Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sandra O'Neil stumbled and fell, the huge platter of nachos in her hands spilling all over the ground.

Her daughter Zita was quickly kneeling beside her, pulling her to her feet. "Hurry, Mom, get up. The guards are―AIGH!"

"AIGH!"

The mother and daughter both let out screams of pain as a whiplash of energy seared across their backs. They fell on their faces, gasping for air, while above them two voices snickered.

"Get up," the first Irken snapped, glaring down at them with her malicious red eyes.

"Yeah," her sidekick, a purple-eyed male, said, pulling back the laser-whip to dangle lightly from his three-fingered hand. "We're not not-paying you to not work, you know."

He laughed, and suddenly the whip snapped forward again, slashing across their backs. Zita and her mother had just managed to force themselves onto their hands and knees, then gasped and fell on their faces again. The two Irkens laughed, walking around them; the female kicked a few of the nachos into Sandra's face.

"And go get a new platter for the Invader," she snapped. "We Irkens don't eat trash off the floor."

She and the male snickered again, walking away.

Sandra put her face in her hands and began to sob. Zita turned pale, rubbing her mother's back. "Don't cry Mom," Zita whispered, as she felt tears build up in her own eyes. "It'll be okay."

But Sandra couldn't stop crying. She couldn't take this; she wasn't used to work. Sandra had been a rich society woman, she was used to fancy parties and giving orders to her maids, not twenty-hour work days building machine parts and baking pizza after pizza for the insatiable Irkens to shove down their maws. She was used to a loving husband doting on her, of living in a big house with her pretty daughter Zita and her adorable baby son. She couldn't stand these rags that had once been her favorite dress, her hair dirty and greasy, the memory of her husband vaporized before her eyes and her son dragged off to be a subject for some kind Irken experiment, alive or dead she didn't even know...

Zita sniffled, looking up from her mother for a moment, trying to force back her tears. And that's when she saw him watching her from across the room, and felt her heart stop in chest.

Dib.

He was working at the conveyor belt along with at least a dozen other human slaves, but he somehow stood out, apart, in his own bubble of space that none of the others dared enter. He had stopped his own work to stare at her, his light brown eyes like burning ice from behind his long, greasy bangs and cracked glasses. He had been watching, she knew, the entire incident, the whole humiliating attack by the Irken guards. He was always watching, Zita or somebody else. Always watching, always apart.

His eyes held no pity. They almost challenged you to ask for pity.

Pity?! Dib's eyes asked, and Zita could actually hear Dib's voice laughing in her head. You want pity from me, Zita?! Did you give me pity, when I warned you this would happen? Did you give me any pity when I came to class bruised and sore, scratched in bleeding, because I spent the previous night trying to prevent this while you were off shopping with your friends? Or did you laugh at me, tear into me, call me crazy in front of everyone just for the cheers and jeers of your adoring fans, huh?! And now that you're the butt of the joke, what do you want? Sympathy? What, I didn't deserve it when I was trying to save your lives, but you get it now? Huh? HUH?!

Dib's eyes narrowed; his lip curled into a sneer. Zita began to tremble, tears once again threatening to spill.

And then suddenly she jumped, as an Irken guard appeared behind Dib and stabbed him with his staff. The weapon was electrified; Dib let out a gasp and fell to the ground with a crackle of electricity, twitching horribly. The guard laughed.

"Get back to work, Dib," the guard―a big stupid one―sneered; Dib was the only one they ever referred to by name. "Invader Zim expects you to work, and you have about..." He grinned his big, stupid grin. "Ten thousand more parts to get through before you've reached today's quota."

Dib didn't answer; he just rose to his feet silently, not looking at the guard or anyone around him, just down at the conveyor belt as he went back to work, body spasming every few seconds from the electrical shock. The workers on either side of him kept their eyes turned away; they had stiffened at the guard's attack but other than that allowed no other reaction.

The guard chortled as he walked away. Zita watched for another moment, and suddenly Dib looked up again, glaring.

Zita's breath caught in her throat. She looked away, tears spilling from her eyes as she bent down to help her sobbing mother to her feet once more.

She heard him like that, talking in her head whenever she saw him, every time she saw his eyes burning at her like that. She knew he hated her. She knew exactly what he thought of her, of all the rest of humanity.

But she had never heard him say it.

After all, nobody ever talked to Dib anymore.

"Oh man," The Letter M muttered, a bead of sweat running down his face as he fumbled with the pieces, trying to get them to stick together. "What are we supposed to do?!"

"You snap them together like this," Torque muttered, putting the two parts together.

"You sure?"

"Hell if I know. Just do it! The guard's gonna pass."

"Oh man..."

The Letter M snapped the pieces together, catching them as they flew by on the conveyor belt, hoping someone down the line would get the ones he was missing. He fumbled, trying to get the metallic parts together, and suddenly one snapped in two. His eyes went wide. "Oh man!"

"Is there a problem?"

The Letter M spun around; a tall female Irken with purple eyes was glaring down at him, her electrified staff in her hands. The Letter M quickly hid the broken parts behind his back.

"No! ...No problem, sir. Ma'am!"

The Irken chuckled, then marched away. The Letter M let out a breath he had been holding, feeling like he was going to be sick.

"Oh man, I don't know how to do this," he whispered, turning back to the conveyor belt, hands shaking as he reached for more. He didn't even know what these were―spaceship parts or whatever, plasma-this or energy-reactor-that. All he knew was that he was supposed to snap this-piece into that piece, and if these things weren't done right, the Irkens were gonna be steamed. They'd kill him if they saw him messing up-or somebody else, if they just found a bunch of parts thrown together wrong and couldn't figure out whose fault it was. He needed help!

His eyes wandered away from his task down the conveyer belt, to the person next to him. He felt himself trembling again.

Dib―his hair still standing on end and sparking from the last Irken's energy staff―was standing there, eyes down on his hands, which moved mechanically over the parts, grabbing, snapping and putting them down in seconds, no sign of a struggle on his face, no doubt or difficulty apparent. The Letter M tried to copy him―snap that part into this part, or was it that part, Dib's hand was blocking―and crap, he already sent it down to vanish along the belt, already on another one, his fingers nimble and quick even as the bags under his eyes threatened to hang past his chin. He was supposed to be some kind of a mechanical genius, after all―that's what The Letter M had heard, anyway. And of course that fit, his father was that brilliant scientist; Professor Membrane had been so smart that Zim had ordered him taken right to the Tallest so they could force him to design more weapons (The Letter M also thought it was probably so they could also torture Dib with the fact that he had no idea where his only living family member was; his sister, he recalled, had been killed in one of the initial attacks. Apparently Invader Zim saw her as a legitimate threat to his plans.)

