluorescently green skin had dulled to a drab gray, and while it moved at a swift pace, Dib half expected it to collapse into the water the second it passed the checkpoint.

Miraculously, the undulating, cylindrical ship and its conspicuously exposed rider stayed aloft just long enough to reach the edge of the beach, where it flopped into the sand. The pilot on its back – a broad-shouldered humanoid creature with a floating brain-like organ in place of his head – slid from atop it and crashed to the ground, raising gasps from the crowd.

Several of the aliens surrounding Dib and Zim hurried toward the fallen racer, obscuring him from sight. Dib stood on his toes, filled with morbid curiosity, but couldn’t get a clear view.

“Oh my,” murmured the hooded alien, who was straining to get a look as well.

“Oh my indeed… I do hope he’s alright.”

Dib nearly jumped out of his skin at the familiar, syrupy voice mere inches from his ear. He whirled to face the two heads of Esh-El. In his peripheral, he saw Zim freeze, antennae ridged. Even the hooded alien stiffened at Director Esh-El’s sudden presence.

“Apologies,” continued El in his velvety tones. “We didn’t mean to startle you. We merely intended to congratulate you on your victory.”

Zim made a show of inspecting his claw tips. “You came to bask in our radiance as well, eh?”

Esh tossed her head back in a laugh. “Ha! The wonders that going from last to first can do for one’s self-esteem…”

“Though you weren’t truly in last place before,” El said.

“Nor are you truly in first now.” Esh’s orange eyes met Dib’s as she spoke, her easy smile forgotten.

“Right,” Dib said, determined not to back down from the eye contact. “I guess we’ll have to wait for the finishing times to be calculated before we know where we all stand.”

“You have an awful lot of time to make up for,” Esh noted.

“Oh, you’re just bitter you came in second,” Zim said. Behind him, the hooded alien performed an awkward bow and retreated toward another of the landed Drifters. Dib flashed Zim a look that any rational person would interpret as “shut the fuck up” but which Zim seemed to take as encouragement. “You can’t stand that we beat you, can you? That’s what you get for flying around in a giant rock.”

Esh’s tongue flickered out of her mouth, but El spoke as calmly as ever. “We must admit our surprise… Newcomers often struggle in their first rallies. But it appears you’ve teamed up with another racer and made quite the sensational comeback. One that won’t soon be forgotten. Well done.”

Dib didn’t care if his smile read as fake. This conversation needed to end. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to prepare for tomorrow.”

Esh-El’s tail twitched, leaving a crescent in the white sand. “Of course,” said El, his head dipping politely. “But before you go, may we offer a word of advice?”

“We don’t take advice from losers,” Zim said, and Dib couldn’t decide whether he deserved a high five or a kick in the ass for it. He sensed neither choice would be appropriate for the situation.

“Do you know what we love most about these races?” A scale-lipped smile spread across Esh’s face once more, and Esh-El leaned forward to address Zim more directly. “We love the chance of it all.”

“As I’m sure you’ve observed, this isn’t a straightforward competition. You must account for your fellow racers, the environment, the malicious fauna… You can only guard against so much,” El said.

Dib’s eyes narrowed at the earnest, sympathetic quality to El’s voice. “You’re saying we got lucky.”

El shook his head. “No, that would be an insulting oversimplification. We aren’t attacking you.”

“We’re warning you,” Esh said.

Dib’s nails dug into his upper arms. “Warning or threatening?”

Esh laughed again and looked away, her eyes tracking the other Drifters as they landed. “What did I tell you, El? They’re not going to listen.”

“You haven’t said anything worth listening to,” Zim said, and Dib smirked.

El ignored them both. “See that pilot over there?”

Esh-El pointed a talon toward the collapsed worm creature (or at least, Dib assumed it was a creature) and the swarm of people around its rider. Someone had brought along a levitating stretcher, and the racer’s bulky body was being hoisted onto it to be carried away.

“We didn’t expect him to make it past the canyons in the first leg,” Esh said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Organic Drifters tend to struggle with the various biomes and predators of the Currus wilds. It’s a lot to put a lifeform through.”

A pair of what must have been medical bots bore the unconscious pilot away. Most of the curious onlookers wandered toward other ships, but a few remained with the sickly worm, prodding at its sides to coax it to life. It didn’t respond.

“Was it lucky of that racer to make it so far? Did fate serve him well? We may never have the chance to ask him,” El said.

“Like we said before, there are many factors to account for in this race, not least of which is your own ability to endure it.” Esh’s head turned toward Zim, her expression inscrutable. “Sometimes, your biggest opponent is yourself. You have to know what sacrifices you’re willing to make in order to win.”

“Are you done?” Dib asked flatly.

El’s jewel-like blue eyes shifted toward Dib. “I suppose we are. We’ve taken enough of your time. But please… Do take care of yourselves.”

“We hope to see you at the finish line.” Esh winked, and the two-headed Director sidled back toward their ship.

As they disappeared into a crowd of fans, Zim feigned gagging. “Blech. ‘Your biggest opponent is yourself’… What a load of dookie. Their biggest opponent is ZIM! I mean… US!”

Dib waved them off. “They’re just trying to get under our skin. They’re threatened by us.”

“As they should be!”

Zim kicked the sand for emphasis, but the gesture unbalanced him. Dib reached forward and caught him by the shoulders before he could tumble backwards. As Zim pushed away Dib’s hands and repositioned himself, Dib took stock of his appearance. Even aided by the warm glow of the approaching sunset, Zim’s skin looked washed out. Dark bags still hung beneath his glassy eyes, and his antennae drooped lower than usual.

Zim started prattling about how something must have tripped him, but Dib only partially heard him. Esh-El must have registered Zim’s worn state and decided to use it to sow insecurity. A cheap intimidation tactic under the guise of “advice.”

Dib had to admit that it was nice to be perceived as a threat for once. Still, Esh-El’s comment about making sacrifices disquieted him.

“I’m gonna check in with Tak, then maybe go into town, see if there’s anything edible there,” Dib announced. “I think we need something more substantial than a smooshed granola bar for dinner.”

Zim followed Dib back onto the ship. “I’ll come with you! We deserve a real snack! A victory snack!”

Dib smiled, reassured by Zim’s enthusiasm.

“I could go for a victory drink, too.” Tak stood near the pilot’s seat, stretching the stiffness out of her arms and wearing the subtlest suggestion of a smile on her lips. “If you two handle the rations, I’ll get started on repairs.”

“Repairs?” Dib asked.

“I didn’t modify this ship with a lightning-powered battery in mind. I need to make sure everything’s in order and give it a proper charge.”

“Right. Victory snacks and victory drinks, then,” Dib said.

“If you’ll just hand us your cred chip,” Zim said, holding out his palm expectantly.

Tak blinked at him for a moment, and then doubled over with laughter. After nearly a minute of shrieking giggles, it became evident that she had no intention of stopping. Even as the boys made their way out of the ship and off the beach, her laughter followed them, fading only as they entered the bustle of a dockside market.

Dib supposed that was only fair.

*****

By the time Dib and Zim had finished shopping, the sun had set, and an unexpectedly merry mood had transformed the beach. The colorful running lights of the sixteen still functioning Drifters that had arrived so far gave the shipyard a carnival-like atmosphere. Several crews had built bonfires near their vessels, where they sat on blankets and laughed at unheard jokes over mugs of mysterious fluids. Rival pilots waved to each other and tossed playful insults back and forth, as if the field of racers hadn’t been cut in half during the most recent leg. Somewhere nearby, an instrument that sounded a bit like an electric flute piped a jig.

For such a dangerous event, the remaining racers seemed remarkably jovial, and the energy was contagious. Dib bobbed his head to the music and snuck a hand into one of the snack bags Zim had saddled him with.

Apparently, he was not as stealthy as he thought. Zim swatted his hand away before Dib could grab anything.

“No! Bad Dib! Not until I’ve tested everything!”

Dib crinkled his nose and shook the sting out of his hand. “You said all this stuff should be fine.”

“Should be. We must make certain.”

Dib rolled his eyes. Maybe it was for the best. He could easily imagine Tak being offended by his premature snacking. Irkens were so particular about their food rituals, and Dib knew the art of snacking was a sacred one. At least, as close to sacred as anything was for the imperial space-bugs.

Dib’s stomach growled. Hopefully, Zim would be quick with his testing protocol, because Dib was long overdue for a real meal. In the chaos of the cluttered food stalls, Dib had managed to pick out a few almost Earthen-looking entrees, and he hadn’t stopped salivating since.

“Took you long enough,” Tak said as they rounded the back of the Drifter. She stood over a driftwood fire a few feet from the bottom of the rear ramp and used a PAK limb to adjust the logs. Dib wasn’t sure why a fire was necessary, but he had no intention of complaining. Sunset had brought with it a mild chill, and Dib was drawn to the heat of the flames. He let his bags plop to the ground so he could warm his hands.

“Hey!” Zim pointed at his dropped bags. “This is mostly your dinner, you know!”

“You said you were checking everything anyway,” Dib said as he rotated his hands in front of the fire.

Zim grumbled and sat down with their spoils. He sorted out a vibrantly blue bottle to toss to Tak, who deftly snatched it out of the air. She used her thumb-claw to pop the cap from the bottle, floated her antennae over the opening to inspect it, then took a deep swig. Despite the full-body shudder that followed, whatever she’d swallowed seemed to satisfy her, and she sighed contentedly as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Not bad for bottom shelf,” she quipped.

Zim snarled as he pulled his testing tools from his PAK. “Maybe if we’d had a proper budget…”

Dib winced a little and wondered how much Skoodge had intended to spend when he gave them his cred chip. The portside market had seemed cheap enough, but Dib still wasn’t sure how prices translated between cred, monies, and local currencies.

“On that note, I should check in with Skoodge and the base,” Dib said. “There’d better be something edible for me here when I get back, OK?”

Zim waved Dib off. “Yeah, whatever. Be quick. Don’t go far.”

Dib started toward the shore, away from the music and celebration, searching for someplace a little quieter, more private. All the Drifters had landed well away from the waterline, which made sense, considering what Tak had said about its corrosive nature. Still, it didn’t look so different from the oceans of Earth as Dib approached. Low waves tumbled over each other, sprawled up the sand, and receded, leaving a trail of foam. A briny tang hung in the air, and as Dib drew a deep breath, he picked up a hint of citrus. Even knowing how dangerous the water was, he was tempted to strip off his boots and wade in the wake, like he used to do on the extremely rare beach trips he’d been on back home.

He settled for strolling along just out of reach of the waves as he hailed Skoodge from his TransDibber. The line fizzled and beeped a few times before the call was picked up.

“Hello? Dib?” Skoodge’s voice jittered.

“Hi! Yes! Can you hear me OK?” Dib reflexively lifted his arm, as if a few inches of altitude would bolster the flimsy connection.

“Yes, I can hear you!”

Dib smiled. He’d increased the range of his communicator while he was on Oobli A, but hadn’t had the opportunity to test it until now. “Great! Keep talking… I think I can clear up the fuzziness…”

“Oh, uh, OK… Well, I have to admit, I’m relieved to hear from you. I tried the ship, and then Zim’s PAK, but when neither responded, I began to worry something had happened. Tenn and I were just searching for your communicator’s signal when you called.”

Dib’s brows furrowed as he tweaked the settings in his TransDibber. “To be honest, something did happen. Several things, actually. But we’re alright. When did you try to call Zim?”

“About an hour ago. Is he with you now?” Skoodge said, his voice much clearer.

Skoodge not reaching the destroyed ship was one thing, but the PAK was another. Dib would have to ask Zim about that later… He wouldn’t put it past him to blatantly ignore a call from Skoodge.

“No, he’s working on dinner. It’s just me.”

“OK. When you say that several things happened, what do you mean?” Skoodge asked. “Did you find an LSI-Ring?”

Dib sank down onto the sand, settling in for a long conversation. “Not exactly…”

As Dib recounted the story of their arrival on Currus and the series of misfortunes that followed, Skoodge remained silent. At a few points, Dib wondered if the call had dropped, but his TransDibber still showed Skoodge as online.

“Wow… That sure is several things,” Skoodge said when Dib finished catching him up. “But I’m not sure I understand why you’re racing. Couldn’t you just steal GIR and the ring?”

“Apparently, that’s a no-go. But we’re actually in a good position here. I think we can win this!”

Skoodge sounded less than convinced. “I hope you’re right… And you said Zim’s been sleeping more?”

Dib scooped a handful of sand and sifted it through his fingers. “Yeah… He’s being careful with his PAK. Conserving energy, eating and sleeping a little more. It’s definitely a touchy subject, but he’s been honest with me, so that’s good. I’m just glad he’s taking it seriously.”

Skoodge went quiet. Dib checked his wrist again to make sure the connection hadn’t broken.

“Skoodge…?”

“Sorry, hi, yes, I’m glad too,” Skoodge said. Another heavy pause. “What… uh, what has Zim told you about his PAK, exactly?”

Dib tilted his hand, stopping the sand-flow, and inspected the tiny pool of glittering grains in his palm. “He told me that his PAK corruption has been present for years, and that it’s been slowly spreading. He’s finally making an effort to counteract the spread, and it obviously took him a lot to admit to that. It’s a little weird to see him sleeping so much, and he looks… Well, he looks a little ragged, but the climate here… I mean, you’ve been here before, you know what I’m talking about. I’m sure I’m not looking my best either.”

“Mm… How’s his memory?”

“What do you mean?” Dib’s fingers curled over the sand, protecting it from the salty breeze that rolled in from the sea.

“I mean, is he forgetful? Er, more forgetful than usual?”

“You know Zim. Sometimes he just… doesn’t pay attention.”

“I guess,” said Skoodge. Dib wished he’d developed a video component for his TransDibber. He didn’t like the length of Skoodge’s pauses. “And he lost consciousness during the wreck?”

Dib’s hand closed completely. “Not during the wreck. After. He pulled me out of the ship, and I think maybe that was too much. During the wreck, he was fine. Well… Just before it, he seemed a little out of the loop… We scraped the canyon wall… But it was a narrow path, and with all the chaos and everything…”

Skoodge said nothing. For some reason, that pissed Dib off.

“It seems like you want to say something, so you may as well just do it. I’m tired and hungry and I don’t know what else to tell you,” he said. He licked his dry lips, realized the sharpness of his words, and softened. “I’m worried about him too, you know. But he’s finally being real with me about what’s going on, and I know it isn’t great, but he’s making it through. We both are. And we have Tak with us now, and we’re finally winning for once in our lives.”

“No, I know, that’s good… That’s really good. But I’m just thinking… Maybe I could send Tenn out there? And a couple other Zoo Irkens are still hanging around Oobli A who might be willing to go for a cut of the prize. They’d arrive late, though. Maybe you could find a way to track the winner, and then-”

“We’re going to win this goddamn race,” Dib snapped. He checked himself, worried that his voice would carry across the beach to the other racers. Thankfully, it sounded even more raucous up there than before. “We know what we’re doing. You’re talking like we’ve already lost.”

“I don’t mean to… I just think that maybe a contingency plan wouldn’t hurt.”

Dib’s fist tightened around the sand, and he imagined squeezing until it crystalized. He could barely feel it in his palm. “That’s fine and all, but since nobody can arrive in time anyway, I think we should focus on the very real chance we have at succeeding.”

The TransDibber fell silent again, and Dib’s jaw clenched.

“You want to say something. I’m not stupid. What the hell do you know that I don’t, and why can’t you just fucking say it?”

“He’s my friend, and I’m permitted to worry about him. And you.” Skoodge’s voice was low and steady, and although he didn’t directly answer the question, Dib got the feeling he’d hit a firm boundary. “Just look out for each other, OK? Win the race, get the supplies, and come home as quickly as you can. Please.”

How easily Skoodge tossed around words like “friend” and “home”… but Dib didn’t have the time or energy to unpack that. “I promise. Anyway. I just wanted to keep you updated. Anything of interest happening on Oobli A?”

“Hm, I suppose we have a bit of news. We’re picking up whispers that the Resisty is up to something on Machinus. It makes me all the more anxious for you to find what you need for Zim’s PAK on Currus. If I were in charge of the Resisty, I wouldn’t want to sit on that place for long. Too risky. It’s safer for them to destroy it to prevent Empire loyalists from accessing all that PAK tech.”

Dib nodded, forgetting for a moment that Skoodge couldn’t see him. “Right, that makes sense. If… When we get the LSI-Ring, we won’t need Machinus anyway. Rek said she’d be willing to install it. Probably safer like that anyway.”

“You’re probably right,” Skoodge said, but Dib took little comfort in the words. “That’s all I have from here. I’m glad you called. Update us again tomorrow? After the race?”

“Definitely.”

“OK, thank you.”

Skoodge drew an audible breath, and Dib expected him to add something. He didn’t.

“Anything else?” Dib prompted, a little impatiently.

“Just… Could you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Can you ask Zim to call me back? There’s something I want to talk to him about.”

Dib couldn’t keep the suspicion out of his voice. “And what’s that?”

“Just following up on a conversation we had before. Can you please tell him to call?” Skoodge requested, undeterred.

“I’ll see what I can do, but it’s Zim, you know?”

Skoodge sighed. “I know. Still, worth a shot.”

Dib felt a twinge of guilt upon hearing Skoodge’s defeated tone. He wasn’t sure why he was being so bristly with the well-meaning ex-invader. So far, Skoodge had been nothing but helpful. Even so, Dib couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being intentionally left out of something.

But he’d spiraled around that drain many times before. He’d made a conscious, deliberate decision to trust Zim, and whatever it was that Skoodge wanted to talk to him about, he’d have to leave it to Zim to handle.

Dib willed his hand to open and allowed the last trickle of sand to fall away. “I’ll do my best, Skoodge. We’ll talk to you soon.”

“Oh good… OK. Until then!”

The call ended, but Dib remained seated, staring out over the deceptively peaceful waves, into the great black void of the ocean. With no moon to brighten the night, there was no visible separation of sea and sky, no true boundary between the infinite darkness below and pinpricks of starlight above.

Dib’s fingers burrowed into the cool sand, seeking an anchor, as if he might be pulled out into the swallowing blackness. There was nothing there to grip. Despite the absence of an actual threat, dread spiked from the pit of his stomach.

He yanked his hands up again and scrambled to his feet. He was wasting time. That wasn’t dread he was feeling… It was merely hunger. Dib just needed a decent meal and a night’s rest.

He turned toward the lights and sounds of the makeshift Drifter camp. There was no need to fret over contingency plans and secret conversations and the ever encroaching darkness. There was only now. This moment. This night before everything was set right again.

 Dib hurried across the beach and didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Food had never tasted so good.

Dib shoveled spicy, savory noodles into his mouth with a pair of chopstick-like utensils, pausing only to chase bites with draughts of water. The purple coloration of the noodles took some getting used to, but the flavor was distantly familiar, like something he could have ordered from a Thai place back home. As he crunched into what he hoped was some kind of vegetable, he tried to remember the last time he’d eaten Earth food. Real Earth food, not just stale meal replacement bars.

“Slow down, Dib-stink. You’ll choke,” Zim said, his face a blend of amusement and disgust.

Dib wiped his chin and reached for his water, thanking the stars for whatever act of parallel evolution had resulted in alien entrees that were not only compatible with his biology but delicious as well. Of course, that could have been the hunger talking.

Dib drained his drink and set aside the canteen with a satisfied sigh. “Worry about yourself first, space-boy. How’d you manage to get sauce on your antennae?”

“Eh?!” Zim’s cheeks flushed as he grabbed at his antennae and furiously began to preen.

Tak laughed at his self-consciousness and took a sloppy swig from her bottle. A PAK limb craned from behind her and nudged another piece of driftwood into the fire.

Dib cracked open a new carton of food. “Since when do Vortians have PAKs, Tak?”

“Fuck off,” Tak grumbled as the limb retracted, but her tone lacked its usual sting. In fact, Dib detected the start of a grin at the edge of her mouth. “No one even cares.”

“If no one cares, why wear a disguise at all?” Dib asked.

The hint of a smile extinguished. “Precautions. I don’t care if the other racers don’t think I’m a Vortian. Mostly, I don’t want my face associated with that prize. Esh-El’s Order does a decent job of protecting the race winners from thieves in the short term, but I’m still not keen on advertising my real identity. That, and I don’t know if…”

Tak trailed off, took another drink, and stared into the fire.

Dib coaxed her on. “Don’t know if what?”

“Never mind. It’s none of your business.”

“Right. Guess I should have seen that coming.” Dib plucked a fried dough-ball out of the carton, inspected its golden-brown surface, and popped it into his mouth, expecting a sweet pastry. Instead, though the outside was doughnut-like, its center was crunchy and bitter. The more Dib chewed, the more intense the flavor became, until he could no longer fake his way through. He spat the mouthful into the fire and tried not to gag.

“Dib?!” Zim scrambled closer to him and grabbed his face. “Is it an allergic reaction? Is it dissolving the vulnerable soft tissues of your mouth? This is what you get for rushing Zim’s testing process! This is what your greed has won you!”

“Get off, I’m fine!” Dib pushed Zim away and turned his head to cough. Desperate to wash away the aftertaste, he grabbed for his canteen, only to find it completely empty.

Tak groaned and pulled another blue bottle from a box next to her. “Palate cleanser. Think fast.”

She tossed the bottle over the fire and Dib, vision blurred by tears, barely managed to catch it before it hit the ground.

“Wait! I haven’t tested that yet!”

“Yes you did, Zim,” Tak said, sounding more weary than irritated.

Zim crossed his arms. “When?”

“When you demanded that I give you one.” Tak pointed at the empty bottle wedged into the sand near where Zim had been sitting.

Zim blinked at the bottle. “Oh. Yeah. Can I have another?”

Tak shook her head in disbelief but pulled another drink from the case and chucked it at Zim with a little more force than necessary. “There, maybe it will calm you down a little. You’re the loudest thing on this beach.”

As reluctant as Dib was to admit it, Tak was right. Around them, bonfires had dimmed and the songs and jibes had dwindled into low conversations. As Dib opened his drink, he reflected on the couple weeks he and Gaz had spent on the road one summer, touring aimlessly across the country in a Membrane Labs ultra-collapsible RV. Just two college students, renting cheap spaces in campsites, arguing about which roadside attractions were worth stopping at. The campsite nights were often like this… Rows of quiet campers and fading fires, the scent of woodsmoke, sparks floating up into the midnight blue. A rare and nourishing moment of serenity.

