Dib trudged through the city with his head down. His senses were on high alert, his heart drumming in his ears. Every shadow was a tiny, green one darting for him and swiping to claw him in two. He'd pass a meat shop and the sound of a cleaver against the counter would make him start. Someone shouted and his blood ran cold and he stopped dead in the middle of the streaming crowd until someone shoved him forward…
But Zim didn't appear, the crowds didn't thin, and the syringe hidden in the lining of his coat felt icy hot. Suddenly, to his right something grabbed his hand, made him whirl to face it, and his free hand flew to his jacket, his voice caught in his throat-
But it was just a scrawny blue alien who spoke in a garbled language asking for money. Dib muttered that he didn't have any and scurried away. It felt like something sharp had swung up his chest. He trembled. I'm gonna die out here. If not because of Zim, then a heart attack.
The fog had thickened as a wind raked the toxic waste out of the underbelly of Meekltheroth and into the air. The buildings overhead swayed dangerously, but nobody seemed bothered.
Dib pushed his palms into his eyes and heaved a sigh, stumbling… He wanted to sleep. Climb into bed and remain there until all this blew over. He could, reasonably, sneak into the ship and crawl into the pilot's seat and rest. He was sure Zim didn't retain the mental capacities to sneak in. Unless the computer just lets him in on principal. Wouldn't that be a sick joke. At least it'd end quickly.
Dib dropped his hands at his sides. Even prepared as he was, he felt apathetic - and who did that hurt? Well if this all goes wrong then we're both dead.
Still, there was a thin shadow of dread gathering in the corners of his mind, like he already knew how this was going to end...
Tak had led him quietly out of the basement-like hideout she had secured herself, carrying the smeets in the covered crate. She'd warned that Zim, likely, would be seeking out something familiar ("which is why he's chasing you," she'd grinned at him in the alleyway). Which meant it was likely Zim had fled to his ship, or the bar, or who knew where else - Zim knew Meekleroth, and Dib had no idea how "familiar" this planet was to him in any meaningful way. He had slipped into the bar, peering frantically over the crowded space for a short Irken and had no luck. He'd looked also for the Irken Zim had met hours earlier, and not seen him either. In fact, now that Tak was gone and he was left waiting on her to contact him, he regretted not asking about the Irken What had it's name been? Scream? Shriek?
Without 'Shriek', the trail ran cold, not counting Zim's ship. And if Zim wasn't there when he reached it…
Far ahead, through the smog, he could see the heavy black stone gates of Meekleroth, the towering beacons that blinked occasionally to prevent collisions with passing air travel, and the very gates Zim had led him through earlier that morning. Dib's hands ached. He thought of Zim's claws wrapped through them as he tugged Dib through the crowd. The way his gloves felt, synthetic leather pressed tight against his strange, green flesh. The lack of warmth which should've made touch unwelcome although Dib had become so accustomed to it he didn't think to flinch anymore.
If either of them died here, no one would know about it. His father wouldn't even be surprised, would likely chalk up his disappearance to a frantic sort of run-away. Zim's absence wouldn't help. Gaz might think he finally sorted through all those complicated, hormone-driven feelings he totally didn't have for Zim, and figured things out. Maybe she'd even be glad for him, while his corpse rotted in a mangled pile at the bottom of Meekleroth's great spires.
Dib shivered.
Would dad wake up a clone if I left? Risk there being two of us running around?
For an instant, he thought he might be sick, and so he picked up his pace, weaving through the crowd. He thought of Zim. He thought of all the shit he'd say to him when Zim was fixed… Then found that the anger was simply not there. Numbness and instinctual adrenaline had smoothed out his anger. He wasn't sure he really could be angry anymore, and if he was, which part was he supposed to be angry at? That Zim was still willing to bend to the will of his abusive, murderous leaders, or that he'd finally broken their highschool truce?
What about the fact that you're still trying to save his life? That's pretty fucking annoying.
The ire sparked up just for a moment… And then he was thinking of the latch on his window in his apartment, Zim climbing through it on his worst days and sure, he'd get annoying, he'd ramble, forcing Dib into half-clean clothes and complaining about the state of his hair before shoving him out the door and into the overly lit street below. Thinking of Zim parading him around until he forgot he'd been near-rotting in his apartment, alone, usually halk-drunk, and fatally depressed, made him angry for a new reason. For two, actually.
The first being that he'd let Zim do this for him so many times without ever thanking him - without ever even saying it for what it was.