The Letter M opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to call to Dib, ask him what he was doing, what they were supposed to be doing, what these pieces were and how to put them together so that the Irkens would just be happy and leave them alone.

He started to ask...but then Dib's eyes seemed to turn slightly, still downcast, glaring at him. The breath caught in The Letter M's throat; Dib's eyes seemed to beckon, mocking. Go ahead, ask for help, The Letter M. See what Dib says.

Help? You want my help?! Did you ever give me help, huh, The Letter M? All those times I told you―I told everyone―about Zim's evil plans, about what he was planning to do to the world, did you ever help me try to stop him? Or even when I was just getting beaten up, mocked, thrown into the crazy house, did it ever occur to you to help me, huh? Do you remember the last time?! That last time, Zim's plan that finally brought this brave new world we're in, huh? I ask you all to help me. What did you do? You helped hold me down so that Torque could beat me half to death! If you hadn't done that, I could have gone after Zim and maybe stopped this from happening! You helped Zim take over this entire planet, and now you have the balls to ask me to help you?!

The guard was passing by again; The Letter M quickly turned away, his eyes back on his fumbling hands. He felt Dib's eyes slide away from him as he concentrated completely on his own work, oblivious once again to anyone around him.

He turned back to Dib after a few moments, carefully avoiding his face, concentrating just as hard as he was on his hands, working with a feverish expertise over the aliens' machanical parts. The Letter M did his best to copy Dib, wishing he could ask Dib what to do. He wondered if Dib really did know what he was doing, or if he, The Letter M, was copying someone just as incompetent as he was. Hell, he wondered sometimes if Dib was doing it wrong on purpose, as part of some secret plot to undermine the Irkens from within or something.

The Letter M never asked Dib these questions, though.

After all, nobody ever talked to Dib anymore.

Dib always had the highest quotas to fill. Like, ridiculously high; no one could have made those quotas, everyone thought, which was, of course, the point. When everyone else got to shuffle off for their measly three hours of sleep, Dib would get jabbed with an Irken's staff as the guard chuckled that had another thousand parts of put together.

At least most of the time. Sometimes―if his fingers danced just as fast across the conveyor belt as they could, and he skipped the two five-minute breaks they got during the day, sometimes, Dib could just make it as the official work day ended. His eyes would be as hard as ever, his mouth just on the verge of breaking into a grim, triumphant smile. Some people thought he must enjoy beating their little test, proving that he was able to do whatever insane task they threw at him.

Of course, this just made the Irkens madder. Which is why he would, inevitably, be asked to stay a bit longer to "discuss" something with one of the guards.

People didn't have houses anymore; those that hadn't been destroyed by the invasion had mostly been torn down to make room for more Irken restaurants, more Irken spaceyards, more Irken bases and weapons and porno theaters, while all the humans who worked in these places were just shoved into overcrowded buildings attached to each place. One long room served as quarters for at least fifty people; the lucky slept on beds, others on meager blankets, a few on nothing but bare spots in a corner where they could hope to avoid being stepped on. Everyone rushed to their sleeping spots instantly once they were released from work (well, after the bathroom, where people were liable to fall asleep sitting on the toilet). Needless to say, it didn't take long to fall asleep.

BANG! The door flew open; several people jerked awake, but most, smartly, stayed laying in their beds and pretended they hadn't.

"Here ya go, Dib," an Irken said, sending him flying through the air and skidding across the concrete floor. "'Sleep' tight," he said, with air quotations around the disgusting hyuman word.

"And quick," the other guard added. "Work begins again in two hours!"

The two laughed, closing the door behind them. Dib lay there for a moment, panting, then slowly climbed to his feet, dragging himself across the room, holding one shoulder and wincing with every step.

Every waking boy watched Dib as he made his way across the room to his bed (there were only boys; apparently even Irkens weren't going to let teenagers sleep in co-ed rooms, if only to make this whole "slavery" thing even less enjoyable). He paused when he reached it, tottered, almost fell, then steadied himself, leaning against the railing and blinking with all his might. He took another moment, another deep breath, then stripped off his ragged coat and shirt, letting them fall onto his bed. The room was filled with quiet gasps as Dib's naked torso became visible in the dim light...ribs sticking out, so thin his bones looked liable to collapse in on themselves, and just about every inch covered in bruises, burns, cuts, stab wounds...Brian felt sick as he took in the huge, crudely-stitched slash across Dib's stomach, apparently opened by a PAK-leg and clumsily closed by some untrained hand. Keef, laying in the bed above Dib's, groaned and trembled at the sight of an Irken insignia burned into Dib's flesh right over his shoulder blade.

Dib leaned over his bed for a moment, struggling with something; he finally managed to dig out what he was looking for, and ripping open his pillow, poured out an assortment of ointments, bandages, salves, bottles...Rob gasped softly, while Melvin moaned, thinking how just one of those painkillers would work on the new injuries that had been keeping him up all night. Nobody had any clue where Dib had gotten these, and nobody asked; they merely watched as Dib got to work, swallowing a pill dry, rubbing ointment on his arms, wincing at he applied something foul to a huge laser-burn on his chest...he wrapped his torso in bandages, then sat on his bed and pulled off his pants, applying the same treatment to his bloody legs, examining a foot that looked broken and limp...

Everybody watched as Dib worked, quiet, alone, muttering to himself and hissing in pain; people shook in anticipation, a dozen questions on a dozen different lips. Where did you get those supplies?! How often do you do this?! And, most of all, where did you get all those marks?! What are the Irkens doing to you?

Dib would have had to be deaf not to notice the quiet commotion around him, the quiet mutters, the other boys literally shaking in their beds; he worked silently, and then, finally finished, he stood, sending one quick glare over his shoulder at all of them, Keef, Brian, Rob, Torque...each one froze as those eyes swept over them, freezing in terror before this small, broken creature clad in nothing but underwear, glasses and a few hastily-tied bandages as though they were being glared at by the Invader himself. And each one could read the message those eyes sent.

You want to know where I got these marks? You all know―you all have them too, just not as many, and why do you care now, when there's nothing you can do about it, huh?! I told you for years where I was getting these marks, YEARS! You think this is new to me?! I've been doing this since I was eleven, ever since I first started to tell you people about Zim and how hard I had to fight just to keep him at bay. You want to ask me now about my medical supplies? You want to challenge me, ask me to share with you, or indignantly demand that I give them up since you're all suffering too? Fat chance. Plenty of you have given me scars of your own, and when Zim gave them to me before none of you gave a damn. You think you've earned a band-aid?! That's crap, and you know it! You never did a thing to prevent yourself from getting those marks, while I worked my ass off for years and just get beaten up more and more for my efforts! What right do you have even THINKING I would share them with you?