Dib grinned and put the bottle to his lips. The liquid tingled on his tongue and the fruity flavor quickly masked the sour aftertaste from the doughballs. When he swallowed, he picked up the subtle bite of alcohol and hoped he hadn’t made a mistake. Still, if Zim’s testing equipment hadn’t clocked it as a poison, it was probably fine.

“Thanks, Tak. For the space equivalent of a Smirnoff Ice, this isn’t too bad,” Dib said.

The sketch of a smile returned to Tak’s face. “Certainly could be worse. Just mind that you don’t make yourselves sick. We have an early start tomorrow, and we need to finish about five minutes ahead of the fleet to make up for the first leg.”

Right. This wasn’t a camping trip. Dib sat up straighter. “You know the course, right? What’s our next terrain?”

“Mountains. Bitter cold, thin air. The usual scrap-hungry predators lying in wait.”

“Pssh, mountains shmountains,” Zim said. Half of his drink had disappeared while Dib wasn’t looking. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Again, we need to place well ahead of our competitors in order to win. Now’s not the time to get cocky,” Tak said. “On that note, I have a few more adjustments to make on the ship before morning.”

“Do you need a hand?” Dib asked as Tak stood and brushed the sand from her pants.

“You idiots would just slow me down. I’d rather you slept.” Tak’s Vortian face crinkled in mild disgust. “And bathed.”

Dib risked a quick sniff test and grimaced. “Fair enough. Goodnight, Tak.”

She grunted and headed around the side of the ship, presumably to work on the nose. Dib settled back in the sand and waited until he heard the whir of a drill.

“So, Skoodge wants you to call him,” Dib said as Zim pounded the last of his drink.

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Zim said, drying his mouth with the back of his arm. “He’s always been so clingy. Even when we were smeets.”

“Any idea what he wants to talk about?” Dib took another sip and noticed for the first time a pleasant floating sensation and a slight fuzziness to his thoughts. Come to think of it, he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in ages. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be buzzed.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. The usual fretting, blah blah blah.”

Zim upended his bottle and snaked his tongue into it, hunting the last drops. Dib’s face warmed, and he distracted himself by peeling the label on his own drink.

“Still, he sounded worried, and if you could- HEY!” Dib reached to grab Zim’s hand before it could sneak into Tak’s booze box. “Let’s not overdo it, yeah? We have a race to win tomorrow morning, and a hangover won’t make that any easier.”

“Unhand Zim!” Zim said, making no effort to escape Dib’s hold. “I am perfectly fine! My PAK will ensure that I experience no detrimental side effects.”

“I thought we weren’t pushing our luck on the PAK stuff,” Dib reminded him. He glanced at Zim’s fingers, which had laced into his. “Your hands are cold…”

“Of course they are. You’re letting the fire burn out,” Zim grumbled.

Dib smirked. “Well, let me fix that for you.”

He finished his drink in a few gulps and – somewhat begrudgingly – withdrew his hand from Zim’s. When he stood, the beach tilted for a moment, and then straightened. Yikes, his tolerance had really slipped… Dib made an effort to appear steady as he dragged another chunk of driftwood into the embers.

“Wait here a sec,” Dib instructed Zim as the log crackled with fresh flames. Zim’s eyes followed him while he ducked inside the ship to retrieve his coat from the bed of scraps.

“I don’t want it,” Zim muttered petulantly as Dib offered him the coat.

“I thought maybe we could share it,” Dib said. “You know, since it’s getting a little chilly…”

Zim’s antennae twitched toward Dib and he scowled. “Not with all that stink radiating off of you. Sit. But not too close.”

Dib did as he was told and held the coat in his lap as Zim fished around in his PAK, tongue blepping in concentration.

After a few seconds of fruitless fumbling, Dib spoke up. “Do you need help?”

“No. Shut up. There’s just stuff in the way of my chalk,” Zim said, and began pulling out handfuls of stowed items.

Dib spread his jacket on the sand so Zim could place the contents of his PAK on it. He kept his mouth shut as Zim deposited Dib’s old car keys onto the coat, along with a wad of receipts, a tangle of yarn, and a familiar black blade.

No, not a blade… A feather.

As much as Dib wanted to know why the hell Zim had his old keys, the feather took priority. He lifted it from the coat and turned it so its void-dark barbs caught the firelight. “Holy shit… Zim, how long have you had this? I thought we lost most of the stuff from the Voot!”

Zim neatly plucked the feather from Dib’s hand and replaced it with a piece of cleansing chalk. Dib took the hint and started rubbing the grease from his face. He preferred real showers to chalk-baths, but it was still refreshing to feel the grit lifting and dissolving with each pass.

“I was just keeping it safe,” Zim said. He cradled the feather in his hands and slid his thumb down its length, lost in thought.

Dib slipped the chalk beneath his shirt in a modest attempt to erase the layers of sweat that had accumulated under his arms. “Yeah, but when did you get it? Was it on the ship when Tenn salvaged it? I can’t believe it didn’t float off with the rest of my collection.”

Zim’s brows furrowed. “I… I don’t know. I think… Maybe it was…”

“In the Battle Zoo? After I…” A phantom pain twinged in Dib’s gut, and he reflexively reached toward the laser scar with the chalk.

Zim tensed and his hand closed tightly around the feather.

“Careful,” Dib reminded him.

“That must have been it. Yes. I thought you’d want to keep it. You said it was your favorite.”

Dib smiled and set aside the chalk bar. “Not gonna lie, I’m kind of impressed you remembered. Can I see it now?”

Zim hesitated before he passed it over. Dib smoothed the bunched barbs, savoring the softness of the feather’s edge as it brushed across his fingers.

“My only real piece of cryptid evidence,” Dib said. “Besides you, of course.”

Zim hummed and uncrumpled a piece of construction paper to inspect the crayon doodles on its surface. He squinted at the design, sneered, and wadded it back into his PAK, shoving the other scraps and trinkets in after it.

“You know what it is, right?” Dib asked, trying to hold Zim’s attention.

Zim closed his PAK port and blinked up at him.

“It’s a mothman feather,” Dib said, aware of the goofy grin spreading across his face. “Or, well, it could be a mothman feather. Whatever it is, it’s the only thing that ever stumped Dad. It matches no known animal. I’d almost given up on the whole paranormal investigator thing by the time I found it… I was a junior in college, and my little West Virginia investigation was more of an excuse to go sight-seeing than to actually hunt a cryptid. I was a serious sociologist in the making, you know? I’d accepted that sometimes stories are just stories. Meaningful stories, but still fiction…”

Zim scooted a little closer to him, silent, listening.

Dib’s smile wobbled as more memories surfaced. “Things were kind of rough back then. It felt like Dad had been right all along, and I’d wasted so much time on stupid shit. I mean, I was right about you, at least, but it wasn’t like you were really a threat by then. I felt so directionless. Hollow.”

Dib paused, swallowing back an unexpected lump in his throat. He said nothing as Zim lifted his coat, shook out the sand, and draped it across their shoulders. Dib started to shift to make more room for Zim, but the Irken only leaned in harder, pressing close and resting his head against Dib’s arm.

Unsure of how to react, Dib carried on as though nothing had changed. “Finding and analyzing this feather was exactly the win I needed at the time. A little spark of hope. Proof that I wasn’t completely crazy. That there was still more to discover on Earth! Wonders beyond the scope of Membrane Labs.”

To Dib’s surprise, Zim suddenly nuzzled his way beneath his arm. Dib swallowed and repositioned his arm around him, hugging him to his side and debating whether he was holding him too tightly or not tightly enough.

“Uh… Are you… cold?” Dib asked. “Maybe I should add another log.”

Zim shook his head, his antennae tickling Dib’s ribs. The chalk had cleansed Dib’s skin, but he was certain his sweat-stained shirt still stank. He fought the self-conscious urge to push Zim away. Zim’s body fit so comfortably against his…

“Yeah, uh, I’ll get another log,” Dib announced.

When he tried to stand, Zim held him back with a hand to his chest. “No. Please.”

Dib rarely heard that word from Zim, and it froze him to the spot. “Zim? Are you OK?”

“Yes, I…” Zim stopped himself with a sharp intake of breath. “… No. The feather… What if it was a mistake?”

Dib wished he could see Zim’s face from this angle. “What do you mean?”

“What if Membrane Labs was wrong? What if it’s just an ordinary feather?”

“I don’t know, man. Dad’s always been real good at empirically decimating my discoveries,” Dib said. Suddenly, he craved another drink. Maybe the bubbles would boost his mood back up.

“He still could have made an error in his analysis. Or perhaps he lacked sufficient context. Maybe I should have grabbed something else from the Voot. Everything was happening so fast…”

“No, not at all, this is perfect,” Dib interrupted. “You were right. It’s my favorite. And even if it turned out to be a fake, I’d still value it, I think. It’s never really been about finding proof of supernatural creatures. I’d much rather find the truth, no matter how boring it is. That’s what’s important to me.”

Zim’s body relaxed a little. “Oh.”

Dib watched a few sparks sputter up into the darkness and smiled again. “Thanks for saving it for me.”

“Dib…”

With feline fluidity, Zim slid into Dib’s lap, facing him, legs on other side of Dib’s hips, just like that night on Dendroba. Dib held his breath and wondered whether Zim’s sensitive feelers detected his heart as it knocked around in his ribcage like a trapped bird.

“What’s up?” Dib’s voice cracked, undermining his attempt at sounding casual. His eyes darted, searching for other racers who might witness this suggestive embrace. Fortunately, the other fires had collapsed into embers. As far as Dib could tell, they were alone.

Zim’s hands held Dib’s face to anchor his attention forward. “Zim needs-… I need to talk to you about something.”

Dib’s stomach churned, and for a second, he wondered if Zim’s food and drink analyses had been faulty. “OK?”

“But first I want to acknowledge your exceptional performance in this race,” Zim said. The words felt blocky, rehearsed. “Because of you, we have a shot at victory. You… Dib…” He swallowed, leaned a little closer. Or had Dib leaned forward? “You are amazing.”

Dib wasn’t sure how his hands had landed on Zim’s hips, but there they were, holding him in place. The unease in Dib’s gut became a sprawling warmth. Amazing… He could almost believe it, but only because it was Zim. And Zim was so close, and so warm, and smelled faintly of dry leaves on a hiking trail. And his eyes… Gleaming in the firelight, pink and wet and…

“Zim… can I…”

Dib could barely breathe the words, but it didn’t matter. Zim closed the difference and pressed his lips to Dib’s in a hard kiss. Perhaps sensing that it had been too forceful, Zim pulled back a little, but Dib stopped him, cupping a hand behind his smooth head as his other hand hiked Zim’s body even closer. Stomach to stomach, heat flaring, melting the stiffness from both of their faces.

Suddenly, Dib fell backwards into the sand, bringing Zim down with him. The momentum deepened the kiss, and Zim’s serpentine tongue pushed its way past his lips. Dib moaned, unable to stop himself, desperate for more contact with Zim. His teeth found Zim’s lower lip as his hand slid ever further down the Irken’s back.

Zim withdrew slightly, gasping for breath. But no, that wasn’t quite right… It was less panting, more cricket-like chirping, coupled with the low vibrations of the purrs Dib had been noticing more and more frequently lately.

Oh fuck… They couldn’t do this. Not here.

Goddamnit, why was this happening now??

“Shh… Wait…” Dib’s voice sounded as solid as tissue paper. He weakly cleared his throat and tried again. “Someone might… Tak might see us.”

Zim’s antennae darted back. He hovered inches away from Dib’s face, looking somewhere between embarrassed and disappointed. “Oh. Yes, of course. I… I don’t know what came over me.”

Dib awkwardly shifted himself up as Zim climbed off of him and resumed his place against his side. “I guess two bottles of magical blue space booze came over you. And me.”

“I didn’t mean to… I…” Zim trembled.

“No, it’s OK.” Dib’s own voice shook a little, and he clenched his fists to distract himself from the greedy ache that lingered in his hips. “Uh, more than OK. I didn’t know that you, um…”

He had no idea how to verbalize all the years of suppressed pining. Hell, Dib was only now coming to terms with that reality. He’d felt that magnetism before… How had he failed to put it all together? Not to mention the bed-sharing, the hand-holding, Zim leaning his cheek into Dib’s palm, the soft embraces, the impulsive but purposeful sacrifices, the purring…

Dib buried his face in his hands. “Fuck… I’m so fucking stupid.”

“The Dib is far from stupid,” Zim said softly. “For a human, of course.”

Dib laughed dryly at that. “You’re such an asshole, but…”

“I love you.”

Zim had stolen the words from Dib’s mouth, and for some reason, Dib’s eyes began to well with tears. He blinked them back and looked to the star-spattered sky. “I love you, too.”

The purrs started up again, low and steady, camouflaged by the crackling of the campfire and the muted hum of Tak’s tools. The sound buzzed through Dib’s body. It swirled in his chest and circulated out through his blood, sparkling his fingertips, dizzying his head. The hot tears continued to build in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of the moment.

Zim noticed his laughter and craned his head up to see Dib’s face. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I guess,” Dib said, trying and failing to contain his slap-happy chuckles.

“This is a serious matter.” Zim’s voice was quiet but stern.

“I know, trust me, I know.” Dib squeezed his eyes shut and tensed his muscles for a few seconds, willing himself into stillness. “I’ve just spent so long wondering about our friendship, and what it means… What’s you, and what’s the PAK, and whether that even matters. I can’t help it. I always want the truth. I want it clear. Black and white. And for you to just straight-up kiss me, and tell me you love me, when I wasn’t even sure that was a sentence you could say… It’s a lot to process. And to be honest, I don’t know why you’ve chosen now to say it.”

“It felt important to.”

A charred log crumbled apart in the fire, stirring up a small flurry of sparks. It would burn out soon, just like the other pilots’ fires. Dib knew they couldn’t afford to stay up much longer. There was still such a large challenge ahead of them.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” Dib asked.

“Eh?”

“Before we…” Dib fought through his own disbelief. “Before we kissed, you said you wanted to talk to me about something. Was this it? You wanted to tell me that you… love me?”

“… Right, yes… Yes, that must have been it. I’d forgotten,” Zim said.

“Yeah, the kissing was a little… distracting…” Dib coughed. “But why now?”

“Why do you have to question everything?”

“Zim, are you scared?”

Zim didn’t respond.

“It’s completely OK to be scared right now. I’m scared too. But we won today, and we can do it again. And even if things don’t go exactly as planned, I’m sure we can come up with something.” Dib smiled to himself. “Somehow, we always do.”

“I’m tired.”

Dib’s spirit flagged a little at Zim’s flat reply to his inspirational words. “Yeah… Me too, man. But we’re going to be OK, I promise. I hate when people only talk about how much they care for each other when they think they’re going to die or something. So, that better not be what you were doing. I know it’s been a really touch-and-go couple of days, but we’re tough bastards to kill, right?”

“Right,” Zim muttered into Dib’s shirt.

“And even if we lose, we have other options, you know? There’s still Machinus. I mean, we destroyed a giant space coliseum. How hard can it be to sneak onto a planet and steal a single part?”

“Mm…” Zim burrowed closer. “Can we go to bed?”

Apparently, the conversation was over.

“Of course,” Dib said.

When he moved his arms beneath Zim to scoop him up, the Irken didn’t resist. He simply clung to Dib as Dib carried him bridal-style into the back of the ship, his jacket still slung over his shoulders. Dib blushed at how romantic the action might seem in another context.

Dib settled Zim into their raggedy nest and slid in next to him, facing him. Zim’s eyes were already closed, and Dib was somewhat relieved to see that the tension lines in his face were smoothing away as Zim relaxed into sleep.

He wanted to reach out and touch Zim’s face. Maybe leave a kiss between his eyes. Stroke his antennae. Something. But it didn’t feel right. They’d slept and snuggled together before, but now it was different. There was a new and sudden intimacy, and Dib didn’t know how to navigate it.

It was just about words, right? Everything was still the same between them. There was just new language attached to their friendship. Was it still friendship? Or something else? It wasn’t like the “love” thing was new. Wasn’t it love that had taken them this far in the first place? Wasn’t it love that drove Zim to jump between Dib and the creekitee on Sirus Minor? Wasn’t it love that fueled everything Dib had done to save Zim from the Battle Zoo?

The love had merely been unspoken before. What did it even mean for Zim to bring it out into the open like that? What did the phrase “I love you” mean to him? To any Irken?

Zim’s eyes opened a crack. “Your heart is loud.”

“Wha?” Dib’s hand flattened over his chest reflexively. Damn, his heart really was pounding. “Oh, uh, sorry?”

“No. It’s good.” Zim curled up beneath Dib’s chin and sighed. “I love it.”

“Oh wow… Really just throwing that word around now, huh?” Dib cringed at his own lame attempt to lighten the mood.

To Dib’s relief, Zim didn’t seem to notice. Dib willed his breath to slow, reached his arm around Zim, and tried to turn his brain off. Overthinking wouldn’t make their situation any less awkward. Right now, the best he could do was get some sleep. Everything else could wait.

Shit. Skoodge. Dib had almost forgotten. But Zim was already purring against his chest, and he didn’t dare wake him. Rest came first. Zim could call Skoodge in the morning. No problem.

Dib hugged Zim closer, his thoughts finally slowing.

One more night like this, and then they’d be home free.

*****

A distant shout shocked Dib from his sleep. He sat straight up, hand reaching for the laser at his waist, belatedly realizing he’d taken off his holster before dinner.

Dib stumbled to his feet and grabbed his weapon from its storage cabinet. “Zim, wake up, something’s…”

But when he turned, Zim wasn’t in the bed.

Another shout broke the pre-dawn silence. “I don’t have time for this! Where are you?!”

Dib’s blood turned to ice. Zim was the one shouting.

He dashed for the back hatch and tripped out into the open air, narrowly avoiding the ashes of last night’s fire. Tak was already there, laser in hand, false horns pricked to listen for further outbursts.

Which was odd, because Dib assumed that Zim had been shouting to find her. Who else would he be searching for?

“What’s going on?” he asked as he scanned the beach for movement. Several other racers were looking around in confusion from the doors of their Drifters, squinting in the early morning light.

“Zim’s lost his fucking mind,” Tak snarled, not even sparing a glance at Dib. “He’s going to get us disqualified or worse if he doesn’t get his shit together!”

Dib cursed under his breath. “Where is he?”

Tak’s horns flexed again, and she pointed toward a gap in the ships. “I hear PAK legs in that direction.”

Dib took off at a sprint in the direction she’d indicated. The sand slowed his steps, and it felt as if he were running in a nightmare.

“Enough! I’m not playing the ‘hide-and-seek’ with you anymore!” Zim shouted, closer than before.

Dib rounded the corner of a ship and swerved to avoid the baffled pilot who had just stepped out of it. Ahead of him, in an open space between the parked Drifters, Zim stood tall on his PAK limbs, his back to Dib. A handful of spectators had gathered nearby, all careful to stay out of range of his deadly robotic legs.

Tak arrived a moment after Dib. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her flip open a pocket on her belt and grab tiny vial. Though he didn’t know what it was, he held out a hand to stop her as he moved forward into Zim’s radius.

“Zim! Are you looking for me?” Dib called, forcing a smile across his face. “I’m right here!”

Zim turned toward him, a wild light in his eyes, and Dib involuntarily took a step back. This was not the Zim he had kissed by the fire. There was no softness here, only the vicious desperation of a cornered animal.

“Dib-stink! This is all your fault!” Zim accused as he loomed over Dib. “You were supposed to be watching him!”

“Watching who?” Dib asked, dreading the answer.

Zim scoffed. “GIR, of course!”

Dib froze, mouth open, speech failing. As he struggled to find words again, his eyes were drawn to a two-headed figure standing on the opposite side of Zim. Esh-El watched the scene with their hands folded behind their back, their long tail swishing slowly, like a cat stalking its prey.

“He’s not here, Zim. Remember?” Dib asked gently.

“What are you talking about? Of course he’s here. Where else would he be? You just let him wander off,” Zim said through bared teeth. “Now, make yourself useful and help me find him so we can move on.”

More onlookers appeared amongst the ships, murmuring to each other and pointing at Zim. Behind him, Dib heard something click. Tak’s weapon? She wouldn’t shoot Zim, right?

“Don’t just stand there, you bumbling ape!” Zim said in an even louder voice. “Get moving!”

“Zim, you have to calm down and listen to me.” Dib took a few tentative steps forward. “GIR isn’t here. I think you just had a bad dream or something, but it’s OK. We’re going to get GIR back. Just come with me back to ship, alright?”

“I am calm!” Zim yelled. “And I’m not going anywhere until-”

A sharp pop sounded behind Dib and Zim jerked backwards as if he’d been struck by something. His claw grasped at his shoulder, and for a split second, his angry expression twisted into confusion.

“What was…?” Zim’s face slackened before he could finish his sentence. His metal legs wobbled, stuttered to rebalance themselves, and then collapsed, dropping Zim face-first onto the ground. He lay still as the legs retracted and his PAK ports sealed.

The crowd gasped and then fell quiet in anticipation.

“What are you waiting for?” Tak whispered harshly to Dib. “Grab him and let’s get the fuck out of here before we draw even more attention.”

“Is he-?”

Tak holstered her pistol. “He’s fine, just unconscious. Now move.”

Dib hurried forward and lifted Zim’s limp body from the sand. As he straightened up, he felt Esh-El’s four eyes following him. He refused to look in their direction, but as he turned back and trotted after Tak with Zim slung over his shoulder, he swore he heard a hissing laugh.

Chapter Text

Zim stood alone in the darkness with his head held high.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but judging by the ache in his back, it must have been quite a while. Hours, maybe? Longer? Perhaps he’d always been there.

Perhaps he’d been there too long.

Electric anxiety sparked through Zim’s body. He couldn’t waste time loafing around like this – he had far too much to do! He had a mission! A very special one, just for Zim! It came with a sandwich and everything!

