Disclaimer: Zim is not mine. Actually, he doesn't even appear here, so the Tallest are not mine. Most things are not mine. And if Invader Zim were mine, it would be going in to Season eight or something by now, so clearly the characters appearing here are not mine, and I make no monies off of them.
Author's notes: My first fic that I actually am positing somewhere! It's quite exciting for me, anyway. Of course, as of this writing, its not done yet, but most of it is laid out, so I plan to finish it. I am chronically bad at finishing fanfics (although some encouragement wouldn't hurt, see the shameless asking for reviews?).
On a more serious note, looking at this thing now, I believe these are SpeakingThroughWrittenWord's Red and Purple. Paths Intertwined is an unbelievable fic that has made me fall in love with Zim all over again and reminded me of the power of first person narration. I hope you enjoy this fic, and constructive criticism that doesn't involve flaming me would be fantastic.
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I watched the small holographic display sitting between the two of us, my shoulders hunched, fingers ready to strike. I was the general, he was my enemy. Today, we would meet in glorious war. His fingers tapped lightly at the molded plastic paneling above the control screen on his side for a moment. Then he dragged one finger down and entered a command. A tiny holographic purple tank lumbered three spaces ahead slowly on the grid...only to explode in a small poof of red smoke. I grinned. He looked up at me, purple eyes showing a mix of surprise and annoyance.
"My mine." I told him, by way of explanation to the unasked question.
"What?"
"My mine." I repeated. "You ran your tank over my mine. It blew up."
"...Oh." A small line of irritation worked its way across his brow, and he resumed staring at the display.
I never quite could figure him out. He knew the rules of Tactics just as well as I did, and yet sometimes it was like he was learning the game for the first time. And this was, what? Our sixth or seventh game that day? We were en route to Devastis for the Irken Elite graduation ceremony. Except we had been at Foodcourtia picking up snacks when the advisers reminded us we had a week until the ceremony. And Devastis isn't exactly in a convenient place. Well, convenient for the graduates coming off of Irk and Hobo 13, sure. But not convenient from Foodcourtia. There's a little planet sort of near Devastis, though. We should add it to the list of planets for Operation Impending Doom II and build a food court there as well. That way we won't have to be driving halfway across the galaxy every time we felt like having nachos.
Whatever. So we were stuck on a four-day trip to Devastis. It took us all of an hour or so to write the speech we would give. Three or four hours in the combat simulators each day to keep up skills (it would never be said that we were lazy) and that still left us an awful lot of hours to take up. One could only spend so much time eating and looking up planets to invade. So we were playing Tactics, that simple Irken board game designed to train budding generals that had so enthralled us as smeets. It was pretty fun, too, except I was just about to move my fighter squadron when the hologram flickered for a moment, then went out, along with both our control panels.
"Hey!" I yelled at it. "Heeeeey!" I yelled louder. It wasn't going to do me any good yelling at it, I knew that. But it made me feel better. So did hitting it. Until Purple's hand came out and grabbed my fist. So much for that.
"Well, it broke." I told him, as though that would explain everything.
"I know it broke. But hitting it is going to break it more, isn't it?"
"Probably, but then we could just go get a new one."
"Not until we get to Devastis. This is our only board."
"Really?" Just then the board came back on. "That's strange..." I mumbled to myself.
"What could just mess up the board like that just now and then go away?" he asked me.
"I don't know. Maybe a ship nearby was making a call and the signals crossed somehow?"
"That would make sense, I guess."
I got up out of my lounge chair and went over to the bridge's main viewing window. I heard him hover up behind me, but I was busy looking. There were no ships visible in the window. "Hmmm...you!" I pointed to a random technician seated to my left.
"Yes! My Tallest?" he saluted me and waited for orders. A bit overenthusiastic maybe, but whatever.
"Scan the area. See if there are any ships in the area that we can't see from the window."
He tapped a few symbols on the screen and watched the display. "Nothing that appears here, my Tallest. There's a weird belt of radiation of some kind here, but it looks more like a drifting flare from a nearby star than anything made by a ship. And..." he was interrupted by a loud beeping noise coming from the display.
"What is it?" Purple asked.
"We're picking up a distress beacon, sir. It looks..." he squinted at the display. "It looks like it's from an Irken ship, sir. A small fighter."
"A fighter?" I repeated.
Purple looked confused. "A fighter couldn't be all the way out here, could it?" He looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. "Not without a...a frigate or something to go back to. It doesn't have enough fuel."
"Probably why its stranded. But why would a fighter be stranded all the way out here?"
A pilot behind me coughed hesitantly.
Purple turned around and looked at him. "What is it?" he asked.