Dib's eyes swept around, then down at the floor again as he fumed silently for a moment. He pulled back on his pants, then his shirt as he crawled into bed, putting his cracked glasses down carefully on the floor and sliding them beneath the bed where they wouldn't get stepped on. It took him a minute to fall asleep, but only a minute. Once everyone else sensed his slow breathing they all turned in their beds and fell asleep too, one by one, images of Dib's broken body haunting their dreams.

They wanted to ask Dib questions. They wanted to find out what he, specifically, was going through as punishment for ever standing in the way of Invader Zim's wrath. They wanted to know how he was getting medical supplies, if they could get some too, to help their own damaged bodies. And a small few, like Keef in the bunk bed above him, even wanted to reach out, comfort Dib, show him compassion for his black-and-blue body and try to make it okay.

But nobody did it that night, and nobody brought it up later.

After all, nobody ever talked to Dib anymore.

The Irkens forbid them to talk about it; they brutally beat or executed anyone they heard, but word still got around. Within a day everybody knew how Dib had escaped.

They had been taking him on a Voot Cruiser, up to Zim's space-station; they did this a lot, nobody quite knew why, but the fact that he usually came back unconscious gave some indication of what the Invader was doing to him up there. Dib must have sensed one of the guards was sloppy this time; or maybe he was planning this, just banking on surprise, because somehow, just as they were about to march him aboard the ship, Dib had spun around and managed to snatch one of the guards' laser-whip, using it to fight off or kill all the others before anyone could stop him and run aboard the ship, pausing only to say a single quiet word over his shoulder, the first word anybody had ever heard him say since the Invasion began.

"Goodbye."

And with that he had leaped aboard the ship and taken off before anyone could stop him, flown away from the planet at top speed even as the entire orbital blockade had moved to stop him. They had nearly shot him down, too, in the end; the story went that Invader Zim himself was in pursuit, about to give the final shot when Dib managed to activate the hyperdrive and get away, flying off into the stars.

Nobody knew where he went. Some people believed he was going off to find some way to save the Earth; that he would sneak back to the planet when he could, infiltrate Zim's spacestation and kill him, or come back to the surface and lead a revolt with alien weapons he was gathering somewhere. Many believed he had gone off to join the Resisty, that secret rebellion they heard whispers of but knew almost nothing about, and that soon he would lead a fleet of Vortian warships to liberate the planet and end the Irkens' reign once and for all. Nobody knew for sure; after all, nobody had had a chance to ask Dib what he would do.

A lot of people―and a lot of people that had known Dib, too―didn't believe these stories, though. They believed that Dib had simply flown off into space to find some other planet, far away from the Irken Empire, and that he would just stay there for the rest of his life and leave the Earth to rot.

After all, nobody had ever talked to Dib since the Invasion.

Which meant that nobody had ever asked for his forgiveness, either.

Chapter Text

Irken food was disgusting. It was almost as bad for humans as Earth food was for Irkens, though it was actually edible if you could manage to keep it down. Good luck with that, though―it tasted awful, practically burned a hole in your esophagus and made your insides twist and scream in agony. You'd have to be mad or desperate to try to eat it.

Dib thought about this ironically as he leaned back in his chair with his mouth wide-open, shaking the empty Irken chip bag to meek out the last few burning crumbs from the bottom.

Throwing the empty bag to the floor―which was already so littered with them that one could hardly even walk―Dib sighed and leaned even farther back in the pilot's chair, closing his eyes wearily. For a moment, he just lay there, quiet and peaceful among his surroundings―the hum of the ship flowing through his entire body, the taste of bile searing on his tongue, the stench of his own dried sweat filling his nose. Dib could immerse himself in these things without even minding anymore―he no longer cared about the taste of the food or or how filthy he was after weeks without a shower. Even the wondrous panorama of the universe out his windows was barely worth noticing anymore, and he couldn't even do that now that he had finally gotten the hyperdrive working again, filling his view with nothing but empty whiteness.

"I'm so bored," Dib mumbled, no longer bothering to stop talking to himself, though his voice was still hoarse from thirst and disuse. "So bored..."

His muscles began to slacken, and without thinking he began to pull his tattered trench coat tighter around himself for warmth, curling up in his seat and bringing is legs up to his chest―

"Agh!"

Dib's eyes flew open as he jumped out of his seat, hissing air through his teeth and grabbing his thigh in pain. Cursing, he unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down enough for him to see the raw, burning bite mark on his leg, a remnant from his last torture session with Zim. "Fuck. Opened it again," he mumbled, poking it gingerly. "Zim wasn't lying about those stupid Blorchians, I don't think this thing is ever going to heal...damn it, why didn't I take any of my gauze with me?"

Grumbling, Dib fixed his clothing and carefully sat down on his chair, groaning as he tried to ignore the warm blood soaking through his pant leg. "Stupid leg. Stupid Zim," he muttered. "I wish I still had my medical supplies...took me forever to collect all of those. And I bet those other bastards in the dorm have already stolen them by now, used them for their own stupid..."

He trailed off, his scowl deepening. "Lousy traitors," he whispered, glaring at the whiteness out the window before him. "Bastards...sell-outs...whores..."

Dib didn't feel the least bit like sleeping anymore; he honestly wished he did, but he was too awake now to sink back into his quiet stupor. He glanced down at the control panel, reading the Irken script. "Still on course...should be there soon..." Dib sat back and sighed again, staring―pun unintended―off into space. "And still bored."

It had been four weeks now―three weeks? Twenty-five days, that was it, three-and-a-half then―since he had escaped from his home planet aboard the Voot Cruiser he had unceremoniously named the Goodbye. He'd really had no major plan when he did it―or rather he'd had several at once, most of them contradictory: attacking Zim's space station, hunting down the Tallests, even trying to find Tak and see if she would help him overthrow Zim. Instead he had finally opted for flying towards a planet called Notresistya. Rumor had it that its name was actually just a clever ploy, and that one could actually find the Resisty using the planet as a base. Maybe. And Dib was going there to meet with them, join them in exchange for help in liberating the Earth.

Maybe.