But before he could proceed, he’d need to identify his environment. Even with his advanced ocular implants, the darkness remained impermeable. He theorized that he was underground. In the bowels of his own base, maybe?

“Computer! Has the power gone out?”

His words echoed distantly, but he received no reply. At least that gave him a sense of the space. The vast, hard-walled space…

It had to be his base. Though Zim couldn’t see it – couldn’t even smell the copper-bright metal walls or the sweet sting of his favorite disinfectants – he was certain of its inherent base-ness. He simply felt at home here. Maybe his backup power systems had gone offline, too. Or maybe his Computer was being lazy and just didn’t want to power up again.

“Ugh… GIR! What did you do?”

Still no answer beyond the fading ripples of his own voice. Odd… His robot minion usually answered when called. Granted, he was rarely helpful when summoned, but at least GIR respected Zim’s authority enough to appear, unlike certain buggy, whiny Computers.

Zim shuffled forward a few inches, feeling his way with the toe of his boot. He needed to keep walking until he reached a wall. From there, he could work his way around the room until he found a console. A little tinkering and everything would be shipshape again.

With his hands extended in front of him, Zim carefully started forward. His first few steps were slow and modest, but when he met no obstacles, he increased his stride. There had to be a wall somewhere. Why hadn’t he reached it yet?

“Minimoose?” Zim didn’t expect an answer from his most beautiful and traitorous creation, and yet he still hoped for one. These days, Minimoose spent most of his time away from the base, getting into unknown shenanigans. Zim didn’t want to be overbearing, but he was sure he’d glimpsed a tattoo on the robot’s back when he floated his way back home one night (though all traces of it appeared to have been buffed out by the next morning). Minimoose was merely in his rebellious years. He’d come back around and realize how much Zim needed him.

Er, how much Minimoose needed Zim, that is.

Zim wasn’t entirely sure when he’d last seen Minimoose, come to think of it. He mentally retraced his steps. Yesterday, he’d been… He’d been what? Zim hastened his pace again, not caring if he bashed into a wall or machine. OK, yesterday was a bit of a blank, no problem. If he could just remember what he’d been doing before the power outage, perhaps he could walk his memories back from there.

Another blank. A new surge of panic jolted Zim into a near sprint though the blackness.

“Computer!!! Where are you? I need you!” he screamed, his voice splintering and reverberating off of impossible surfaces that he somehow couldn’t reach.

Suddenly, light.

Zim skidded to a stop, pinwheeling his arms to prevent a tumble. He squinted against the glare of a large white orb hovering a few yards ahead, centered in some kind of spotlight that shone down from unseen rafters. At first glance, it appeared to be a small spaceship, or maybe an escape pod. A vertical seam in its middle parted, revealing a blue lens framed by gray paneling.

Some part of Zim knew it had been a long time since he’d seen this particular device, but he instantly recognized it. “Computer! There you are! What happened to the base? What did GIR break this time?” He tilted his head. “Also, what am I looking at here? Why are you in your portable frame, and why is it so, er, not portable? I didn’t authorize you to modify your casing! How are you supposed to fit in my PAK now? And why haven’t you fixed the lights yet?”

His Computer didn’t respond. Zim took a tiny step closer, his eyes adjusting to the beam of light in which the orb was suspended. The great round eye-lens watched him without so much as flickering, and the skin on the back of Zim’s neck prickled. Something was wrong. Not just in the silence and size of the Computer’s long-disused orb, but in the stillness of that empty eye. Zim stood close enough that his reflection should have appeared in the lens, and yet he saw nothing.

Wait… long-disused… The Computer’s portable casing was too small to house him fully. Instead, it refracted an instance of the Computer’s consciousness via Zim’s Earth-orbiting satellite system. Ever since they’d gotten beyond the range of those satellites, the Computer’s orb had been out of service. Zim had stored it deep within his PAK.

An icepick pain spiked through Zim’s skull and he clasped his head in his hands in a hapless attempt to stimy it.

“Computer!” Zim gasped, squeezing the bases of his antennae in his claws. “Say something! I… I need…”

He didn’t know what he needed. He didn’t know anything. He was in his base, but he was not in his base. He had left Earth several months ago… Nearly a year ago? More? But no… Why would he leave? Especially when Dib was on Earth… But Dib was also with him.

“Dib…” The voice barely sounded like it belonged to Zim. It crackled out of his raw throat, as if the name were an ember coughed from his spooch, burning all the way.

The sightless eye watched on.

“Speak!” Zim barked, staggering forward again. The orb and its light drifted backwards, out of his reach. “Computer, stop! I… Something isn’t… I…”

A hail of disjointed thoughts tore through his mind. Red sand, pink blood, Dib’s blue shirt with Zim’s black-gloved hand balled in it. The salt-stink of Dib in the modified Voot. Dib’s crooked grin as he clacked away at the console. Bright stadium lights. Long cable-legs unfurling from a PAK. The cool tingle of a Dendroban mud-mask on his face. Searing heat from a burning ship at the bottom of a canyon. Not so different from the heat that lit his cheeks as he pressed his mouth against Dib’s.

Zim couldn’t fit it all in his head at once. “HELP! Computer! Help me! I’m sca-”

A blinding beam of blue light erupted from the Computer’s lens and struck Zim with the force of a charging Digestor. Zim tried to scream, but the air wouldn’t come. He turned to run from it, but the floor fell away from his feet, sending his spooch into his throat. Even as Zim dropped down and down and down, the light pursued him, bright and wrathful and all-consuming.

He hit something soft and instinctively dug his claws into it. The plummeting sensation stopped, but his head still spun, and the light continued to assault his eyes. He blinked desperately to clear his vision, and bit by bit, new shapes appeared before him. Dark, rumpled hills of cloth, a metal floor beyond that, two fuzzy, upright silhouettes further ahead, contrasting with the white glare beyond them.

Zim pushed himself up and his squeedilyspooch spasmed in protest. He clenched his teeth to stop himself from spewing bile into the little clothing nest he’d been curled within.

“Would you stop fiddling with that thing and focus?”

“Focus on what, exactly?”

Zim’s antennae lifted at the second, lower voice. A good voice. Reliable. Warm.

The first voice – spiky, grating – snapped a reply. “The road, you infuriating pile of worm waste!”

“And how does that help?” the good voice said. “You won’t let me drive, you won’t let me shoot, all I can really do is sit here and stare at the ass-end of Esh-El’s Drifter!”

“The least you could do is sit up straight and stay alert.”

“What does it look like I’m doing?!”

“It looks like you’re faffing around with that… that… whatever-it-is!”

With great effort, Zim dragged himself to his feet. He steadied himself on the wall of the ship, letting his face rest against it for a moment as the cold metal soothed the ache in his head. The rumbling of the ship against his skull drowned out the conversation, giving Zim space to think.

This wasn’t the Voot, that much was obvious. The fact didn’t alarm Zim as much as he thought it should. But why? Zim squeezed his eyes so tightly shut that he saw bursts of color. Something had happened to the Voot… He reached for his memories, usually so clear, arrayed as little balls of light floating in logical constellations somewhere between his organic and mechanical brains. In the past, calling up a memory was as simple as swimming through those stars, zooming in and out as if it were a cosmic chart until he landed on the correct one.

The process wasn’t supposed to involve so much “swimming.” He’d always known that, hadn’t he? But it didn’t matter what the process was supposed to be like, because Zim’s way, as always, was superior. Because his recollections sometimes required a bit of wandering to reach, he discovered so many new connections, so many brilliant ideas that other Irkens would envy him if they knew just how advanced his mind truly was.

A beneficial defect, and thus not a defect at all. An adaptation. An evolution too powerful to be contained by programing and genetic tailoring.

But Zim’s unique advancement wasn’t serving him now. Again, he got the sense that it had been this way for a while, but he couldn’t pin down a timeline or explanation. He could only fumble through the darkness, straining to grab dim fireflies of thought before they could drown in the gloom.

“I’m telling you, we could take them out,” said the good voice again.

Zim cracked open one eye. Over the back of the copilot seat, a comforting scythe of hair bobbed, beckoning like a training objective flag back on Devastasis. Using the wall as support, Zim crawled his way toward it.

“It’s not worth the risk.”

“If we don’t do something, we’ll lose, and I’d call that a bigger risk. Just listen to me… I have a plan. That quartz hull is some kind of time crystal, right? That’s where the propulsion is coming from? Air flows over the hull, the crystal reacts to the kinetic energy, it does its infinite refraction thing like our time crystal battery, it powers the ship. Now, since I’ve had the pleasure of staring at its stern for a solid hour, I’ve-”

The higher voice scoffed. “You’ve been staring at that feather-thing for an hour.”

Zim’s favorite voice continued, unperturbed. “As I was saying, I’ve had a chance to really get a feel for its architecture. I think I know its weak points. If I hit that corner with an energy shot just right, I bet it would fracture. I don’t think it would take the whole thing down, but it would unbalance it, throw it into the trees.”

“Or it would do nothing. Or it would crash the ship right in our path. Or, most significantly, it would piss Esh-El off and get us killed, and I’m fairly sure only one of us can come back from that at the moment.” The speaker paused. Zim wished he could see her expression. “Come to think of it, I doubt a soft-skinned, oxygen-dependent, furless mammal like yourself could even survive at this altitude. If you went topside like you did in the scrublands, your ugly, fleshy face would probably freeze off. Which would be fine, except then I’d have to deal with that miserable defective alone, and I only have two darts left. Do you know how hard those tranquilizers are to come by?”

“Then you go up while I drive.”

Zim feebly covered his antennae as the screechy talker burst into screaming cackles.

“You are never getting your squishy, wormy fingers on my yoke,” she said once her laughter had subsided.

“You and Zim are a lot alike, you know.”

Zim blinked at the sound of his own name. “Zim…” It scraped its way out of his dry throat. Another name floated into his mind. “Dib…”

“Insult me again and I will eject you from my vessel, meat-brain.”

The two kept talking, but Zim’s attention was on a compartment to his right. Something important was in there, something related to this. He reached for the release and swung open the door. He recognized the Vortian design of the energy rifle hanging there. Was it his? Had he stolen it? Probably. There was something he needed to do with it. Something for Dib.

Zim balled up his fists and pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead. Think… Topside… Hit the corner… Too cold up there for a squishy Dib… But Zim is Irken, and I am Zim. Zim can go up. Hit the corner, crash the ship. And the Dib will be happy, and we will win.

A perfect plan. Genius, even. It was wonderful that Zim had thought of it. He grabbed the rifle from the compartment, slid into its strap, and started up the ladder to the top hatch. His fingers felt rubbery as he pulled at the latch, but at last he was rewarded with a popping noise, followed by an antenna-numbing barrage of icy wind.

Two voices shouted below him. No time for that. Zim steeled himself against the vicious wind and crawled out of the porthole, onto the death-cold metal of the ship’s roof.

All he could hear was the screaming wind and the roar of engines. He narrowed his eyes until he could only see a fuzzy stripe of landscape. White snow, gray trees. Ahead, the gleam of a crystal ship. The target, the enemy. Zim lowered his head and clawed his way forward.

The cold burned his arms, scalded his head. His antennae whipped and fluttered painfully, disorienting him, pulling strings of agony through his scalp. It didn’t matter. He would regenerate if he needed to. His singular objective was to reach the bow and fire off a shot at…

At what? Some point on the ship ahead of them. Dib said something about fractures. Zim excelled at fracturing things. This was a pastry-walk, as Dib would say. Or something like that.

He was close to the edge, and the ship ahead of them was only partially obstructed by a static of snow. Not a problem for an expert shot like Zim, although it was somewhat inconvenient that he had to push himself up a little to draw his rifle forward. His arms trembled under his weight and the wind pressed him back. When he called for his PAK limbs to anchor him, no support arrived. Or maybe he just couldn’t feel them, what with the cold, and the general haze.

His vision sparked. So much of the world had turned white, a searing glow he wanted to block out but couldn’t afford to. A corner… He could hit a corner. He could hit anything, if only the muzzle of his weapon would stop wobbling.

Zim would just have to let his muscle memory take over. One eye on the stern of the ship ahead, he squeezed the trigger with his numb claw. Just before the blast, he heard his own beautiful name, called out sharp and high. Praise. Appreciation. Awe.

The recoil on the rifle jerked his shoulder and Zim gasped. The pain didn’t matter. Only the damage that he’d dealt to their adversaries.

Except the crystal ship continued to sail forward, as true to its course as ever. No, that couldn’t be right. Zim squinted at a massive, dark shape that seemed to be bearing down on him from the sky. A ship? A creature springing from the alpine woods? His antennae weakly tugged toward a deep creaking, moaning noise hidden within the rush of wind.

Before he could make sense of it, hands closed around his ankles and Zim was yanked backwards across the roof and down through the hatch. He handed heavily on his captor and flailed to escape before he could be grabbed again, but his limbs were too sluggish, and he couldn’t find his way upright. A strong, human arm braced across his chest.

Zim had nearly figured out which direction was up when it all fell apart again. A boom of impact, abrupt weightlessness, the cabin rotating around him.

Flipping forward. The whole ship, his ship, plunging bow over stern. Zim’s guts lurched and the arm bound him tighter to larger body behind him.

There should have been sound. Why wasn’t there sound?

The cabin spun and Zim and his human knocked hard against the wall, bounced off the floor, hooked around the ladder. Light cut through the windshield – white and black and white again – freezing moments in time. A Vortian suspended in the air with metal limbs halfway extended. The top hatch, partially open, like a tiny crescent moon. A tornado of torn clothes.

A single black feather that did not come from a Mothed Man.

Zim reached for it, but the world lurched once more.

His head struck the ceiling and his optics cut out.

Something in Zim’s PAK buzzed.

How annoying, he thought, in his last few seconds of consciousness. I think that’s Skoodge calling.

Chapter Text

It happened so quickly. When the cabin depressurized, Dib’s first thought was that their hull had been punctured by the Drifter behind them. He whipped around in his seat, ears ringing, in time to see Zim’s legs disappear through the top hatch.

Dib didn’t think. He just moved. He flew up the ladder, sucking in a gulp of air before breaking into the freezing wind head first. He threw his hands after Zim, clawing wildly to catch hold. He was too late… Zim had already fired the rifle, and the energy bolt had struck a trunk in the narrow corridor of trees, sending the top half of a towering alien spruce tumbling toward their ship.

Dib’s hands locked around Zim’s ankles and he wrenched them both backward into the relative safety of the cabin.

Tak had neither the time nor space to dodge. She swerved, but the broken tree crashed down on the nose of the ship anyway, flipping it stern over bow. Dib clutched Zim tightly to his chest as the Drifter spun and battered its way through trees and over snowy boulders. Each impact with the wall, ceiling, or floor registered in the back of Dib’s mind, but in the moment, he didn’t feel it. Only when the rolling slowed did the collisions start to hurt.

After what seemed like an eternity, the ship leveled on its belly and slid to a bumpy stop.

Everything stilled. Dib kept his arms wrapped tightly around Zim just in case the ship decided to lurch into the air again. He hated how limp Zim was in his arms… Zim may as well have been a wet sack of flour. His PAK burned against Dib’s breastbone.

Suddenly, claws clasped around Dib’s bicep and something pulled Zim away from him.

“Wait!!” Dib shouted in a splintering voice as he was thrust against the ladder to the hatchway. Swift Irken hands bound his wrists behind him to the lowest rung. “Tak, stop! What are you doing?”

“We lost.” Tak’s face floated in front of Dib’s. Her disguise was gone and her scarred mouth was flat, emotionless. “I at least want to know why.”

Dib couldn’t get his thoughts in order, couldn’t conjure the words to respond. His head swam and his body ached and the coppery taste of blood turned his stomach. “What?”

Tak turned away from him, dragging Zim’s unconscious form with her across the crooked floor. Half the lights had gone out, casting much of the cabin in shadow. Tak threw Zim onto his stomach and crouched behind him like a lioness about to tear into her prey.

“Leave him alone!” Dib jerked against his restraints. Whatever Tak had used to bind him cinched too tightly across his wrists.

Tak ignored him and pried open the top port of Zim’s PAK. Dib lurched again, bruising his wrists against the rungs as he fought haplessly to free himself. Sharp pangs shot through his ribs, forcing him to still in order to recover his breath.

“Stop!” he called again, but Tak reached into Zim’s PAK anyway, fishing through it with an unwavering expression.

Dib switched to a bargaining tactic. “We’re not out of the race yet! We could still catch up. Just leave him alone. Use another of those tranquilizer things on him, and then I can help get us back in the air. If we hurry-”

“You’re a tenacious little parasite, aren’t you?” Tak’s tone was cold and considerably calmer than Dib would have expected. She grabbed objects by the fistful out of Zim’s PAK and deposited them on the floor in front of her as she spoke. “It’s almost admirable. I’m like that too. Committed. But I’ve learned when to cut my losses. Apparently, you haven’t.”

Dib eyed the array of items. Crumpled paper, a couple granola bars, cleansing chalk, Dib’s car keys, Zim’s portable Computer unit, long since inactive. Curiously, Dib’s black feather also rested nearby. Had Tak intentionally gathered that too? “What are you doing?”

“I told you,” Tak said, not looking at him. “Getting answers. Scavenging. If you have anything worth salvaging, it’ll be in this PAK.”

“You’re not dumping us out here, are you?”

Tak didn’t answer him. Instead, her violet eyes fixed on something in the depths of Zim’s PAK, which she quickly fished out. Dib recognized it as Zim’s communicator. It buzzed in her hand, and her thumb pressed into a button along its side.

“Zim!! There you are!” Skoodge’s voice crackled through the com.

“Zim can’t come to the phone right now,” Tak replied as she continued digging through the PAK, proving that she’d retained some Earth colloquialisms, outdated as they were.

“Huh? Tak, is that you?”

“Ah. You must be Skoodge,” Tak said, mostly to herself.

“Skoodge! It’s Dib! Our ship crashed in the mountains!” Dib sputtered. If Tak intended to abandon them here, maybe an emergency extraction could be arranged. More likely, though, he was merely giving Skoodge the coordinates to their frozen corpses.

“Crashed?” Skoodge repeated as Dib tried to ignore that last thought. “Is Zim there? No, of course he’s there, I called his PAK… Why are you on his PAK line?”

Tak paused in her parsing to level an icy glare at Dib. “Yes, why are we using Zim’s PAK line?”

Dib wasn’t sure what she was trying to get at, and his thoughts were too scattered for him to waste energy on deciphering her tone. “He’s unconscious. Something happened… I don’t think he knew what he was doing. He wanted to help.”

Skoodge paused. “Zim caused the crash?”

“He was disoriented. His memory’s been a little spotty…” A circuit connected in Dib’s mind, and suddenly his confusion shifted into suspicion. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? You asked if he was being more forgetful before I even mentioned it yesterday.”

The line went silent. Tak remained quiet as well, stone-faced and patient.

Dib thrashed again against his bonds, rattling the ladder. “Skoodge!”

“I’m sorry.” Skoodge’s response arrived so quickly that it seemed more reflexive than truly apologetic. “I made a mistake. I thought I was helping. I wanted to respect Zim’s decision, but I also thought he would eventually tell you. I didn’t know it would happen this fast.”

“Didn’t know what would happen this fast?” Dib’s heart pounded in this throat.

Skoodge made a few false starts before Tak bulldozed over him.

“He’s dying.”

Her words were as cold and solemn as a tombstone.

“No.” Dib sucked his lips in, shook his head. “No, he would have fucking mentioned that to me. You’re talking about the corruption, right? I’m not stupid. I can extrapolate the long-term consequences of that. That’s why we’ve been mitigating it.”

Tak sighed and plucked the feather from her lineup of confiscated items. “What is this?”

“What is what?” Skoodge asked through the com.

“Shut up, Skoodge. I’m talking to Dib.” Tak stared at Dib and twirled the feather between her fingers. “Why is this so important to you?”

Sensing a threat, Dib demurred. “It’s not. It’s just a token from home.”

“What is it?” Tak asked.

Whatever game Tak was up to, Dib didn’t want to play it. “A feather.”

Tak persisted. “What kind of feather?”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Dib demanded. “We’re wasting time! We could be getting back in the race!”

“Forget the race. Why do you care so much about a skreeork feather?”

“A what? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“On Earth, I noticed you had a lot of scraggly little birds all over your cities,” Tak said. “Filthy little creatures, but apparently well-adapted. Plenty of planets have similar organisms. Usually waste management planets.”

Dib raised a skeptical brow. “It’s not a pigeon feather. Not that it even matters.”

Tak snapped her fingers. “Pigeons, right, that’s what they were called. No, it’s not an Earth pigeon feather. You could call it a space pigeon feather, though. Pretty weird thing to treasure. Half of Irk’s dump planets are littered with these things. Trust me. I would know.”

Dib wanted to fire a clever retort back at her, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Here’s what I think, Dib. I think you were lied to,” Tak said, pointing the feather toward him.

“Uh… I’m not sure I’m understanding this whole thing with the feather,” Skoodge said. Dib had almost forgotten he was still listening in. “Is it a metaphor or something?”

Tak ignored him and continued to address Dib. “You said this was a token from Earth, right? Except it’s not from Earth, but I’m guessing you didn’t know that. It’s obviously important to you, or you wouldn’t have spent the whole morning caressing it. Was it a gift?”

Dib leaned his head back against the ladder and released a humorless chuckle. “Why are we still talking about the stupid feather?”

“Is it really just a stupid feather to you?” Tak said, right before she folded the feather in half, snapping its shaft.

Dib couldn’t stop himself from flinching.

Tak smirked and dropped the broken feather to the floor. “That’s what I thought. Don’t worry, though. I could get you plenty more. But that’s not the point. I learned a little about you when you interfered with my business on Earth. You liked to investigate imaginary creatures. You were obsessed with uncovering the truth. Finding evidence. This is evidence, isn’t it? Did Zim give it to you?”

“No.” Dib spoke a fraction too forcefully, sharpening a pain in his temple.

“Was he with you when you collected it, then?” Tak asked.

“N-No…” Dib choked on the syllable. Zim hadn’t been on that West Virginia hike back in college, but he’d shown up in town that evening. At the time, that had seemed pretty standard for Zim, appearing in the same places Dib wandered, claiming it was for his own nefarious purposes. It was strangely both annoying and comforting. Even at his loneliest, Dib could count on someone being around, caring enough to seek him out.