"My Tallest, the fighter in question is just off a little to our side. We can see it if we magnify the viewing window." The technician we had been speaking to did just that. Far to the right, in the lower area of the view screen, a small fighter was drifting in space. It wasn't as old as a Voot, but it looked like it was in bad shape. Its markings were covered in burn residue, but I guessed it was a second-generation Spaurk or a third-generation Wheiz. Two of the three engine ports were sparking slightly.
"It's small enough to fit in our docking hanger. If we were to change course now, we could pull it in, my Tallest." The pilot said. Of course we could pull it in, I knew that. But it bothered me that such a small ship was out here by itself. Still, if there was an Irken inside, still alive, then we should rescue our soldier. But what Irken would be out here? Maybe it had been out here a long time, and the pilot was dead. If that was the case, then we should at least retrieve his Pak for the control brains. But still... it seemed strange. I looked at my co-ruler.
Part of the trick of ruling together was to make sure that no one could understand our communication signals. We had to appear to be on the same page, in agreement, at all times. His shoulders flexed in a hardly perceptible shrug and he darted his eyes towards me. So it was my decision. I figured it would be. The empire's spacecraft were my specialty. The academies and soldier training were more his arenas than weapons and battle tactics, and even then he usually preferred to have my input on the more difficult decisions. Most Irkens at that time seemed to think that of the two of us, I was the one in charge. Most of the time, they were probably right. If only he had made the decision this time. Then maybe things would have turned out differently.
"We need to at least see if we can retrieve their pak," I said. "Change course and pull in that fighter."
I heard the ever-present hum of the Massive's engines shift just slightly, then change back to normal. I would have probably been able to feel the vibrations through my feet, had I not been hovering. Nothing is better than the feeling of a good, powerful ship moving in tandem with you. Except maybe the afterheat of a laser gun that burns your hand, but not quite. I wondered what had happened to the soldier in that fighter. Had he been ambushed? Was he disobeying orders and deserved to be deactivated, if he was even still alive? Had he been cruising through the vacuum of space when all of a sudden the comforting murmur of the engines flowing around him changed to a lurching whine that predicted the doom of his runaway fighter? Even knowing what happened later, I still find myself wondering how that particular fighter somehow got away, unaccounted for, in the vacuum of space.
My co-ruler, of course, thought little of spacecrafts and powerful laser guns. I was never quite sure what he thought of the Irken war machine as a whole, to be honest. That's not to say he wasn't a brilliant fighter; we both were, if I do say so myself. He just didn't seem to share the same…enjoyment of violence that most Tallest have. I mean, I like to shoot things, I like ships, I like mechs. Spork did too. Miyuki, I never really knew what she thought about our army either. Maybe Purple was like her. But Purple hates mechs. How can anyone hate mechs? They're just so…so cool!
The fighter was almost off the view screen now. The hanger was underneath the Massive, behind most of the weapon's arrays. It had been designed that way, of course. So we could cover for any damaged fighters while they were able to dock in safety behind our weapons. Not that any of our fighters really got damaged in a fight anyway. Except this one. It didn't look like it had undergone severe laser damage. The ship itself was intact, and its life support systems were probably still working. It looked like whoever had shot that thing had shot at the engines only, for some reason content to disable the thing instead of destroying it.
"We have the fighter docked, My Tallest," said a technician behind me, breaking the silence.
"Have some medics and technicians go down to have a look then," Purple said, going back to his chair. I followed him.
"It is done, my Tallest," said the technician. "They should give us a report as soon as they open the fighter."
"Then shift our route back to Devastis," I said. "And pick up the speed a little. We don't - "
"We're picking up a foreign transmission!"
That was the first time as Tallest I had ever been interrupted by anyone. And that someone was a new, quite short, actually, technician off by the communications controls. He seemed to immediately realize his mistake, because his antennae dropped and he gave me a sheepish look. "M…my Tallest. I…I'm…should I put up the…transmission sir? On the screen?"
I was about to order him out the airlock when Purple said "Sure," from behind me, and gave me a warning look. I suppose it was for my own good. I had just thrown a communications tech out the airlock last week, and they took a long time to train.
The call screen lit up, and promptly filled with static. Underneath the static we could hear a few deep garbled words. The bridge was silent. Everyone watched the screen.
"Risis…bzz bzz bzz…Ir…bzzz…st…proceed." The communication cut out.
"Is that it?!" I demanded, glaring at the technician. He ran his hand along the control panel in front him, obviously trying to find the signal again.