Dib put his head in his hand and started massaging his forehead, a gesture he had done countless times since this stupid space adventure began. "Why am I doing this?" he muttered. "I don't want to be doing this. I don't want to be some sort of anti-Irken fighter, I want..."

He sighed a third time, shifting slightly in his seat to alleviate the pain in his wound.

"I'm just so sick of this war," Dib whispered. "So sick of this, the fighting, the failure, the pain and the being tortured and having to look at Zim's stupid face. And theirs. All of them...laughing, mocking...well, they stopped pretty quickly, didn't they? Oh, let's ignore the green skin and homicidal rants, but it all seems a lot less funny once they're being rounded up into forced labor camps, doesn't it?

"And I don't have to do this," he added, a sudden note of wonder entering his voice. "I really don't. I could fly away, be an explorer, stay far away from Irken space if I want. Or find some other planet to live on. Maybe Meekrob...they probably wouldn't go there after their firsr Invasion failed. Or Plookesia, or just some empty planet, as long as it has air and food on it. I could...

"I could be free."

He paused, not even breathing for a moment, letting that beautiful statement hang in the air. The ship was completely silent, save for the humming of the engines and the beeping of the control panel.

But they  won't be.

"So screw them!" Dib suddenly screamed, kicking the control panel violently and ignoring his injured leg screaming at him in protest. "I can't save them, okay?! I tried to save them, I spent years trying to and it just didn't work! They wouldn't listen! They held me down and beat me while Zim managed to call the Armada and take over the planet! They don't deserve to be free, alright?! I do! What right do you have to tell me I can't take that right, huh?! HUH?!"

The accusatory voice, however, offered no reply; Dib hesitated for a moment as though waiting, then began massaging his forehead again, trembling from the end of his hair scythe to the tips of his boots. "I'm going crazy," he muttered, and meant it―even before he had blasted off into space it had been months since he had talked to anybody but himself, and he was beginning to worry he was cracking under the loneliness.

Though of course, only talking to people who hated him hadn't been good for his sanity either.

"They always hated me," Dib grumbled. "From when I was just a little kid, all they did was mock me, beat me up, call me crazy...before that was actually true...and I gave them plenty of chances. I told them they were in danger; they chose not to do anything about it, to never even take the tiniest little step outside of their safe little imaginary worlds to even consider it. They wanted to be slaves to their own stupidity, now they're just slaves to someone else's instead. They deserve what they're getting."

The ship and Dib's warring mind were both silent for a moment before the objection raised itself.

All of them?

Instantly a face flashed before Dib's eyes―well, not so much a face as a mask, goggles and a high collar obscuring any visible features. Dib flinched and shook his head roughly, a stony look in his eyes. "He's on the Massive," he growled, forcing the image from his mind. "That or some other obscure Irken military facility, there's no way I could free him. And besides..." Dib's expression turned more deadened, "he made his choice too. He had plenty of chances to believe me, to help...he made his choice too."

Dib wrapped his coat tighter around his body again, trying to push the image away. But now other images, other thoughts were slowly drifting through his mind, creating more ripples on his calm, pacific hatred.

"Though I guess they all weren't so bad," he muttered, letting his head fall to his chest. "Gretchen was pretty nice to me sometimes. And Keef...well, he was an idiot, but he was a nice idiot at least. Even when he was helping Zim, he was never...but still...

"And what about...others?"

The faces of some of his friendlier associates were replaced by others, crystal-clear images he had never actually seen, or maybe just half-glimpsed on some charity television commercial―people in other parts of the world, Africans, Asians, hell, why even go that far, people from just other parts of his own country all bound in Irken servitude. Billions of people, billions, and how many had he ever met in his life that he could hold a grudge against? Not even one percent of humanity, that was for sure. What right did he have to say no, to condemn six thousand thousand thousand people to that?

"Would they have been any different, though..." Dib trailed off, his eyes focusing on the white space again. It was a sincere question. "If I had been born in China, or England, or Swaziland or wherever, would they have believed me? Or even if I just wound up in another skool or another classroom...but probably not," he sighed, sinking lower in his chair. "Everybody I ever met was the same...why should I think anyone else would be any different?"

More of his fellow humans passed before his mind's eye: Zita, the Letter M, Poonchy, Jessica, Morla, Rob, Aki...scenes of them being mocked and abused by Irkens, but images of these same people mocking and abusing him,mixed together in a confusing mess. He felt a simultaneous jolt of pity in his heart and a rise of angry bile in his throat. Hitting and being hit...he saw them mocking and being mocked, hitting and being hit, torturing and being tortured.

That was justice. Wasn't it?

"GAH!" Dib groaned, waving his hand as if his vision were a smoky image in front of his face. "Damn, I am going crazy..."

Silence fell again, though Dib's aggrevated mind continued to swirl in his head. "Why should I even try to help any of them?" he repeated, his voice rising again. "Even if I could. Don't they deserve what they got? At some point, don't they just―just lose their right to my help, huh?! If they ever even had it...I mean, who says I have to help them in the first place? You better believe if any of them got a spaceship and managed to fly off into space, nobody would expect them to come back and try to liberate the entire planet. Why the hell do I..."

"They don't deserve to be free. I deserve to be free."

Another moment's pause; but then the other side of Dib's mind spoke again, and what it said rocked Dib to the very core of his being.

But you won't be.

There was a sharp intake of breath followed by a moment with no breath at all.

And then Dib laid his forehead against the control panel and began to sob.

This was the final argument, the last point every time Dib raged against himself, the last point either side of his schizophrenic mind could come up with. It was true and Dib couldn't figure out a single clear argument to refute it, the knowledge of it infused Dib right down to his very soul.

Dib wasn't an idiot. Dib knew he was crazy, crazy in a way that went way beyond talking to himself or being socially awkward or believing in creatures that supposedly didn't exist. He had a much deeper insanity, one that no doctor had ever diagnosed and that Dib didn't believe there was any way to ever truly cure.

Dib was, underneath all the layers of cynicism he had built up, underneath the years of pain and torment, the hatred and rage and anger towards practically everyone he had ever met, actually a genuinely good person.

No, scratch that―he was a downright hero.

And he fucking, fucking hated it.

