the_krys (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} the_krys) wrote,@ 2008-10-21 01:36:00 |
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| Current location: | Zed Zed 9 Plural Zed Alpha |
| Current mood: | Vague |
| Current music: | Frantic Cockpit - Zimphony |
Fall to Ruin - Chapter Nineteen
Fall to Ruin
'This morning I began with my usual schedule planned. A few hours later, I found myself running for my life and relying on my greatest enemy for support, watching as the last pieces of humanity fell around me. My only hope now is that we can trust each other enough to get out of this alive.'
Warnings: Death/gore, dark humor, possibly some slight language. (In addendum for this chapter - most blatant references to Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy EVER.)
Chapter Nineteen – In which a baby is coddled
The very first thing Zim was aware of upon coming out of his brief period of shutdown was that there was a very unpleasant thing shoved up near him. And of course, the very first thing he thought to do was to push that unpleasant thing away – unfortunately, he'd forgotten the noodle-like quality his arms had recently taken on, so all it really accomplished was making the thing whine at him in a terribly familiar and equally unpleasant voice.
“Zim, will you wake up already? I kind of need your help.” And then the thing started shaking him. Okay, now that was really the last straw!
He was just about to smack some sense into the annoying thing when the implications of his noodle-arms made their full impact (that is, he wasn't going to be able to make the inferior creature go away), and thus he instead groaned in exasperation. It was a good thing his vocalization organs were all in working order, else he'd be quite frustrated at not being able to show his...well...frustration. But show it he did, in his typical only-vaguely-rational manner. “Go stick yer head in a pig,” he grumbled, managing to do something akin to waving one arm about in hopes of it landing a hit.
It failed to, but it didn't really matter anyway; at the least, it would've only been the equivalent of having a gnat land on oneself.
When the whatsit seemed to take the hint and refrained from any further spewing of the spoken word in its rather annoying fashion, Zim was able to further take into consideration his condition and surroundings. He had a headache and was uncomfortably cramped, that much was certain, and a much smaller whatsit lay curled up next to him – the infant, he presumed. Wherever he was stank of human, yet there remained a distinctive hint of the familiar sterile smell of his own kind; no doubt he was resting in the command chair of Tak's ship.
But what was that squishy something under his head?
It took a load of effort to crack open an eye, but the Irken managed the chore admirably – he even went so far as to glare at the enormous peach thing hovering nearby. He couldn't quite make out exactly what it was, but could only conclude that said enormous peach thing was Dib's head. Nothing else could truly be that gigantic; Zim didn't even need his optical implants to finish adjusting to recognize its sheer size.
Systems finally realizing he was indeed out of his brief hibernation, Zim shook off the sluggish feeling any other inferior species might have referred to as 'sleepiness' and sat up. It took a bit of doing, as there seemed to be a severe shortage of areas in which he could move his appendages without them whacking into things, but again, he managed it quite well.
He spent the first few moments of his renewed upright position just frowning - first at the fact that he was more or less shoved up against something rather unpleasant, then at the unpleasant thing itself, which had unsurprisingly turned out to be the Dib. And just in case he hadn't done enough frowning, he frowned some more when he spotted the source of the head-supporting squish.
“Why are there fabricky marshmallows shoved up next to the command chair?” A legitimate question, in his opinion, but by the look on Dib's face, his quite-clearly-inferior ally seemed to think otherwise.
Motioning to the space around them – or lack thereof – Dib replied, “There wasn't enough room, so I figured I'd do what I could to fix it. And they're called pillows, by the way.” At the following unimpressed snort from the Irken, he added irritably, “It was the best I could do, all right?”
Zim merely grunted in response, tugging the pillows on his side of the command chair out and tossing them into Dib's face. “If you weren't so stupid, you'd have figured out a better way.” Not at all bothered by the dark look the teen shot at him, he gestured towards the pillows on the other side with a particularly obnoxious haughty smirk. “Remove those, and Zim shall fix all problems!”
The Irken paused for a moment, lips pursed as he stared at Dib, before he corrected himself. “Well, most problems. I can't fix your smelly human-ness.”
“Like I'd want to be 'fixed' in the first place,” Dib retorted, scowling at Zim as he grudgingly did as requested (ordered, technically – Irkens weren't altogether great at requesting things from non-Irkens). “You didn't have to throw those at me, you know.”