He needn't have bothered. For several things happened at once. First, we felt the explosion. Somewhere below and behind us I guessed. So I wasn't that surprised when the technician waiting for the medic's reports in the hanger cried out, "Explosion in the hanger, sir! I think that fighter just blew up!" We didn't need him to state the obvious. Second, our communications tech found a signal. Only it wasn't the communications signal he was looking for. It was a jamming signal, sent directly at our visual systems. So the third thing, which could be counted as the second thing, but is called the third thing because of its being the immediate result of the first: said technician broke off the signal and a Vortian fleet materialized out of nowhere on our view screen where residual solar radiation had been on our scanners moments before. Fourth thing: Vortian fighters swarmed down towards our ship. And the fifth thing: the Vortian flagship began firing on us.
"Shields!" I yelled. "And send a squad down to that hanger!" Maybe I panicked. They were attacking the Massive. No one attacks the Massive. No. One. And they were Vortians. Our allies! The only race possibly with enough technology and brain meats to actually challenge us, and they were attacking us! Why? And we were on the bridge. Dear sweet Irk. The bridge. Was the bridge designed for an attack? Could we withstand a boarding party? How many of those Vortian ships would we have to blow up before they broke off their attack? How long did I panic before I noticed Purple pulling at my elbow? Our eyes met. He was just as scared as I was. Probably more scared. Did I mention he hated lasers?
Right. You are Tallest. Well, one of them, anyway. Think. "That boarding party is here for a reason…" I murmured, trying to work my way through this.
"We don't know why," he interjected.
"Yeah, but we have to find them and kill them,"
"Not before we figure out what they were after."
"Whatever works best."
"Red, they're firing on us. With lasers."
"Right. Um…" I turned to face the other Irkens on the bridge. "I want pilots to their fighters right now! One squadron make the Vortian fighters break off their attack, the others go after that flagship and go after their weapon's systems. And I want soldiers in every single one of our anti-fighter torrents!" I was knocked sideways by an explosion that rocked the whole ship. The hoverbelt probably made me fly a bit farther than I should have, but at least my chair was in my way. Pulling myself up with it, I began fumbling for the laser gun I kept in the hidden compartment in the armrest. "And move it!" I barked to the technicians. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Purple heave himself up on the other side of the bridge and began issuing the commands to seal off the bridge. Several of our bodyguards slipped in the door right before it sealed and went to cover every entrance with their guns.
Why is it that when one tries to recur an upsetting event, things seem hazy and strange? Everything seemed so out of control then. Irkens initiate. We aren't supposed to react. I heard the reports from our pilots, fighters damaged, enemies destroyed…our soldiers were effective, no doubt about it. But the wreckage of the Vortian fighters seemed to spiral into the Massive more often then not, jarring us every few seconds. Looking back on it, I don't wonder that it was probably a last-ditch effort of desperate pilots, trying to do as much damage as possible before their last breath. I'd been trained to do just as much in that situation.
The divisionary team we sent to stop the flagship was doing its job, somewhat. It was drawing off some of its fire, but we were still being jolted with large laser blasts whenever an exploding Vortian cruiser wasn't killing us. How long could our shields withstand this? At least they weren't firing near the bridge or the power core. I figured they meant to take the Massive whole, or else they would have tried a lot harder to completely destroy us.
I wasn't expecting the door by our donut barrel to break open. A loud clank followed by a hiss, and it fell open. Of course, our bodyguards raced to it and pointed guns at the door. Purple, who had been near that particular door, slipped away immediately to stand just slightly behind me. I saw his gaze drift to my gun for half an instant, as though tempted to ask for the spare he knew I had in the other side of the chair. But he must have thought it would do no good, and his weapons were in our chambers. Like he had to worry. I'd blow a hole in the head of the first Vortian that even looked at him wrong at this point. There was no one on the other side of the door. The outside shell of a small explosive rolled into the bridge as the ship lurched yet again, but there was no one there. For some reason, an Irken to my right felt it necessary to report that none of the squads combing the Massive had yet found the Vortians we guessed had been aboard that broken fighter. I would have thrown him out the broken door right then, had I not been so distracted. No matter. Our bodyguards had shoved the door shut again and locked it by that point, anyway.
Suddenly, my feet were almost thrown out from under me again by another explosion, this time much closer.
"What happened?!" I heard Purple yell…although it sounded more like a shriek to me.
"My Tallest! A large craft has broke into the ship!"
"What?" I yelled back to him. "Through the hull?!"
"Yes! It looks like they might have used a small torpedo. Auto-repair systems trying to repair the hole and restore air pressure, but the ship's in the way. If that thing moves, we'll lose pressure again!"
"Aah…" I was at a loss for words. This was absurd. First, attacking the Massive, second, ramming a ship into us? What were these Vortians thinking? Maybe fortunately, I didn't have any time to think, because the landing party we were so dreading blew a hole in the main bridge door, and Vortians flooded in, shooting left and right. I returned with a few shots of my own, until I felt the whirring of Purple's fist by my head. I turned and saw he had just knocked a Vortian out cold and was pulling an energy spear out of her fingers.