It was stupid, it was illogical, it was horrible and painful and made him want to scream at himself with rage, but damn it, Dib didn't want those assholes back there to be enslaved, he didn't want those horrible aliens on his planet. He had come to hate that horrible little dirt-ball and its cruel inhabitants as much as anyone, but he loved it too, he loved humanity, loved it like some stupid little puppy that would follow around its master no matter how much it got kicked or abused. He was addicted, he was obsessive and compulsive and desperate―he had tried, again and again and again, to just stop this, to stop caring about all those people back there, but he just couldn't, it wouldn't work no matter how hard he tried. The very fact that he was thinking about them now was proof―now when he finally had a chance to escape it all, Zim and the humans and the pain and the torment and the taunts and the futile work, he was still thinking about them, still worrying and debating and tearing his own mind apart just because the thought of them suffering made him sick to his soul. He knew it didn't make sense, he knew they had brought this on themselves with their cruelty and their self-imposed blindness, but it just wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop.

Another dry sob forced its way out of Dib's mouth, so hard that it made his chest ache with pain. He remembered that day, all those months ago, when Zim had finally taken over. He remembered Torque punching him on that very spot as Rob and the Letter M held his arms and legs down, remembered each fist crashing against his face and stomach as he begged them, begged them to please stop, begged them to just listen for once and wondering why he even bothered, they never were going to, the fun of torturing him was just too great to be overcome by stupid reason. He didn't care about that, he didn't care that they were hurting them, he just kept begging them to hear him, to let him go, beat him up later or something because the world needed him now.

Dib could never escape this war. Dib could never abandon Earth, not as long as it was still there to be saved, not as long as he knew the Irkens were there keeping his fellow humans as slaves. Fly off to some new planet and live out the rest of his life in peace? Ha! There would be no peace. There could never be peace, he could never fall asleep happy and content if he knew that even billions of miles away his fellow humans were suffering. He could never let himself be the only free human, his very soul screamed rebellion, he would rather go back to being the lowest of the species than king of a one-person race.

That was the annoying thing about being the good guy, Dib thought bitterly. Villains, as a rule, could do good things if they wanted―Zim had helped save the Earth from Tak, Zim had worked with Dib when it benefited him, but he was still a villain; evil people could do whatever they wanted, they just didn't care about morality or anybody else, so they could go and kick puppies if they felt like it but also be nice if it helped them somehow. Heroes didn't get to do that―heroes couldn't just see people as tools or things, they had to see people as people, and that meant they couldn't just throw them away or stop caring about them no matter how much it seemed fair. Those people back on Earth were cruel, nasty, rude, idiotic, horrible people―but they were cruel, nasty, rude, idiotic, horrible people. And what kind of hero would leave somebody, anybody, dangling over a cliff?

"I hate this," Dib whispered, shaking his head still pressed against the wet control panel. "Why can't I just be normal? Why can't I just be a normal, selfish little asshole like the others? Any of them could just fly away and forget this forever...they wouldn't even be thinking about all this. So why can't I..."

He sniffled, his whole body trembling.

And then, quite suddenly, the control panel started to beep.

Dib jumped in his seat―his existential angst instantly forgotten, Dib's eyes scanned the flashing buttons and words before him, his breath caught in his throat.

"I'm here," Dib whispered, eyes going wide. According to the sensors, the Goodbye was finally coming up on its preset coordinates at Notresistya. Would you like to exit hyperspace now? the Irken letters requested, with a YES and a NO option glowing beneath them.

YES―the ship would exit the empty whiteness he had been traveling in all these weeks for the normal universe, filled with all the stars and planets that Dib loved to gaze at. And he would be hovering a mere 100,000 miles away from one of those planets, a planet that held the slim possibility of salvation for the entire planet Earth.

NO―the ship would stay in hyperspace and keep flying, bypassing the planet and continuing on into the empty darkness of space.

Dib's hand hesitated over the planet for a few seconds, hand shaking, his own heartbeat seeming to pound in his ears.

Now's the time to decide, Dib. Are you going to ignore this and keep flying, keep going until you find some other planet to stop on? Try to live out the best life you can, and forget about that doomed hellhole full of people that hate you? Are you going to do the smart thing...

...or the  right  thing?

Dib closed his eyes, took a deep breath, sniffled one final time and selected YES.

Chapter Text

Instantly the hum of the engines changed, and the whiteness outside dissolved to the beautiful velvety blackness of the normal space. Almost half the screen was taken up with a picture of the planet below, a small glowing marble of swirling pink and red clouds over blue land and lime green oceans. It was the first living planet Dib had seen since leaving his home world, vastly different from Earth, but still calling out to him with its own strange and alien beauty.

Dib got about three seconds to take in all this wonder before something blasted into the ship, knocking him out of his seat and smashing his jawbone into the control panel.

"Agh—what the—?"

Dib jumped to his feet and typed feverishly at the controls for a moment, and the holographic screen before him shifted to a diagram of the immediate space around him. Directly in the center was his own ship, with a collection of readings about its power levels and damage (left engine was currently at only half-power). On opposite sides of the screen were two groups, one made up of a small collection of broken-down alien vessels of various sizes and shapes, the other comprised of dozens of giant Irken warships armed to the metaphorical teeth. Between them, with Dib smack-dab in the middle, was a raging dogfight between scores of smaller ships like his own, zooming around each other with lasers flying every which way.

"Oh freakin' sh—"

BOOM!

The ship rocked again—Dib grabbed the control panel to keep from falling and managed to clamber back into his chair, fastening the safety belts over his chest as he leaned down over the controls. "Damn it!" More damage to his left engine, and the right had sustained minor damage as well. "As if this ship wasn't already enough of a hunk of crap—"

BOOM!

"Agh! Damn it, would you please stop?" What infuriated him even more was that it was the Resisty ships that were firing on him—which made perfect sense, of course, since he was in an Irken vessel. He had actually anticipated this sort of problem already, but he had assumed when he showed up he would be alone, beat-up and with weapons powered down, making it clear he wasn't a threat. Now, however...

"Of course, with my luck, I would show up right when the real Irkens were attacking," Dib grumbled, quickly reactivating the ship's weapons as he piloted it over to the Resisty side. "I just need to get in contact with the Resisty flagship, let them know that—" BOOM! "Agh!"

A damage report appeared on the screen in front of him—that last blast had destroyed his left engine; the ship was now leaning slightly sideways and unable to fly right. "Oh, just perfect!" He glared out of the window as the Resisty ship that had just fired at him flew ahead of him. "I'm on your side, idiot! I don't even know why I came here, you stupid little whatever-you-are—"

His eyes widened—an Irken Spittle Runner was flying up from behind the Resisty ship, its lasers glowing red. Without thinking Dib spun around the controls for his own weapons systems and fired—he hit the Spittle Runner right on its own fully-charged laser cannons, which (thanks to a rather poor design flaw) blew up its own energy cells and destroyed it in a massive explosion.

