Don't Leave Me

by AndyH

Gaz is a solo-gamer who needs a team partner to compete in a national video game competition, but doesn't think much of the humans around her. Neither does Zim, a solo-invader. And how will they manage all that happens after? An eventual ZAGR piece, but it won't happen the way you think it will. It wouldn't be IZ unless something went haywire. Will build up slowly. A 1st Fanfic.

32. Chapter 30

A/N: Another thanks to the latest reviewers. Zerg170, WhenInDoubt-RPG, The Super Saiyan Foc, Deman, CoffeeWench, labreck01, MajorDarkblade, memmek10k, fray100, CatGirlFireflare, thegamer95, Guest, Zekiev Clayton-Zolnerowich, invader kal, and Zhilo.

Zhilo: Thanks for your review! I am glad you think so much of this, and hope I can live up to expectations. And thanks for showing that you understand just what it takes to write just one of these chapters. It is funny that you mention Asimov and Heimlein. They both put a lot of thought, detail, and effort into their writing. I read a lot of Asimov's works in high school, and enjoyed Heimlein's original Starship Troopers (which I feel should be required reading in school). Many pioneers of Sci-Fi were truly remarkable. To have a reader liken the effort I make in writing this for you folks to such names is a real honor. Not that I am that good, mind you. I'm just an amateur ;) You'll probably be glad to hear that I am really thinking of writing the full story of the Mouse and Irken pair as my next project. Will probably entitle it "The Shuuver." But it will be a long time before I am ready to begin.

Wow, an A/N that isn't two pages long. Haven't had one of those for a while. Kind of feels like something just froze over for some reason. Lol. Hmmm… what else can I add? If I were someone else's multiple personality, would "I think, therefor I am" be an oxymoron? Also any typos are courtesy of my cat. Sometimes she insists on "helping."

---

There was a knock on the door. Two raps, then a pause followed by three rapid ones. Not that it was required.

"Come in, Mr. Please."

The door opened and heavy footsteps sounded on the oak flooring. Nick the Slick didn't bother looking up from the series of ledgers open in front of him on the finely polished antique desk he sat behind. He carefully wrote some figures down in one book, then a few more in another. Unlike computers, ledgers couldn't be hacked. Entries were written in hieroglyphics and the numbers were calculated by hand in roman numerals. Plus it took all three books to decipher what his financial activities were as calculations rotated to one of seven decoy columns every eight lines in a completely different ledger.

It was the perfect time of day for such work. Ninety minutes before noon so his mind was fresh from a good night's sleep, yet not early enough to still be warming up from such slumber. Nor late enough to be lulled by French cuisine after lunch. Keeping his records grossly unappetizing by anyone else in this age of instant information took sharp concentration and a strict adherence to the rules. As secure as this method was, a single mistake was truly a pain to track down if he overlooked a step.

The footfalls on hardwood flooring halted in front of his desk, waiting to be acknowledged as was proper. He spent another minute or two carefully and very neatly writing down figures until he reached a stopping point. It would simply not do to be interrupted mid-process.

The last four weeks had been… annoying. While his operation wasn't in dire straits by any means, it had taken a hit and it was obvious that someone had a grudge to hold against him. Each week the largest material transaction arranged by himself had been busted by someone who just couldn't let business stay in the realm of business. Worse, he had no idea whom it could be.

Oh, he knew what it was about all right. That low-born crude Tinkles had very much brought the ire of someone on to his doorstep and whomever it was had taken it personally. No doubt wishing to lash out at everyone like some immature street urchin. Probably some particularly unrefined personage who had taken the incident personally. That was fine where Tinkles was concerned as it was his hoodlums who had committed the deed. In his own opinion, Nick thought they got what they deserved. But any educated person would understand the need to confine the damage on his own end of things.

It wasn't like he ordered Tinkles' crew to do anything, had given his approval to actually harm the girl, nor that they were even part of his enterprise. They were more suited to stealing whole ATM machines from closed supermarkets and gas stations with a stolen tow truck. Low brow work that he found distasteful and lacking elegance or forethought. Yes, he would launder their stolen money for a reasonable percentage and arrange for the machinery to disappear back into factories as individual parts. Then have the tow truck find its new home in a wrecking yard. But it wasn't like he did the actual deeds himself. As far as he was concerned, they were just two bit clients who requested his services for a fee. Nothing more.

But now word was getting out that someone was going after Nick the Slick's interests. That if you had a significant deal going down it may be best to look elsewhere for a middleman. This would simply not do. A man's reputation for keeping things in order in this line of business was everything.

Nick doubted the initial and only news reports from that particular night. Not about the girl's condition but of who she may be involved with and therefore who may be holding on to resentment. Reasoning people could see news agencies were so terribly prone to rushing a story out before everyone else that they sacrificed any sort of accuracy, not to mention often took on an air of hysteria to capture better ratings. Yes, it had been useful in putting Tinkles in his place but a poor source for actual facts to rely on.

He also doubted that it was law enforcement from the beginning. They tended to issue paperwork and press statements, bring in people to ask unintelligent questions in their boorish fashion, and confiscate goods that may have had questionable sources. So far in all four deals that had been hit the goods in question had been left in place. There was no interest there, even as a revenue source for some other crew. There had also been no questions asked of the personnel involved. The only interest was in the people who tended to be left at this building's doorstep after being stuck with numerous tranquilizer darts.

This was definitely a personal grudge. However, Professor Membrane could also be ruled out. Undoubtedly the father had immense resources, influence and ability. On the other hand he was so publicly visible and renowned that any such thing would be obvious. Some of the unconfirmed and outlandish tales from those deposited on the front steps, which had actually been rather rare so far, did lend credit toward that hypothesis. But it simply didn't fit the man in question. He thought like a scientist first and last. Of course he had condemned the attack on his daughter rather publicly. What father wouldn't? However, he had responded by inventing new lines of security systems and personal alarms.

In fact, Nick had several store-bought items delivered to a warehouse that were being reversed engineered for weaknesses as such knowledge was very profitable. But the Professor didn't have a vengeance inclined nerve cell in his body. He wasn't the type of man that would build a giant militarized robot to use against other people. Overpowered robot? Yes. Militarized to use on others? No.

But whomever was behind this apparently had a prototype of some sort and had one armed crew of their own. They wanted their proverbial pound of flesh and were probing, experimenting, and testing on how to do just that. He didn't know how it was being accomplished as sweeping for bugs and watching for surveillance always came up empty. But there had to be surveillance on the building, the phone lines, and possibly listening devices trained on neighboring windows or planted in the hallways.

The girl had regrettably been severely injured a month ago. Yet there was no effort to make contact to settle the matter like civilized human beings while demonstrating they clearly could do so. In actuality, Nick's effort to see that cursed Tinkles was sent to face justice and thus resolve the matter had been foiled immediately. A bad sign that the other party was watching and was not interested in negotiating whatsoever, nor had any interest in justice being served.

Nick reached a stopping point in his accounting and set it aside. He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Once finished the man looked up at the tall, bald, and bulky figure before him in the black suit jacket with rolled up sleeves.

"Very well, Mr. Please. What do you have for me?"

"The motel Tinkles was holding up in was hit last night. They were found on the front steps this morning."

"Alive?"

A nod answered the question.

That was almost too bad. Dead would have been a warning that certain things would not be tolerated, but a message that could be accepted. Alive meant Tinkles was being returned to those who were being held responsible for his brutish conduct and offered settlement deemed insufficient.

"Yes, sir. We dragged them in before any witnesses could see them. They are being held in Apartment 409 since it has been empty for a while. Except for Tinkles, sir. We had to make special arrangements for him in the basement."

"What kind of arrangements?" Nick the Slick asked without indicating interest.

"Mattresses glued to the walls of a storage room in a quiet corner. He doesn't say anything, but keeps drawing pictures on the floor. Probably of whatever sent him over the edge last night."

Nick leaned back in his chair, causing it to rock back and forth in thought. "Any cell photos or surveillance cameras catching who they were up against? Did they see anything at all?"

Mr. Please ran a thick finger between the collar of his shirt and his thick neck. "They say Tinkles looked out the window. Whatever he saw broke what little brain he had, but the rest didn't see anything except floodlights beaming through the shades until several gas canisters were fired into the room. Then they woke up with us standing over them. Believe me, Sir. They were most eager to talk, but we haven't had a chance for a deeper examination. Their health is questionable at the moment. None had the time or smarts for any photos and the neighborhood is very run down. The type of place to go when you don't want to be captured on camera."

"To be expected, I suppose. But Tinkles saw plenty. Are his drawings useful?"

"I will have someone do a reconstruction for you once we have interrogated his surviving crew more thoroughly and factor that into his… depictions. Something more suitable for your consideration, Sir."

Nick raised his eyebrows. The other man clarified further. "Tinkles draws on the floor with his own… waste."

"I… see," the middleman said. No, that simply would not do. "So you have nothing for me, again?"

The bald and heavy enforcer gulped. "I took the liberty of bribing some kids playing hooky fifty dollars each to take pictures of the scene at the motel. Said it was for an upcoming lawsuit against police brutality. I know you don't like things of this nature being presented to you without being thorough first."