The second being that Zim never said it for what it was, which didn't make sense because Zim loved attention. So what was it then?
His own thoughts made him start a little. You wanna call it love? Are you fucking fifteen?
Dib blushed, despite himself. Chances were Zim wasn't capable of love. Loyalty, yes sure, and maybe Dib could take advantage of that. Shift his services from the Tallest's and the empire into-
You? Make him loyal to you?
YOU?
He was staring wide eyed, sightlessly ahead now. What would that be like? He was getting close, wasn't he? Zim did protect him - from other aliens itching for a fight - and from himself. And maybe Dib could teach him a thing or two about how humans showed loyalty.
Zim was a quick learner.
He blinked rapidly, chewing on his tongue, chastising himself for thinking of teaching Zim to waltz when he literally had the equivalent of a brain parasite and very likely wouldn't live to see tomorrow.
Dib passed the gates easily, the smog obscuring the docks and swaying rock formations ahead. Glowing, green fungi clung to the black gates metal, the same he'd seen in Tak's hideout. Red light from the beacon overhead blared down against his skin. It flashed brilliantly in the night.
What if Zim isn't at the ship?
Tak had warned him that his time was short. With three hours already lost and two dedicated to flying back home, that left an hour both to find Zim and save his life - assuming Tak also did her part on time. Which means you need to be in the ship when she contacts you. Suddenly, he was swearing, kicking himself mentally as he reached behind himself and felt against his spine the sharp edges of Gir's body stuffed into his backpack. He swung it around his shoulder, dug the SIR unit out, and glanced at the tablet.
Zim's vitals had changed a bit since last he saw them; his pulse rate had gone up considerably, and there was a line indicating a troubling amount of blood loss that continued to go unchecked. Dib forced his eyes from it and swiped out of that, towards a main screen he'd seen Tak using in her hidden room. The interface was busy and crammed with an insane amount of text that he scanned, searching, searching… Until he found the words DETECT LOCATION. He tapped it, and the next message read: INFORMATION UNKNOWN. SEEK MAIN COMPUTER.
The computer in the ship. He stood up, holding Gir to his chest as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. He'd go to the ship, determine Zim's location and… Well, he could fly there. That seemed reasonable. It'd use up less energy, and it'd be far faster. He thought of the torn wires within, but there was no way the ship wouldn't have repaired it by now. He drew in a breath, hot and stifled under the mask he'd begun sweating under, then took a step forward.
He'd left Tak's hide out feeling like eyes were boring into his spine. Tak had told him not to worry. Her contact - apparently a fellow Vortian Resisty member - had told her that Zim's movements had last been spotted somewhere near the bar - likely following Dib's scent.
"Is he just slicing through people?" Dib had been a little horrified. Aliens were hard to mourn - instincts made it difficult to empathize, what with their lack of human characteristics, or even animal-like features to relate to. But still, they could scream, writhe, and bleed...
"He just said he was on the move," she shrugged, uninterested.
Dib had wondered at her as she went. She was still certainly Tak. Cunning, bored, methodical. Her lack of care in regards to the inhabitants of Meekleroth seemed less like cruelty and more like ambivalence. He wondered if she cared deeply for the goals of the Resisty. If taking this chip from Zim was about rescuing another Irken, or simply stealing information for the Resisty.
Clearly saving Zim had nothing to do with it.
In his hands the tablet made a sound. DETECTING. DETECT- ERROR. SEEK MAIN COMPUTER.
He sighed, picking up his pace. His pulse was a frantic drum.
When this is over- the thought was angry, dedicated, quick… until it trailed away and dissolved because Dib didn't know what came next, if this was only breakdown number one-hundred-and-three, if this was not a true breaking point but instead a death race. Dib didn't even notice he was halfway across the bridge, the smog kicking up all around him. Zim couldn't change, how could he? He was a child soldier made cog in a massive empire. He would feel rejected and then act out again, seeking out validation from a near-parental figure that was beyond losing patience with him.
But Tak had made it out.
The tablet again sputtered suddenly; ERROR. DETECTING. DETECTING-
LOCATION DETECTED.
A map took up the screen and he saw the bridge, long, stretching toward the ship at one end. He saw Gir's location, in his arms, in the middle of the bridge, and then at the other, a blinking red dot.
Dib felt his heart sink, swiveling on his heel at the same moment.