"How did she get behind me…"I started, then noticed the cloaking device around her waist. So that's where our missing Vortians were. Cloaked, they snuck up here and broke the door, and hid, waiting for the second part of the boarding party. Purple's new spear thrust over my head into another Vortian, and I quickly stood up and got on my guard again. It wasn't until I looked back on the event later that I realized how foolish I was to let the fight draw me away from Purple. I had knocked the weapon out of a Vortian's hand and knocked him down when I looked up, looking for my co-ruler, and realized how far away he was, fending off a group of Vortians trying to force their way through another door. I was about to move my way towards him when I felt the cold butt of a gun against the back of my head. My arm twitched, and I prepared to do a simple defensive movement to flip my assailant over my head where I could get to him, when I felt another hand roughly pull aside one of the panels of my pack and close on a group of wires inside. Sweet Irk. If I moved, those wires would be torn out. Was there anything an Irken could do when his enemy's hand was closed around his life-support system?
"Pur-" I started to call out, but I felt the hand give a slight tug. Damn it. I shut up. Another tug. Sighing, I relaxed my arm and dropped my gun.
"That's better, Irken Tallest." I heard his high, nasally voice right behind me. He must have been tall for a Vortian to even reach the bottom of my pak.
He spoke again. "You will be walking with me now, out this door." He then proceeded to pull on the wires, so I was forced to hover backwards to keep them from coming out. Oh Irk…what was I supposed to do? I felt cold sweat forming on the back of my neck. Why wasn't anyone looking this way? Our bodyguards were good at protecting that Tallest, what about this Tallest?! Maybe I wasn't moving fast enough for them. Understandable, seeing as they were trying to kidnap me on my own ship. But the Vortian behind me started fumbling around on my back, before finally finding the switch that controlled my hoverbelt. I wasn't expecting it to go off suddenly, and I fell to my knees with a loud clunk. But blessed Irk, Purple heard the sound! He turned towards me, and our eyes met. I saw confusion, shock, and horror flit through his eyes at a terribly fast pace. The Vortians were dragging me one way, on the other side of the bridge behind him. our woefully single-minded bodyguards were trying to reseal the door. We stared at each other for what seemed like eternity. Then I noticed a Vortian that had been hiding behind his chair sneaking up behind him, spear in hand.
"Look out!" I yelled, pointing, forgetting for a moment in my fear for him that my pak was very close to being ripped to shreds. He turned halfway around and reacted instinctively. His spider legs came bursting out of his pack and impaled the Vortian mid-strike. The spider legs naturally returned to their positions high over his back, and I saw him look in a kind of sickened wonder as blooded dripped out of the wounds. The Vortian was still struggling a little. Purple had hit him low. He would bleed out slowly. Then Purple turned back to me. How could he think about me in all this chaos, with his enemy freely bleeding onto his back and shoulders? He called out some sort of command to our bodyguards and began running for me, and a few guards that could be spared from holding the door sprinted off behind him. I felt a painful tug at my back and I was through the door. Looking up, I could see, amid the smoke and sparks coming from the damaged ceiling, a spacecraft with an entry beam extending down to meet us. They thrust me into the beam, and I felt it's suction slowly pulling me up towards the craft.
Purple flew through the door, skidded to a stop and ran two nearby Vortians with a spear. He saw me in the beam and lunged forward, reaching his hand up to grab mine, but fell just short, as I was nearly inside the ship by this time. A large, burly Vortian in the ship pulled me up and sealed the transparent hull of the ship.
"Break off now!" He growled. The ship lurched and rumbled. Between our repair systems trying to keep out space's vacuum, and its damage, it seemed stuck. But then, it slowly started to move. Through the floor, I saw Purple fumble around and pick up a large gun from a dead Vortian and aim it at the ship. I could feel us pulling out of the strong suction the Massive had this small craft in. Another instant and this hallway would be a huge suction tube, sucking anything and everything in it to their deaths, if they were still breathing. A bodyguard grabbed Purple's shoulder before he could fire. He pointed to the ceiling and began to pull him back towards the door, back to the relative safety of the bridge.
Half an instant. In that small time just before the Vortian ship broke free and the door on the bridge cut Purple off from my view, I saw him. Standing there, gun limp in his hand, Vortian still hanging from two spider legs, staring at me. A look of utter disbelief and hopelessness. There may have been tears in his eyes. He was probably trying to hold them back. Then the bridge door shut and the ship broke free and I was left with that last image burned into my mind like it was made with the searing heat of my favorite laser.
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Battle scenes are a pain to write. I don't seem to be the only one who thinks this. This thing is 8 pages long on Word. Wow. And that's just chapter one! Well, anyway, this is a cliffhanger. It's quite cruel of me, no? XD Read and review, plzkthxbye?