Nick nodded his head. Depth of solid information led to improved decision making. So far he had nothing that couldn't be put down as a hallucination due to veterinary drugs and the need for evading blame. "Go on."

Mr. Please pulled some standard sized printed photos out from the inside of his suit jacket, turning them over. He spoke as Nick glanced through them. "They're was very little evidence left behind. Mostly tracks left in the parking lot. We are fortunate that the space was in such poor condition and that it rained the previous night. There were indications of at least four heavy vehicles weighing at least fifteen tons each. Only one of which was on axles. The others left footprints, three and four feet long. I am guessing that they were brought in on a flatbed for construction equipment."

"That makes little sense," Nick interjected. "An extraction team would be far more efficient and reliable for a kidnapping." Roadblock busters of criminals and SWAT team armored cars of law enforcement were easily seen by witnesses if they moved from one part of the city to another. The other side of the law typically knew about it very quickly if the other moved such a vehicle into traffic. Thus why they were never used.

"Respectfully, sir," Mr. Please cautiously said, "take a look at number eleven. They may look like wheel ruts from a small shopping cart or wagon, but I've seen plenty of those outside along the sidewalk. Mr. Tinkles' associates said he kept crying out about a zombie girl, Sir."

Nick the Slick studied the photo in his hand. "Miss Membrane?" he asked. While he was loathe to take news reports at face value, it was based on a statement released by the family acknowledging the girl had been placed in critical condition and required artificial life support. If she had been released the girl would probably still be recovering. "Wheelchair, I take it?"

"That would be my guess, Sir. The news first stating that the girl was involved in some ruling family may be accurate for a change. The tracks left behind would fit with one being present that would not be allowed to be reached again by anyone under any circumstances."

Nick released a deep sigh. That indicated Dictator-for-Life levels of protection or more. Not some simple rent-a-bodyguard sort of arrangement. He had previously hoped that the news reports of that night had been, at worst, gross exaggerations of grain-sized facts as usual. Now it seems they were not.

"Any chance we can arrange a settlement with the father through the lawyers? Surely he would know who his daughter was involved with; pass on that we have attempted to turn over the men responsible and in no way condone how they handled themselves."

Mr. Please shook his head, rotating it back and forth on his thick neck. "An anonymous lawyer has already attempted other options. Membrane Labs have more lawyers protecting them than some countries. Experts in public and legal barricades. Just getting the smallest request in is impossible. Not to mention the security barriers outstrip what national treasuries have by a wide margin. That leaves more… proactive options."

Nick shook his head. He would never open himself up to such a legally reckless thing, especially if some foreign entity was involved. That sort of tantrum was unbecoming of a mature and reasoning person and never solved the original dispute. Not to mention drew all sorts of attention that was like standing in front of the federal police headquarters with medical containers at your feet while waving a banner that read 'Bioweapons for Sale.'

He pulled out another picture from the small stack and his eyebrows went up. Nick showed the picture to the other man standing before him.

"Yes, sir. When they were done they bulldozed the place, then set it on fire."

Nick the Slick placed the photos carefully onto the ledgers that sat on the desk before him. Hopefully the 'ruling family' referred to some monarchy rather than an Eastern European crime family. But then someone involved with a government probably wouldn't drag someone from a hiding place, bulldoze said hiding place, and then burn the wreckage of said hiding place afterward. Added up, it did indeed look like some foreign intelligence had it in for the enterprise of one Nick the Slick.

---

A disguised Zim stood halfway down the aisle of the local supermarket reading labels. Then he looked at the list he held that Gaz had dictated to him before breakfast. Then back at the rows of cartons behind the freezer doors.

"Light Vanilla, Creamy Vanilla, Diet Vanilla, Homemade Vanilla, Half-Fat Vanilla, Fat-Free Vanilla, Nutty Vanilla, Chocolate Chip Vanilla, Vanilla Swirl, Vanilla Bean, Fudge Dipped Vanilla? And Perkin's, Detrey's and Walter's? What horrible mutations of this 'Vanilla' are those?"

He reached up and pulled on his black haired wig with both fists, the shopping list crunched up in one clenched hand while he ground his teeth trying not to curse the human race out loud. None of the cartons matched the label 'Plain Vanilla Ice Cream' that Gaz had told him to write down. Not to mention it was only the first item on the list. The next line read 'Pizza.' Hopefully after decoding the encryption protecting the ice cream among its numerous decoys, this item would be far less of a headache.

---

Dib emptied the strainer full of pasta into the family-sized pot on the stove and reached for the mixing bowl that held the sauce. It was a nuisance to have to crush up all the hamburger bits so that they were small enough to escape Tak's notice, but he wanted meat from time to time. At least without being looked upon by his wife as if he were chowing down on some neighbor's arm for dinner.

He really missed steak. Not the skool cafeteria travesty of an imitation that may have briefly crossed same time zone of actual meat, but the real thing. Thick, juicy, mouthwatering blocks of meat. Unfortunately Dib had to share the kitchen with Tak. He did all the cooking while they shared breakfast and dinner together. However, it seemed Irkens snacked on sugar content that was near face-implosion levels rather than sitting down to have full meals. So if Tak craved some fried tofu chips before bed she was not going wait, nor ask Dib to get them out of the fridge for her. So no hiding slabs of meat or dismembered chickens in the refrigerator 'like a barbarian.'

Cupboards were out too. Packages of Irken snacks were mixed in with human cereal boxes, cans of soup, and other assorted goods. Not to mention some things just shouldn't come out of a can stored at room temperature.

Oh, not that he didn't occasionally- very deep down- consider the benefits of trying to sneak a real hamburger into his stomach before Tak came home versus ending up on the couch for the night due to meat breath. Dib had plenty of time when he got home from skool since Tak had things to do at the base.

Dib poured the sauce into the pot as well, then set the stove to cook slowly as well as its timer. Then he went back to his textbooks and notes waiting for him at the kitchen table. He scratched his head with the end of a pencil and worked out some problems.

If Train A leaves Station X at 3 PM traveling at 60 miles per hour, and Train B leaves Station Z at 6:45 PM traveling at 80 miles per hour, how far will the debris be scattered in the inevitable collision?

Dib looked up from the problem and through the kitchen entryway. He could see the couch from here. It was in the living room. Even though no evidence remained, he could still imagine his sister laid out on the carpet. As if the room was still tainted in some way.

Give it time, Dib, he thought to himself. Time to make new memories.

Ever since that day he had let Agent Tunaghost take on most of the alien responsibilities regarding the Swollen Eyeball Network. Right now Dib needed to be able to focus on his family.

Not that he was able to do much other than be available. Dib packed a few more of his sister's things every day since Gaz had decided it was time to stay with her husband. He felt sorrow, and a bit of jealousy, that she needed Zim and not himself. The house felt so empty until Tak came home from work at the end of the day.

Dib fingered the bonding necklace resting underneath his shirt collar. He realized there was a smile on his face. Yes, there was sorrow. Yet fondness and joy as well. Dib and Gaz no longer lived under the same roof, but neither were they alone. Gaz had someone in her life just as much as he did with Tak. It pained him that when he stopped by to drop off a box or two he could see that his sister, sitting their immobile on the couch, needed him to give her time apart.

Dib got up to stretch his legs, leaving the kitchen and cutting through the living room. The young man stopped as he walked upstairs, looking at the photos hanging on the walls. There weren't many. A few family portraits taken from before Zim had arrived on the scene. A recent one was of himself and Tak in her human disguise. Standing side-by-side with an arm around each other. Looking like their heads had been glued together and grinning like fools.

It was strange thinking that the house felt emptier with Tak away than it did without Gaz. That the house felt more like a home with an Irken in it rather than the human closest to him. Strange that Gaz had needed Zim in order to begin opening up to others.

It was strange thinking that it was fellow humans that had brought harm to his sister. That it was Irkens that had responded to help her. That is was Zim, once tirelessly plotting and scheming for the destruction of humanity, who had saved Gaz's life. Not because of evil self-interest or conspiracy. Because that messed up Irken loved her and held a greater attachment than any human possibly could have matched if given many lifetimes.

It was wonderfully strange that Dib himself found happiness in the arms of an Irken, a race he once had only seen as an invasive species to defeat. Granted with good reason in the singular example of Zim. But now he couldn't sleep without Tak snuggling into him. When at skool his mind wandered to what she might be doing as if she was another human being working some job. Not to mention the special times he and Tak shared and that they both looked forward to that mutual intimacy. Dib couldn't imagine having that relationship with any human.

Dib thought of the others at the base where Tak was now. There wasn't just Irkens and Humans there anymore. Individuals of six other species had been brought in by their Irken bondmates seeking refuge. They had met several times on the weekends, gathered in a circle on the grassy surface near the lake bordering the base. Next to an airport, they were far enough away that being out in the open wouldn't pose a problem. Of course, sitting in the middle of a shopping mall wouldn't draw much attention either due to humanity's power of rationalization over realization.