The fog had thickened although it couldn't completely obscure the dark silhouette at the other end of the bridge. Dib stepped back. It looked like a strange and slender spider, standing statue-still on the other side. He managed to slide his backpack off, put Gir and the tablet away. The silhouette didn't move. Can he see me? Does he know I'm-
Maddeningly fast, the silhouette ripped through the fog. Zim was rushing him, boots skidding on the damp bridge surface. Dib stumbled rapidly back, heart seizing as he thought how, how the hell did he find me-?!
His mind found time to think only momentarily of the blood on his face, hands, when Zim's PAK legs activated and he was swinging a PAK leg down to piercing Dib through the face. Dib had time only to duck and dodge, sliding under him as he came. Now he was crawling backward as Zim ripped around, fumbling for the syringe or a gun or a knife or-
Dib's fingers hooked around the hilt of a knife and panic made him grab it from his jacket as he managed to find his feet, nearly stumbling aside as he did. He tried to slash Zim once, who deftly moved aside, teeth set into a fierce grimace, snarling. His eyes were hard, dark slits trained on Dib, their fuschia dark and cloudy as if he'd taken something which might make him fall asleep. Dib dared to move in to catch Zim in the arm with the knife and pin him to the bridge, his other hand slipping into his jacket to wrap around the syringe-
Zim dodged this swing by hooking his arms over the bridge ledge and flipping backwards over it.
"ZIM, NO-" Dib ran forward, peering stupidly over the ledge into the thick green fog below. His other hand had wrapped around the syringe put not yet revealed it. Wind caught in his hair, brushed up against his cheek, cold, a ghost's hand.
He heard the sound of PAK legs clambering up the other side behind him in time to spin around and drop, but not fast enough for the tip of a PAK leg to swing and hook under his mask, grazing his skin as he jerked backwards, the strap tearing as Zim landed across from him. Zim flung the mask away, over the side where it disappeared into the green. A second PAK leg swung down, grazing the top of Dib's head, sticking into the bridge. In the same moment, Dib sucked in a breath, thought, what if I hit an artery, what if it doesn't work, what if he stabs he when I get near him, what if he- and rushed Zim, plunging the syringe into the base of his neck, his free hand clutching Zim's shoulder to shove him backwards. Two PAK legs had swung up to skewer him as he drew near, but Tak hadn't been lying; the serum worked near instantly.
Zim made a strangled, wet noise in the back of his throat, eyes dulling. He stiffened before becoming limp, knees buckling. Dib caught him clumsily, catching him under his arms and heaving him weakly up, caught off guard by the sudden weight against him. All around them, Zim's PAK legs collapsed like needles tied to thin strings.
Dib froze. Neither of them moved. He waited for Zim to snap awake and clamber up his body and slash his throat with extended claws… but the moment never came.
He exhaled, panting, felt the wind make the bridge creak. A stream of thin blood ran from the line Zim had torn into his face. He reached, trembling. The gash wasn't very deep. He still held Zim close to him, and he peered over his bloodied shoulder at his PAK, pulsing a dangerous red. Heat came off of it in waves.
Dib could feel Zim's ragged breaths, his thudding pulse. His flesh was feverishly hot. He didn't wake. Steeling himself, Dib carefully got to his knees, lying Zim down to see his face.
Zim's eyes were closed. Unconscious, sweat and blood clinging to his skin. Now that he was still, Dib could see the gash in his shoulder where the smeet selling Irken had run him through.
His uniform was stiff with blood, darkening the fuschia color all the way to his midsection. He touched near the hole in the uniform where the blood was darkest, then reached up, took Zim's jaw. Felt the thin bones beneath it… And then gathered him up and pulled him close to his chest, bridal-style, as he got to his feet.
He was nearly upright when his chest was overtaken by a sudden sharp feeling that tore up his throat as he inhaled. The cavity of his chest felt like it was shuddering, and his knees buckled beneath him. He reached up to grip his shirt, his breath coming ragged, short, and he gasped, feeling like he was suddenly breathing through a straw. The breeze brushed against his skin, the thick smog obscuring the immediate exit on either side of the bridge momentarily-
The mask..! Clutching Zim, he floundered to find it before he recalled it'd been thrown over the bridge. He looked left, to right, suddenly confused, terrified. Which way had he come? Which way was the ship? The thundering of his heart would've woken Zim up under any other circumstances, pressed thisclose against him. The coughing wracked his body as he brought up his arm to breath against. It did little to stave off the feeling of suffocation. Six agonizing seconds later and the smog cleared enough to see the other end of the bridge, and further, the ship. His fists crumpled the thick stretchy fabric of Zim's uniform. Get up. Get up. Get up, get up, get upgetup get UP. His chest squeezed and he winced, as he hauled the Irken and himself up. Zim was, as usual, deceptively light, swinging into Dib's weight suddenly enough to make him stumble. He was gasping, half jogging, half stumbling down the bridge. The bridge was at least forty or so feet across. He could hold his breath, at least he was near certain he could…. With Zim's added weight he could still jog… But the burning in his chest made it impossible to even try. The bridge's dip hardly registered beneath his feet. He reached the other side, kicking up dust.