Tak must have gotten the answer she wanted out of Dib’s hesitation. “He lied to you.”

“No, he never lied,” Dib said, though his words felt airy, hollow.

“He planted evidence for one of your made-up Earth beasts and let you believe you’d found something special,” Tak said. She flicked the broken feather toward Dib. “But all you really found was trash.”

“Tak, I think we have bigger concerns right now,” Skoodge softly intervened.

“Oh, I am very aware of that,” Tak spat, claws tightening around the communicator. “However, it seems we won’t be getting anywhere until this roadblock is resolved.”

Dib squared his jaw and spoke stiffly. “That doesn’t make sense. There’s no reason Zim would have done something like that. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I’m getting tired of listening to you ramble when we could be coming up with a gameplan.”

“He lied to you, Dib. He lied about the feather, and he lied about his PAK. And the reason I’m ‘rambling’ about it is because you need to return to reality. Zim is dying. Whatever PAK part you’re hoping to find within the race prize might not be enough to save him. Not when he’s this far gone,” Tak said.

A burst of anger broke through Dib’s self-imposed emotional barrier. “And what the fuck do you know about it?!”

Tak, to her credit, remained calm and flat. “I deal in off-market Irken goods. That’s how I survived outside of the Empire, that’s how I’m surviving post-Empire. I know a fucked up PAK when I see one. At first, I thought Zim needed a patch or some small maintenance component. Now that I’m looking at it, I see how extensive the damage is. It sounds to me like Skoodge knew the gravity of it. Isn’t that right, Skoodge?”

“… Yes. I knew,” Skoodge said through the communicator.

Dib clenched his teeth even tighter in an attempt to cage his rioting emotions again.  Skoodge’s dodgy answers on the call, his determination to speak directly with Zim… How long had he known? What did he know? All of this could still be an exaggeration spun by Tak to rationalize the details of an unfortunate situation.

But the feather… What was more likely? That Dib had found an unprecedented piece of cryptid evidence, or that the actual cryptid in his life had placated him with a fake?

It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Dib couldn’t hold it all in his head at once… Suddenly, the only thought he had was to escape.

Dib braced himself and wrenched his full weight against his tethers, startling Tak but failing to loosen the restraints. Something popped in his shoulder and shot bright tendrils of pain all the way up his neck and into his jaw. He ignored the hurt and bucked again and again until he felt his own hot blood tracing down his wrists and pooling in his palms.

Tak’s antennae stood at attention. “Hey! What are you doing? Stop that!”

She stepped over Zim’s body to reach for Dib, but he drew back a leg to kick her away. Tak leaned out of range, teeth bared.

“I said to knock it off!” A PAK leg darted from behind her and pressed itself, broadside, against Dib’s throat. He choked and fought as it forced his head backwards against the ladder again.

“What’s going on?” Skoodge asked from the communicator Tak had left dangling out of Zim’s port.

Tak pushed harder against Dib’s neck until he gagged. “Oily, death-hungry little worm! Don’t you understand that I’m trying to help you?”

“Tak! If you hurt him, I guarantee you’ll regret it!”

If Dib hadn’t been so focused on keeping his airway open, he might have been impressed by the uncharacteristic authority in Skoodge’s delivery.

Tak growled and spun around to reply to the communicator, but before she could speak, her foot landed on a crumpled paper she’d pulled from Zim’s PAK, causing her to briefly lose her balance. Her metal limb drew away from Dib’s throat and he gasped for air. In her rabid frustration, she snatched the wad off the ground and wound her arm back as if to pitch it. An invisible force stilled her hand before she could hurl it, and even with his sparking, oxygen-deprived vision, Dib could read the surprise in her face as she inspected the paper.

Tak’s PAK leg retracted completely as she unfolded the paper and held it closer to the ceiling lights. “This… Why do you have this? Who is this?”

“Who is who?” Dib croaked. He wished he had a hand free to rub the soreness from his throat.

“This!” Tak shoved the paper in Dib’s face. Dib registered the anger lingering in her eyes, but more than that, he noticed the alarm. Tak’s antennae twitched and rotated like Zim’s did when they were scanning the environment. Her eyes – usually so sharp and narrow – were blown wide. Even without dilated irises to give her away, Dib could tell she was on high alert.

On the paper, in GIR’s unmistakable style, was a crayon drawing of a honey-eyed Irken with curling antennae and an especially Irkenoid SIR unit. Even with GIR’s embellishment of a cartoonish pair of angry eyebrows, their identities were unmistakable.

“They’re just some people we ran into,” Dib said, confused. “An Irken named Beep and her SIR, TIKI.”

Tak’s hand trembled the paper. “Tell me where she is.”

“I honestly wish I knew.” Dib winced as his neck twinged again.

“Who is she? Why do you have this?” Tak said, the fury returning to her voice.

“Wait, do you know them?” Dib asked. Keeping up with this conversation was like weathering a tropical storm in a canoe, and it was all Dib could do to just stay afloat.

“Hey, um, I just wanted to remind everyone that I’m still here and I can’t see what’s happening,” Skoodge said.

Tak cast a withering glance at the communicator, drew a slow breath, and returned her attention to Dib with slightly more composure than before. “I run a shop from a satellite orbiting an ice giant in the neighboring system. This Irken paid me a visit, looking for SIR hardware. When I didn’t have what she needed in stock, she…” Tak paused, swallowed something back. “She tried to take my SIR. I didn’t let her, but I misjudged her strength. She ripped through MiMi’s casing and took what she needed. She must have realized MiMi is no ordinary unit. Had she succeeded in stealing her, she’d have been blown to a shmillion pieces by now.”

Dib processed the story for a moment. “So… you’re racing to win parts to repair MiMi.” That certainly explained why she’d been so touchy about the topic before.

Tak nodded stiffly. “Advanced SIR components are almost as difficult to come by as PAK parts these days, considering the mass destruction of Empire goods and the Resisty presence on Machinus. I should have kept extra parts on hand.”

A muscle twitched in Tak’s jaw and she turned away, hiding her face from Dib.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Dib said. It felt like the right thing to say, even if he wasn’t sure he meant it.

“Spare me your hollow condolences.” Tak glared at him over her shoulder with a suspiciously wet eye. “I’d rather have information. If I can find that filthy thief, I can make her pay.”

“We’re all invested in finding Beep,” Skoodge said. “Maybe we could work together.”

Tak clenched her fists, crushing the drawing. “I don’t need your help. You already told me that you don’t know where she is.”

“We don’t know yet,” Skoodge corrected.  “But I have a team of Irkens who are just as eager to track her down as you are. I also have a secure base, a small fleet of ships, a steady source of snacks… ”

Dib jumped in to assist. “If you help us get that prize, we’ll use those resources to help you get revenge.”

“That’s not much of a reward to offer for an impossible task,” Tak said, finally facing him again.

“You still need MiMi’s parts, right? The way I see it, you have two options. You could go after Beep alone to take them back, even though you have absolutely no leads and were overpowered the last time you encountered her,” Dib said, trying not to flinch from the venomous look Tak was aiming at him. “OR: you help me get the prize, get your replacement parts, repair MiMi, and then join a group of Irkens who also want Beep stopped.”

“Or I could infiltrate the Resisty, gain access to Machinus, and make off with all the Irken tech I could ever require,” Tak countered. She tapped the small device on her shoulder, switching her Vortian overlay back on. “I’ve perfected my holographic disguise technology.” She clicked the button again and became a Plookesian. “I could become anyone.” Another click, and she was a Large Nostril Person. Click – a standard SIR unit. Click - a human child with purple hair, just like she’d been when Dib first met her.

“OK, well, yes, you could probably do that, but that would take time, and Machinus may not have time,” Skoodge said.

Tak argued something back, but Dib had stopped listening. Instead, he focused on how Tak’s human disguise moved and emoted in an effortless emulation of a young girl. Her sharply-angled hair shifted naturally as she shook her head at Zim’s communicator, her shirt appeared real enough to reach out and touch, even her irritated expression looked believably – no, perfectly – human.

“How quickly can you program a disguise?” Dib asked, interrupting Tak and Skoodge’s banter.

Tak stopped and lifted an unsettlingly realistic human eyebrow at Dib. The faintest suggestion of a smug grin pulled at the corner of her mouth as she disengaged her hologram, unclipped her shoulder device, and aimed it at Dib as if it were a remote. She pressed a button and Dib reflexively squinted, expecting to be hit by some kind of light beam. Instead, the end of the device glowed purple for a few seconds, emitted a soft buzz, and then dinged like an egg timer. Tak returned it to her shoulder, rotated part of the casing, pressed another button, and then disappeared behind a veil of light.

It started in flat planes and shuddering polygons that shattered and shifted into smaller and smaller triangles. First, a boxy approximation of biped, dark on the bottom and blue-ish on top, then distinct limbs, the beginnings of organic curves, a head, a helmet of hair that bent and refined itself into pixels which broke down even further until individual strands of hair emerged from the bubbling projection. Clothing separated from skin, hands split into fingers, a round pair of glasses differentiated itself from the face that formed behind it.

In a matter of seconds, Tak had been replaced by an almost perfect replica of a human man. Not just any human man, Dib reminded himself. That was him. Something about that made him queasy. It was one thing to see himself in mirrors and photos, but to gaze up at a smirking facsimile of himself like this, to see his reflection move independently, towering over Zim’s still unresponsive body… He wanted to look away and catch his breath, but he also wanted to stare and marvel at the technology in front of him. Somehow, the program had even intuited the angles of Dib’s clothes and hair that couldn’t have been visible from the front. Not only that, but it had replicated the trails of dirt and blood that striped Dib’s face and arms. Fake Dib looked filthy and bruised, and it reminded the real Dib of the soreness in his side, back, and head. He shifted to try to take some of the pressure off his back, but it only increased the ache.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Tak’s voice asked from the duplicate Dib’s mouth.

“It’s incredible,” Dib said, and he meant it. He’d seen hologram tech before (TIKI’s Smikka Smikka Smoodoo disguise jumped immediately to mind), but the speed and detail with which the overlay had been rendered were in a league of their own, as far as Dib knew. “You even got the height correct.”

Tak beamed and Dib cringed at the sight of his own cocky grin across her projected face. Behind her, Zim stirred and moaned softly.

“Was that Zim?” Skoodge asked.

Zim flinched at the voice coming from his extended communicator arm but his eyes remained closed.

“He’s waking up,” Dib said. Ideas rushed through his mind too quickly to pin down, but with a little breathing room, he was sure he could make sense of them. “Tak, I think I know how we can steal what we need from the prize before it even reaches the winner.”

Tak opened her (his?) mouth to reply, but Dib cut her off.

“If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t work, and you can go do your Machinus infiltration thing. But wouldn’t you rather have MiMi back faster than that? And if Skoodge is right about Machinus being in danger, you wouldn’t want to pass up an opportunity like this, would you?”

Tak tapped her device, dropping the doppelganger illusion. She narrowed her eyes at Dib but didn’t speak. Behind her, Zim mumbled and shifted again.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked warily.

“I’m still working on the details, but your amazing hologram tech gave me an idea.” Dib wondered if he was laying it on too thick, but judging by Tak’s face, the flattery was effective. “I just need a few minutes with Zim first. Alone.”

The slight smirk disappeared from Tak’s lips. “Why?”

Dib watched as Zim’s eyes fluttered open and then closed again, noted his pallor, the limpness of his antennae. “I need to hear it from him.”

“Hear what?” Skoodge asked, and then apparently connected the dots. “Oh… Right.”

“I suppose you’ll want me to uncuff you,” Tak said.

“Does that mean you’ll hear me out?”

“I’ll let you have your ‘alone time,’” Tak said, sneering as she made air quotes with her claws, “but only because you can’t possibly make this situation any worse than it already is. If I’m lucky, Zim won’t remember who you are and will tear you to shreds. If I’m less lucky, I’ll listen to whatever half-formed plan you’re on about. You haven’t been entirely useless so far, after all. But if it’s stupid, I’m not doing it.”

“Fair enough,” Dib said. He hadn’t been sure Tak would even consider listening to him, and was a little pleased with himself for earning “not entirely useless” status with her. Finally, a tiny sliver of acknowledgment.

“Wait, alone alone?” Skoodge asked. Zim limply swatted at the communicator as if it were a mosquito.

“Yes. Just me and Zim,” Dib said. He wasn’t sure what has going on with Skoodge, but Dib sensed that including him would only complicate matters further. He needed to sort things out with the only person he knew he could trust.

Zim squirmed again and pushed himself halfway up with trembling arms.

Dib’s stomach twisted, but he refused to give in to doubt. Not yet. Not after everything he and Zim had gone through together, had built together. He just needed the truth, and Zim had promised him that, and so far, he’d made good on that promise.

Hadn’t he?

Skoodge cleared his throat. “OK, I guess… I’ll leave you to it? You’ll report back, right?”

“Sure,” Dib said through his teeth.

“Alright then… Good luck.”

The communicator fizzled as the connection closed. Tak pushed the communicator arm down, triggering it to retract into Zim’ PAK again. Zim flinched and swiped sightlessly into the air, but Tak ignored him and moved behind Dib to release the cuffs.

“Thank you,” Dib muttered as his hands were freed. He massaged the stiffness out of his wrists, wincing as his fingers brushed the cuts he’d made while struggling, but never took his eyes off Tak in case she had a change of heart now that Skoodge wasn’t listening in.

“I’m going to assess the exterior damage.” Tak tossed the restraints into a locker and pulled out a thick coat. She glanced down at Zim, who had finely made it to a sitting position, his face in his hands. “If he attacks you, try not to get your weird red blood on the pilot seat.”

With that, she opened the back hatch, extended her PAK limbs, and disappeared into the blinding white. A moment later, the hatch slammed behind her, and Dib was alone with Zim.

The chill Tak had let in seemed to spark some life into Zim. He lifted his head from his hands and blinked his heavy-lidded eyes as he took in his surroundings. Dib sat as still as he could, watching. Unlike Tak, he didn’t expect Zim to attack him out of nowhere. Still, though, he wanted to be ready for anything. He’d let Zim make the first move.

Eventually, Zim’s narrowed eyes settled on Dib. His antennae twitched slightly. “Hey,” he croaked.

“Hey,” Dib replied.

The shimmer of Zim’s eyes betrayed his darting gaze. Dib resisted the urge to ask him whether he knew where he was. If Zim was disoriented, Dib wanted to see if he’d try to hide it or if he’d ask for Dib’s help.

Zim’s eyes focused forward again and opened a little wider. His antennae swung toward Dib. “Are you injured?”

Dib popped his wrist to work out the last of the soreness. “I’ll be fine.”

Zim’s feelers flicked. “You’re bleeding.”

“More often than not these days,” Dib sighed. “What about you? How are you feeling?”

“Zim is fine.” He looked down at the array of items Tak had removed from his storage and sucked in a sharp breath as he saw the bent black feather. “It’s broken…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dib said, his patience slipping. “Zim, are you really fine?”

Zim met his gaze again, and there was something different in his eyes now. Dib was reminded of how Zim had looked at him the night before, just before they… No, this was different. There was something else. Something heavier.

“I’m a little tired,” Zim said. “But I’ll be able to rest soon. After we win. We can both rest.”

He remembered the race, then. Dib didn’t want to tilt his hand, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure when Tak would come back inside. He needed to figure things out before she made a mess of it.

“Do you remember what happened, Zim?”

Zim’s brow ridges tightened and he glanced around the cabin again. “Did we already win?”

Dib shook his head. “We crashed, and at this point, there’s no way to catch up.”

Zim looked genuinely alarmed. “But… GIR! We can’t let them get away with this! It was them, wasn’t it? Those repugnant reptiles…”

“It was you.”

Zim shrank back but didn’t argue or defend himself. He merely stared at Dib with a fearful expression until Dib buckled and averted his eyes.

“You don’t seem like you’re OK, but I don’t know how not OK you are,” Dib said. “After we crashed, Tak looked at your PAK, and she said some things that worried me.”

He expected Zim to respond to that, but his mouth remained closed. Dib wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign or not.

“I don’t know how to ask this, so I guess I just have to be direct,” Dib said.

Zim waited, eyes wide but focused. Dib had never seen him so still when he wasn’t unconscious.

“She said you’re dying. Is that true?”

“Zim is not dying.” Only his mouth moved. Everything else remained statue stiff. “Not for a very long time.”

“How long is very long?” Dib asked.

“Long enough that it isn’t relevant.”

Dib wanted to believe Zim’s words. Zim rarely spoke so softly, and perhaps that could be taken for sincerity. And yet, a niggling feeling remained. Tak’s assessment was one thing, but Skoodge’s reluctant confession was another.

Zim pulled Dib out of his puzzling with a question. “Your feather… Did I break it? In the crash?”

A terrible thought popped into Dib’s mind, one he didn’t want to pursue. A litmus test of sorts, if he could pull it off. “No, you didn’t break it. Tak did. She said it would be easy enough to get another.”

“What would she know about an Earthen mothy man?” Zim asked.

“Nothing, but I guess she’s pretty familiar with an extraterrestrial species that has feathers like these. She recognized it right away.”

“She lied to you, then,” Zim said.

“So if I were to analyze this, or even just show it to another Irken, they wouldn’t recognize it?”

“No, they wouldn’t. Tak must have only thought it was a skreeork feather.”

The words went through Dib like laser-fire, quick and sharp and clean. “I didn’t say what kind of feather she called it.”

Zim tensed. He looked like such a child, all scrunched up and fidgeting, caught in a lie. “I know, I simply made an educated guess.”

“Zim.” Dib had to keep going. Had to be sure. He just had to pick the right words to draw out the truth.

“I was going to tell you,” Zim spluttered before Dib could come up with his next question. “Last night, by the fire. That was last night, wasn’t it?”

“You remember that but not what happened to GIR?” Dib asked, struggling not to shout.

Zim didn’t seem to notice. He touched his claws to his lower lip and stared past Dib. “That was… That was real, right? That happened. By the fire.”

“For fuck’s sake, Zim, focus!” Dib’s voice cracked. “What were you going to tell me last night?”

“I left the feather for you.” Zim said it so coolly, as if it meant nothing. He didn’t even look at Dib’s face. He just kept staring beyond it with his claw tips gently pulling at his own mouth.

“What?”

“You needed it,” Zim said. “You deserved to find something, so I gave you something to find.”

Dib couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How could you possibly think that’s what I wanted? Do you not know me at all?”

Zim finally looked him in the eyes again, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Of course I know you.”

“No, you apparently don’t. I’ve devoted my whole life to finding the truth, and yet you seriously thought I’d be happy with some fake you hid in the woods like a fucking Easter egg?” The absurdity of it hit Dib all at once, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s not technically fake,” Zim started to argue.

“That’s not the point. You knew what it was, you put it there yourself, and you let me believe it was evidence.” Dib snatched the mangled feather off the floor and brandished it in Zim’s face. The Irken winced away and squeezed his eyes shut. “I carried this around for years, Zim! Years! And you knew what it was all along! You could have told me at any time, but you didn’t. And then you had the nerve to grab it from the Voot back at the Battle Zoo, knowing that it wasn’t even real, that everything about it was a lie. Why did you do that?”

Zim curled in tighter on himself. “It was your favorite…”

Dib shook his head and clenched his hand tighter around the base of the feather. “Bullshit. You grabbed it because it was your favorite. Your pity gift for your poor, insane, inferior human pet.”

“No,” Zim whimpered into his knees as he folded himself even smaller. “Not like that. Not what Zim meant.”

“It’s just a lie. It’s you patting yourself on the back over your ‘good deed’,” Dib accused.

Zim shuddered and buried his face between his legs. His antennae lay flat along the back of his head, quivering but never shifting forward. The slightest sensation of guilt loosened Dib’s hold on the feather, and with a heavy sigh, he tossed it aside, toward the back hatch.

When Dib spoke again, it was in a softer voice. “How am I supposed to trust you, Zim? How am I supposed to believe that you’re OK? One minute, it’s like you don’t remember why we’re even here, and the next, you seem almost like your normal self again. Something’s seriously wrong, and I’m sick of being treated like an idiot. I’m not an idiot. I don’t want to be lied to anymore.”

“Zim was trying to help,” Zim muttered, his head still down.

“You can help by telling me the truth,” Dib said. “What’s happening to you?”

Zim slowly lifted his head and looked at Dib. He didn’t need to speak. Dib saw the truth in his exhaustion-darkened eyes. It had been there all along, right in front of him, and yet Dib had chosen blindness instead.

So, Tak was right.

Dib expected a rush of emotion, but instead, he was reminded of a moment in the Membrane lab back when his father was still trying to win him over to “real” science. There had been some kind of containment breach, and an entire sector of the lab had to be decontaminated. Apparently, the most economical solution had been to destroy the whole area. At the time, Dib was still small enough to be hefted onto his father’s shoulders. From his perch up there, he’d watched through a viewing window as a series of rooms was flooded with fire.

Each object met its molten doom in its own way. The giant centrifuge warped and collapsed in on itself, wiring melted and snapped away from the walls, shelves of chemicals burst like fireworks, as pretty as they were poisonous.

And the whole process was completely silent. A chaos of light and color and destruction, all safely sealed behind an impenetrable glass wall. It was like it wasn’t even happening. Like it wasn’t even real.

His father had clapped politely after the extinguisher foam had suffocated the last of the flames. Past Dib, unsure what else to do, did the same.

Present Dib saw his own emotions rupturing like those chemical vials. Horror, anger, betrayal, heartbreak, loss, all too big and bright to look at directly, all too deadly to touch. And so Dib walled them off instinctually.

The numbness was a mercy.

“OK,” Dib said as he used the ladder to pull himself to his feet. He gingerly twisted the kinks out of his back and brushed his ruined clothes into place before making his way toward the lockers.

“Where are you going?” Zim asked.

Dib didn’t answer. He opened the cabinet he’d seen Tak toss her cuffs into and fumbled around in the dark until he found them. They looked like pretty standard Irken tech. It only took him a few seconds to figure out their controls.

“Dib?”