Sticking out his tongue, Zim otherwise ignored him, and instead scooped up the infant to plop her onto his lap; she whined and squirmed in displeasure at the action, having been in the middle of a nice nap, but was quick to calm when no more sudden movements followed. She didn't fall back to sleep, however, more interested in blearily staring at the console as Zim tapped in commands, causing the computer to emit beeps every now and then.
“Well. If you're not even going to try to be more courteous, then I'm not going to ask if you're feeling better now. I didn't even care in the first place,” Dib huffed, slouching back and picking at the threads of the last pillow he'd tugged from between the pilot seat and the wall. He looked quite pathetic.
“Mmhmm,” Zim responded dully in a manner that suggested quite clearly that he was only pretending to listen, and also wasn't even going to be bothered to pretend he was interested. Instead, he busied himself with the various buttons before him; one had a panel sliding open, spindly mechanical arms tucking away their supply bags into storage, another emitted an oddly unhappy-sounding blat and seemed to serve no further function other than to make funny noises. (Whether it was meant to do something or not, it had the baby laughing.)
At the last push of a button, gears somewhere in the ship began to shift, and the cockpit slowly adjusted itself; the command chair slid back to allow more leg room before widening to rest flush against the inner walls. Needless to say, the two rivals-turned-allies were quite relieved at being able to put an additional and altogether amazing six inches between them.
Tossing the pillow aside (it was quickly claimed as a cuddly plaything by the infant, and was just as quickly discarded due to being boring), Dib leaned forward to bring up the main menus, tapping through them as he spoke. “Okay, so the ship itself is pretty much good to go. According to Zxherm, the only thing left to do is scan through all the programming and have your PAK work out all the bugs.”
“Mmm, yes, and he's clearly the expert on Irkens and our technology,” Zim replied blandly.
“Uh, well...you can do that, right?”
“Of course Zim can do it! Any Irken – no, any smeet – with a working PAK can do it!” Zim spat.
Dib grimaced a bit; why'd the Irken have to be so incredibly loud when they were only a foot apart? “Wasn't your PAK damaged?”
“Oh, that was fixed ages ago,” the alien shrugged. “You need not be so worried about Zim's health, Dib-smelly, for Zim is amazing!”
“I didn't say I was worried.”
It was obviously a very unconvincing argument. “Of course you didn't.” Apparently considering the conversation over, Zim pulled an opaque cord from his PAK, fitting the end into a small outlet on the console; immediately, an energy current surged through the cable, feeding streams of data between computer and Irken.
Watching uncertainly, Dib drummed his fingers against his leg, feeling terribly jittery all of a sudden. What if Gaz had booby-trapped the ship just to mess with him? What if Zim wasn't able to fix what problems might come up? He just felt as though there were so many things that could go wrong at this critical moment, and the fact that he had to rely on the help of various genocidal aliens wasn't calming his fears in the least.
“Quit staring at me.”
Dib jumped a bit, startled. “Huh?”
The Irken frowned at him, antennae slightly flattened. “You're staring – it's creepy.”
“Oh, uh...sorry, I guess. I was just...thinking.” Shifting his gaze to the control panel, Dib bit at his lip for a moment, then glanced upward, out past the confines of the Spittle Runner to a world he'd probably never see again. “...I never got a good picture of Bigfoot,” he muttered sullenly.
Zim turned somewhat to give him an odd look. “Ehn? What's that matter?”
“I was trying to convince myself otherwise, but that's exactly it,” Dib sighed. “It doesn't matter. Not now, anyway.”
For a moment the alien didn't respond, tugging the cord from the console, then having to stop and tug it from the infant, who had apparently viewed it as some sort of silly object to be played with. “No – bad smeet!” After giving her a quick flick to the forehead (despite that she didn't actually consider it punishment), Zim retracted the cord back into his PAK and returned his gaze to Dib. “Why mention it, then? Or does that not matter, either?”
Rubbing at his forehead with his palm, Dib answered quietly, “I guess it really doesn't. It's just...I should be way more upset about leaving my home planet, but all I can think about is all the things I'll be able to see once we leave. It's like everything that used to be important just...” He stopped then, directing a quizzical look at the Irken next to him. “This means absolutely nothing to you, doesn't it?”
Zim only shrugged – which was as much of a 'no' as 'no' itself was. “Tell me, Dib-thing, did you reprogram the ship yourself?”
“Gaz fixed some of the flight systems, but otherwise yeah, I did most of the work. Why?”