Oddly enough, taking a step back to focus on family had resulted in learning more about aliens. It had been fascinating, of course, even though he needed Computer to translate some of them. Hearing about what was out in the universe; learning about other alien species. More than Dib had learned in the eight years of chasing Zim. But mostly they talked about how they had all become bondmates to their Irken. They were all beings who now wore the same adornment. Some strange sort of 'Irken Spouses Club.'

There was the floppy eared mouse who was practically becoming a French pastry chef on the base and complained about having to wear full body hairnets when cooking. They talked quite about about trying to patch Irken ships back together without having a clue as to how the engineering actually worked. Or what life was like out on the fringes.

The paravian scavenger was in heaven about the meat compost bin kept in the farthest corner of the base's grassy surface. After nothing to eat for so long, the prehistoric looking bird now had food delivered by a special truck from the highway department. Being too weak or injured to fly was a slow death sentence on her world. On this planet a uniformed servant piled up tenderized meals solely for her with a wonderful utensil called a 'shovel.'

Then there was the gel bear. An amphibian that looked like someone crossed a turtle with a gummy bear. It took five minutes for him to finish a single sentence. His Irken had fallen from a ledge and down toward a sea below. It was during a mineral survey mission and her Taller immediately declared her as lost before snacking could be delayed. But rather than plunging into water she had found herself up to her neck inside the gel bear's body. Fortunately it turned out she was not particularly digestible. Unfortunately the tide had been going out, and the two merged beings drifted out to sea before she could free herself. The gel bear had been disguised as her custom bed for going on twenty years now.

Probably the strangest was the collective. A litter of blue six-legged foxlike creatures that shared a single collective mind. Apparently they split from a single cell and formed redundant bodies before birth. It was weird and fascinating listening to eight identical forms speaking their portions of a single concept. And bizarrely cute seeing eight blue-furred streaks dogpile their Irken and watching the furry ball walk away on small booted legs.

Then there was the tales of their trials. Their Irkens had all been marooned in some way. Their bondmates were mostly from primitive planets that were undiscovered by Irken survey craft, discovered by having surveyors crashing into them, or overlooked as having sentient life because they were not advanced. There were stories of what their Irkens had done to keep them secret and hidden from their own kind. How these Irkens did what they could, not understanding why they couldn't separate themselves from them. Suffered within themselves because it was supposed to be wrong and weak to not hand over a specimen of an 'inferior' species that should be interrogated or studied, enslaved or destroyed. It was a rare side of the Irken race that Dib hadn't imagined possible when he was younger.

Dib dug into his pockets and opened his wallet to flip to his 'cosplay' wedding picture. The one that had Tak in her undisguised Irken form. He gazed at the image of his green skinned wife with those becoming antennae sticking up out of her bald scalp. Those three fingered hands. The sharp teeth shown in the rapturous smile that adorned her face. The solid purple eyes that radiated with joy when she became not just his bondmate, but his wife and mate.

A picture on the opposite side of the wedding photo was more of a magnified blob, but the head, arm and leg buds were just now discernable. A recent scan of their smeety. She would look very much like her Irken mother, and would one day come running to him crying "Daddy, daddy!" Because that little blob growing within his wife came from him as well.

The stove in the kitchen buzzed loudly, bringing Dib's thoughts back to the present. He made his way back to the dinner waiting for him. Enough for several days of leftovers while he worked on an upcoming term paper for skool. Perhaps on the truth of vampires and how they were not the mopey, domesticated, angst-fueled abomination the media portrayed them as.

Tak had said she and Mimi would be taking their ship out to Mars that afternoon and would be home 'late.' Five minutes or five hours had not been specified, and if he left the kitchen looking like a garbage dump Tak would spear him with some choice facial expressions when she got home. Especially the unpleasant one that read 'You rescued me from Dirt and yet you think you can recreate it here?' That one was getting a bit too familiar.

Dib collected his meat-tainted meal and sat back down to complete his homework before he got started on the dishes. When did the paranormal start to become so… normal?

---

Dib dried off the last of the dishes and placed green 'Mr. Yuk' poison warning stickers on the plastic containers before putting them in the fridge. While the meat bits were crushed enough to remain unseen, Tak's occasional pregnancy cravings for nutrients found in soy products was also found in meat. So if she was exploring the fridge in search of whatever the growing smeet demanded, her sharp sense of smell and foreign cravings could lead his Irken wife to sample what was inside. He could imagine the look of betrayal on her face all too well at being 'meat ambushed' by her own bondmate. That sort of injury was something he had vowed to never, ever expose Tak to.

His watch began buzzing so Dib closed the refrigerator. Pressing a button, the young man looked down at his wrist. Gaz's face appeared on the tiny view screen. Her face and hair was splattered in some sort of pink sludge and his sister's face looked more like her younger angry self. But her eyes, partially hidden behind her scowl, betrayed a melancholy spirit within.

"Gaz? Are you okay?" he asked in a sudden shortness of breath.

"Of course I'm not okay, you moron!" Gaz growled. Then she closed her eyes briefly and looked back at him through the display. "I didn't- Except for Gir I've been alone all day. I'm sitting in a full diaper, the battery for my chair shorted out, and Gir just tried to feed me through my nose. I'm filthy, hungry, and thirsty."

"What happened?" Dib asked into his watch. "Why isn't Zim there to take care of you?"

"This morning I asked Zim to go to the store by himself to pick up some things and he's been gone all day. I bet he broke his brain trying not to screw something up, so could you go retrieve him for me? I don't want to cause a scene sending in the troops."

"Sure, but why did you let it get this far? You have all sorts of-"

"Dib," Gaz interrupted in a voice that was more unnerving than anger had been. "I'm in a bad place right now. I don't want others seeing me like this."

"Are you alright? Do you need me to come over?" he asked worriedly.

Dib bent over the kitchen table to leave Tak a note while Gaz spoke in a hollow voice. "I will be, Dib. I joined a support group yesterday and they warned me about pushing myself too far. But I felt I had to do get Gir back before I went home and he was guarding the people who did this to me."

Her brother grabbed his car keys out of his pocket and headed out the door as Gaz continued speaking through his watchphone. "I'm just having a bit of a relapse right now, Dib. I'll pull out of it eventually. I may not feel like it, but I will."

Dib opened his car door and climbed inside, starting the vehicle. He put it in reverse and pulled out of the driveway. "Gaz, promise me that if you need help you will ask for it. And I mean before you don't have a choice anymore."

There was a long pause as Dib drove down the street. Gaz hadn't answered, but that was an answer in itself. "So where is Zim?" he asked.

"Glutton Mart. They have the best selection of high calorie stuff, and my PAK used a lot of energy last night."

Naturally Dib was fascinated by this tidbit of alluded knowledge. Just because he was taking a step back until his family life stabilized and the paranormal was becoming everyday life didn't mean he had lost interest. At least until her next comments.

"It's funny how you kept bugging me about Zim. You were always afraid he would plant something in my brain and I kept calling you stupid. Turns out you were right. But that thing you were afraid of is the reason I'm still here. I know you tried to revive me, but in the end you helped Zim install my PAK. I should probably thank you for that."

"Zita's been concerned about you, Gaz," Dib changed the subject as he turned a corner onto an avenue. "She's been asking when she can come visit you for the past month."

There was a stretched out silence. "Give me a few days. I need some time to escape my thoughts for a while. Vegetate watching movie marathons with Gir. Laugh again."

"Speaking of laughing," Gaz's voice continued, "One of Zim's childhood cronies called today while he was out. He was all in a panic when I answered covered in strawberry pudding. He thought I was dissolving in human death throes or something. I think he thought sarcasm was a disease."

Dib made his way past two red traffic lights before either of them spoke again. He wasn't about to hang up on his wounded sister. Not to mention someone thinking 'Sarcasm' was a fatal illness was kind of funny.

"Dib?" Gaz's voice called quietly. "Is it awkward when you're with Tak?"

"Not really," Dib replied without much thought. "You know I've always been into the alien thing. Kind of makes sense that my wife would end up being an extraterrestrial."

"That's not what I meant," Gaz complained.

He could hear his sister take in a breath and let it out. "When you and Tak are… you know. In the bedroom."

Dib wasn't sure how to respond or if he wanted to. So he tried to be vague. "We find ways of making it work. Tak found she likes to pretend she's an Invader finding herself taking shelter in a bomb crater with a planet's defender. I think it's a way for her to put her old life and new life into perspective. For both of us, actually. There was a time not so long ago that if someone told me that I wanted to... be intimate with an Irken, I would have been tempted to feed them to Zim for calling me a traitor to my race. Same with Tak. So sometimes I make room for her mood playlist to sound like a battlefield so we can play 'The Naughty Invader.'"

Dib continued on quickly before his sister could respond to the mentioning of the adult game he and Tak shared between themselves. "Not that I don't dread what she might do when the next Halloween comes around and she hears one of those sound effects CDs. That would be really creepy. Of course she might think the same about me." He let out a small laugh at the last part.

Gaz didn't say anything.

"Look, Gaz. I know it's weird and all-" Dib spoke up feeling a need to defend his Irken mate.