Dib let out a furious groan and threw himself back against his chair. "See? Now why did I do that? That's that stupid hero thing again, saving the idiot who blew out my own engine! I should have just been an asshole and let it—"

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!

"Hyuh?"

Dib sat up, blinking as the holo-screen told him be was being hailed by one of the larger Resisty vessels. He opened it, and the screen in front of him changed into a silhouette of an alien face—Vort, Dib guessed, based on those curled-back horn-antennae things. All this was rather annoying, actually, since it meant his view of the battle was now gone; Dib had never really learned how to work all of these buttons right and get a decent picture-in-picture.

"Unidentified vessel," said a voice, deep and commanding, "you are now entering Resisty space. What is—"

"Nar! Nar, man!" Another dark figure was moving over the silhouette's shoulder, bouncing up and down. "Who is it?"

"Be quiet!"

"But who is it? Who is it, Nar?"

"Can't you see I'm trying to figure that out? For the love of—"

"HEY!" Dib screamed; the aliens on the screen turned back to him as the ship rocked again and Dib frantically worked the controls. "You're Lard Nar, right? Leader of the Resisty, that's why the Irkens are attacking you?"

"What? Who said anything about the Resisty?" the alien said, its glowing eyes looking shifty.

"You did, dude! Like twenty seconds ago!"

"I thought I told you to shut up?"

"LISTEN!" Dib screamed; in the back of his mind it occurred to him that this was the first time he had actually had a conversation with someone other than himself for months, and he was quickly remembering why he had given up on the habit in the first place. "Now let me guess. You just saw me waste one of the Irkens and are trying to figure out if I'm on their side, right?"

"Well, uh—yes."

"Well, I'm not, okay?" Dib motioned to his very un-Irken face. "So could you guys please stop—" BOOM! "agh, firing on me?"

"Alright, alright, sheesh! Ixane! Send a message to the others telling them not to fire on that Voot Cruiser!" Lard Nar called over his shoulder, then turned around to face Dib again. "Now who the heck are you, anyway?"

"Ugh—my name is Dib Membrane. I'm here to join your stupid resistance—I'm a refugee from a planet called Ear—"

TSEEW TSEEW!

BOOM!

"Agh!"

Dib was thrown around in his seat again, but managed to stay in place. As he groaned and climbed to his feet he failed to notice Lard Nar's face crackle and disappear from the screen, or the new channel that forced its way open to present a new image in its place.

"Agh, freakin'—I thought you told your people to stop doing—" Dib stood and looked up, and his eyes suddenly went as wide as saucers. "Zim?"

The Invader grinned at him, a twisted, unimaginably creepy grin of triumphant fury. "Ah, hello, Dib."

TSEEW TSEEW!

BOOM!

"Agh!" Dib managed to stay up by grabbing the control panel again, while the ship reported its remaining engine was at half-power, his weapons were worthless and a huge chunk of its hull was gone. Choking slightly, Dib called up another screen for more information, and a new layout appeared beside Zim's face, showing his ship, with handy captions showing all of its damaged, with another ship hovering over it like a vulture, about twice as large as his and significantly less reliant on chewing gum to stay together. The computer identified it as an Elite-Class Mega-Voot with very high-energy weapons. It also reported that it was "new and shiny," and added that Dib was "screwed against it." Irken computers weren't subtle.

"Shit," Dib grumbled, staring from the readings to Zim's smirking face.

"You didn't think I was really just going to let you escape, did you, Dib-worm?" Zim asked, his pink-red eyes glittering. "As though there was ever any question of where you would try to go, hmm?"

Dib actually blinked in confusion for a moment, staring at his enemy oddly. "Huh?"

"Oh, yes, little worm. It was so easy to lay this trap for you. Why, I've already been here for a week, Dib-stink, I actually had the Tallests delay our attack on these fools just so you would have time to—"

"WAIT," Dib said, holding up his hand and making the Invader pause. "Hold it right there. You're honestly telling me that you—came here—to lay a trap for me?"

Zim stared. "Um...yes?"

"Seriously?"

Zim's eyes narrowed, both annoyed and suspicious now. "Yes..."

"You—actually left Earth—for me? You just—left your huge palatial space station with its hundreds of Irken servants, boarded yourself on a cramped little Voot Cruiser—"

"Hey, I'll have you know this is an Elite-Level—"

"-just so you could fly, for weeks, across two galaxies, park yourself here, wait another week, not because you wanted to take part of this attack on the Resisty...but just because you thought I would show up here eventually? You were that sure I would come?"

"Well, where the Irk else would you go?"

"And recapturing me is—that important to you? You couldn't just send out a 'Wanted' report for me, you had to get off your throne, quit all the human-torturing you love so much, just to come and get me here, personally?"

Zim closed his eyes, teeth grounding. "WHAT IS YOUR POINT, DIB-WORM?"

Dib didn't answer at first; he just stared at Zim, his eyes cloudy and confused, and then, after a moment, he began to tremble, his lips rubbing together oddly. They opened slightly—a snort came out, then a tiny scoff—

—and then Dib collapsed against the control panel laughing, pounding his fist as a string of insane giggles escaped from his mouth.

Zim's eyes widened momentarily, then his eyes narrowed, and an ugly sneer split a face that was turning red quickly (and rather illogically, given Irken physiology). "WHAT'S SO FUNNY?" he screamed, so angrily that holographic spittle flew out from the screen.

"HA HA HA-" Dib looked up, still laughing, and Zim couldn't help but wonder at how crazy (-er than usual) that wide, almost painful grin made him look, like a psychopathic version of his old experiment Nick. "What's so funny?" he managed to gasp out between laughter. "Don't you—HA HA—GET IT, ZIM?"

"GET WHAT?"

"HA HA—that YOU-" he pointed at the screen, still laughing, "-are even STUPIDER-" he wiped a tear from under his glasses "than I AM!" he jabbed his thumb to his chest, and his laughter instantly died, replaced by a sneer of arrogance that made Zim's blood boil.

"ME? Stupider than YOU?" Zim's hologram seemed to radiate fury as he gazed down at Dib. "Hmph. Impossible."

"Oh, you're wrong," Dib said, still sneering, but now chuckling lightly once again. "Oh, I'm pretty stupid, that's true, but seriously—YOU? You really take the CAKE, Zim! And do you know why?"

Zim stared at him darkly, smoldering rage glittering in his bug-like crimson eyes. But he didn't interrupt the smelly Earth-beast, wondering what he was getting at, and what it had to do with pastries that he had no memory of ever purloining.