Looking back and forth between the ship console and Dib, Zim seemed quite conflicted. Then, he grudgingly mumbled, so low that the teen had to strain to hear it, “Satisfactory, I suppose. Couldn't have been that hard, anyway; simple ship, simple programming. No other reason for Zim having nothing to fix.”
“It's working?” Dib exclaimed excitedly, before realizing something. “Wait, were...were you trying to compliment me?”
“Zim compliments no one! You reprogrammed a simple system – there is absolutely nothing impressive about that!”
They both knew otherwise, though; Tak's ship was custom-built through and through, sophisticated and complex, perhaps even to most Irkens. Regardless, Dib bit back his response - a compliment from Zim, however masked it was, wasn't something to be taken lightly. “Well, if it's working, what are we still doing here?” he asked, snapping the covershield shut with a push of a button, a slight grin on his face as he reached for the controls-
-just as Zim grabbed for the levers. “What do you think you're doing?” the Irken huffed, giving him a challenging glare.
“Oh, no, Zim. You're not flying it – I am.”
“Absolutely not! This ship is Irken property!” Zim snapped, swatting at Dib's hands.
It did little, if anything, to sway him. “As if! The ship is mine, I found it fair and square!”
“It crashed into your backyard, that's hardly finding it!”
“That doesn't change the fact that it's my ship! I know the controls better than you!” Dib exclaimed, growing more and more irritated by the second. Of course Zim had to make a big deal over something as stupid as who got to pilot when it was clear that he was the one that ought to.
Hell, Zim crashed all the time, anyway.
No contest, right?
The alien growled and tugged at the controls, and the two nearly tumbled over when the Spittle Runner suddenly lurched sideways to slam into the garage wall, leaving a gaping hole. Zim only managed to keep the infant on his lap out of reflex, grabbing her before she fell to the floor. “Oh, nice one!” he spat when the baby clearly voiced her distress, clutching at the Irken as she cried.
Throwing his arms up in frustration, the human yelled back, “That was your fault! Don't yell at me!”
“You're making the smeet whine! Silence your ugly mouth-parts and just let Zim pilot!” Zim snapped in response, freeing one hand from the infant's insistent grip to reach for the controls. Dib hastily smacked his hand away, bringing him to complain, “You don't even know how to get to where we're going!”
Rolling his eyes, Dib replied sarcastically, “So where are we going, oh all-knowing Irken?”
“The Massive, of course!” Zim huffed.
Alarm bells immediately went off in Dib's mind – the Massive? The Irken capitol ship? Why, of all places, did the alien want to go there? His leaders would kill him!
Oh...but...Zim didn't know that they knew of his failure; didn't know that they'd devised the whole thing themselves...
Okay...he could deal with this. He was only hiding a potentially devastating secret from Zim that would turn everything the Irken knew upside-down; not a big deal, not at all.
It was for Zim's own good – for the good of all the alien species the Irken empire had enslaved.
For the good of the last remnants of his own race.
Taking a deep breath and steadying himself, Dib stated firmly, “No. No, we're not. We're staying as far from your empire as we can.”
“But-!” the Irken started.
“No, Zim! No buts! We're not going to argue about this!” Dib cut him off, glaring fiercely. “Who gets to pilot the ship is one thing, but where we're going is a different one altogether. I don't want anything to do with the rest of your race, and trust me, you'll thank me for it once we're out of this mess.”
An antenna quirked, Zim caught off-guard enough by the last bit to where he didn't even put up a fight when Dib took hold of the levers. One twist had the ship backing out of the hole the Irken had accidentally created in the wall, another had it tilting towards the sky, and then – before Zim could get in a word of dissent – he slammed the controls forward, and with a roar of its engines, the Spittle Runner took flight for the first time in years.
The vessel climbed higher and higher, gaining speed as it careened past clouds and through the thinning atmosphere of planet Earth – and inside the ship, Dib found himself pressed back against the seat by the alarming force of physics. Next to him, Zim shrieked over the baby's shrieks, “YOU DIDN'T EVEN ADJUST THE G-FORCE COMPENSATORS?!”
Only managing a slight squeak of terror, Dib didn't even respond as the Irken strained forward to slam the hand not curled protectively around the infant against the controls before he was forced back against the command chair once more. The strange and unhappy-sounding blat sounded again, followed by a familiar voice. “Back-up personality data reinstated – voice command back online.”