"I get it," Gaz told him over the video link. "Part of it at least. It's just that… I've been thinking about a lot of things. Too many things swirling around in my head, especially when I get in this crappy state that is so hard to pull out of.

"Zim doesn't respond to me. Maybe he can't. Right now I need that. I mean when Zim gets home I'm going to need him to bathe me. It… helps that feeling of awkwardness I have to see how clueless he is when I'm being washed or my diaper changed. But I won't be trapped in a useless body forever and I have been thinking about that.

"Dib? I know I'm carrying twins. I see the scans; have some of the first symptoms. I know it and don't deny it, but I don't feel it. It's like I'm living in the effect without there being any cause. I wasn't part of them coming to be like you and Tak were. It's as if I woke up in a hospital with a new scar from a car accident I slept through. For me it didn't happen. Dib? I don't want to be like mom. She forgot we existed and-"

"Gaz," Dib interrupted. "You won't. I didn't see it before, but you hardened yourself and pushed everyone away so that deep down you wouldn't go through that ever again. Maybe that's part of why Zim made it into your life. Because he's the only one you know can't possibly leave you. So you will go out of your way to keep that from happening to your own flesh and blood. Not to mention you will do it to show everyone what our mom should have been. I know what you are like when you get determined about something. Right now you are overloaded and hurt and dealing with far too much inside to think straight."

Dib stopped at another traffic light, watching the other cars pass through the intersection in silence.

"You want to hear something funny?" Gaz asked. She didn't want to talk about their mother anymore.

"What?"

"Last night I watched Zim get shot down with a frying pan. The Voot Cruiser came crashing down, and he hopped out and was trying to deny the whole thing. I couldn't stop laughing."

Dib smiled at the slight upturn in his sister's voice. She may be having a relapse, but she would get better.

---

Governor Skoodge lay in his hammock staring at the ceiling in his cluttered quarters. His spooch had felt like it nearly sank into his feet when Zim's human bondmate had answered the call. It looked as if either her body was in the process of losing cohesion or a herd of pink slime monsters was digesting her brain. Especially after she had said a herd of pink slime monsters were digesting her brain. Which led to comments questioning how few brain cells were mandatory before an Irken could become a Governor.

He hadn't fully bonded himself, but that Irken had died long ago. Skoodge wouldn't wish that on anyone. Let alone his smeethood buddy Zim.

But it became obvious that this cranky Human wore a functional PAK when she tried to wipe the pink sludge off her face. As if she were a fellow Irken herself who had always had a PAK and wore a strange body. His own body was strange as well, being short, bulky, and rather square shaped as if the smeet chambers had melted two or three short Irkens together. Given what he looked like and how that had been held against him all his life, Skoodge was not particularly caring if his uniform was covered in stains or grime. So perhaps Zim's bondmate had felt the same, since she had given up using her spider limbs as a squeegee for her face.

It was fairly clear that Zim had his hands full with his damaged bondmate. So Skoodge hadn't left a message or called back about the six additional planets that had managed to pack up and leave for a safer part of the galaxy. Nor the Invader reports of more advanced planets' own media announcing the launching of numerous ships. Their bulk cruisers guarding their planet's approach vectors while unarmed transports struck out on their own, pretending to be a hole in space to avoid detection.

It was noted that whatever defenses those transports originally had were stripped out for extra life support.

Skoodge was again reminded of some species within gas giants that could smell blood in the atmosphere from extraordinary distances. They went into a frenzy searching for that wounded prey. It was as if numerous galactic races facing an Irken galactic conquest had picked up the smell of hope and had gone into a frenzy of activity themselves.

At last count there were nearly fifty enemy colony ships under construction right now, and that was just what individual Invaders could discover on their assigned planet. Fortunately several had suffered 'setbacks,' but reconnaissance probes sent elsewhere were chased away from native efforts with unusual aggression and expense. Resisty stingships were everywhere disrupting search patterns and drawing off interception squadrons, or patrol craft away from raiding rescue ships. Anything capable of pretending to offer resistance was being thrown into the disruption effort or sent off as decoys.

That didn't include everything the Irken military didn't know about, or all the escaping delivery craft, interstellar taxicabs, yachts, or personal shuttles that had already launched and gone into silent running. Not to mention the eight planets that had suddenly gone missing in the past month. Worlds that didn't have a space program as well as Irken Invaders to disrupt such programs if they had existed suddenly had access to Jacker Tow Barges. Now the most prized and sought after vessels in the galaxy.

Unfortunately they were all mistaken. It was true that Earth was now a Wildlife Refuge Planet for endangered species. Operative word being planet. Not star system. At the moment Earth was the only inhabited rock, so the technical difference was a moot point and no organic being had really thought further about it. However, according to the analysis just performed by Skoodge's administration computer, that legal distinction could be used as a loophole to send a conquest fleet once the Planetary Tow Barges and their cargo arrived at their destination.

A Refuge Planet unable to defend itself from those desperate to escape the stalled Irken onslaught. Not to mention, according to Zim's early mission reports, whose native residents could barely travel to its own moon. It would take a few years because only a complete and suicidal fool would tow a planet on a direct course and not bother to hide wherever possible from faster Irken search vessels looking for them. Especially when the Irkens had use of their Hypergate to set up dragnets along projected paths, waiting for them. If those fleeing arrived, Earth as well as Zim, would be crushed under the sheer weight of escaping alien hordes.

Those ships and planets would arrive in time. While Irken ground forces were being reprogrammed for naval service in grand lots and even antiquated Voot Cruisers being recommissioned, space was too vast to prevent every escapee from getting away. Not to mention holding the previous battle lines of all the more successful enemies and the new ferocious free-for-all war around the Planet Jacker's home system centered on the Tow Barges. Irk only knew how many different sides there were in that pointless mess. Then there was the burden of guarding what conquests the Empire already had from enemy strikes. They were spread far too thin to effectively sweep the entire galaxy for fleeing ships.

But there was good news. With the mass transfers of troops from the army to the navy, ground equipment could be picked up for a song and halfhearted jig. Even the qualifications for the requisition of a Doom Cannon had been reduced to being sent a free sandwich if you ordered one. Not that this did Zim any good. Spare spaceworthy ship hulls and even refurbished equipment to operate them was running scarce, and heavy ground equipment couldn't exactly fly to Earth on their own. Or was what you wanted to use within a protected sanctuary.

It would be a long and tedious effort by both himself and the bribed collaborators Skoodge had found among the Irkens stationed on Blorch. But given that the whole planet had been turning into a parking structure, with all the supply depots, repair slips, and maintenance facilities that were useful for a long-term storage area, Skoodge was confident he could continue to find solutions for Zim's special project.

Skoodge let out a relaxing breath as he lay in his hammock. One good thing about being Governor was that nobody asked him questions about what he was doing if he wanted to 'take a nap' whenever the short, wide bodied Irken did something he didn't trust prying eyes of Tallers to comprehend. He picked up another Pad, scanning through procedures the administration computer highlighted earlier.

Zim needed to focus on his bondmate. He had no real resources to draw upon out at the very last edge of nowhere. So Skoodge was more than happy to lend a hand to solve a future problem he didn't know existed.

Skoodge located the data he was looking for and scrambled out of his hammock. The Irken turned to the large display covering the far wall of his cluttered quarters. "Computer, contact this address. Governor's secure frequency."

A few moments went by and a short Irken with one broken antennae appeared on the screen.

"Irk Real Estate Office. Serving Governor's annexation needs since Operation Pretty Gas Cloud."

Skoodge ignored that. He looked at his Pad. The balance of the fund many Irken smallests had donated to was now around twenty thousand. Impressive since most of them had only sent a tenth of a single monie. He hoped it would be enough.

"Governor Skoodge, Planet Blorch. My authorization access is being transmitted now. I wish to claim a star system in behalf of Governor Zim at the following coordinates."

The Real Estate Irken received the information and looked up the registry index. Carefully not making eye contact at the mention of Zim in case the mention of the name broke something important. "Ah. I see. He wishes to expand his personal territory around the Refuge Planet Earth?"

"Yes," Skoodge answered. "How much will that cost?"

The Irken on the other end of the call looked something up on a second terminal. "That will require a five monies processing fee to update the charts."

Skoodge's mouth dropped. "Five monies to buy an entire star system? Zim could have bought the place for five monies?"

The Real Estate Agent risked eye contact at this outburst. "According to these records, all the space around Earth is still unclaimed, in a terrible location and surrounded by empty worthless space so far out that a person would die of boredom just flying there. Not to mention the presence of Zim automatically drives property values down to the point where this office couldn't pay someone to claim the deed."

Skoodge rubbed his scalp. Well, if that is the case… "How much would five light-years around Earth cost?"

"Five monies for the processing fee. Are you really going to throw your monies away on empty space? Not to mention the only local planet on record has Zim living on it."

"Check again. There has to be something else there."

The clerk entered a series of commands on his terminal.

"According to the last survey ship that was sent in that direction, a suspected Gamma Ray Burst completely irradiated half of that galactic arm a few million years ago. Since that area is on the other side of the Galaxy and there was no life out there for us to be concerned with, there was no point in sending any more survey missions. It is surprising that these humans were there at all. Must have been a fluke of their planet being precisely hidden by their star when the disaster happened."