"...Why?"

"Because I...almost...didn't come here," Dib admitted, locking eyes with his old nemesis, and hoping that he wouldn't notice the way Dib's hands were slowly floating across the control panel. "I almost passed right by without stopping. I almost went with a totally different plan."

Zim's eyes narrowed. "And what plan is that?"

Dib nonchalantly pressed a button, transferring most of the ship's remaining power to his one crippled engine.

"To let you have Earth."

"Pfft."

"No, I'm serious," Dib said, and Zim looked at him oddly; he sounded it. "I was just going to fly away, ignore the Resisty and the Irkens and just let you all fight it out by yourselves. But I couldn't really do it in the end." The boy gave a twisted, oddly vicious smile. "I guess you know me well enough to realize that, huh Zim?"

"Well, I am the Amazing Ziii-"

"I can't—" Zim actually stopped talking at Dib's interruption, Dib wondered vaguely if that was a first "stop fighting. Not as long as you and the rest of you evil little lizards are enslaving my people, or any other innocent species. Because even when I escaped from you, I'm enslaved...enslaved to the whole human race." Dib's mocking, laughing smile returned. "But you, Zim? You managed to conquer an entire planet, but you're so freaking pathetic that you couldn't stand the thought of just one of your billions of prisoners getting away!" He punched himself on the breastbone. "I'm willing to throw my entire life away for doing what's right. But you? You're really a slave. You threw your whole life away just to get me!"

Zim's eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean, Dib-worm?" he growled, barely moving his lips with each word.

Dib's smile grew even more manic. "Well, like I said, Zim..." One hand wrapped around the control stick in front of him, while another hovered over the remaining engine's ignition. "I just can't seem to stop—FIGHTING!"

BANG!

Dib's hand slammed down on the button in front of him, and with a twist of his joystick the ship shot straight upwards, right towards the underside of Zim's hull.

The Invader got about one second to realize that something was happening.

BOOM!

"AGH!—TSSST!"

The holo-screen went staticky as Dib was thrown from his position, forcing himself just up enough to hit another button on the control panel—instantly a wall sealed itself just behind his chair, separating the main cockpit, and a second later the whole tiny chamber shot out from the rest of the Goodbye, blasting away through space. Zim righted himself just in time to see the escape pod blasting away, visible on his own holo-screen along with a damage report from the crash.

Zim took one more second to register his shock, but no more.

"Oh no you don't!"

Dib, meanwhile, was flying away from Zim's ship as fast as his escape pod could go, which, as it turned out, was not very fast given how beaten-up and damaged it was. He didn't even have enough power to go into hyperspace, there was no way he could outrun Zim's ship, no way he could escape—

"NO!" Dib screamed, closing his eyes tight. "I am not going back I am not going back I am NOT going back with that asshole—" His mind began to swirl with harsh images, memories of pain, memories of torture, with memories of the other humans inexorably but illogically mixed in—he was not going back, he was not going back to that hellhole, he was going to save that hellhole, but the thought of returning beforehand was abhorrent. He wasn't going back, not going back he repeated to himself, over and over, he was going to defeat Zim and the Irkens and save the Earth, he would not go back to slavery and torture he had a plan damn it and he did NOT come all this way to see it collapse on itself now!

The problem, of course, was that Dib had no idea what to do now; he had almost forgotten about the battle raging around him, the Irken and Resisty ships all firing wildly, Dib swerved to avoid getting hit, but where was he going, as he watched more and more of his allies were vanishing, some being destroyed, some retreating into hyperspace with bright white flashes of light. He typed furiously at the controls, trying to open another link with Lard Nar, assuming he was still here—but as the Vort's face appeared the ship suddenly rocked, and his screen flickered between two alien visages, one ally and one foe.

"—going—TSSST!—"

"You'll nev—TSSST!—away from the amaz—TSSST!—ZIIIII—TSSST!—IIIIIIII—TSSST!—IIIIM!"

Dib cursed—he had known, in the back of his mind, that getting rid of Zim probably wouldn't have been that easy, but he had really, really hoped it would be.

"—TSSST!—if—TSSST!—need of assistance—TSSST!"

"—on for size, Dib—TSSST!"

Suddenly the ship rocked; Dib let out a choking noise as he froze in the middle of space, then began to move backwards, towards Zim's ship.

He blanched. "A tractor beam? What the hell, why didn't he just—well, then again, he once trapped me in a cage made out of candy canes, so why even ask?"

"—ha-ha, foolish—TSSST! You're mine now!"

"Grr...NO!"

Dib felt hot tears burning behind his eyelids; he bent down over the controls and searched frantically—he powered the engine but it did no good, weapon systems were down, what was left, what was there he could do?

The ship rocked slightly as it bumped into Zim's; Dib let out a cry as it rumbled again, and his eyes widened as metallic tentacles (apparently coming from Zim's ship) wrapped themselves over the pod's window, holding the ship in place against Zim's hull. Meanwhile the screen's reception finally seemed to clear, and the Irken's face appeared glowing with triumphant fury.

"Okay, Dib...THAT made me MAD!"

The ship shook again; the tentacles from Zim's craft tightened, making the hull groan and the plastic material in the window curve in. Zim's hologram grinned widely, enjoying the look of terror that spread across his rival's race.

"Ha! Ha-ha! Really, Dib. You honestly thought you could get away like that? Oh, I'm going to enjoy dragging you back to the Earth in chains! Heavy chains! Heavy chains made of itchiness and—and heavy! Mwa-ha-ha!"

"No..." Dib shook his head, eyes closed but failing to hold back the tears streaming down his face. "No no no no NO!"

The boy could only tremble as Zim's cackling sounded in his ears.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dib," the Invader mocked. "And you really thought you could do it, too, didn't you? Huh? You thought that you could just fail on Earth, and then blast off into space and guess what? You failed again! Mwa-ha! MWA-HA-HA!"

"No...NO..." Dib tried to cover his ears, but he couldn't block out Zim's triumphant voice.

"Oh, and don't you think you'll be able to start anything up on Earth, either," Zim continued, as his ship's hold on Dib's tightened even more, making the metal scream even louder. "I have special plans for you, now—the other slaves tell me you don't like them very much? Well, no problem!" he laughed. "I've prepared a special cell for you on my space station, where you'll never have to be around another disgusting human ever again!"

"No no no..."