“Computer, adjust G-force compensators! Quickly!” Zim screeched.
“Was that Tak's personality data?!” Dib exclaimed, horrified. “I thought I got rid of that!”
Zim only gave a strangled sound of frustration, lost in the roar of jets and the baby's wails, before he yelled back, “I don't care if it is so long as it'll-” All movement seemed to come to a sudden stop, and the Irken cut himself short, finding that he was able to move freely once again. “Ah, there we go!”
“Yes, you're welcome,” the computer responded in a tone that was surprisingly snarky, especially considering that it only had artificial intelligence. “But if you yell at me again, I swear I'll eject you.”
Before Zim could say anything that might set the ship off (especially since its personality was that of another Irken who hated him), Dib spoke up. “We'll keep that in mind, thanks.” When the computer only bleeped in response, he shrugged and reclaimed the controls with only a slight bit of hesitance – he'd apparently done something right when working on the ship all those years ago, especially if Tak's personality was now seemingly willing to tolerate his presence.
The vastness of space lay spread out before them, ink-black and streamed with starlight, as the Spittle Runner continued onward, the roar of the engine fading to little more than a subtle hum. And while Dib was more worried about the immense alien warship plainly visible beyond Earth's orbit, Zim had something else on his mind. “It's just an AI, you don't have to be all polite to it,” he told the teen, one antenna perked in amusement. “It wouldn't really eject us.”
“In case you forgot, it tried to kill me when I was a kid. Your fault, by the way,” Dib reminded him flatly. “I'm still wondering why it changed its mind.”
Zim chuckled a bit, bouncing the still-crying infant on his lap – when it failed to calm her, he rolled his eyes and gave in to her demanding grabby hands, lifting her up and allowing her to snuggle against him. “Without a doubt, it's because Zim is here.” He curled up a bit around the baby, who – now that the uncomfortable force and noise was gone and she was being securely held – quieted some, rubbing her wet face against the Irken's ruined uniform; he grimaced a bit at the somewhat irritating tingle the water from her tears caused, but otherwise ignored the sensation, more intent on teasing Dib. “It probably considers you a slave of the Empire, as you should rightfully be.”
“Do you want me to never bathe again?” Dib retorted, a clear warning hint to his tone.
The Irken made a face and scooted away as best he could, and the computer took it in itself to speak up dully. “Actually, I just wanted to get out of that musty storage space. It was just about driving me insane.”
“So you haven't ejected us because we helped you?” Dib asked.
“I'm not ejecting you because you helped me. Zim, on the other hand, I really want to eject, because he's a moron and a threat to the entire Irken civilizaton,” Tak's personality responded, getting an offended exclamation of sorts from Zim. “But I won't. What with your needing to escape Earth and all, I'm guessing Zim screwed up royally, and that's enough to keep me satisfied. ...By the way, you're being hailed.”
Zim's eyes bugged out at that, and he looked around frantically for somewhere to hide – as if there were any hiding places in a tiny ship meant for a single person. Quietly groaning, Dib could only hope to whatever higher powers existed that it was the 'Vxxethasylcb' person Zxhermnskilek had mentioned, and not some other Krakemeth who would blast them to pieces just for the fun of it. “Thanks, computer. Uh...put them through, I guess.”
Ignoring Zim's hissed protest, he clasped his fingers together and rested his hands against the control panel as the Spittle Runner slowed to a stop, and as a video connection was established, the teen also ignored (or tried to ignore) all the millions of other things that could go wrong now. The visage of a Krakemeth appeared on-screen, drawing fearful whimpers from the infant until she tucked her head against Zim, and before any tension whatsoever could be built up, the thing screeched, “Human scum! And Irken scum! Sergeant, Sergeant! Alien scum! Oh, oh, I know you!” It flailed at Zim with a dual-arm. “Sergeant, the Irken thing is still alive!”
Before either of the Irken vessel's occupants could be appropriately terrified by the turn of events, a plasma shot sounded, and the Krakemeth on-screen fell off its perch, shrieking in pain as another of its kind ambled forth to take its spot. “You shot me! You shot me in the pleenkth!” the first creature howled from its spot on the floor.
The new arrival stared down at his injured companion for a moment before stating pleasantly, “Yes, so it seems,” and turning to consider the so-called 'alien scum'. A few low-pitched gurgles escaped him when he looked over the more Irken of the two.