"So the charts say there is nothing out there at all?"

"Only the Planet Earth."

"But you just said the galactic arm was wiped clean of potential lifeforms. Surely there are empty pla-"

"Space. Only empty space. Or are you implying the Imperial Real Estate Office's charts are inaccurate?"

Skoodge shook his head and waved the amputated comment off with his hand. "Of course not. As a Governor, I had to make sure I understand what I'm paying for."

---

The crowd of humans wearing grey fatigues sat behind numerous rows of computers and laptops down in the base's commons area near the human quarters. The owners of about forty pairs of eyeballs glued to their computer screens were spread out, lounging on couches or at the tables as the large subterranean room also served as a cafeteria. Clustered around them were the rest of the base's human population, the whooping spectators adding their own voices to the noise usually associated with crowded arcades while they waited for their friend to meet an unfortunate end so they could have their turn behind the controls.

Echo was fairly surprised at how well things were going. He sat along one wall with a closed laptop computer resting at his side, watching a group of enthusiastic onlookers hovering behind the shoulders of Bravo, Charlie and Delta. Other clusters were centered among the other CWZ finalist teams, both watching and being coached in the game.

He again eyed the line of confectioneries and cakes that looked too good to not be a figment of one's imagination. No one here was all that big on leaf eating, and the Irkens had a bit of influence with the cook. Echo jotted down one more mental note for tomorrow. Fortunately after a routine eight hour shift of sitting in the cockpit running training simulations, flying escort for Irken shuttles arriving or leaving Earth, and keeping an eye on the visiting Task Force, no one minded a calorie burning run around the base perimeter.

A figure sat down next to him and Echo looked over. "Colonel? Been a while. How's things upstairs?"

Alpha shrugged his shoulders along with a wave of his hand. His legs stretched out, seeking a relaxing posture. "Quiet. We'll be able to bring Doomwind back down into the base in another two days. She's not doing much more than circling the moon. You know, showing the flag to keep the visitors honest. But General Grat is more than ready to leave. Mez insisted on stripping out one of the hospital ship's pods and setting up shop here in the base. Apparently the medical bay that was already here was more like something you would buy for your kid at a toy store."

Echo nodded an acknowledgement. Irken standards were fairly insane. If you couldn't imitate Doctor Frankenstein using only voice activated commands, it just wasn't good enough.

Alpha continued "I guess that has been the main hold up. That, and Drops Flat and Rock Smiter want to stick around. Their mechanized unit hasn't completed Zim's objective yet, and the miners have never had an entire asteroid ring to themselves before. Plus we have the largest demand for natural metals they've ever seen, given that most of what they smelt is usually considered garbage without some sort of particle rearrangement. They were surprised Computer could find buyers for simple iron, so they are very happy. Unfortunately that also means that when they go back somebody is going to have to escort them along the way."

"You mean Grat isn't confident we can do it," Echo commented.

"Right now he's right. Not for anything away from home," Alpha replied in turn. "The ship may have been designed specifically for that role, but I'd have to strip out what we have and nearly the Governor and Lady's entire security contingent. But I'll work on that while I'm down here. Beed's covering me on the ship for a day or two, but I can't exactly keep borrowing from the Lady's security. They won't stand for that. Until she is back in action their place is down here."

The two men watched the room full of gaming humans for a few minutes.

"How are your new boys and girls settling in?" Alpha asked.

"Surprisingly good," Echo said cheerfully. "Sometimes I have to hand it to the entertainment industry for conditioning folk to think of 'bad' aliens as being ugly, drooling giants. All claws, scales, and teeth. Plus, the 'evil horde' in cartoons we grew up with don't try to destroy us via weight gain like the 'Cookie' does." He laughed. "To be honest, I think the Irkens are more nervous than they are. Your wife has helped out quite a bit with that. Sometimes I think she's turning into the base mom."

Alpha chuckled. "Yeah. She needed a break and had to take a shuttle home for a few days to relax with friends. I was hoping to see her in person before heading back up. But that's the nature of the job you know. Fortunately we'll both be back on base in a few more days. And it's a good thing too. Once Lady Gaz starts becoming more active, I don't think I will have any crew at all to help me run the ship. Not unless she decides to turn it into her personal pleasure yacht."

Echo nodded semi-humorously. "Yeah. I don't see that happening. Not unless her idea of pleasure is wiping out the East Coast with a full air group strike and orbital bombardment. But given what we've been flying and testing, it's scary to think how easy it would be for someone to do exactly that."

"Speaking of testing, how is that going?" Alpha asked. He didn't want to think about how he had more nuclear type weapons at his disposal than the rest of the world did.

"I've going on a final test tomorrow morning. The new flak missiles should work well enough now, and General Tak says we can produce those much easier than laser-head ordinance. It is not much different than a chaff decoy, so no one will care. It's bigger than any 'air-to-air' missile I'm used to, but anything designed to make a lethal shrapnel cloud big enough to catch another fighter in space would be."

Alpha lifted an eyebrow. "More flak? I'm losing engagement efficiency with the 'spray-the-entire-wall' thing. There is a big difference between an Escort Carrier and a Fleet Carrier. It's either hangar space or magazine space. I can't have both."

Echo chuckled a bit. "Yeah. The woman does like to make it rain. But hey, I'm just glad she came up with something medium ranged to disrupt small craft before being forced into any dogfighting. My planes just aren't designed to take a lot of energy weapons fire, you know? One hit and I could lose a wing or my tail. We may think we have hotshot gear, but it's really just a collection of jury-rigged civilian parts we're flying around in. If I have to pull the trigger, I need to pull it first and I can't afford to miss."

A series of cheers and moans rose up from the crowd.

"Anyways," Echo continued as he changed the subject, "Mez stopped by and asked if humans ever suppress our instincts and what we did about it. Actually, he lectured for about five minutes without me understanding a word of he was saying. But that was the gist of it. It sounded like when we have to hold back from doing something and need to vent. So I told him we either talk to a friend about it or get on a computer to blow some virtual stuff up."

If Mez was asking, Alpha thought, it's an Irken problem. Not to mention there is really only one Irken that really fits the bill there. Heaven knows how stressed I'd be if hoodlums nearly took my wife away from me. If I had the power to annihilate them, but had to ignore them to take care of her. I'd be able to leave them to higher authority to deal with appropriately. He is the higher authority, and trained to deal with enemies as a soldier. Not as law enforcement.

"You didn't…" Alpha responded.

"I merely let Computer know about an opportunity."

Zim and Gaz took on experienced world finalist teams by themselves at the convention and won their way to the top. There were a lot of faces that weren't of that bracket in this room playing.

Echo looked at his wristwatch, stood up and let out a shrill whistle that cut through the noise. Then as the room quieted down, he opened up his own laptop on a nearby table.

"Okay, boys and girls." He told the room full of gamers-turned-pilots who were now logging out of the current match. "I know I've been running you all ragged these past couple of weeks with training sims, drills, and live sorties with instructors. Not to mention actual exercise." There were several laughs. "So I'm giving you all tonight and tomorrow off. Knowing you, you'll probably spend most of that time here like the subterranean gaming trolls you are, taking advantage of us CWZ tournament veterans in improving your game and trying out the new CWZ II: Online months before its public release. Let's have a hand for those who are letting you friendly folk play on their accounts."

There was an applause of appreciation and some hooting about time off.

Alpha looked over his shoulder as Echo setup the parameters for the next private match. "How do you know he'll log in? Lady Gaz is the gamer, not him," he said quietly under the background noise of other people.

"Who do you think I suggested Computer should speak to? She may not be in a shape to run the controls, but she's still a gamer. And even if she could, a gamer like her doesn't let off steam by taking a nature hike."

Alpha continued watching Echo's laptop display over his shoulder.

"Look at that," Echo replied, pointing at a name. "Right on time, too."

Alpha looked out over the crowd and saw several of the CWZ finalists, the ones waiting to play the next round, suddenly make room for someone else in order to go off exploring the treats waiting for them on the counters. He looked back at the screen in front of Echo.

"Everyone against Whirlwind?" he asked. "No restrictions?"

"Yeah. They'll assume it was a mistake and goof off until Whirlwind shows up in that Walker. Then they will take things more seriously in the next match, but they haven't worked up unit cohesion yet. I'll let the bloodbath go on for five matches then show them the difference when we do things on a tournament level. Not that I expect us to do more than hold our own."

"You're evil," Alpha stated.

Echo nodded. "I gave them the next thirty six hours off. I never said I would stop driving lessons home. I want these new pilots to know what they may be up against if someone truly unfriendly shows up and what it takes to get through it. That it is not like in the movies or scripted games we play. They are in a whole new league now. One where we're still the small fry in a galaxy of big mean fish."