With the cuffs in one hand, Dib turned to Zim, grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, and dragged him toward the ladder. Zim struggled a little, but his efforts were weak and uncoordinated.

“Dib! Stop!”

Dib pressed Zim’s shoulders back against the ladder and made sure his PAK ports were blocked by the rungs. At full strength, it probably wouldn’t have mattered much, but Zim was clearly not at full strength. Dib crossed Zim’s arms behind the ladder and locked the restraints around his wrists.

“Please, I’m sorry,” Zim pleaded as Dib tugged on the cuffs to make sure they held firm.

“We’re done talking about this. I can’t risk you having another freak-out while we’re fixing the ship,” Dib said.

“It was for your own good, you have to understand that. I was sparing you,” Zim said. “Please, Dib, I meant what I said by the fire. I love-”

Dib slapped his hand over Zim’s mouth so quickly and forcefully that Zim’s head clanged back against the ladder. He leaned in close and forced Zim’s eyes to align with his, mere inches apart. “I said we’re done.”

Tears beaded in Zim’s eyes and it became too much for Dib to look at. He shoved Zim’s face away, stood, and headed for the cockpit.

Zim didn’t call after him, didn’t rattle against the restraints. Dib told himself that was good. It was better this way. Easier. He bent over the dashboard and used his TransDibber to decipher the various alerts and warnings floating in the windshield. He only looked up when he heard the back hatch creak.

He looked back in time to see his little broken feather get sucked up into the air as the exterior and interior pressures collided. It twisted upwards, spun in place, then vanished through the open door. Tak eyed it as it passed but made no effort to catch it. She stepped inside and pulled the hatched closed behind her. As she slid out of her coat, she glanced between Zim and Dib, making a silent assessment. Dib turned his back on her and pretended not to hear as she approached.

Tak paused next to him. He continued to ignore her and redoubled his console-repair efforts, certain that at any moment she’d chastise him for fucking something up. When a few minutes passed without comment, Dib decided he’d had enough suspense.

“Well?” he growled at her.

“Well,” Tak said. “I’m ready to hear your plan.”

Chapter Text

The victory fanfare felt a bit ostentatious to El as he and Esh descended from their crystal Drifter at the Calamus finish line. Frankly, just participating in the race, not to mention winning it, seemed somewhat tasteless. A significant portion of the prize would be returned to the community, of course. Esh-El’s Order kept Currus safe during its habitable season, and in order to do that, a certain measure of wealth redistribution was required. That alleviated El’s discomfort a little, at least.

Still, he wished Esh didn’t delight so rambunctiously in their unsurprising domination of the field. She took control of both of their arms, pumping them in the air to encourage cheers from the spectators who gathered around in clusters and floating platforms to congratulate them and escort them to the steps of their temple.

El smiled at the crowd as Esh blended brags and token humility into her victory speech at the top of the steps. Of course these people were excited that Esh-El had won the race. At least this way, part of the contraband prize would be liquidated and used to improve the marketplace. Every so often, they’d deliberately come in second or third place. It was important, after all, to maintain an illusion of fairness. Perhaps not even an illusion. Maybe it was better for the populace to know that Esh-El was in control of the outcome of the race, and that they were not uncharitable. What belongs to the Order belongs to the people. They were here to protect Currus from itself. Yes, much better this way, and much more equitable. Less stress, less fear. Less bloodshed.

El felt his stiff smile bend for a moment. Perhaps the marketplace was less violent now that their Order had established governance, but the race itself, for all its anti-violence airs, was another story. This year’s race had been especially treacherous. Apparently, many who had dropped out had survived, which was a relief. However, not everyone had been so fortunate.

In the distance, an Irken-craft Drifter arrived at the finish line, smoke streaming from its engines. It wobbled to a stop and landed heavily next to the stands, sending a few spectators scuttling for safety. That brought the count of finished racers up to seven. The mountainous leg tended to create the most distance between participants, and El hoped to see more stragglers arrive as the evening went on.

At long last, Esh wrapped up her address and bowed on behalf of them both. The crowd at the base of the temple clapped and cheered and did everything they were supposed to do to ingratiate themselves to their protectors. El knew he shouldn’t think of it that way, and was grateful that Esh was too absorbed in the moment to notice him flinching at his own thoughts. It was all for the best. It needed to be like this.

“Ah, what a race!” Esh exclaimed, and El sensed she was finally addressing him again.

“It was truly something,” El agreed, letting Esh walk them both toward the hovering prize cube. Esh’s eyes sparkled in the blue glow of it and El couldn’t resist smiling at the wonder he saw in her. It was almost like they were hatchlings again, still awed by the universe and its possibilities.

Esh placed their palm against the cube and El felt the soft tickle of the energy field pulse up their arm. “Order’s Grace, what a haul. We could make the whole city of Calamus livable all year round. One day, we could terraform all of Currus. Make it a planet truly worthy of the Grand Order.”

“It already is worthy, or else we wouldn’t be here,” El reminded her.

Esh’s tangerine eyes darted toward him. “Don’t be naïve.”

“Don’t be blasphemous,” El softly countered.

“You’re unbearable sometimes,” Esh said as their hand slipped down the cube’s face and back to their side. “Whatever the case, just look at it.”

“Hi-yo!” a shrill voice squawked from above Esh-El. The screwy little SIR unit they’d confiscated from the market waved vigorously at them from its prison.

Esh frowned. “Hm. Just look at most of it.”

The SIR unit stuck out its tongue (why did this unit have a mouth at all?), squinted one eye, and made pinching motions with its hands. “Lookit. I’m popping your heads like they’s pimples.”

“Poor thing,” El muttered.

“Poor thing?” scoffed Esh. “It’s a broken Irken robot. Nothing about it to pity. I’m not even sure there’s anything worth scrapping in it. Head full of garbage, remember?”

“It was attached to its master, though,” El said as the robot continued its imaginary head-popping game. “I had considered reuniting them as a reward for a well-run race.”

Esh turned her head toward El in disbelief. “What? Why would we do that?”

“Well, if it’s no good for parts…”

Esh rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Those idiots wiped out in the mountains. I’d bet the whole prize that the sickly little Irken caused it.”

“Most likely,” El agreed. “And they’d been doing so well…”

The scales on Esh’s nose bristled as she sneered. “Annoyingly well. Still, I have to admit that I enjoyed the competition.”

“And the spectators love a dramatic comeback,” El added.

Esh’s grin returned. “Very true. I wouldn’t be surprised if next year brings a bumper crop of race fans. I mean, crashing their Drifters, rebuilding them into one, and then overtaking the entire field in the second leg of the race? Stuff of legends, to be honest. I wonder if that crash killed them… Serves them right for firing at us from behind. We did try to warn them on the beach.”

“Hey! What’chu talking ab-about down there?” the battered little SIR unit stuttered, its teal eyes flickering.

“We really should have disassembled that thing before putting it on display,” Esh said. Her head snapped toward the nearest prize guard – a stocky, blue-domed Plookesian. “You! That robot didn’t damage any of the goods in there, did it?”

“No, Director,” the guard said with his dopey northern Plookesian drawl. “Though it did stage a wedding between a tub of gravity gravy and a PAK filter kit.”

“The vows were surprisingly moving,” another guard chimed in.

Esh’s brow ridges raised in mild amusement. “Well, so long as everything is intact, I suppose. We’ll gut the SIR later, when we’re divvying things up for distribution. Second place deserves a cut, I think. Right, El?”

“Hm?” El had only half registered his sister’s words.

Esh’s head turned toward him. It was rare for the body-bonded siblings to look each other in the eye, considering the limitations of their necks, and El was unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of one of Esh’s scrutinous stares. He did not enjoy it.

“Something on your mind?” Esh asked.

El didn’t know how to answer. Her question wasn’t one he had much experience fielding. Though their two heads didn’t technically share thoughts, Esh-El experienced the unique internal intuition that could only form between siblings who had lived their entire lives within the same body. Despite their distinct personalities, the two were also one, and knew each other well enough that asking about one another’s thoughts felt unnecessary. Perhaps Esh had asked because El himself didn’t know.

Which, in and of itself, was rather odd.

Before he could bumble through an answer, Esh-El’s legs were already in motion. Esh piloted them around the side of the prize cube and toward the back of the temple, where they’d have more privacy. The guards parted for them as they approached a quiet alcove away from the spectators and journalists who had filtered in to admire the prize.

“Is something wrong?” Esh asked once they had sufficiently distanced themselves from prying ears.

“No,” El said. “At least, I don’t think so. Something about that SIR unit, I suppose.”

“What about it?”

El shrugged the shoulder on his side of their body. “We’ve never seen one with a mouth. Nor have we seen an Irken so attached to its SIR. SIRs themselves are rare enough these days.”

“Hm. It is a bit strange, isn’t it?” Esh said, looking out toward the glowing cube and its admirers. “Do you think we should keep it? It is a bit of a novelty. And I do want to ask about those wedding vows…”

“No, that’s not… Well, I don’t know.”

Esh glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Something’s bothering you about it.”

“The Irken is defective,” El said.

“Clearly. So what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You pity him.” Esh lifted her head as high as her neck would permit, drawing attention to how much El was slumping. “No… It’s worse than that. You empathize with him.”

El said nothing.

“You shouldn’t,” Esh said, her voice quiet but authoritative. “He’s not like us. We’re not defective. We are blessed. The Order assigned Currus to us because of our rare situation, not as a punishment or insult. I mean, look at how successful we are here!”

In the main chamber of the temple, a Vortian family posed for a selfie against the prize matrix.

“I thought the Order was meant to be an antithesis to the Empire,” El said. “But here we are, raffling off Irken goods-”

“-in order to protect a vulnerable population,” Esh finished for him.

“A seasonal population on a planet with no native sapients,” El said.

Esh met his eyes again and El did his best not to shy away from the connection. “We’re here for a reason, El. You said it yourself. Now who’s being blasphemous?”

El sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Always am,” Esh said with a smirk. “And I always know what you’re thinking, too. The Order is not the Empire. The Irkens were conquering brutes who got what they deserved in the end. The Order preserves and improves life. All life. Maybe our methods on Currus are a little unconventional, but are we not unconventional too?”

El smiled at the earnest expression on Esh's face. “Again, you’re right. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Esh snickered, flashing her sharp teeth. “Good, because I don’t think you have the option.”

El relaxed again and let Esh lead them both back into the atrium to mingle with the temple’s guests. He could always count on her to keep them both grounded. Ever since they were hatchlings, Esh had a talent for finding the bright side and steering them toward it. Without her determination and advocacy, Esh-El’s rare twinship would have prevented them from becoming missionaries of the Grand Order. El couldn’t imagine the kind of life they would have been relegated to had they not been accepted.

No, the Order was nothing like the collapsed Irken Empire. And yet El couldn’t stop himself from watching the broken little SIR unit babble and play house by itself as Esh charmed a Dendroban tourist. It was a shame the robot’s master had rejected Esh-El’s attempts to preserve his life. Not all of the universe’s creatures were blessed with second chances. That wasn’t the Order’s fault.

El was drawn away from his thoughts by the sound of panicked shouting coming from the square in front of the temple. Esh immediately halted her conversation and craned her neck to see outside but was thwarted by the equally curious crowd. Beckoning for a pair of guards to follow, Esh-El hurried to the pyramid’s entrance in time to see the mangled hull of a Vortian vessel veer across the square, far too high for Drifter restrictions.

Esh shielded her eyes against the glare of the sunset. “Is that…?”

It was, and El was only mildly surprised at his own relief. At least one among the Vortian, Irken, and unknown sapient with the horn (or was it hair?) had survived the wipeout in the mountains. The ship appeared worse for wear, certainly, but at least it was functional.

“Did they cross the finish line at that altitude?” Esh asked no one in particular, and didn’t wait for an answer. “They’re disqualified, surely. What do they think they’re doing?”

El’s scales bristled as the ship narrowly missed the quartz spire in the center of the square, eliciting a fresh round of frightened screams from the spectators and merchants below. “Someone could get hurt.”

“Clear a space!” Esh called out, as if the crowd wasn’t already clambering out of the way.

As soon as there was room in front of the spire, the ship spiraled down toward it, pulling up at the last second for an unexpectedly gentle landing. No sooner had its landing feet touched down than its rear hatch burst open and spilled out two passengers, locked in some kind of wrestling match.

The mysterious horned sapient pinned the sickly Irken on his back. “Now look what you did! We could have crashed! AGAIN!”

“I wasn’t driving, you big, stinky…” The Irken thrashed a little and then paused, apparently trying to come up with the right words. “… Stink-thing!”

The Irken planted a kick below the other creature’s ribs, throwing him back a couple feet. The creature pinwheeled his arms to balance himself before jabbing an accusing finger toward the Irken.

“Yeah, well, it’s your fault the ship can’t even fly straight. You ruined everything! I should have left your sorry ass in the snow!”

“I helped fix the ship, didn’t I?” the Irken shouted back, but then paused, looking unsure. “Didn’t I?”

The strange sapient threw one of his arms out toward the ship. “You call that fixed? We can’t even get off world in that!”

El started to raise an arm to gesture for the guards, but Esh interrupted him and took control herself.

“No, let it play out,” she said quietly, tilting her head toward the crowd. The spectators no longer appeared frightened. Instead, they watched the bickering with curiosity. “Our underdogs have returned… They’ll be talking about this one for years.”

El nodded in agreement, despite feeling like this kind of entertainment was a bit cheap. Still, if these two wanted to publicly air their dirty laundry, that was their business, at least until their brawling endangered their audience.

Perhaps this was their second chance. Such a shame that they were spending that chance on a screaming match in the middle of town. Something about that didn’t sit right with El, but his sister had a point.

Somehow, he knew this race would not soon be forgotten.

*****

As Dib shoved Zim backwards hard enough to knock him on his ass, Dib admitted to himself that this was not one of his more ingenious plans.

For starters, he wasn’t sure whether Zim fully understood that this wasn’t a real fight. He had nodded along like he was on board when Dib pitched his idea, but now that they were actually throwing hands in the square, Zim looked confused, maybe even scared.

Dib made a show of slicking his sweat-matted hair out of his face to give Zim time to regain his feet. Zim moved with all the grace and speed of a drunk, lilting this way and that as he drew himself upright, nearly stumbling into the crowd of bystanders at one point. When he turned to face Dib again, it took all of Dib’s resolve not to flinch from the fearful gleam in Zim’s sunken eyes.

Dib searched his mind for more dialogue. He had to stretch the fight as long as he could and maintain everyone’s focus as he maneuvered both of them closer to the temple steps. Otherwise, he’d be placing Tak in a very, very tight spot.

As Dib tried to conjure a fresh insult, Zim beat him to the punch.

“You ungrateful ape!” Zim shouted. Usually, his jabs were much more colorful, but Dib supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Ungrateful?” Dib splayed his hand theatrically across his heart. He wasn’t sure where Zim was leading this bit, but if it sold their act, he was willing to “yes and” him. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Zim lurched forward and pointed at Dib with a trembling claw. “I was trying to protect you!”

“From what? The truth? I thought you knew me better than that, Zim.”

Zim grabbed his antennae and yanked them down in frustration. “Urgh! You don’t understand! You aren’t listening to me!”

Dib took a step forward and Zim staggered backward toward the temple, the crowd parting behind him to broaden their arena. “I’m trying to listen. You’re just not making any sense!”

“I never lied to you,” Zim said. He released his antennae, but they continued to sag low, deflated. He looked a little calmer and spoke so earnestly…

But that wouldn’t do. Dib couldn’t risk boring their audience. At any moment, Esh-El could call their guards on them. Dib was counting on the value Esh-El placed on making the race entertaining, but they’d only tolerate so much of a disruption before quelling it.

Dib laughed a bit too loudly. “Are you kidding me? You told me you were fine! That you were taking care of yourself! That all of this was normal!”

Zim shuffled back a few more steps. “I didn’t say it was normal…”

“Whether or not you said it, you definitely implied it,” Dib said. “Maybe you don’t think you lied, but withholding the truth from me is lying.”

“You never would have had to know.” Zim’s eyes darted around, as if he was noticing the ring of spectators for the first time. “It wouldn’t have mattered, and you wouldn’t have had to worry. We could just keep going, like we always did. It was for you. To protect you.”

A sudden flare of real anger burned through Dib’s chest and singed the edges of his words. “You almost killed me, Zim! How the fuck do you call that protecting me?”

Zim froze, mouth slack. “What?”

Dib marched forward and grabbed a fistful of Zim’s shirt. “We crashed TWICE because of you! I put my life in your hands. I trusted you. You weren’t protecting me. You were protecting you.”

“Release me!” Zim grabbed Dib’s forearm with both hands, but his hold was weak.

“Fine.” Dib threw Zim back, clenching his jaw as Zim hit the ground with a strangled cry. He cringed at the catharsis he felt, causing a scene like this, calling Zim out on his selfishness. But it had to be done, and if it gave him a little relief in the process… Well, maybe Dib deserved a little of that relief.

Dib closed the distance between them and crouched next to Zim. “Come on, don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

“You’re right,” Zim croaked.

Dib hadn’t expected that, but he sensed he had to roll with it, even if he couldn’t look Zim in the eyes as he did. “Louder! Say it so they can hear it!”

Zim curled inward, flinching away from Dib as much as he could, but Dib grabbed the collar of Zim’s shirt and yanked him off the ground again.

Zim shrieked and squirmed desperately. “Dib is right! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Fuck. Dib squeezed his eyes shut tight. The show had to go on. Tak was counting on him, and so was Zim, whether he knew it or not.

Fortunately, Dib doubted Zim would even remember this.

*****

“We need to say something,” El whispered to Esh.

His sister sighed like a petulant hatchling. “I suppose you’re right… It’s getting a bit rowdy down there. Guards! Please cordon off the crowd and separate those two.”

The nearest guards followed the flick of Esh-El’s wrist and marched down the steps, effortlessly parting the crowd as they went. All but one – the blue Plookesian from before. He remained at attention in front of the cube. Perhaps he hadn’t heard the instructions… It was a common joke within the Grand Order that Plookesians could be a tad lackadaisical.

El nearly called to him to join the others, but then reconsidered. Keeping one guard close to the cube was wise. The Order members were spread thin to manage the influx of race spectators, and one spacey Plookesian was better than nothing.

Besides, something scraped El’s scales the wrong way about all this commotion, and about the flickering red light in the suddenly silent SIR unit’s eyes…

*****

Dib stealthily retrieved one of Tak’s darts from his pocket while the crowd was distracted by the approaching crystal-armored guards. Hopefully, Tak had had time to get in position. Between the anxiety of performing and Zim’s increasingly listless and distraught demeanor, Dib knew he couldn’t keep the act going for much longer.

Dib hoisted Zim closer and tried to puppet Zim’s uncoordinated limbs so it would seem like he was wrestling against him. Zim arched his back, struggling to slip from Dib’s grasp, but Dib held him close so he could whisper into the base of his antenna.

“It’s going to be OK.” God, it was hard to speak in a soft voice while maintaining such a ferocious expression. Dib dropped the dart from his palm to his fingers. “Stay still, I’ve got you.”

Zim didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m selfish! You’re right!” His voice cracked and frayed as he writhed away from Dib.

Dib tightened his hand around Zim’s bicep to try to hold him in place. Zim was too weak to escape, but the flailing made it difficult to line up the dart. The last thing Dib needed was to not push the needle in deep enough to knock Zim out. Of course, that was merely one of about a million things that could go wrong in this stupid, slapdash plan.

“Hold still!” Dib growled.

Zim wailed and threw himself backwards. Dib followed him down and pinned him to the ground, straddling Zim’s narrow waist to prevent him from driving a boot into his chin. Dib repositioned the dart in his hand again and debated whether he could successfully (and discreetly) stab it into Zim’s shoulder while he was still floundering so violently.

To Dib’s surprise, Zim suddenly stilled. The fearful grimace melted into something softer as Zim’s eyes locked with Dib’s.

“We could have been happy,” Zim said.

Dib plunged the needle into Zim’s arm.

*****

Esh-El whipped around at the sound of a metallic thud behind them. The SIR unit had started slamming itself against the wall of the cube, eyes narrowed and fiery red, like active SIRs were supposed to look. Esh appeared stunned.

“It’s responding to its master’s incapacitation,” El explained quickly.

Esh knocked her head lightly against El’s jaw in frustration. “I know what it’s doing, I just didn’t think it could do that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, El noticed the Plookesian guard reaching for the control panel he was supposed to be defending at the base of the cube.

“What are you doing?” El asked.

The Plookesian flinched almost imperceptibly with his hand mere centimeters from the panel. “I’m releasing the SIR so that he doesn’t damage the barrier.”

His voice… Where had the Plookesian’s accent gone?

“The barrier will hold!” Esh barked, but doubt flashed through her eyes as the SIR deployed an array of weapons from the top of its head. “Fine, open the wall, but only for a moment! We need to break up this little spat anyway.”

“Wait… I don’t think that’s…”

But El had taken too long to speak.  The shimmering energy barrier split down the middle from top to bottom and remained open even after the SIR unit jetted out. Hundreds of hungry eyes watched as the cube’s contents rotated and funneled downward for easy access. The Plookesian’s hands flew over the control panel in what may have been panic, but El wasn’t convinced. This felt deliberate.

“What are you doing?” Esh howled, lurching their body toward the offending guard. “Close it! Quickly!”

The Plookesian’s head swiveled in its torso dome and El swore he saw him smirk as he pressed the “flush inventory” button.

No Order guard would behave in such a manner. Not when they were so well taken care of. Not after completing their full initiation and armoring ceremony. This was an imposter, but El didn’t have time to announce it before a flood of confiscated technology poured out of the cube and crashed into Esh-El, immediately knocking them off their feet and burying them.

*****

In an instant, all the attention that had previously been on Dib and Zim redirected toward the temple and the waterfall of escaping prizes. The air buzzed with tension as the crowd focused in on the bounty, and the guards – scattered throughout the square and without the direct input of Esh-El – seemed to intuit their inadequacy against the sheer numbers of potential thieves. They brandished their trident-like weapons but it was clear their attempts at intimidation were toothless.

They couldn’t hope to stop everyone, and everyone present knew it.