If the ship hasn't repaired itself yet-
"Computer!" He rasped. It came out week, and brittle. "Hey!"
The voot cruisters shield flew up in response, the dashboard lighting awake as he clambered over it and onto the tile. The lights clicked on instantly. "Get us off-... this ...f-fucking planet," he managed, stumbling for the medical bays.
"Don't tell me what to do," the computer muttered as the shield fell down. Dib lurched to the side, gripping Zim closer as the ships thrusters shifted and burst. In the hallway, he fell painfully to one knee, Zim's head held close to his chest as he felt the floor beneath him flip. Perhaps Zim's computer had the decency to recognize urgency when it concerned it's Master; before he could get back to his feet the ship was off the ground.
The lights in the medical room clicked on one by one, blasting the room with angry white light. Dib struggled with Zim's disengaged PAK legs and his limp body as he lay him along the nearly upright gurney. Tie him up, Tak had warned. It felt cruel. Catching his ragged breath, Dib gripped either side of the gurney, hovering over Zim as the ship lurched again, breaking through the atmosphere and making his stomach flip. He finally noticed the acrid sweet stench of blood and sweat soaking through Zim's uniform and he was flung again into Zim's dilapidated base, the Armada symbol blinking behind him... Zim was missing a glove, and the other was missing the index finger, revealing a bloodied, torn nail. Zim's breath was shallow. There was a claw mark along either of his closed eyes, and a line of drying blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Dirt clung to his damp skin. The collar of his uniform was in disarray. His right antennae was pinched at the tip as if it'd been caught by something and torn away.
Dib realized he was too close. If Zim woke up he'd bite his nose off. He'd tear out his throat. His own breath was ragged, tearing threads in the middle of his chest as a coppery taste made itself known in the back of his throat. He was exhausted. Now that he'd stopped having to run, his legs ached, threatening to collapse beneath him. A migraine throbbed behind his skull and his chest burned with increasing fevor. He leaned forward. Pressed his ear to Zim's chest and heard the strange, triple-drumbeat of his organs as they strained under the pressure of the chip ruining him from within-
Another coughing fit wracked him and he hid his mouth, lurching to the side as he did. It felt like he was shredding the walls of his throat. Dib stumbled backward until it subsided and he leaned forward, gripping his knees.
Three drops of dark blood dribbled before his feet. Begrudgingly, he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, ignoring the blood smeared there, and stumbled forward. Dib reached up and found snakes of black wiring hanging over his head. He recognized the PAK connectors easily and brushed Zim's PAK legs away, wondering why they hadn't disengaged yet on their own, finding the topmost port of his PAK. The medical bay activated instantly, flashing first green, blue, then finally red where it remained, announcing in Irken, SYSTEM VITALS CRITICAL. SEEK CONTROL BRAINS IMMEDIATELY.
After a second, wracking coughing fit that left his eyes watering, he gripped the gurney and watched the tablet attempt to stabilize. Overhead, the computer announced, "Mmmmmaybe you should consider hooking yourself up as well-"
Dib ignored this, rushing next to the tall storage closets Zim had earlier gifted him with so many weapons. He found rope, thick and black. He tied Zim, grimacing as he tightened his thin arms against his sides, binding next his legs and ankles to the gurney. The PAK legs he tied doubly tight.
Zim's vitals hadn't changed on the screens, remaining erratic and confused. The bay announced, SYSTEM VITALS CRITICAL. SEEK CONTROL BRAIN IMMEDIATELY.
Zim's chest rose and fell. His face was neither peaceful nor strained, torn between some troubled middle. Another message appeared. REPORT READING TO THE MASSIVE?
Dib declined that offer immediately.