---

For two days Gaz, back in her hospital gown attire, had been parked on the couch with Gir. Surrounded by empty Suck Munkey bottles and watching old black-and-white horror films on the TV. He would laugh, point, and smell his robotic armpits like is former self. But he also kept very close to his Mistress, almost touching. Zim sat with them for long hours, sometimes with Gaz laying sideways and resting her head in his lap while he stroked her hair. Both needing the absentminded closeness.

Sometimes she sat with just Zim, being fed meals with a spoon. Taking sips from juice boxes that were held for her while Gir crashed about in the kitchen destroying the dirty dishes. Then Zim yelling at Gir because he was decorating the kitchen walls by tossing the dishes against a surface and letting them slide down in artistic flair. Which Zim would have to order Computer to help cleanup.

Sometimes they would just be there. TV waiting in sleep mode. Her head resting in Zim's lap and Gir snuggled up next to her, the SIR unit's eyes closed and sucking his metal thumb, all of them wrapped up in one of Gaz's blankets.

She had needed that break from the real world. The occasional antics of Gir and Zim were now a balm to her invisible but all too real wounds, when once they would have been considered pathetic. Being surrounded by beings who loved her, and proving each and every hour that they were not about to abandon her in favor of their own obsessive pursuits, were like bandages to her inner scars. Zim and Gir may have had to step away for a little bit to deal with some occasional chore. But they never left her because something else was more important than she was.

Gaz had always been strong and tough enough to stand alone, despising what she preserved as weakness or stupidity. But now her biggest opponent was her own inner self. Her body weakened, immobile, and cybernetically modified. Dependent on someone else to feed and wash her. After retrieving Gir she needed to be weak, escaping from the real world for a time so her relapsing mind wouldn't dwell on things in an endless spiral that would become an inescapable maze. Thoughts starting with 'If only I had…' were a slippery slope for a former doomer turned inward.

So she had needed those two days. Being surrounded, taken care of, and loved regardless of momentary weakness and loosed emotions or unregulated thoughts, had been a healing to Gaz as well.

Which ended when Computer interrupted her alone bathroom time as she waited for her bowels to do their thing and thus avoid a diaper change. Being trapped in a dirty diaper all day was something she didn't want to repeat.

Computer had gotten an earful but it had been right. Zim was a destroyer, not a nursemaid. He was shutting away a part of himself to take care of her interests exclusively. So while Gaz may not be able to feed herself, wash herself, or move her arms and legs herself, she could take care of Zim in return.

All it took was to tell Zim the words "I want a date."

So now they were down in her neglected Gaming Den below the surface of their home. Gaz couldn't wheel her chair onto the platform that the two large tournament gaming rigs sat on, nor could she work any controls since her PAK's spider limbs didn't have grasping appendages at their ends. So she sat at Zim's side in a regular chair.

Not that being placed in it with her chest pressed up against the chair's back and then strapped to it with tape wasn't rather annoying. But she didn't want to fall out of it either due to having the athletic ability of a rag doll.

Gaz used a spider limb to point out something on the fifteen monitors arrayed around them in a one-eighty degree simulated field of view. She quickly pulled it back as the whole display went white before she could say anything about the solid wall of red IFF icons that Zim had just salvoed an opening nuclear missile spread into.

Zim cackled psychotically in glee as his kill count went up by forty and charged his Walker past scorched base defenses, and knocking burnt Gravity Effect Vehicles out of the way with an arm pod.

Gaz watched on as video game mayhem and destruction erupted before her eyes. She barely saw a Gun Tank appear on the mini-map before Zim had the Walker spinning around on one foot and launched two dumbfired anti-tank missiles into it along with a quick barrage of from the Phased Plasma Guns mounted on each arm.

The Gun Tank exploded, disappearing off the mini-map just as quickly as it appeared. Zim let out a demented laugh as he turned the Walker's torso, raised an arm pod and unleashed a hurricane of autocannon fire. An incoming missile from the sky detonated before it could impact, and an anti-air missile roared off the backpack launch rail system.

Gaz turned to watch Zim as he massacred flustered and confused opponents in cyberspace. It hadn't occurred to her before, but Zim had sacrificed his own antique Walker bringing her home. Not only had it been a cherished personal possession, but without being at the controls of one Zim had half his brain tied behind his back.

Not only had he run it into the ground figuratively, but the Irken had crashed it into the ground literally in order to buy a few more seconds of medical aid before Gaz's stilled heart resulted in brain death.

She wasn't ready to watch the surveillance recording of the attack itself. But she had seen the crumpled Irken hull with its mangled and twisted legs and weapon arms from an Assault Shuttle's camera that Computer had shown her of Zim arriving at her old home; frantically scrambling to carry her body inside. She and Zim had finished the restoration together because it helped his mind work when he was recovering from his own breakdown. Back when they first realized they were married.

Her Irken husband had thrown it away without a single thought. The one thing that let him access his strangled potential for what he was designed to do and wanted to be all his life. The Blight of Irk himself broke his own mental stepladder. The only personal thing he had from his homeworld that let him exist, even momentarily, as non-defective because he desperately needed his human wife to return to the world of the living. Then assigned himself as her nursemaid, staying near to her for a month straight in order to take care of her every living need.

Gaz smiled as she leaned her head over and rested it against Zim's shoulder, the gamer aware of how much contact would not be distracting. The girl felt a measure of peace as Zim squashed a whole squad of infantry as the Walker stomped forward. Old Gaz would have had a stroke if she knew that one day this bungling defective alien, who was too stupid to make the smallest dent in conquering a hopelessly senseless humanity, would truly earn his place as her marriage mate.

Gaz sighed with a weak but content smile. The first in a long time. It was not much as dates went, but it was perfect. They were both a bit broken. But they could both give back a little of what was lost.

So the paralyzed former Doomer watched her impaired former Destroyer play their video game. She listened to Zim's ego speaking nonsense with a faint smile rather than a frown. It was good to go back to the basics. Back to how things began. It was a good place to start again.

---

Tak sat with her feet up on the control boards in the empty tower overlooking the base and the neat rows of human combat craft parked out on the Tarmac. The sun was coming up over the Horizon. It was early and she would much rather have remained in bed with Dib until it was time for him to get up for skool. But this morning Echo would begin final testing of the new dogfighting flak missile she had been designing. It was meant to engage small craft at much closer ranges than the stand-off X-ray Laser and Grazer warheads more suited for larger ships. The thruster component traded range for speed and maneuvering. Just having those out seeking targets would add to Earth fighters surviving to get into knife-fight range where they could use their 'Shredder' guns.

Tak shook her head. Part of her wished, not for the first time, that she could bring in real technology to work with rather than these improvisations. While they could be briefly effective, they had no real endurance using physical munitions. The fighters would quickly run empty if they were ever to engage a real enemy, and thus have to retreat to reload their weapon racks and magazines.

A small part of her wanted to join some of the other Irkens on base in having the regulators in their PAKs adjusted slightly.

Nearly all of Lady Gaz's Irkens that had come to Earth were… noticing… the differences they had developed. At least they were reaching a deviation point where their PAK regulation subroutines were starting to notice significant deviation from factory parameters. As if they were becoming a subspecies of their race, and regulator programming was starting to get on some of their nerves. Not there was anything specifically or technically treasonous, but that something wasn't quite right and it couldn't point at what to correct. Like a general itch in your brain that you couldn't scratch.

As smallests they were not supposed to be exposed to such things as judgment calls, grey areas, or creative solutions to anomalies the PAKs had never been designed to process. Like a non-Irken Taller who was better than Irken ones, knowing about offspring, living on a native planet to be protected rather than be conquered and being in position to enforce that against other Irkens who may understand the loopholes differently.

With the arrival of these Irken refugees it was rather plain to see when they tried to understand what they were doing. Not that they were any better due to seeking refuge for their bondmates. But the smallests' less restricted programming was evolving, growing, and they were not prepared nor programmed to handle independent non-physical growth.

Mrs. Alpha had finally needed a break to refresh herself. Talking and reasoning only went so far with a technological second brain. Fortunately Mez was on hand to make such minor adjustments and better equip them for this sort of duty. He had been busy for quite some time fine-tuning the programming switches to allow them to be an official Governor's Own unit. Nothing major. Just a few tweaks and reconfiguring very minor parameters that the patient requested to serve their Lady. He wasn't a control brain after all.

Tak understood, but for different reasons. Not because something in her regulatory system was nagging all the time, but because it wasn't. It was wrong and treasonous to transfer Irken military technology to other species. But the many amazing things in her new life were supposed to have her PAK screaming.

Tak sometimes found herself wishing she could experience coming to work every single morning with that wonderful tingling in her gut that Dib left within her after a good mating. That she could walk around feeling that she wasn't separated from her mate while he was at skool and she at the base. It felt good wanting that. To not be separated from her husband while apart. But it also felt like she was missing something when that part of her PAK remained silent. That she didn't get the impulses telling her it was all horribly wrong and deviant and disgusting when she was looking up into her mate's eyes and luxuriating in their combined scent. Seeing Dib looking back into her own welcoming eyes as his goo- Dear Irk, she was thinking about mating her human while on duty!