"Oh, but don't worry. You'll get to see all your little dirt-friends all day long, because we'll have holograms up so you can watch everything we're doing on Earth—not that there's anything you'll be able to do about it! HA HA! How do you like that, huh? Because really, I put a lot of thought into all this, my torture expert thought it was—"

"NO!" Dib screamed, suddenly recovering from his horror and pointing at Zim's hologram, a sneer on his face even as tears continued to flow down his cheeks. "You're wrong, Zim! I'm not going back to Earth, and neither are you! And you know what? Not only did you give up your amazing conquest just to get me, but you just made TWO MORE BIG mistakes!"

Zim scoffed. "What?"

"One," Dib held up a finger, "you forgot what I said about how I will never stop fighting. And two," he held up another finger while forming his other hand into a fist, "you brought me close enough to you to make doing this worthwhile."

He pounded down on the control panel. Instantly read lights began to flash.

Zim raised a non-existent eyebrow, antennae quirked. "Eugh?"

"Self-destruct sequence activated."

Dib had a few more seconds to take in Zim's falling face, antennae drooping against his head. The human's face twisted into one last insane, maniac look.

"One last gift to Earth. That answer you're question?"

Zim didn't have time to really register Dib's words. He didn't even have time to figure out that should really detach the tentacles quickly and fly away while he still had a chance.

He could just stare at Dib's insane eyes before a blast of white light blasted through both of their ships, and everything went black.

So, this was it, then.

The ship exploded, blasting a hole in the hull of Zim's ship and sending Dib hurtling into space. There was no way anyone could survive that. It was the end for him.

The end of his sad, miserable life.

He wondered, vaguely, if any of it even mattered.

He'd blown a hole in Zim's ship. So? It was much bigger than Dib's measly little escape pod, he quite literally had no idea whether or not it would put Zim's out of commission, if the explosion was anywhere near where Zim actually was on his ship, or if the Invader would somehow survive the attack even if it did manage to hit him. And if he did kill Zim, would that even make a difference? It wouldn't liberate the planet; the Irken occupation would go on, the Tallests could simply replace him with a more-competent, saner viceroy who would almost certainly be just as evil. Was kamikazeing his old enemy really the best idea? It had seemed like it at the time...but maybe he had been wrong. Maybe if he had just let Zim take him back to Earth he could have escaped when they got there, gone back to start his resistance and do some real good?

It had all been worthless. He'd done the best he could, he went through all that grief, and even when he decided to do the right thing in the end he hadn't really been able to. The Earth would still be enslaved, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Heh. Look at him. Still worrying about nothing but that stupid little planet he hated, even when he was dead.

Was he dead? He was still thinking...was that how it was supposed to work? He had never quite figured out what he believed about the afterlife, but this really wasn't like anything he had expected—he still existed, cogito ergo sum and all that, but he couldn't see any Pearly Gates or fiery caverns or anything. Mostly couldn't really see anything, he just felt pain. Strong pain, but also sort of dull and distant, not really real enough to think this was "abandoning all hope" time quite yet.

Maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe was just asleep or something. Yeah, that was it...maybe he was just asleep and this was all a bad dream or something. Maybe he would wake up in a second to find out that Zim never even existed, or that he never won, or that Dib never left Earth...and then he would have another chance to do something better this time.

Maybe.

If only he could wake up...

"Shloonktapooxis, man the weapons! K'N'Gungun, take the controls, make sure we're not being pursued! Ixane, see how many ships are with us and start tracking down anyone who got separated! And Vogtix, by the moons and stars, would you put some bloggin' pants on!"

"Sir!"

Lard Nar turned as, amongst all the chaos and noise of the ship, Ixane rushed forward, followed by two medics pushing a hover-stretcher before them. The Vort turned and sighed, rubbing his tired eyes with a fist. "That's the alien?"

"The one who destroyed the Mega-Voot, yes."

"How's his condition?"

"Not good, sir," one of the medics said, pulling back the stretcher's sheet.

Lard Nar leaned forward, extending his antennae and then immediately withdrawing them at the smell the creature was letting off, a mixture of fetid alien sweat and salty, metallic blood. He could easily see cuts on his skin and clothes, bits of metal shrapnel sticking out of his flesh, and burns that seemed to have left its head-fur patchy and smoldering. His two eyes seemed to be moving quickly beneath their eyelids, and his breathing was ragged and strained.

"Is there anything you can do?"

"We're not sure, sir," the second medic said, half of her eyes on him and half of her patient. "Preliminary scans show a lot of internal bleeding, we'll need to try to operate immediately."

"Do what you can. Take him down to sick bay, siphon off any spare power we can—"

Suddenly the alien made a harsh, choking sound, making everyone around him jump.

"Errg—Erg—"

The alien was trying to open its eyes, now—it blinked painfully, staring up at Lard Nar desperately. When he had first spoken to the thing Lard Nar remembered its eyes looking very round, reflecting white light at him in a harsh, eerie manner—they looked smaller, now, less intense, with brown irises that pleaded in agony.

"Er—Erf—"

"What is it, what are you saying?"

"Please—Erf—help—need—"

"What is it, what do you need?"

"Need—Er—Earth!" The creature coughed violently, blood splattering down its chin.

"'Erf?'" Lard Nar repeated. "What's that?"

"Earth—Earth!"

"Sir, we need to get him to sick bay," the second medic said again, both mouths frowning with concern.

Lard Nar straightened up, waving his hand. "Yes, yes, of course," he said, glancing downward at the pleading creature again. "Hurry."

"Please—need—Earth! Help, Earth!"

The medics pushed him away, vanishing down the corridor that would take them to the medical bay.

Lard Nar watched them go, frowning slightly to himself. He felt a twist of sympathy for the probably-doomed creature—whatever he was, he had certainly shown himself to be a determined soldier, just the sort of man (...or woman or whatever, who could tell with aliens?) that Lard Nar needed on his side. A pity, really, to come all that way and wind up like this in your first battle...he hoped the alien recovered. Cross-species medicine was never a safe science, but hopefully his doctors had some of this "erf" the patient needed so badly, whatever that was , and could fix up his wounds without damaging something else by mistake.

"Captain, we need you at the bridge!"

"What?" Lard Nar snapped out of his daze, blinking. "Oh..."

He rushed to the front of the ship, pushing the strange creature out of his mind as best he could. He had other things to worry about now, like reorganizing the fleet, finding a new base of operations, figuring out a new way to attack the Irkens...he had to keep fighting, after all.

Still, even as he rushed to do his duties, that alien's unknown request remained in the back of Lard Nar's mind. Whatever he was trying to ask for, it seemed to be a very important question.

Oh, well. If the creature survived, maybe he would have a chance to answer it.