He stumbled away from the gurney a second time as the tablet bean slowly to report the long list of ailments, injuries, and misgivings in Zim's biology. He found a cloth, soaked it in the sink with filtered, clean, warm water, and wrung it damp, then pushed a standing medical tray stocked with scalpes, auze, and medical tape toward the bay. There was a short, white stool that rolled nearby as well He dropped into it, exhaustion climbing up his legs and making him feel like he might not be able to get up if he tried. He pushed himself close and watched Zim. Then, he took the cloth and gently began dabbing at his forehead, coming down to scrub gently at the blood that had gathered at his mouth. The dirt came next, then the sweat through it returned just as quickly. His vitals indicated overheating. Should he try to make him drink something? Would he be able to swallow it? Did it matter? The lights overhead felt like they were boring into his eye sockets. With effort, Dib undid the cloak, and then next the highschollar of Zim's uniform. He took scissors from a tray on the bay to cut away the piece of his uniform where the blood was crusting worst. The fabric stuck to Zim's skin, making a sickly skkkkk sound as he peeled it as gently away as he could, stopping just where the rope began.
The flesh there was soaked with blood, and sweating. The gash from the smeet sellers knife was small, precise but still pumping blood in slow pulses.
The bay was there to handle simple injuries such as this… But for some reason Dib's trembling fingers went back for the tray, as he peered at the injury for any pieces of broken metal or glass and dirt. He folded a square piece of gauze several times over, then gently pressed it into the wound, wincing at the cloth rapidly soaked.
He froze when Zim's breath hitched momentarily. His eyes fluttered, but did not open. His vitals bumped upwards, then levelled out, and slowly, his breathing returned to a shallow did this two, three, four times until the bleeding slowed enough for the piece to be fixed to Zim. He eyed his handiwork. His eyes hurt. His hands had been trembling the entire time. Every time he swallowed it was tiny thumbtacks and needles tumbling down his throat, but he'd held back on coughing as best he could.
Dib reached forward. The pads of his fingertips found Zim's forehead first, then his palm. The skin there was soft, smooth, uncharacteristically warm… Though still not as warm as a humans. What kept Irkens so cold? Was Irk hot? That was how that was supposed to work, at least on Earth… But then Zim had complained also of Earth's sun and the blaring Summer heats declaring it unbearable. Maybe Irk was cold, made of ice. Maybe, like Jupiter, it'd been in an eternal storm, raining metal against the hulls of Irk's finest ships. Zim had said once that Irkens were trained underground. Like insects.
His hand traveled down to the sharp edge of Zim's cheek. Whether he aged like a human or not, time had shifted the angles of his face, just as it had to Dib. There was a hardness - an exhaustion - in his face that hadn't been there when they'd been children. Was it too much to say he'd lost a certain spring to his step? That Earth's annihilation didn't seem to excite him as much anymore?
Was he homesick? Did he miss space? Irk?
Would he ever feel inclined to leave?
In highschool Zim had complained often of the changes he saw in his classmates. The acne that disgusted him, the shifts in body shapes. The heights - he might've hated that the most, especially when Dib finally had his own growth spurt at age sixteen and begun towering over the Irken. Meanwhile their arguments became less pointed for domination and more nebulous, vague and personable; then they were less volatile, morphing into something more akin to banter which shifted slowly into halfway civil conversations. And then Zim started acting weird. Well, weird for him.
Clothes would disappear from Dib's gym locker. For the longest time, he'd thought it was the work of a strangely secretive bully until he'd found Zim at a supermarket buying three gallons of glo-in-the-dark, hardly-edible, sour gummy worms, wearing Dib's black hoodie. He'd torn holes in the ends of the sleeves to slip his gloved thumb into like an edgy middle schooler. He denied the jacket had been Dib's at all, even after Dib indicated the D.M initials on the tag. Merely a coincidence, human.
This devolved into sitting side by side in the cafeteria, and whispering to each other during assemblies, and huddling side by side in the autumn cold during mandatory appearances at football games in the bleachers. This further devolved into outright jealousy; sometimes, Dib made friends, in or outside of school. Zim hated these friends, and sure, Zim hated all humans, but there was a certain poison in the way he spoke to Dib when their names were mentioned. When these friends started mentioning paranoia that they were being followed by a creature with red eyes - a creature which couldn't exist because monsters didn't exist - he realized he had a real problem on his hands.
Worst of all, it was problem he wasn't overly interested in solving.