The Irken General tried to shake the flush out of her face and thought about cancelling her medical checkup. Mez would probably ask her to call Dib and have them crawl into a full body scanner for medical research if he knew. Unfortunately, after the unnatural exobiologist returned from his errand, Tak was scheduled for some routine diagnostics and bioscanning to make sure herself and the smeet she carried were still okay. That would be difficult to perform if the Irken was forced to take a permanent swim in the lake.

Tak, with her feet still up on the console before her, leaned back in her chair. The Irken raised her arms and carefully placed both hands over her abdomen. Underneath the lower set of thin pudgy flesh that indicated growing nourishment orbs Tak pressed down ever so slightly. Inside she felt the swell of her egg sac press against her squeedily-spooch. That little swell was where a portion of Dib was growing within her.

No. Even more than how the bonding necklaces contained a DNA sample her mate, a portion of Dib was always with her. Tak closed her eyes. A fragment of Dib had merged with a piece of herself and was now forming to become more than a blob of tissue. Tak's PAK brought back the mental image of the last scan display that showed their smeet. Head, arm and leg buds now distinct from the unrecognizable mass it used to be. There were places where eyes would be. Three tiny finger buds that were barely visible at that magnification. A little bit on each side of the head that indicated their daughter would have some form of ears. A strange tail that Dib said was normal in an early human fetus, which was really confusing.

"You will be fine," Tak quietly ordered into her belly as she began rocking in place.

She cleared her mind, thinking of how Dib kept telling her that he was not building a cage. That it was called a 'crib.' Like that made any difference. The construction having bars that could easily be cut away, an unsecure lack of a top, an absence of tamper-proof locking mechanisms, and a lack of plasma conductive framing was not reassuring as a test of her smeet's intelligence.

"I can't get you a PAK," the expectant Irken told her belly. "Dib tells me to not expect you being able to even crawl on your own when you arrive. I don't want you to turn out stupid. But even if you can't be smart, at least you'll be free."

---

The Chief sat in an isolated corner of the waiting room. He looking at a magazine that was older than he was, which itself was a reprint of a yet older copy to replace the same worn issue. The morning light was shining through the reception area of the Veterans' Hospital, striking the floor and merely illuminating how dull the linoleum flooring was. The only other person keeping him company was a nurse sitting on the other side of the room behind the admitting window. She was thumbing through some shopping catalogue with several stacks of medical folders piled up on either side of her and reaching up past her head.

He paid no attention when he heard the front doors slide open and closed. Two sets of footsteps echoed on the bare floor. Since it wasn't any of his business, the Chief simply turned a page. He had to shake his head at the ad for the horseless tractor. It probably took far more time and effort to replace the same outdated magazine than to just stop at any store and pick up some random newspaper. But the hospital administration did things in a certain bureaucratic way. If pamphlet such-and-such for room so-and-so was worn out, it required identical replacement.

A small shadow flittered across the edge of his vision and he heard the taking of a seat in the row of chairs facing him. The Chief still paid no mind. It was early, but patients waiting for treatment for everything from hangnails and imaginary therapists to evaluation for surgery would be arriving throughout the day. Not that they performed surgery here, but they evaluated a patient's need for it.

"Mind if I take a seat, Chief?" an unfamiliar and authoritative voice with a British accent asked.

This caused the Chief to look up. The waiting room was empty except himself and the two new arrivals, so there were plenty of chairs. Across from him was a young boy with curly brown hair, blue eyes, and holding a broad lollipop. He wore a sailor suit as if it were Halloween and a "Hello Panda' backpack. Apparently he was feeling nauseous judging from that skin tone. Standing in front of him was a man in a uniform that was rather familiar, but not entirely what he was accustomed-

Guard, the Chief's brain clicked. They reminded him of the bodyguards from a few days ago.

The Chief nodded his head, and the full bird Colonel sat down a nonintrusive seat away.

"Didn't think we were being followed as well as investigated, Sir," The Chief commented.

The Colonel shrugged a shoulder. "You're not. Lady Membrane is going to be coming here for a while. It's a public place and who knows who might walk in. So they bugged the waiting room. Just as a precaution, you understand."

"Ah." The Chief said without commitment. "Look, about the blast that night-"

"Forget about it," the Colonel interrupted. It sounded vaguely like an order for an event that never officially happened. "My Lieutenants tell me that it actually helped The Lady. At least for a while. So no harm done. That is if she is allowed to come back." The statement sounded more like a question.

The Chief looked at the prosthetic on his right arm, but his mind was picturing the girl with robotic limbs sprouting from that pod that must have been imbedded into her spine. He nodded. "Yeah, she can come back for group. That was never an issue with us."

"Good," the Colonel, "I get the impression she's going to need it."

The Chief looked back up at the other man.

"Chief, her security is not my department. So I'm not really kept in the loop about her condition, and I've been... out of town. But her sister-in-law is my Commanding Officer. Not to mention two of my friends were there. Seems after your little festival Lady Membrane went to visit where her attackers had been hiding. I hear she's been bound to her living room couch for a couple of days."

The Chief cringed. That was way too soon and would have come with a very bad case of psychological whiplash. Maybe after three months of intensive therapy and in a carefully monitored, controlled, and not to mention safe environment a person could be recovered enough to confront someone. Not one introductory session in a rather informal and volunteer-run support group.

"That wasn't a smart thing to do. Downright reckless in fact."

"Believe me, the troops weren't liking it one bit either. But I gather a member of her household had been staking them out and wouldn't come home unless she asked him to in person. I don't think she gave herself much of a choice in the matter."

The Chief nodded. The tough ones rarely did, and could take the longest to heal.

"Anyway that was a few days ago, so hopefully she's feeling better," the Colonel commented with a slap of the knee as if they were discussing the weather. "So. What are you in for?"

The Chief bit back some annoyance. People tried to pretend they treated him the same when they treated him differently. If they were asking about the stupid arm, they pretended they weren't. Pretended they didn't notice that they noticed a steampunk-looking set of chrome grasping claws. It wasn't like he was the Elephant Man for heaven's sake! It could wear on one's nerves when it went on day in and day out. Especially having to put up with it first thing in the morning.

"You mean if I'm here about my hand? No. The stupid thing doesn't fit right and chaffs my skin raw at times, but I volunteer to help out the other amputees. Cortez sometimes gets infections behind her leg implants, so her husband asked me to bring her in. Some VIP client inspecting the books for the quarterly tax update or something. Her implants aren't just on the outside you know. The couplings run clear up into her femur."

"I've seen some better, uh, gear on TV," the Colonel tried to say without prying into the realm of casual replacement body parts. "How come…"

"How come we've got something slightly better than hooks and Cortez still has steel poles for legs? Because it happened in The Service, and when they were patched up they slapped them with a medical discharge. Even cheap ones are expensive, and private sector insurance won't cover a 'preexisting condition.' The VA should, but that costs money and no matter what people say about 'honoring the sacrifices we made in the service,' they balk at raising taxes to actually do anything."

The Chief heard some noises much like scoffing. The small figure in the cute sailor suit and still holding the lollipop scooted off his chair and stepped over. He pulled out a small computer screen from seemingly nowhere, as if performing a magic act. He was making ticking noises with his tongue.

"Foolishness," he was saying. "It's as if you people go out of your way to be dumb. I swear sometimes it is a curse being the only true connoisseur within ninety sect- Nevermind." The small figure who had first appeared to be a young boy held up the computer screen. "Now, I can have many options to choose from." Images started to flick by. "This one is nice. It comes with a six kilowatt particle- Nevermind. This one has a miniature mortar launcher. Oh! This one has climbing claws, encrypted satellite communications and fires a grappling hook over two thousand-"

"Mez!" The Colonel snapped. "Why don't you see what you can do for Cortez while the Chief and I talk?"

The little one seemed to pout for a moment. "But I haven't even gotten to the full arm replacements yet! Not to mention if I could replace all his-"

"Do I have to call the Governor?"

There was a shake of the head. "You people are so close minded. I shall go examine this pathetic little excuse of a condition. As if that were any kind of challenge worthy of my expertise."

The small figure wandered off past the reception nurse and through one of the doors. There was a small crash, and this 'Mez' character came back out with several mops falling out behind him. He trailed a line of garbage bags stuck to his boot as he went through a second set of doors as if he owned the place.

The nurse behind the reception window continued to flip through her catalogue.

"Sooo," the Colonel stretched out, ignoring the dramatic exit. "You made Master Chief Petty Officer. Quite an accomplishment."

"Yes, Sir," the Chief proudly admitted. "Twenty four years in the Navy, right out of hi-skool. Spent half my adult life at sea, and the service was all I really knew. Loved it ya know."

"Same here. Marines. Armor Company and never imagined doing anything else. At least until my transfer. Seems I'm practically in the bloody navy now. Damn insult if you ask me."

That seems to score some points with the Chief, earning a chuckle.

"Mind if I ask why you volunteer? It's not like you are an invalid."

The Chief nodded. "Just because you got transferred doesn't mean you still aren't a Tanker. Right? Same with me. But because I had my twenty years in I ended up with retirement. I get my pension to live on, but I just can't be a regular Joe Schmo. It's not who I am. Can you see yourself as a plumber or store manager? Me neither. Sure, I could travel around or hang around my apartment building models. But I'm here where I can do some good for people who understand what being in The Service meant."