“Hey...” Zim started, recognition clear in his expression. “I remember you! You tried to squash me! Ehh, what was it...Zetthy-sylib!”
The sergeant grimaced, but patiently replied, “Um, yes. Quite.” He then regarded Dib with squinted eyes before grinning widely – it wasn't an altogether nice-looking display, but it still managed to bring relief to the boy when it was accompanied by, “So Zxherm did his job well, got you and your tiny friends all safe-like, yes?”
Dib gave a little shrug. “I guess so. I mean, we're still here, after all. He helped a lot.”
“I helped, too,” the computer piped up.
“Wonderful, absolutely,” Vxxethasylcb responded with an enthusiastic nod. “And little Irken Zim, quite impressive running. Very impressive; fooled everyone, I think.”
“I'm not little – for your information, Zim's height is worthy of respect and admiration now!” Thanks to a most-likely illegal device of his own making, sure, but he wasn't about to openly admit that - ever. “And you almost squashed Zim!” the Irken spat in reply, glaring with all his might.
The Krakemeth seemed bemused, tilting his head somewhat, and apparently not even noticing that his companion was still screaming in pain on the floor next to him. “Oh, really now? I thought you meant for me to do that. The shut-down was a nice touch, very very nice. Impressive little thing, isn't he, crew?” The few Krakemeth nearby grated out their agreements (save for the one on the ground, who just screamed some more).
From the frazzled look on Zim's face, he wasn't sure whether he was being insulted or praised, and to save himself the aggravation, he gave up trying to figure it out. Instead, he cuddled up against the baby in a rather huffy manner, glaring at the wall nearest him.
“So, um...Vxxethasylcb, was it?” Dib asked hesitantly, getting a grunt that sounded somewhat like an agreement from the alien on-screen. “Zxherm told us that you'd be able to get us past-”
“Yes, I can. Yes,” Vxxethasylcb interrupted, amusement gone from his expression. “I can get you past. Get you present and future, too.” He then frowned at Dib in a way that seemed to mean 'shut up or you'll get me in trouble'.
Managing a weak laugh, the teen nodded. “Yeah, that's...exactly. That's exactly what I meant. So, uh...you'll get us...future.”
“We're going to Milliway's?” Zim asked hesitantly, seeming completely bemused by the sudden change in conversation. Not only that, but why was this Krakemeth who had tried to squish him – him, ZIM, of all people! – suddenly being so cheerful-friendly? “I don't even like the food there – they're always begging you to eat them, and that end of the universe thing is really getting old!”
“We're...what? ...Actually, no. No, never mind. I don't even want to know.” Shaking his head in disbelief, Dib turned back to Vxxethasylcb, who was immersed in another fit of low gurgles.
“So you want future. Can do, can do,” the Krakemeth grated out past his sounds of amusement. “Irken Zim, I presume you know Galactic Sector QQ7 Active J Gamma?”
A slight frown made itself known on Zim's face, and he replied sullenly, “Most respectable Irkens pretend not to.”
A wave of a dual-hand followed the statement, Vxxethasylcb gurgling again. “There's little time for you to feign such things as being respectable. I'll be honest with you-”
“Vxxeth!” Dib spoke up hastily, getting a curious look from the larger alien. “He...wasn't awake when Zxherm and I were...discussing those things.”
“Well aware of it, Dib-boy, don't worry your large head,” the Krakemeth replied patiently before returning his gaze to Zim, all the while gurgling at the offended exclamation from the human. “From QQ7 Active J Gamma, forty-five degrees – sans active, plus plural – three beyond gamma. Future there is...good.”
The Irken seemed to ponder over it for a moment before exclaiming, “What?! That's like...space ghettos! It's in the middle of nowhere!”
“Space ghettos...” Dib mumbled to himself, making a strange face.
“Rather nice, from what I've seen,” Vxxethasylcb told the ex-Invader with a wave of two hands. “Good future, one would think. Yes?” His crew murmured amongst each other and nodded – the one who'd been shot had quieted. Perhaps he'd fainted from blood loss.
Zim shook his head frantically. “Absolutely not! This is stupid! I'm going back to the Massive, and I'll just tell the Tallests-”
“Your Tallests have already been informed.”
“That's what I was saying, weren't you listening?! I'll tell them that-” Zim trailed off, suddenly uncertain. “What?”