So Zim wanted his constant attention, so Zim wanted to steal his clothes and spend most waking minutes near him. Okay. He could make that work. What better way to spy? But then, he hadn't been tracking Zim's movements and plans in months… And then suddenly they were graduating highschool and Dib was going to college and moving out and Zim was helping him move and complaining of his long school hours (because Zim, strangely, wasn't continuing into college - his attempts at "blending in" seemed to have slackened with time) and long work hours. Zim was offhand inviting him out of the atmosphere and allowing him entrance into his house without a round of twenty-questions to ensure his secrets were safe, and Zim was working the lock of Dib's window and climbing in and Dib would find him in his kitchen, stealing his snacks and it never felt like a maniac killer had broken in.
Zim had become this strange recurring thing in his life Dib was certain had a name… Although "friend" didn't quite cut it…
But it's always been like that-
No, not like this. Not like this.
Something rose in Dib's throat. Zim's breathing was beginning to even out, and his tiny chest rose and fell softly with it…
Another coughing fit wracked Dib suddenly, and he stumbled backward again toward the second medical bay meant for a human. His thoughts dispersed, uncomfortable, frightened, and he thought of what the computer had earlier urged. He shucked off his jacket, and then next his shirt, and climbed gingerly into the bay. His limbs were feeling heavy, his eyes burning. He realized, worriedly, he was nauseous, exhausted, almost faint. His movements were shaky, his walking had been stumbling, as if he were drunk. He reached and pressed for the bay to activate.
Zim despised humans and their anatomy, claimed they made little sense. He examined everything from an Irken perspective, was somehow baffled that they didn't ave PAKs or anything like them. It took some convincing that including wires for a PAK would do nothing for a dying human if one ever needed the bay.
The bay lit up, projecting from overhead a neon blue ray. It made his skin look sickly, plague-white as a protruding screen to his side displayed an X-ray of his chest. In English, it read, ABNORMALITIES DETECTED IN CHEST CAVITY. All across the roundness of his lungs, he saw flecks of whiteness, some gathering in bunches along the stem, thick. He pictured them spreading until there was no room, his lungs cramped unable to move… His mind wandered to Zim dragging him along the bridge, muttering something malevolent about dissolving organs and blood.
Dib pinched the bridge of his nose, then coughed again into his hand. He grimaced when he choked up something thick and bloody. Disgusted, he slung it away.
"Preparing anesthetics-"
"W-wait," Dib grabbed the tablet, forcing the machinery to pause. His voice was almost a whisper. "Wait, wait, will I be conscious?"
The computer spoke up for the bay, "You won't want to be conscious while it scrapes that out of your chest-"
"I can't be put to sleep," he rasped, stumbling out of the bay where it blinked red at his absence. He had to watch Zim. What if he woke up? What if he somehow broke free of his restraints and gutted Dib while he was under? He wondered what would happen next. If the ship would land and set Zim free to wander, crazed, confused, and bloodied until the chip killed him. He wondered if the Computer would even let Zim go. If anyone would find Gir, stuffed into the bottom of his backpack.
The Computer made a tsked. "Take this, at least." It muttered.
Something akin to the breathing devices they drop down from the ceiling of an airplane was held out on a metal arm from the medical bay. Dib eyed it suspiciously, then took it.
With effort, Dib clambered off the medical bay, landing softly. Exhaustion clung to him like sweat. Every time he coughed, his head throbbed. When he caught his breath again, he stumbled back toward Zim. The tablet and bay still blinked red, but he was breathing, alive. Dib forced himself to wander out of the medical room, into the hall, and into the main room of the ship. He dipped down carefully to lift his backpack off the floor, tugging Gir gently out to seat him in the co-pilots chair as if he might prefer the view.
Outside the windows, space was inky black, endless. He dropped into the pilots seat, leaning heavily into the cushions as he watched sars dart by. He was so tired. He could fall asleep so easily. Should he pace? But if his breathing got faster he'd begin to cough… The image of his lungs scraping away, little red slivers of flesh peeled back made his skin crawl, and then he really was coughing, bringing the wireless breathing device to his mouth in time for a gulp of cool, pure oxygen. It helped him catch his breath but did little in easing the sharp, coppery pain in his throat. Dib leaned forward until his elbows touched the dashboard. The lights on the controls were alive and blinking. Everything hurt. Everything hurt. A glance up and a strange, digital clock that read time in Irken blinked away. Time on Irk was… Impossible to explain. There were eight digits on the clock, and they was no such thing as minutes - only something that might be compared to hours calculated in U.S military time but even that was overly simplifying it. Nonetheless, Dib knew enough to know twentyseven minutes had passed since he'd climbed into the ship.
Two hours and forty-three minutes left.
Better late than never. Now all he needed to do was wait for Tak.