All it took was one scrawny Irken racer leading the charge, and the rest of the crowd pressed toward the temple steps in a noisy, desperate wave.

Dib took advantage of the chaos to throw Zim’s limp body over his shoulder and make a break for the ship. He’d nearly reached the hatch by the time he heard the telltale rumble of GIR’s rockets bearing down on him.

Fuck. Dib had counted on GIR’s distress protocol activating, but hadn’t considered the full ramifications. As soon as he had that thought, those ramifications slammed into his back. The force of the impact hurled both Dib and Zim into the back of the ship, and Dib lost his grip on Zim’s body as they hit the ground.

Dib coughed and gasped, trying to regain the air GIR had knocked from his lungs. He instinctively curled in on himself, but no additional attacks came. Through his dirt-smeared glasses, Dib watched as GIR landed in front of Zim and adopted a rigid, defensive stance, red eyes scanning mechanically back and forth.

Dib glanced toward the cockpit and wondered if it was safe for him to move toward it. He tentatively pushed himself up onto an elbow, but GIR didn’t react. So far, so good. Dib adjusted his legs and prepared to stand. Again, nothing. As slowly as he reasonably could, Dib got to his feet and edged toward the controls.

He hesitated over the hatch door button. What if that spooked GIR? He looked pretty locked into his protocol and Dib didn’t want to chance being perceived as a threat. He’d managed to talk GIR down back at the Battle Zoo… Perhaps he should communicate with him before taking off and risking an in-flight catastrophe.

“GIR?”

Dib wasn’t sure he’d spoken loud enough to be heard above the calamity outside of the ship, but GIR’s head swiveled toward him and fixed there, so the damaged robot must have sensed something and hadn’t yet labeled Dib has a hazard.

“I’m going to fly us out of here, OK? You keep an eye on Zim,” Dib said, hoping that would satisfy GIR’s protocol.

GIR didn’t answer him, but didn’t interrupt Dib as he closed the hatch and revved the ship’s thrusters. He pulled the Drifter up, grateful that he’d had a little time to familiarize himself with the console. He didn’t have far to go, but precision was key. Below him, spectators rushed to fill the space left by the ship, clamoring to get closer to the spoils in the temple. Somewhere in the crowd, a guard’s energy weapon crackled, but it wasn’t enough to deter the stampede. Surely there were reinforcements somewhere… This riot couldn’t last forever. Dib had to be quick.

As Dib piloted the Drifter toward the temple, he thought he registered a few shouts from the guards to depart the square and land his vessel. He wondered how many strikes the hull of the ship could handle before it was too damaged to escape the atmosphere. Those tridents seemed to be designed for citizens, not ships, but Dib doubted those were the only weapons Esh-El’s Order had at its disposal.

The first blast burst against the hull just as Dib pulled the ship into position near the temple steps, where he’d instructed Tak to meet him with the goods. The control panel’s light flickered from the sudden electric surge but the engines didn’t falter. Good news, but Dib knew better than to relax just yet.

Dib leaned over the console to better see the writhing mass of aliens scrambling up the steps. A pair of guards brandished their weapons at his ship, but apparently their first shot had been a lucky one. The flow of people disrupted their aim and pressed them backward. Only one creature made any headway down the steps against the stream of looters: a Plookesian guard with a net-like sack slung over their shoulder.

“Damnit, Tak…” That bag was a dead giveaway. Just how much had she nabbed? The plan was to stow just the necessities in her PAK. She’d made herself into an obvious target, though no one had managed to intercept her thus far.

In case she wasn’t drawing quite enough attention to herself, a set of PAK limbs sprouted from the back of the Plookesian disguise and hoisted Tak above the masses. She flung her goody bag with remarkable accuracy toward the top of the Drifter, where Dib heard it land with a clunk. A few heads turned, but the appeal of the remaining goods still clattering out of the prize cube gave Tak enough cover to stalk her way to the ship on her artificial legs.

A flash of silver darted behind her and seized Dib’s heart with dread. He knew it was pointless, but he screamed Tak’s name as if it might propel her faster. She launched up toward the Drifter’s railing a millisecond too slowly.

Esh-El’s claws closed around one of her ankles, momentarily warping the illusion. Tak thrust two PAK legs forward and hooked them over the railing, but Esh-El’s tail whipped forward to wrap around the bases of the other two and wrench them off like wings from a fly. Tak screeched and her disguise fizzled away, revealing her terrified Irken eyes.

Dib dipped the Drifter sharply downward and Tak took advantage of the shift to hoist herself to the rail, which she clung to with her organic claws. Unfortunately, the maneuver also benefitted Esh-El. Looking more reptilian than ever, they slithered up Tak’s legs and stained their pristine claws with her pink blood as they created handholds in her flesh.

With a breathless curse, Dib threw his weight into yanking the yoke back. The Drifter rocked skyward and Tak screamed once again as Esh-El’s talons raked down her thighs. Dib could barely see them in the corner of the windshield, but he inferred from the agonized shrieks and a second whip of Esh-El’s tail that Tak’s remaining PAK limbs had been compromised.

Fuck. If he gunned the engines, Esh-El would tear Tak in two. If he did nothing, Esh-El would still probably kill her and then be free to climb aboard and kill them all, regardless of their supposed pacifism. But Irkens with healthy PAKs could survive pretty much anything, right? Dib’s hand clenched around the throttle.

Behind him, the top hatch clanked open.

“GIR?” Dib checked over his shoulder, but GIR sat alone on the floor, blue-eyed and chipper as ever.

Dib nearly choked on his own breath. “Zim?!”

No rational thoughts were involved in Dib’s decision to abandon the cockpit and race up the ladder to the roof. By the time he was through the hatch, Zim was already at the railing, his body mostly limp but his PAK legs active. Three legs steadied him while the last swiped wildly over the edge. Tak’s hands gripped the bar in front of him and for a horrible second, Dib feared he was attacking her.

Against his better judgment, Dib ducked beneath Zim’s PAK legs and clasped his hands over Tak’s to secure her. Her purple eyes – filled with more terror that he’d ever expected of her – stared into his in desperation.

“How-?”

Dib didn’t let her finish the question. He pulled up hard on her wrists and Tak yowled in distress. Despite her obvious pain, she kicked viciously at Esh-El, whose attentions were divided between her and Zim’s uncoordinated but dangerous swings. When a swipe of Zim’s PAK leg veered too close to Tak’s torso for comfort, Dib tried to call him off.

“Zim, get back!”

Zim hesitated, but his eyes were almost completely closed and Dib couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep. The pause was all the opportunity Esh-El needed to throw another claw up Tak’s side. They buried their nails into her flank and the resulting scream peaked and then waned with Tak’s diminishing strength. Dib winced in sympathy as he pulled her again, heaving her top half over the railing with barely a squeak of complaint from her spent throat.

All four of Esh-El’s eyes blazed with determination.

“You dishonorable thieves!” Esh accused. “There are rules! You lost!”

El didn’t speak, but from the soundlessly mouthed syllables on his lips, it seemed like he wanted to. Dib didn’t have time to waste analyzing him. He hauled harder on Tak and Esh-El’s claws tore down her ribs. Tak’s only protest was a tight hiss and a clenching of her own claws around Dib’s forearms.

Esh-El grabbed hold of the rail and lifted themselves higher until Esh’s eyes were level with Dib’s, bright with fury, focus, and… fear? They leaned forward, Tak forgotten beneath them, and Dib barely kept himself out of reach of Esh’s fangs.

“Do you even know you’ve done?” she growled, her hot breath fogging Dib’s glasses. “You’ve damned us! You’ve damned this whole plan-”

The whistle of a blade cutting the air, halted by a wet chop. Dib blinked at the white and pink rings of flesh where Esh’s face had just been as her head thumped onto the deck and rolled over the edge of the Drifter.

Both of Esh-El’s hands released the rail and folded over the terrible wound. Their one-headed body fell back as if in slow motion, down toward the riot below, white as a falling feather.

Dib’s knees liquified. He threw out his numb arms to grab onto Zim to anchor him, or maybe be anchored by him. Zim’s artificial limbs folded into his PAK, including the one still shining with Esh-El’s translucent blood. Dib squeezed his eyes shut to hold off his nausea and allowed Tak to tug both him and Zim back down the hatch.

The muting effect of the closed hatch snapped Dib free from his shock. He dropped Zim into GIR’s lap and blundered toward the cockpit. Tak limped after him, assisted by her PAK legs. Wordlessly, she sank into the copilot’s seat and wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. Dib was almost honored by her trust, but given the magenta blood staining the upholstery, she probably didn’t have much of a choice.

Dib grasped the throttle, drew a deep breath, and reminded himself that this was not the least space-worthy vehicle he’d ever flown.

*****

The Vortian vessel roared into the sky, a meteor in reverse, burning outward through the atmosphere and leaving calamity in its wake. El watched it become a speck, then a twinkle of light, then nothing at all.

He lay on his back as spectators of all species rushed past him, like he wasn’t even there. He didn’t dare turn his head. He kept his hands clamped over the stump on his shoulder and ignored the tickle of warm blood blooming across the ground behind him.

So, it was over, then. There would be no races after this. There would be no terraforming, there would be no blessings from the Grand Order. But Esh-El had known that from the start. The Grand Order had no use for a death planet like Currus. The place was only good for ridding the Order of its blemishes.

Esh-El was not a blemish. El’s claws pressed harder over his wound, despite the blinding pain it caused. No, Esh-El honored the true spirit of the Order. Esh-El had offered life in the face of death. Currus was worthy of the Grand Order, and Esh had done her best to ensure that, whether or not the Order recognized it.

Esh had done her best. Now there was El.

How unorderly, he thought, to be blessed with a life made of second chances.

Chapter Text

About an hour away from Currus, the adrenaline crash hit. Satisfied that no one was pursuing them and that the ship’s hull had remained airtight enough for space travel, Dib finally slumped backwards into the pilot’s seat, utterly deflated. The stars outside the window sparked and blurred no matter how hard he tried to focus on them. With every blink, the lights danced closer, until Dib swore some had drifted into the cabin, floating around like cosmic fireflies.

“Move. I’ll take it from here.”

Tak’s voice broke Dib from his half-sleep and he blearily turned his head to find her standing in front of him. Her posture was hunched and her typically fierce eyes had dulled, but she already looked healthier than she had when she’d collapsed into the copilot seat during their retreat from Currus.

She cocked her head to the side, gesturing for Dib to trade seats. He wasn’t about to argue.

As he hauled his suddenly immeasurably heavy body out of the seat, he chanced a look at the nest in the back of the ship. Zim didn’t appear to have moved in the past hour. He slept in a tight ball, half buried in scraps, one claw clutching the bag of stolen goods. GIR splayed out next to him, grinning in his sleep. He’d need repairs too. So much to fix.

But not right now. Dib sank into the copilot’s seat and closed his eyes.

By the time he opened them again, the stars were gone, replaced by a jumble of hazy gray towers. Instead of the deep, infrasonic purr of the engines, Dib only heard the whisper of the life support system. Disoriented and somewhat alarmed, Dib sat bolt upright and scanned the cabin. The pilot’s seat sat empty, but Zim and GIR were exactly where he’d left them, as was the sack of goods.

“Tak?” Dib’s voice was thick with sleep. He cleared his throat and tried again, a little louder. “Tak, are you there?”

Nothing. Dib patted himself down in search of his energy pistol before remembering that he’d removed it prior to his brawl with Zim. Fearing that he’d need it, he leaped out of his seat and beelined for the lockers. As he fumbled with the latch of the cabinet he thought he’d stowed his weapon in, the rear hatch mechanism hissed. Dib pried the compartment open, grabbed his pistol with half-numb hands, and aimed for the hatchway.

Tak didn’t so much as blink at the weapon trained on her. “Feeling jumpy?” she asked flatly as she tugged a levitating transport dolly into the cabin.

Dib immediately lowered the gun and mumbled an apology.

“Can’t blame you,” Tak said. “But you can relax now. We’re docked in my shop and I’ve had the whole place cloaked ever since the incident with Beep. No sign of any visitors while I was away, and no one tailed us from Currus.”

GIR babbled in his sleep as Tak stepped over him and his master and positioned the dolly next to their prize. Tak sneered at the drool dripping from GIR’s mouth before turning her attention to the netting, which she quickly uncinched so she could paw through the contents.

“What’re you doing?” Dib asked, fighting off the last of his sleep slur.

“Taking my cut.” Tak carefully withdrew a SIR chassis and placed it on the dolly.

“Your cut… You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dib said with a dry laugh. “That’s why you stole all this? So you could still profit? You nearly ruined the whole plan!”

Dib expected Tak to respond with her trademark ferocity, but her tone remained strangely calm. “I didn’t have time to parse through everything, so I grabbed all that I could so I’d have a better chance of getting what we need.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

Tak glanced up at him, unimpressed. “It may also interest you to know that I called Skoodge to update him. It seems none of you idiots excel at communication.”

“I can’t really argue with that,” Dib admitted, avoiding Tak’s gaze.

He waited in an awkward silence as she separated out various parts, tools, and treasures. Out of the bag, the haul looked somewhat smaller. Still, she’d nabbed a couple PAKs and an assortment of round-edged, semi-organic parts that seemed PAK-adjacent.

Dib leaned against the ladder to the top hatch and gestured at the gradually filling dolly. “Are you planning on leaving all that in your shop?”

“Of course,” said Tak. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought you’d be coming back with us.”

“Only long enough to use your resources to hunt down Beep.”

“Wouldn’t Empire goods be safer with you than left alone here?”

Tak stopped toying with what looked like a needlessly elaborate futuristic corkscrew. “I’m detecting a pattern with you. Where you go, safety rarely follows.”

“Again… Pretty hard to argue.”

Tak pointed the corkscrew at him. “Exactly. The only customer who has ever given me trouble is that yellow-eyed maniac. I’ve spent years building the defenses on this station. I wouldn’t have left MiMi here if I wasn’t certain it was locked down tight. Speaking of which…” Tak set the corkscrew and a final coil of wire on the dolly and patted her collection. “That should do it. You carry GIR and come with me.”

“Wait, why am I carrying GIR?”

“Because I don’t want him slobbering all over my stuff,” Tak said. “Obviously.”

Dib shook his head. “No, I mean, where am I taking him?”

“To my workbench.” Tak must have read the confusion in Dib’s face. “So I can repair him? Keep up, human. I’m starting to think your fragile brain-meats were rattled one too many times back on Currus.”

“Jury’s still out on that,” Dib mumbled, massaging a goose egg that had swelled near his temple. “I guess I didn’t expect you to want to help with him, that’s all.”

Tak angled the dolly for the hatchway. “I don’t want to owe Zim anything. This way, we’re square for…” One of her antennae twitched in the same way Zim’s did when he was stressed. “… For him coming back for me this time.”

It was more than that. Zim had probably saved her life. Dib considered saying as much, but then decided he had experienced enough physical trauma for the time being. No need to invite a second goose egg, even though he desperately wanted to ask what Tak meant by “this time.” Gaz would have been proud of his restraint.

“Hurry up. I’m sure you want to get back to Skoodge and the rest of them as soon as possible.”

“What about Zim?” Dib asked. “I don’t want him to wake up alone in here. That sedative could wear off any time now, right?”

“He’s not sedated,” Tak said as she pushed the dolly through the hatch.

“Yes he is. I jabbed him during our fight, remember?”

Tak cackled humorously. “Oh, you jabbed him alright. Pushed the needle all the way through his arm and wasted an entire vial of my extremely difficult to produce serum.”

Dib was flabbergasted. “What? No, he passed out when I stuck him with the syringe. He has to be sedated.”

“I bet your pitiful monkey body would collapse if you were stabbed through the arm, too,” Tak said. “Zim’s PAK is failing. His organic shell is almost as weak and vulnerable as yours at this point, I imagine. He’s conserving energy. The strain of your little spat was probably enough to overload him. It’s remarkable that he came to long enough to help me.” She trailed off and looked over her shoulder at Zim for a moment. “But I don’t think he’ll wake up now. Better to let him sleep.”

Dib didn’t know what to say, and Tak was already through the door. Absent of other options, he knelt next to Zim and inspected him. He couldn’t decide whether Zim’s pallid face seemed peaceful or corpselike. There was little difference between the two, after all. At least the Irken’s chest rose and fell with his breath, a meager assurance of life.

With a sigh, Dib gathered GIR’s sleeping body in his arms and followed Tak off the ship.

Outside the ship, the hazy towers Dib had glimpsed through the windshield revealed themselves to be stacks of dismantled machinery and rows of warehouse shelving. They were in a hangar of sorts, boxy and dimly lit and brimming with a medley of alien technology and hardware. Dib ogled the mysterious array and resisted the urge to wander down the aisles to inspect Tak’s wares. He recognized certain Irken and Vortian metals, panels, and pieces of circuitry, but many of the shelves contained strange devices the likes of which he’d never encountered. Oh, to have the time to investigate it all…

But Tak clipped along quickly, and Dib’s sense of wonder would have to wait. He hastened to follow her down the center aisle, toward a hub of light. Unlike the cold and categorical nature of the rest of the hangar, this little island seemed warmer and more organic. Strings of pink, purple, and white bulbs drooped between shelving corners, bathing the workstation below in soft, cozy colors. The tables and instruments there bore scuffs and scars and had clearly been repaired and customized many times over the years. A neat little line of trinkets perched along the edge of one desk. A plush snarl-beast, a miniature hologram of some kind of tentacle monster, a porcelain kitten that could only have come from Earth…

Dib reached for the calico figurine with the arm not actively cradling GIR only to have his hand slapped aside.

“Don’t. Touch. Anything,” Tak enunciated.

Dib gave her a loose salute in reply and stood aside.

Tak shook her head in irritation and crouched beside one of the workbenches. She splayed her palm over a sensor on its side, unlocking a compartment beneath. With an air of reverence, she procured from the compartment an inactive SIR unit. It was folded up almost into a fetal position, as small as a SIR could make itself, and appeared to be locked in that shape. Tak placed it gently on the table and wiped away a smudge of dirt from its face with her thumb.

“Is that MiMi?” Dib asked.

Tak glowered at him.

“Stupid question. Got it.”

Tak huffed and began plucking tools from the workbench’s shelves. “She’s been on lockdown since she was damaged. She has the sense to go into a reduced power mode instead of… whatever it is that GIR is doing.”

Dib shifted GIR higher against his chest and grimaced at the dark drool stain the bot had already left on his shirt.

“With a few replacements, she’ll be back on target,” Tak said as she unfolded MiMi’s limbs and opened a on her chest.

Dib subtly craned his neck to get a better view of Tak’s process. “And you’re sure we have the right parts? For MiMi and Zim?”

“Yes. I counted two intact LSI-Rings and plenty of miscellaneous PAK hardware.”

Dib let her work on MiMi for a couple minutes before posing his next question. “So, there’s this Irken with medical training back on Oobli-A. She was reluctant about the idea of working on Zim’s PAK herself, and since you’re so good with Irken tech…”

“I’m not Zim,” Tak snapped, not looking up from her project. “You can’t just flatter me into doing whatever you want. I’m an expert engineer, not a PAK technician.”

“I don’t understand.” Dib flopped GIR onto another table and tried to rub out the saliva mark. “Irkens seem to mess around with their own PAKs all the time. Rek and a bunch of other Irkens at the Battle Zoo modified their PAKs. I’ve seen Zim work on his plenty of times before. Hell, I even helped him once. I figured if you could build an advanced SIR like MiMi – not to mention how you basically rebuilt the Drifter out of scraps back in that canyon during the race – surely you could install an LSI-ring.”

“Do you know what an LSI-ring does?” Tak clicked some kind of circuit board into place inside MiMi’s torso and continued before Dib could reply. “It’s how the PAK integrates with the organic brain. All Irkens can repair and modify their own PAKs, but only those with the proper encoding can tamper with something that delicate. My encoding is…” Her fingers paused over the circuit board. “… Inappropriate for such a task. Even a medical drone is ill-equipped for that. It’s the domain of PAK technicians and the Control Brains.”

Dib stopped himself from asking for more details. He could extrapolate at least a little from what Tak had told him, along with the cursory information he’d gotten out of Zim regarding PAK specialization and encoding. If the LSI-ring was the bridge between the living, individual Irken and the mechanical, Control Brain-administrated PAK, it made sense that the Control Brains would make accessing it difficult.

Tak fastened MiMi’s panel closed again and rested her hands on MiMi’s shoulders. “For what it’s worth, I wish it were as simple as installing a new PAK component.”

That sounded almost like sympathy. Dib nodded to her in silent thanks.

Tak nodded back and then lifted MiMi’s chin so she could inspect the bot’s eyes. She gently twisted the ring around MiMi’s eye one way and then the other as if it were the dial of a combination lock. A faint click, and then MiMi’s eyes flared red.

Tak beamed. “MiMi! Status report?”

MiMi jumped to her feet, saluted, and emitted a series of chirps and beeps. The sounds were meaningless to Dib, but Tak smiled and nodded along with apparent elation.

“You did? Good! Very good!” Tak said after a set of incomprehensible chitters. “Show it to me, please.”

MiMi lifted the hatch on top of her head, reached inside, and retrieved a shattered Irken tablet. Tak took it carefully from her and turned in around in her hands, her brow furrowed. MiMi whistled inquisitively.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is… I’ll have to work on it. Thank you, MiMi.” Tak closed the hatch and pressed her forehead to MiMi’s. A low purr emanated from one of them, but it was too quiet for Dib to be certain of its origin.

Dib suddenly felt as if he were intruding and took a polite step back. “So, uh, what’s that? Is that Beep’s tablet?”

Tak’s antennae jerked and Dib wondered if she’d forgotten for a moment that Dib was present. She pulled away from MiMi and straightened her shoulders. “It is. MiMi managed to get it off of her and lock it inside. It’s in bad shape, but I might be able to extract something from it.

Dib grinned. “That’s great! Certainly better than nothing.”

“Far better,” Tak said, smiling at her SIR unit. “Now, let me see what I can do about… all that.” She waved a claw toward GIR.

With MiMi on deck as her assistant, Tak made short work of repairing GIR, even taking the time to buff out a few scratches and burns on his chassis. To her credit, she only dry-heaved once while scraping dried food residue out of his wiring.