“Our hive-mothers have reported to your Tallests on the status of the human race – bordering on extinction – as well as to your living status – nonexistent,” Vxxethasylcb told him. “Shut down for the remainder of all time. Data scattered to the solar winds. Deactivated. In the most simple of terms: dead.” After pausing for a moment to let it sink in, he added, “You're aware of what will happen if you return as a failure?”
Zim averted his eyes to stare down at the infant, who had hid her face against him to block out the sight of the creatures who had left her as an orphan, and curled tighter around her, as though she would keep such things from happening if he went back to face his Tallests. “...Every Irken does.”
“You know where to go, then.” Vxxethasylcb emitted a drawn-out huff, a mostly unclear action, though he seemed a bit regretful. “If it makes you feel better, though, you can pretend not to know.”
Tentatively, Dib spoke up. “Uh...is it just me, or is the whole 'being vague' thing not really...being vague at all?”
“Hrn? We weren't being vague. Not at all,” the Krakemeth replied, tone betraying a bit of mirth.
“Wha- Yes, you were!”
“I escort you past mothership, your Irken takes you to empire-free sector near QQ7 Active J Gamma, and we all live happily ever after until something more amusing comes along.” A motion similar to a shrug followed this. “Seems pretty not-vague to me.”
Dib smacked a hand to his forehead. “I swear, you aliens are all just trying to mess with me!” he groaned, tugging at his hair.
“If you wouldn't be so funny, maybe we wouldn't. Try to be less funny. It might help,” Vxxethasylcb suggested pleasantly; it was advice that would have bothered Dib more if the Irken seated next to him had actually managed a snicker or two at his expense. He almost directed a concerned look to Zim – almost – but caught himself just in time, and was further distracted when the other alien spoke up again. “We should go now – you will follow alongside, and keep out of sight of our mothership. The hive mothers aren't so easily fooled, and aren't quite so...” He waved one hand about, searching for the word.
“Easily amused?” Dib finished flatly, a brow raised.
“Mmmmm...perhaps that's it. Maybe,” the Krakemeth admitted with a half-shrug. “My crew will ensure you leave Sector ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha in one piece. I, on the other hand, have a previous engagement with a now-single human mother.” With that, the transmission cut off, and Dib was left with a very nasty taste in the back of his mouth at the insinuation.
After directing the computer to follow the Krakemeth ship's movements and managing to get only one snarky comment, the teen leaned back in the command chair with a long sigh of relief. “That was...the closest thing to a nightmare as...that thing on Halloween. ...Man...that was freaky.” He glanced to Zim, who had become unnervingly silent; the Irken was gazing down at the baby in his arms with a dull expression, hardly even appearing to notice that she was sucking on one gloved finger. “...Zim?”
“What else did the other tentacley tell you? The one who spoke like a stupid?” the alien muttered.
Dib hastily looked away, though figured that if he wanted to seem as though he wasn't hiding anything, that was the pretty much the worst thing he could do. Forcing himself to return his gaze to its initial focus, he responded as casually as he could, “That was basically it.”
Scoffing, Zim tugged his finger free, wiping it on the command chair. “Why didn't you tell Zim?” he asked blandly, eyes flicking upwards to meet Dib's, expression void of anything that could be considered weak – sorrow, pain, self-pity. If Dib didn't know any better, he'd say Zim didn't even care, that it was no more important to the Irken than picking out a snack.
“I...didn't think you'd need to know,” Dib lied with almost alarming smoothness. “I thought we'd just be going...wherever it is we're going now.”
“Resortia,” Zim grumbled. “It's been self-ruled for eons.”
“Name's not very creative,” the teen pointed out.
The Irken shrugged one shoulder, unconcerned. “Doesn't have to be. It's descriptive.”
“I guess,” Dib conceded. He stared out the covershield at the expanse of stars, feeling surprisingly at ease with everything – it seemed the worst of it was over. If it kept on going like this, he could probably deal with that. After a length of silence, he glanced back to Zim. “So...space ghettos, huh?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Well,” Dib sighed, leaning back against the pilot seat with arms crossed behind his head. “Sounds good to me.”
“And that's why you're an inferior meat-sack.”
***
You tell him, Zim!
This chapter is freakishly long in comparison to the others. But, we're nearing the end, so I guess that's all right.
Remember, if you find any grammar or spelling weirderies, or just want to give some constructive criticism, go right ahead. :3
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