Eventually, GIR’s eyes flickered to wakefulness, glowing bright and steady. He stared blankly at Tak as she gave him a final once-over.

“OK, I’m finished,” Tak said.

“Hi Finished, I’m Dad!” GIR announced, and then broke into a giggle fit over his own joke.

“Funny,” Tak deadpanned. She turned to Dib. “I could fix that, if you’d like. Maybe.”

“No, I think he likes being like this. Right, GIR?”

GIR stifled his laughter long enough to give a noncommittal hand wiggle.

Dib shrugged at Tak. “It’s complicated, but thanks for the offer. It would be up to Zim anyway.”

“On that note,” Tak said, “I told Skoodge we’d be en route soon. We should get moving.”

“What about the tablet?”

Tak picked it up from the table and deposited it into her PAK. “It will take me some time, but I won’t need my workshop for it. I know time is of the essence at the moment.”

Dib watched her collect a few tools and square away the remaining prizes in the locked compartment beneath the desk. Something had shifted. As exhausted as he was, he could still clock that difference. He allowed GIR to scramble onto his shoulders to perch like a child at a fair and stood aside as Tak led the march back toward the docked ship.

He kept quiet as they loaded the ship and buckled into the cockpit. Even if he’d had the energy to pry, Dib sensed it wasn’t the time to.

Instead, as Tak guided the ship free from the pull of the little moon on which her workshop was stationed, Dib thanked her.

“Don’t thank me yet. We still have unfinished business,” Tak said.

“I haven’t forgotten.” Dib caught his own reflection in the windshield as the moon and the ice giant it orbited shrank into the distance. Dried blood and grime and dark circles and patchy stubble… Would the Dib that left Earth even recognize the Dib he saw now?

There were only two things left to accomplish: fix Zim’s PAK and stop Beep. Two things, and then…

Then it would finally be time to go back home.

Chapter Text

Rek stood over Zim with her claw curled thoughtfully against her lips for what felt like a century. She didn’t speak, she didn’t reach to physically inspect him, she barely seemed to breathe. Only her eyes displayed any activity, shifting subtly every few seconds, observing Zim’s unconscious body as it lay in the med bay of Skoodge’s ship.

Dib couldn’t diffuse his anxiety by tapping his feet and chewing his fingernails any longer. “Well?”

“Well,” Rek said, dropping her hand from her mouth to her hip. “I feel like it goes without saying that this is bad.”

“OK, so, we should get straight to work on the LSI-ring situation, right?”

Rek flashed Dib a look that he couldn’t quite place and didn’t particularly care to. “We?”

“I mean, you, I guess,” Dib said. “Unless there’s something I can do to help?”

“You could help by finding someone who is actually qualified to perform deep PAK surgery.”

“You and Tak are going to get along so well.”

“Is that the purple-eyed stray you picked up?” Rek asked. “I’d love to properly meet her someday in the far future, when I’m finally done meeting all of your unrealistic demands and running hither and thither at your beck and call.”

Dib deflated a little. Rek certainly had a point… As soon as Tak’s ship had landed on Oobli-A, Dib had dashed straight for the med bay, where he’d asked Skoodge to have Rek meet him. He didn’t know why he thought Rek would have something more hopeful to tell him. Tak had already explained the delicate nature of a procedure like this… But what other option was there?

Clasping his hands to stop their fidgeting, Dib tried again. “I’m sorry, Rek. I don’t know what else to do. Zim’s been asleep for…” Fuck, how long had it been? Dib had spent most of the return flight drifting in and out of consciousness. “… A long time. We have the material, and I keep hearing about how dire his condition is, and I don’t want it to be…”

“Too late.” Rek finished the sentence for him. She gave Dib another scrutinizing look, but something about it felt a little softer, perhaps even sympathetic. Or perhaps Dib was just desperate for a moment of compassion. He couldn’t be sure.

Rek sighed and began pulling up an array of screens from a console adjacent to Zim’s bed. “Let me give him a proper inspection, and we can discuss next steps after. Deal?”

Dib nodded. “Thank you.”

Rek waved him off impatiently, and Dib took his cue to exit the bay and leave her to her work.

Even as he passed through the door, he found himself unable to look away, and in his distraction, he collided with something short, soft, and unyielding. Dib swore and backed away from the sturdy piece of furniture he’d just hip-checked only to discover Skoodge standing there with a concerned frown.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t see you,” Dib said reflexively, before remembering that he was still pissed at the secret-keeping little bastard.

“That’s OK. I just thought you might need a snack and maybe a walk.”

Skoodge waved a packaged snack cake at him and took a few steps back, making Dib feel like a puppy being lured with a treat.

His stomach pinched and growled, but Dib wasn’t ready to take the bait. “Thanks, but no thanks. I want to stick close in case Rek needs me.”

“Just the snack then?” Skoodge offered. “In exchange for a conversation?”

Dib clenched his fist to stop himself from reaching, but the sharpening pangs in his belly quickly broke him. He snatched the cake from Skoodge’s open palm before the Irken could try anything tricky. With a wary eye on Skoodge, Dib leaned against the cool metal of the opposite wall, positioning himself so he could see through the med bay windows and observe Rek’s inspection.

“If you want to talk, go ahead and get it over with,” Dib said, peeling away his snack’s wrapper. “I’m not in the mood for a long chat.”

“I understand, which is why I want to start with an apology.” Skoodge leaned against the wall next to him and drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Dib. It didn’t occur to me what kind of danger I was putting all of you in by not bringing up Zim’s condition sooner. I’d seen the way you two worked together, and I really thought that, well, things would go differently.”

A weak excuse. Dib took a bite of the cake and immediately recognized it not as the hyper-sweet, grainy-textured Irken treat Zim sometimes shook out of vending machines, but as a real, Earthen Swiss roll. Or at least, the highly-processed miniature version produced by Widdle Webbies. He hadn’t realized how much he missed normal, human amounts of sugar.

Skoodge continued as Dib took another, greedier bite. “I thought that, you know, what with all the other changes Zim’s gone through since I left Earth, he’d come around in his own time.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dib saw Skoodge’s antennae droop. “It turns out I was wrong.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the first idiot who thought trusting Zim was a good idea.” Dib rubbed a smear of chocolate from the corner of his mouth and licked his thumb clean. “Hey, I’ve got a question though.”

Skoodge’s antennae perked up again. “Sure, ask anything!”

Dib tapped the now empty cake wrapper. “Is this from Earth?”

“Uh, yes, actually,” Skoodge said, sounding a bit thrown. “I bought some with me when I left Earth. I don’t have many left, but I thought you could use a taste of home.”

“Oh.” Dib folded and pocketed the wrapper, as it seemed rude to wad it up and discard it now that he knew it was a rarity. “Thank you.”

“Would you like another?”

“No, that’s OK,” Dib said, despite his lingering hunger.

Skoodge bobbed his head, and the two fell quiet. Across from them, Rek drew a vial of magenta blood from Zim’s arm and clicked it into a centrifuge-like device in the med bay wall. As the sample spun, she scribbled notes into her tablet, glancing up from beneath her furrowed brow every so often to observe her patient. What was she writing? How long would this take?

“There was something else I wanted to talk about, if you don’t mind.”

Dib had almost forgotten Skoodge was standing next to him until he spoke. He wanted to be annoyed by the disruption, but he had agreed to talk with him. Plus, the snack cake was a decent peace offering, all things considered. “What’s that?”

“We Irkens, we don’t…” Skoodge disentangled his previously tightly-knit fingers and rolled his hands around each other, as if trying to stir the right words from their invisible hiding places. “… We don’t end in the same way Earthens seem to. We die, certainly. Multiple times, even. We’re encouraged to. We can be reactivated, reinstalled, recycled. To know that you’re going to end, with certainty and permanence… I mean, I can’t even hold that concept in my mind sometimes. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

“Sort of. To be honest, most Earthens struggle with it too,” Dib said.

Skoodge nodded somberly. “That’s almost comforting, actually. The first time my organic body took fatal damage in a place where I knew the Empire wouldn’t come looking for me, I didn’t know how to think about it. Without the Control Brains, where does my data go? Where do I go? There isn’t an answer, and I think that’s something many Irkens are confronting right about now.”

Somehow, Dib hadn’t considered that. He’d pried the basics out of Zim before and knew vaguely of the data-driven hive mind full of PAK data managed by the Control Brains. A backup hard drive full of ghosts, an afterlife that only “good” Irkens ascended to (or so he figured based on the conversation Zim had with him back on Sirus Minor). Previously, he’d privately admired it as a feat of digital evolution, generations of knowledge and experience preserved and disseminated, an organized and efficient form of reincarnation that was wasted on an evil society such as Irk. If Irkens were designed to eternally serve their Empire as anonymous reprogrammable pawns in an infinite cycle of uploads and downloads, what were they meant to do now?

Skoodge had apparently been thinking the same thing. “I’ve been trying to come up with a way to handle that idea… The best I can come up with is to try to make the most of the time I have before my body and my PAK end. And I think that’s what Zim was trying to do too, you know? It was selfish, yes, but it wasn’t just for him. I think at some level he understood how bad things were, and he just wanted the last of his time, the last of your time together, to be good. For both of you. Did he go about it in a rational way? No, I suppose not, but that’s not our Zim. I think he did the best he could. Maybe that doesn’t change anything, but I wanted to share it anyway.”

A sharp knot pulled at Dib’s throat, and he kept his attention locked forward, watching Rek as she shone a blue beam of light into Zim’s unreactive eye.

Next to Dib, something crinkled, and he felt the scratchy corner of a wrapper against the side of his hand. He swallowed past the knot and allowed Skoodge to place the gift in his palm.

 “It’s scary, knowing that things end.”

Dib looked down at the snack cake in his hands. “It is. And fear makes you do strange things.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Skoodge said, almost too softly for Dib to hear. “Anyway, thanks for listening to me. Now, I talked to Tak about this on the comms, but I don’t know if she told you the news…”

“They blew up Machinus, didn’t they?”

“… Yes.”

Dib carefully tucked the cake into his pocket and sighed. “OK. I guess we make the most of what we’ve got then, right?”

Skoodge smirked. “I guess we do.”

Dib’s head lifted at the hiss of the med bay doors as they opened. Rek stood in the doorway, chewing the end of her stylus as she reviewed her own notes. Dib bit his tongue and waited.

To Dib’s surprise, Skoodge was the first to speak. “What did you learn?”

Judging by the flick of Rek’s antennae, she was surprised as well. “I stand by what I said before. The situation isn’t good… However, Zim’s organic host is well enough that I’d be willing to attempt the LSI-ring installation.”

“That’s great news!” Dib said, and Rek’s frown deepened. “How soon can we start?”

“Again, it’s on me, not us,” Rek said. “And the sooner I start, the better. I just need the ring.”

“I’ve got it here.” Dib pulled the LSI-Ring from the pocket that wasn’t occupied by cake and presented it to Rek, cradling it in his palms as if it were a baby bird, despite Tak’s assurance that it wasn’t fragile.

Rek took the ring and held it close to her face, her curled antennae unfurling a little to flutter across the matte gray surface. It was an unremarkable device, one which Dib mistook for a particularly thick washer of sorts when he’d observed Tak’s removal of it from one of the prize PAKs. A few veins of pink wiring webbed the flat interior of the ring, but that was the extent of its apparent complexity. Dib wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it felt like a bit of an anti-climax.

“Looks to be in good shape,” Rek said. “I suppose I should get on with it then.”

“Wait!” Dib caught her shoulder as she turned for the med bay doors again.

Rek glowered back at him and Dib withdrew his hand as if from a hot stove. “I thought you were in a rush?”

“Yes, definitely, but…” Dib glanced at Skoodge, who gave a slight nod of encouragement. “I want to talk to him first.”

“Zim isn’t in a particularly chatty mood, you might have noticed.”

“I know, I just… I’d like to try. Just for a few minutes.”

Rek’s pupilless eyes shifted, and Dib suspected she was sharing a glance with Skoodge. “Fine, have at it. I’ll be grabbing a snack in the mess. Call me when you’re done.”

“Thank you,” Dib said, but Rek was already halfway down the hall.

Skoodge stayed where he was, watching Rek disappear around a corner. A selfish part of Dib didn’t want to ask, but he knew he should.

“Did you want to talk to him too?”

Skoodge tottered around and looked up at Dib, his face creased with competing emotions. “No, that’s OK. I’ve already said what I wanted to, and I’m not sure that I…” He left the sentence hanging, his antennae drooping back. “I think I’ve meddled enough. You go ahead. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

So Dib went in alone.

The med bay doors slid closed and sealed Dib in another world. The droning electric thrum of the ship’s halls vanished into the quieter soundscape of air filters and occasional digital pings from the primary medical console. The air was colder in here, sharper, with a bright antiseptic bite to it that briefly took Dib back to the medical wing of his dad’s facility. The scar from TIKI’s blaster itched beneath his shirt.

As Rek had warned him, Zim didn’t look conscious. Dib had seen him this limp and pale too often for it to even spook him anymore. At least, not as much as it had before the race. Now, it was almost a relief to see Zim so still and peaceful. This way, he wasn’t making things worse for himself. He was quiet and clean and safe.

For now, anyway.

Dib placed a hand on the bed, near where he’d felt Zim curl when Dib had been the one confronting his own mortality.

Dib laughed, the dryness of the room nearly turning it into a cough. “This shit is not sustainable.”

Zim’s eyes remained closed, and in the cool light of the bay, the bags below them looked especially dark, the color of crushed leaves against the dead-fish gray-green of the rest of Zim’s face. Dib looked away, focusing on the incomprehensible assortment of readings on the screens behind Zim’s bed.

“It’s just too much, you know? At this rate, we’ve had so many brushes with death that you could hardly call them brushes. By now we’re practically spooning death.”

Memories of Zim’s warm body pressed close to Dib beneath the blankets flooded Dib’s mind. The smooth top of Zim’s head nestled under Dib’s chin, the faint, almost citrusy scent that Dib never realized was Zim until they were this close.

Dib’s hand clenched around a fistful of sheet. “So, I’m not going to be all sappy about this, OK? I know you probably can’t hear me, and this is more for me than it is for you, but on the off chance you are listening, I just want you to know that I’m trying to understand. I said some things on Currus that I shouldn’t have. At least, not like that.”

In Dib’s mind, he saw Zim’s eyes as wide open and horrified as they’d been during their mock-battle in the square. Dib squeezed his eyes shut as if doing so would blind him to the memory.

“I’m starting to understand why you did what you did,” Dib said. “I still think it was stupid and selfish of you, but I get it. And we’re going to talk about it when all this is over. I don’t even know how to feel right now… I’m hurt, I’m angry, I kind of want to throttle you, I kind of want to hold you…”

Dib cringed at his own words. So much for not being sappy. What was he even doing here? Wasting valuable time, that’s what. Even if Zim were awake, his memory banks were so shot that Dib wouldn’t be surprised if Zim didn’t recognize him. The mere thought of it felt like a sharp stone in his throat.

“This is pointless,” Dib announced, turning sharply away. “I’m calling Rek so we can get this over with.”

Cold claws wrapped around Dib’s wrist, and he froze.

Zim’s eyes were mere slits, but they were fixed on Dib, as intense and steady as his grasp on Dib’s arm.

“Zim?” Dib ventured, somewhat feebly. “Are you awake?”

Zim’s hold on Dib’s wrist tightened, but the grip was still so weak that Dib could easily tug his hand away if he wanted to.

“Can you speak?” Dib asked.

Zim didn’t respond. He merely held onto Dib and watched him with those barely open eyes. His breathing buzzed a little, so softly that Dib couldn’t tell if it was an attempt at speech, the beginnings of a cold, or the slightest hint of a purr.  

Dib wondered if Zim was really there at all. He could be little more than a ghost. A digital echo of himself sounding faintly from his PAK, his body moving weakly by muscle memory alone, by the universal organic urge to reach for warmth and cling to it, to flee from the shadows and the ever-devouring cold of the void.

Zim’s eyes were open, but was he really seeing Dib? Would Zim even remember this? Did it even matter?

Maybe it didn’t. Maybe Zim was already an empty shell, and all of this fighting and struggle had been for nothing. But on the off chance that any of this was piercing through the fog, Dib knew what he needed to do.

Dib sat on the edge of Zim’s bed, careful not to accidentally pull free of his hold.

“OK,” Dib said. “I’ll stay.”

And he did. Dib stayed, his hand resting over Zim’s, willing warmth into those unsettlingly cool fingers, until Zim’s eyes closed again, and the buzzing sound faded into the steady breath of sleep.

When it was time, Dib stood and placed Zim’s hand back along his side. After a glance to make sure Skoodge wasn’t watching through the window, Dib leaned over the bed and pressed a quick kiss – feather-light and fleeting – onto Zim’s forehead.

“You’d better not remember that, Zim,” Dib muttered on his way out the door.

The next few hours were a haze. As Rek worked, Dib paced the hall, distantly aware of Skoodge’s eyes following him. Eventually, he burned through enough energy to lean against the wall again, and when leaning became too taxing, he allowed himself to sit.

At some point, Tak made an appearance. She stood to the side, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the scene in the bay.

“Thanks for leaving me with GIR,” she said, sarcastically.

Dib shrugged a half-assed apology. “Sorry. Where is he now?”

“MiMi’s watching him.”

“Mm. Thanks.”

“Whatever. Anyway, when you’re done here, meet me back at my ship. I’m already making progress with the tablet.”

“What tablet?” Skoodge asked.

Tak scowled at Skoodge, and Dib realized he’d have to play the middleman until tensions cooled (if they ever did). “Tak’s SIR unit managed to get ahold of Beep’s tablet. It’s pretty busted, but maybe we can still get some clues out of it.”

“That’s wonderful!” Skoodge said. “Need any help with it?”

“No,” Tak spat. “I have it handled. Just meet me at the ship later, Dib.”

“Sure,” Dib said, too tired to argue or ask questions.

When Tak left, Dib considered standing up again to get a better view of the bay. Then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to watch. The procedure was already taking too long, and he didn’t like the progressively deepening frown on Rek’s face as she picked at the inside of Zim’s PAK.

Instead, Dib busied himself with his TransDibber, aimlessly tuning up the settings and fussing over the scrapes and dents it had received over the course of his travels.

His head snapped up as soon as the med bay doors opened. Dib scrambled to his feet and searched for signs of life in the bay. Zim still lay there on his stomach, PAK ports and eyes closed. Maybe that was OK, though. Zim had a lot of recovering to do, and Dib knew that sleep would help.

With that optimism in his heart, Dib looked to Rek expectantly.

It was rare that Dib saw such exhaustion in a healthy Irken. Despite the weariness in her eyes, Rek kept her chin high as she spoke. “You may want to sit back down for this.”

Chapter Text

Skoodge was impressed by the poise with which Dib received the unfortunate news Rek shared with him. In retrospect, perhaps that should have been a red flag.

Of course, it was difficult to pay attention to such details while processing that same unfortunate news alongside Dib.

The new LSI-ring had fried immediately. As soon as it connected, it shorted out, another victim of the PAK’s virally corrupted data. Rek had tried to undo the damage, or at least stop its spread, but to no avail.

They were back at square one.

“I left the new ring installed, but it’s not any more functional than the old one,” Rek explained. “There’s too much corruption, and I don’t have the resources or encoding to de-gunkify the whole PAK. I’m sorry, but there’s not much I can do.”

“It’s OK,” Dib said, so much more calmly than Skoodge expected. A soft smile flickered across Dib’s lips. “Thank you for trying anyway. Tak already managed my expectations. I asked you do to the job of a PAK technician or a Control Brain, and I knew it was a long shot. There’s at least one more intact ring in the PAKs we grabbed anyway.”

Rek turned her head to the side, slanting a skeptical glance at Dib. “That’s great, but you understand that the same thing will happen if I try again?”

“I know. I just need to come up with something else,” Dib said.

Ah, so he was in denial then. That’s where the calm was coming from, Skoodge supposed. After all, what good was a replacement part if there was no one qualified to replace it? Of the handful of ex-Battle Zoo Irkens still lingering around Skoodge’s grounded ship, most were invader class. Shy of scouring the few ports where Irkens weren’t attacked on sight in search of someone capable of doing the installation, Skoodge couldn’t think of a way out of this one. Looking at Zim’s corpse-like complexion through the med bay window, they didn’t have that kind of time. Not only that, but the likelihood of finding an Irken willing to help when they could just steal the now massively more valuable PAK components was low. Very low.

“I have him sedated for now. I could wake him up if you’d like, in case you want to talk to him about that ‘something else’ you want to come up with. I doubt he’ll be very with it, though,” Rek said.

“No,” Dib said. Again, Skoodge was surprised by the level certainty with which Dib spoke. “No, we should keep him under. The less strain on the PAK the better.”

Rek smirked, amused. “Huh. Look at you. Using that great big head of yours to make a logical decision. Good work.”

Dib didn’t even take the bait. Beneath the grime and bruises, his expression was cool, collected. “If Zim stays asleep, how much longer does he have before his PAK fails?”

Skoodge flinched at the bluntness of the question, but Dib didn’t so much as stutter.

“Hard to say.” Rek flicked through pages of her tablet, weighing the data. “I estimated about a year when I first inspected it. Looking at the reach of the corruption now – and your reports of memory lapses, lethargy, and overheating – it’s not likely to last longer than a couple months, if that. Even then, unless you can really get in there to scrub and restore the bad data, he’s not coming out of this fully intact.”

“What does that mean?” Skoodge asked. “And your first inspection was only a couple weeks ago! How could Zim have deteriorated so quickly?”

Dib answered before Rek could, not even glancing down at Skoodge as he did. “Zim overextended himself. He fried his own PAK.”

Rek nodded. “Giving him a year may have been a generous estimate on my part, too. We all saw the damage his corruption dealt to Beep’s Control Brain. It’s capable of spreading quickly and catastrophically. I have to assume it’s been burning away in the base of his PAK all his life, and now it’s exponentially worsening.”

A sudden and extremely unwanted thought sprang to the front of Skoodge’s mind. If the corruption had always been there, radiating out from Zim’s LSI-ring, the key point of integration between the host and the machine… could something have happened in the brief minutes during which Skoodge and Zim had switched PAKs at the Battle Zoo?

Skoodge reflexively brought his body to attention, just as he’d done in his elite days to focus on the matter at hand. “So what did you mean about him not coming out of this intact?”

“Memories could be lost forever. Or they could be scrambled and rendered incomprehensible,” Rek said. “It would be enough to drive a sane Irken mad, and considering our starting place with Zim…”

“Hm. Noted.” Dib nodded thoughtfully, his finger curled against his lips. “OK. Thanks again for your help, Rek.”

“Think of it as repayment for taking down the Zoo,” Rek said.

“So? What now?” Skoodge asked.

Dib dropped his hand back to his side. “I need some time to think.”

“Want me to help brainstorm?” Skoodge offered.

“That won’t be necessary,” Dib said. “Will you keep an eye on Zim for me, though?”

“Sure,” Skoodge said, hiding his disappointment. “Of course.”

“Thanks.”

With that curt statement, Dib strode off.

“Well. That went differently than I expected,” Rek mused.

Skoodge frowned. “Yeah, it really did.”

But Skoodge had little choice but to give Dib space. He barely saw the human over the next few days. It appeared that Dib and Zim had managed to snag some Voot parts for their broken ship, but the parts remained where Tak had dumped them, right next to the wreckage of the Voot itself. Skoodge hadn’t expected Dib to waste time working on it when he had other thinking to do, but Dib struck Skoodge as the type to occupy his hands with a project while his mind was at work on other things. He was like Zim in that way. He was like Zim in many ways.

Skoodge was kept busy as well. Still settling into his role as an impromptu captain of the remaining Zoo survivors, he was surprised by the amount of time his new occupation consumed. He kept a video feed of the med bay running on his tablet at all times, even as he met with Tenn to plan the next supply run, and with another newcomer to discuss the assembly of a solar-powered energy-generator. It seemed that maintaining this little hideaway would require significant planning and organization, especially if it was going to keep growing and collecting Irken stragglers, as Tenn suggested it might.

When he wasn’t addressing the needs of the camp, Skoodge spent hours on the bridge of his ship, tablet leaning against the dashboard, poring over star charts and theorizing to himself about where Machinus escapees (if there were any) may have retreated to. They’d be the best bet for tracking down a PAK technician. Many of the Irkens on the planet had been mere factory drones, but surely scientists and technicians had been onsite to oversee the operation.

Once, while calculating the time it would take for an escaping Irken vessel to exit monitored former Empire territory and reach a safe place to refuel, Skoodge fell into a light sleep. It was unusual for such a thing to happen. He didn’t need sleep. Sure, his time on Earth had taught him the value of a nice nap for relaxation purposes, but accidentally drifting off? Peculiar, to say the least.

He’d only been woken by the sound of whispering in the night-dark hall outside of the bridge. Most Irkens spent the dark hours outside, taking advantage of the cooler temperatures to construct sturdier, more permanent shelters and work stations. Usually, Skoodge’s ship was quiet overnight, which allowed for him to focus on his quest for viable leads.

While Skoodge regained his bearings, he craned an antenna toward the hall, listening.

“We can’t,” said one voice, so low and tone-less that Skoodge couldn’t place it. “Not while he’s watching.”

“And whose fault is that?” hissed another voice.

As their hushed bickering faded, Skoodge resigned himself to the probability that yet another set of refugees were off to steal equipment and fly away. He would have given them supplies, had they asked. He considered following them to tell them as much, but then recalled the last departee, who had turned her laser on him before he had the chance to present her with a snack pack for the road.

Trust was hard-won these days, and Skoodge understood why.

Imagine Skoodge’s surprise when he counted the same crew of Irkens the next morning. Just to be sure, he inventoried the pantry and fuel cells, but all appeared to be in place.

Confused but satisfied by his count, Skoodge checked his med bay feed again. On Skoodge’s screen, Dib stood by Zim’s side, his face angled away from the camera, his posture stiff and unreadable.

Honestly, Skoodge was surprised that he hadn’t seen Dib stop by the bay before now. It was odd, given how intensely he was bonded to Zim. After everything that had happened on Currus, however, maybe Dib just needed his space. Plus, he’d probably been hard at work on Beep’s tablet. Maybe it was time for a progress report on the topic.

When Skoodge reached the med bay, Dib had moved to the other side of Zim’s bed, where he was busy scrutinizing a machine connected to Zim’s PAK.

Before Skoodge could even greet him, Dib spoke.

“Is this the only thing he needs to stay sedated and stable?” Dib tapped the machine.

“I think so,” Skoodge said. “It gives his PAK a steady power supply, manages nutrients, monitors his vitals, forwards PAK-hails to voicemail-”

“Great, thanks.”

Dib kicked the locks off the wheels of the machine and gave it an investigative push.

“Hey, uh… What are you doing?” Skoodge asked.

“I’m relocating Zim. Do you have somewhere on the ship we could both stay? The Voot’s lights are still down and I need somewhere to sleep,” Dib said, toeing the hover mechanism on Zim’s bed. “Also, why does this PAK-support thing have wheels while the bed can levitate?”

Skoodge stumbled out of the way as Dib shifted the now floating bed from side to side. “Well, the bed’s a newer Vortian build and came with the bay, and the PAK machine’s an outdated model that Tenn found at a Plookesian rummage sale. They’re usually stationary, but I guess this one was refurbished into a lamp at some point, and apparently Plookesians like to wheel their lamps around or something.” Skoodge pinched the furrow of his brow, refocusing on the matter at hand. “Wait, I thought you were staying on Tak’s ship?”

“I know this is a little foreign to Irkens, but I do actually require some degree of privacy.”

“OK, but why take Zim? I thought you’d want to keep him here, just to be on the safe side if something happens.”

“Rek doesn’t seem worried about that.” Dib motioned for Skoodge to move out of the way of the door. Unthinkingly, Skoodge did so, and Dib pushed Zim and the machine through. “Besides, I’d rather keep him with me. So I can keep an eye on him.”

Skoodge followed Dib out the door, waving his tablet at him. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him!”

“Yeah, but you have plenty of other stuff on your plate.”

“You have plenty of other stuff on your plate!” Skoodge retorted, more indignantly than he’d intended. “What about Beep’s tablet? Any progress?”

Dib shook his head. “Nah, nothing much to report. Now, I thought I saw sleeping quarters somewhere. Where should I go?”

Skoodge huffed, bit his lip, and delayed for as long as he could before finally breaking and pointing down a corridor to the right. “There’s an empty bunkroom down that way. Seriously though, Dib, I think the med bay would be safer.”

“Safer? None of this is safe. Zim is dying.” Dib angled the bed down the corridor Skoodge had indicated. “The least I can do is make things a little more comfortable for him.”

Skoodge couldn’t argue with that. He’d seen how unhappy Dib had looked when it had been him recovering in the bay instead of Zim. “… OK. I’ll see if I can find fresh bedding for the bunk.”

Skoodge about-faced, ready to hurry away from this conversation, but Dib stopped him.

“Hey, hold on a sec.”

Skoodge lifted an antenna inquisitively. “Yes?”

“If we manage to get into Beep’s tablet and figure out where she’s going, what will you do?”

“Well, we’ll execute her, obviously.”

“Like, capture and question her first, and then kill her?” Dib asked.

“Probably not,” Skoodge said. “It’s too risky to give her the chance to escape. If we can find out where she’s hiding, the smart move would be to eliminate her from afar. One of the Battle Zoo survivors used to be a weapons engineer, and they’re working on a cannon like the Massive used to have for organic sweeps. It’s much smaller, of course, but they say it has a good range and should be operational any day now. We could destroy both her and her Control Brain at the same time.”

Skoodge didn’t understand why Dib looked so surprised by that. That had been the plan all along, hadn’t it? Dib himself had pushed for it. Beep was a threat on an intergalactic scale. She’d managed the unthinkable by singlehandedly building her own Control Brain and feeding it only the best traits of the Irken species. Theoretically, she could rebuild the Empire in her own image, eliminating any Irkens she deemed unsatisfactory and resuming the mission of conquest. The Resisty had only managed to get this far because of the Massive’s disappearance. If a new, capable, and ambitious leader managed to manufacture a batch of super soldiers and rally the scattered Empire loyalists, there was no telling the depths of devastation that might ensue.

The surprise waned from Dib’s face before Skoodge could question it. “I guess that’s the best way to handle it. I’ll let you know if we get anywhere with the tablet.”

And then he was marching down the hallway with Zim’s bed and machine, leaving Skoodge behind. Again.

More days passed – days filled with organizational conversations with Tenn, hours of map-gazing on the bridge, and progress reports from the cannon-building weapons engineer. When he wasn’t diffusing arguments over who stole what tool from which grounded ship or charting supply-gathering courses, Skoodge tried to check in with Tak and Dib. Most of the time, the two were holed up in Tak’s ship, completely uninterested in conversation.

“Could you keep GIR out of our hair for a couple hours?” Dib asked during one such visit.

“Of course,” Skoodge said, like an idiot. “But what should I, uh, do with him?”

“I don’t know. Show him around the ship, maybe? Time how fast he can run through the halls? He likes that kind of thing,” Dib said.

Next thing Skoodge knew, he was watching GIR tear through the passages of his ship, squealing in joy with each manic lap.

“Update soon,” Tak promised when a panting, moderately bruised Skoodge deposited GIR back at her vessel. “And we’re moving the ship a little further out. Too many sticky fingers in your crew.”

The next day, both Tak’s ship and the Voot Cruiser – covered now by a tarp, an indicator that perhaps Dib was busying himself with its repair after all – had been moved beyond the crest of a nearby hill. Neither Tak nor Dib answered Skoodge’s knock, but he heard activity through the hatchway. Dib’s bunkroom was quiet.

Red flags. Warning signs. Great, big, glaringly obvious clues that Skoodge brushed over. So painfully clear in retrospect. Skoodge could have unlocked the bunkroom door. He could have barged into Tak’s ship to demand a status report regarding the tablet. He could have pressed Dib into a revealing conversation, maybe even convinced Dib not to do what he was about to do.

But Skoodge didn’t. He let a full two days pass before he brought a key to Dib’s bunk, and even then, he’d only decided to intervene because he was concerned about Zim’s wellbeing. His friend was sick, and Dib was too erratic to fully trust. Skoodge had to see Zim for himself, just to be safe, just to be the captain he was supposed to be. Just to know that Zim was alright and being cared for.

“Dib?”

It was night. The hall was dark. Humans were nocturnal… Dib should have been in bed, and the ship was too quiet for Dib not to hear the knocking.

Skoodge knocked again, with authority this time. “Dib, please open up. I need to see Zim.”

Skoodge heard sheets shuffling on the other side of the door. Progress!

“Dib, I know you’re there. Now, I hate to do this, as I’m aware of the human need for sleeping and privacy and, well, sleeping in privacy, but I’m going to let myself in unless you open the door. I’ll give you a few seconds to prepare yourself. How about… uh… three seconds?”

More shuffling, followed by a soft thump, and a… squeak, maybe?

“One…”

The sound of shifting bedclothes quieted.

“Two…” Skoodge pressed the master key token to the lock. “Two and a half…”

Total silence. Not even the hum of Zim’s equipment. Something felt wrong.

“Three!”

Skoodge unlocked the door, and before it had fully parted, a tall, dark shadow burst through the gap. Skoodge flattened himself against the wall as the figure flew by and sprinted into the black passageway.

“Dib! Wait!”

Skoodge’s PAK legs erupted from his back and he scrambled after Dib, tracking his silhouette as it eclipsed the soft blue running lights of the hall. He could barely hear above the clatter of his metal legs, but Skoodge swore he detected something high and grating coming from up ahead. A scream? Had something happened? Was Dib hurt?

Either the scream or Skoodge’s clanging drew Tenn’s attention. She poked her head out of the door to the cargo bay seconds before Skoodge zipped past. She immediately deployed her PAK limbs and rushed after him.

“Are we under attack?” she shouted to Skoodge.

Skoodge hooked a leg around the corner of a passageway, flinging himself into the next turn in time to see Dib’s sneakers vanish around another corner. Those damned long legs…

“Captain?” Tenn prompted.

“No, we’re not under attack,” Skoodge yelled above the racket of eight racing PAK legs. “Er, or I don’t think we are. Something’s happening to Dib!”

“Where’s Zim? Still in Dib’s quarters?”

“I think so,” Skoodge said. “You check on him. I’ll follow Dib.”

Tenn veered away down a passage to the left, back toward the bunkroom. Skoodge expected Dib to flee the ship, but every time he came close to a path that would lead outside, he ignored it. Dib was either lost or running just to run, and neither made sense unless Dib had become fully unmoored.

Skoodge stopped wasting his breath calling out to Dib and focused on closing the distance. A well-aimed throw of a PAK limb could trip his quarry, but Skoodge would have to be careful not to hurt him. He switched to a three-legged gallop, one metal arm free to swing forward.

As if sensing the approaching leg, Dib abruptly changed course and darted through the door to the bridge. Skoodge swore to himself, legs screeching as they skidded across the floor. He pivoted and reeled onto the bridge, spidering himself across the doorway to prevent Dib from escaping.

Skoodge needn’t have bothered. Dib waited for him in the captain’s seat, bouncing on it like an unruly smeet, his grinning face highlighted by the blue glow of the sleeping consoles on either side of him. The shrieks Skoodge heard before had quieted into something more familiar.

Laughter. GIR’s laughter.

Skoodge gestured to the sensors by the door, waking the bridge from its low-power mode and illuminating the room. Dib kicked his legs giddily and waved at Skoodge, his smile jarring and unnatural in the brighter light.

But of course it was unnatural. It wasn’t Dib.

“I win! I win!” GIR’s voice chattered from behind Dib’s teeth.

Skoodge withdrew his PAK limbs and landed softly on his real legs, worrying for a moment that his knees wouldn’t hold him. The clues were all there. He should have been watching more closely. He should have seen the signs that something was amiss.

“I beat you to your chaa-iir because yoouu are a slooow-poke!” GIR sang, and Dib’s arms jabbed clumsily into the air.

Skoodge’s PAK buzzed and he extended his communicator to answer Tenn’s call.

“Captain, Zim’s gone!”

“I know,” Skoodge said, watching the fake Dib jump down from the chair to spin in circles on the ground. “Could you do me a favor and go check where Tak parked her ship and the Voot?”

“Will do,” Tenn said, and hung up.

Skoodge already knew what she’d find. Tak’s ship and a tarp covering garbage in the shape of a Voot Cruiser. Maybe that’s where some of the stolen tools and materials had gone. If only he’d paid attention.

The GIR-Dib stopped spinning and flopped to the ground. “I’m bored. You’re not very good at hide and chase.”

“I’m sorry,” Skoodge said emptily as he approached him. “Can you take off the disguise?”

GIR pouted, distorting Dib’s face unnervingly. “But Tak gave it to me and I like being Dib! Now, you be Master, and we can practice BLOOPIN’.” He puckered his lips.

“GIR, please…”

GIR rolled Dib’s eyes and groaned. “Ooohhh-kaaay.”

With a click of a hidden button on his chest, GIR dropped the illusion. Skoodge’s eye was immediately drawn to the scrap of paper rolled around the SIR unit’s antenna. He pulled it free before GIR could react.

“Hey! I was gonna give you that!” GIR crossed his arms petulantly.

Skoodge ignored him and unrolled the note.

Skoodge:

First of all, I’m sorry to go behind your back.

“Yeah, sure you are,” Skoodge muttered at the note.

Tak and I know where Beep is, and we will contact you with her coordinates in the following circumstances:

1. We succeed in forcing Beep to repair Zim’s PAK.
2. Any of us are killed.

I have automation in place in the form of a dead man’s switch in the unlikely case of the second circumstance. You’ll be contacted and given the OK to use your cannon. We WILL eliminate Beep, one way or another.

Right now, Beep is Zim’s last hope. According to her tablet, she had already made progress in halting the spread of Zim’s corruption in her Control Brain by the time she attacked Tak. She believes she can not only stop the spread but repair the damage as well.

Skoodge grabbed one of his antennae in distress. Of course they’d already fixed the tablet. In fact, they’d probably already made significant strides in doing so by the time Dib asked for a private room with Zim. He’d been setting all this up.

I knew that you would have to destroy her if you knew where she was. You can’t gamble the future of your entire species on the life of a single defective.

But I can.

Skoodge’s hands shook as he read that line. His claws clutched holes into the crumpling paper.

You’re our leverage now. Do what I need you to do and this works out well for everybody. Try to find us and I let Beep go. Beep runs free, and Zim dies. You could never choose that option, just like you could never truly choose the chance of stopping Beep over the chance of losing Zim. You see now how I had to do this. I’m doing it for you, too.

Tenn buzzed Skoodge’s PAK line but he couldn’t bring himself to answer, distracted as he was by the absolute gall of Dib’s assumption, and how absolutely correct it was. Dib not only understood Skoodge’s obligation to his fellow Irkens, but he also understood Skoodge’s (sentimental, potentially defective) attachment to Zim, who was once again, as ever, one of the largest threats to Irk-kind. Dib knew the choice Skoodge the Irken captain was supposed to make, and also knew the choice Skoodge the individual wanted to make. Dib had planned around it. He’d planned around him.

Somehow, being seen, analyzed, and removed from the conversation like that felt like a vivisection. Skoodge suffered the hurt of it like a laser-scalpel in his spooch.

And it angered him.

After everything, Skoodge wasn’t even included in the discussion? He was reduced to “leverage”? Left behind while his friends once again threw themselves into the metaphorical snarl-beast den?

Without so much as a goodbye?

Skoodge clenched his jaw tightly and once more straightened himself into the posture of a proper soldier. Emotions could be saved for later; they weren’t useful right now, but they’d have their time. Shutting out the shrill sound of GIR’s singing, Skoodge read the end of the note.

I hope we’ll all see each other again soon. Wish us luck.

- Dib

Skoodge crushed the paper, thought better of it, smoothed it out again, folded it, and slipped it into his PAK. He attempted to call Dib’s wrist communicator, and when it inevitably failed to connect, he tried Tak’s line. Nothing. He hadn’t expected any different.

“The Voot’s gone,” Tenn announced from the door to the bridge. From her flat tone, Skoodge suspected she wasn’t surprised by this either.

“Thanks,” Skoodge said, because he had to say something.

“I don’t understand,” Tenn said. “Why would they run off like that?”

“Because they know where Beep is.”

Tenn perked up. “Great! Where is she?”

“They didn’t say.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Skoodge watched Tenn’s expression shift from optimistic to confused. “Uh… OK? So… What do we do now?”

Skoodge stepped around GIR, who had transitioned from singing to break-dancing in the middle of the bridge, and climbed into his seat. As he spoke, he pulled up the cargo ship’s flight systems, checking for fuel levels, range, and cargo capacity.

“The only thing we can do: wait.”

Skoodge flicked past the flight system to the ship’s limited but modifiable weapons array.

“We wait, and we finish that cannon.”

It was strange to be behind the wheel of the Voot again. Tak truly was an engineering wizard. She’d been able to get the craft shipshape in record time while Dib focused on his dead man’s switch system. The rebuilt Voot wasn’t perfect, but it was spaceworthy, and more importantly, fast.

Dib had little trouble convincing Tak of his plan once they deciphered the probable location of Beep’s new hideaway. Tak was less interested in the “saving Zim” aspect of the gambit than she was in the opportunity to exact one-on-one revenge, but that was fine by Dib. She and MiMi could do whatever the hell they wanted with Beep once she was no longer useful.

And Beep would be useful. Dib knew his plan would succeed because he knew the great Irken secret.

They were all defective.

Or at least, if they saw what Dib saw, they’d all consider themselves defective. Every single Irken he’d encountered was ruled by the emotions to which they claimed immunity. He’d seen them become attached to other Irkens, to members of other species, to their own robots and creations. For all Zim’s self-pitying rants about how functional Irkens weren’t capable of or interested in friendship, Dib had never met an Irken who didn’t crave relationships with others.

That was the critical element of it all, the very thing that made Irkens so vulnerable and easy to manipulate. They all either thought they were carrying terrible, defective secrets, or they were deluded enough not to recognize their own attachments. Control their emotions, and you control them. Call out Skoodge’s affection for Zim in contrast to his duty as an Irken, and he has no choice but to play the role written for him. Dangle vengeance in front of Tak for the temporary harm done to her SIR unit, and she’s willing to aid a former enemy in what a rational person might consider a suicide mission.

Offer Beep Tak’s SIR modification skills, knowing from Beep’s tablet notes and her clumsy raid of Tak’s workshop that her attempts to repair TIKI were failing, and she’ll be willing to use her Control Brain engineer encoding to save Zim.

Of course, Dib wasn’t entirely relying on that trade. He leaned back in the captain’s chair and pulled out the new bracelet he’d designed just for Beep. It was simple, solid, and guaranteed to motivate even the most stubborn of hosts to make the right decision.

“We’re getting close to detection range,” Tak said, casually sucking on a sugary snack stick. She was slouched in the copilot’s seat, and although she looked at-ease with MiMi in feline form on her lap, Dib sensed a certain underlying intensity. “Are you ready?”

Dib twisted in his chair to check on Zim where he slept in the out-of-order repair pod. Nothing different, but no news was good news.

“I’m ready.”

Tak nodded and typed a few commands into the console.

Dib reminded himself as the interior lights dimmed that this was the only choice. The burden of truth bent his shoulders, just as it always had. His curse, but also his destiny. It had always been Dib fighting the good, invisible fight alone.

But no more.

Yes, he once again had to be the hero, the truth-shrieker, the man standing in the way of endless tides of evil, but he was fighting for something new as well.

Now, there was someone else to think of. Someone specific to save, someone helpless, who had given up his right to have an impact in his own story. And Dib loved him with the kind of love that’s stored in gnashing teeth, blackeyes, and hard, lip-splitting kisses. It was a love that ate through his bones, starving and gory. A screaming, scarring soul-addiction that was not so unlike all the attachments Dib had catalogued in the Irkens whose strings he now pulled.

Dib Membrane activated the Voot’s cloak and prepared himself to save the universe one last time.