"I guess so. I mean, I don't know what I'd do if I ever tried to be a civilian. My wife says it's just not in my blood."

The Chief had to laugh at this.

The Colonel continued. "I bet you knew a lot of people in The Service."

"Yes, Sir. You don't spend half of your adult life at sea on a ship with five thousand men and women aboard without knowing a few people."

"Ever want to go back?" the Colonel asked.

There was a sigh. "Yes, Sir. Sometimes I feel like I'd give my right arm to serve again." The Chief held up his prosthesis and chuckled. "Of course that don't mean as much as it used to."

"Charlie told me you folks handled seeing what Lady Membrane could do with her… prosthesis… rather well. Surprisingly well in fact. So I'm hoping you could help me out with a problem. Then maybe Mez can help you get a better arm. I figure it would be child's play compared to helping Lady Membrane adapt to her unit." He saw the look in the other man's eyes. "Not that he performed the installation on The Lady, mind you. That part was more of a field surgery deal with just first aid training and no supervision. She almost didn't make it."

The Chief merely nodded.

The Colonel pulled out a photo from a leg pocket of his uniform and held it out for the Chief to look at.

It was a bow view of a large ship in some sort of drydock. A three quarter view from high up above the bow. Not a particularly revealing shot since it only showed the flat deck, superstructure, and other blocky slabs of armor plate.

"Nice ship. Don't recognize the class."

"You wouldn't," The Colonel replied. "She's recent and very hush hush. Ultra-state-of-the-art everything. My CAG is working up his air wing, but I need people who know carrier operations to run it. And I can't exactly poach active duty personnel. Admirals and Generals get a bit upset when you do."

It kind of sounded like something cooked up from Membrane Labs that didn't officially exist.

"What flag she fly under?" he asked nonchalantly.

"International. Part of the deal that came out of Lady Membrane's marriage."

"Like the UN?" the Chief hinted at. It wasn't like he was cleared to hear actual facts. But suggested theoretical answers weren't facts. "An international peacekeeping deal?"

"Something like that," the Colonel hinted back.

"So hers was like some old-fashioned political marriage?"

"Eh, more a Vegas one." The Colonel winked. "But it did result in some of those kind of benefits."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being recruited?" the Chief asked.

"You're not. Mostly for the same reasons my wife guided Lady Membrane to your support group. A President, Queen or CEO doesn't typically go into group therapy sessions with the workers. You get what I mean? If you can help Lady Membrane, that is far more important. As for me, I'm just hoping you can point me in the direction of experienced people. Ones who would know what they are doing, can be trusted with major ordinance, can learn new technology without blowing up the ship, can keep their lips sealed, and are crazy enough to handle seeing things nobody would believe. Like The Lady's PAK. We can read files, but that isn't the same as knowing something out in the real world."

The Chief was silent for a while. "So I come up with some names of people you will need, and I get a super deluxe prosthesis? That sounds like a pretty good deal. Or is it more like putting me in someone's debt?"

"Nothing like that, Chief," The colonel said as he put the photo back in his pocket and stood up. "You were in The Service, so you understand. We take care of our own. Besides, Lady Membrane is big on balance. However, I don't think she understands debt like we do. I agreed to captain the ship, and instead of a salary she arranged for my mortgage to be paid off. Bills automatically paid for, everything. If she sees a reason why you need something, you get it. I think she was raised that way. Of course, betray that and there is not a place on Earth you can hide."

There was a crash, and Mez came scrambling out through the doors leading further into the hospital. Before the doors could swing close he was on the other side of the waiting room, rapidly moving for the exit. "I-got-the sample-I-needed-and-will-have-her-cloned-legs-ready-sometime-next-week-bye."

Then he was out of the building and the other set of doors crashed open again, revealing Cortez. She was wearing a hospital gown that draped down over her leg stumps and sat in an appropriated electric wheelchair. The woman held one of her prosthesis legs in one hand like a club.

"Where is that KID?" Cortez roared. "That little brat waltzed right into my room playing doctor and stabbed my thigh with a lollipop! I swear it went in a whole freaking inch!"

She didn't wait for an answer. Instead the angered woman tore across the room in the wheelchair with her steel leg in one hand like some horseback Indian waving a tomahawk.

The two men just stared at the scene. The nurse at the reception window still turned the pages of her catalog. She may have been asleep.

"Ah, did he say cloned legs? As in Cortez could have her legs back?"

The Colonel didn't take his eyes off of Cortez for the sake of self-preservation. Angry women were dangerous. "Chief, you have no idea what is possible. After The Lady gets better and you decide you want to find out, come see me at the base. We're stationed next to the airport. Now I'll leave you to calm the sergeant down while I bravely chase after Mez."

"Wait. I didn't get your name."

---

Mez sat in distracted attention at the computer terminal in front of him. This deep into the base the medical bay was quiet, and finally updated to the minimum of what his standards would allow. Cloning replacement organs in lesser species were rarely a problem, and it was almost too bad Irkens only had a single superorgan. Not that egg sacs counted as organs, just like muscles and skin were not considered organs by the layman either. Of course he had only seen one solitary Irken who had an egg sac, not to mention it being currently occupied. Another intriguing subject to document for his private files.

Cloning an entire limb was a bit more challenging than an organ. For a mere medical technician that is. One had to clone it so the various parts were in the correct places. Bone in the core, muscle, ligaments, sensory and motor nerves, circulation conduits around it. Skin preferably on the outside. Then there was the attachment process to look forward to.

A good way to get to know a new species. Any pretender could take a subject apart. A real connoisseur of biology could put one back together good as new. Sometimes better than new.

Results showing a review of the base's PAK maintenance logs popped up on another display. Not only could he observe 'free-range' smallests functioning without Irken Tallers, but this had been a unique opportunity to study base PAK function of Irken bondmates as well. With all the adjustments he had been requested to perform lately it seemed a good idea to keep an eye on the diagnostic logs generated during their maintenance cycles. At least that was the excuse.

Oddly enough, with eight Irken bondmates within a five mile radius Mez was in an area that had more bondmates per square mile than even Irk itself. That every single one of them was bonded outside their species was a unique opportunity to expand his private collection of biological data. Not to mention that information linked to Irkens reproducing biologically was so rare and old that even the remaining bits of computer data were fossilized. If only Tak would be more cooperative his exobiology files would be that much more complete.

Mez felt a chirp in his PAK, and extended the small module out of his PAK. One of his auxiliary PAK limbs held it in from of him as he manipulated the computer controls with his hands.

"Lady Gaz. This was unexpected. I don't think you have ever called me in person before."

The face of Lady Gaz filled up most of the small screen held in front of his face. "I wanted to do something for myself, even if it was a small thing before I get cabin fever. I imagined I felt my toe itch during maintenance last night. So I am making an appointment in your schedule for a checkup. Friday morning."

"Ah. Yes. I will let Lim know to pick you up. Of course you could just have told Computer."

The image of Gaz quickly looked to either side of her own surroundings. Then she spoke in a more quiet voice. "You do know about Doctor-Patient confidentiality. Right?"

"Confi-what?"

"Right. I thought so," Gaz rolled her eyes and letting out a breath. "You speaking a word of my condition to anyone other than Zim, or what I tell you is private is a huge no-no. I may not be able to do much myself, but my two hundred Irkens around you may have other ideas."

This made Mez a bit nervous. Irken governors did not take betrayal all that well. Lady Gaz may be human, but she was an Imperial Lady with an Irken PAK.

The image of Gaz continued. "I want to look for some medical related stuff. Irk probably purged the databases, but maybe you have something in your private files. And I don't want anyone to know about it. It's a bondmate thing. I'm not Irken, so I don't really know what is going on inside of Zim."

"My files are rather extensive, if I must say so myself," Mez replied proudly. "The best collection in the Empire. Perhaps if you specified what you were looking for-"

"No!" Lady Gaz cut him off. "Just collect everything you have on bondmates and send them to me. I'm tired of sitting around all day."

"I will have to download them from my PAK. I don't keep them any place less secure," Mez informed her. "You will not spread this around?" he asked hesitantly. While it was a lot of work amassing the best private collection of biology data in the Empire, it was also a chore keeping it that way.

A strange look appeared in Lady Gaz's face. "Yeah. Believe me that is not going to happen. Just get me the files and have them hand delivered. Not over the air waves or the data lines."

"The treehouse guards will be changing shifts at the end of the day. I will include it with the mail. Lady Gaz? You sound better than you have been."

The communicator blinked out as Lady Gaz abruptly severed the connection. Mez went back to his research. Perhaps humans already had discovered a medical cure for this 'Cabin Fever.'

---

Gaz sat in her wheelchair in the living room while the commotion went on in the kitchen.

"Ack! GIR! Why is there a live squirrel in Gaz-blossom's burrito?" Zim's voice carried through the air.

Why is his emphasis on 'live?' Never mind. I don't want to know what thought process that came out of.

"But the smeeties are lonely!" Gir whined. It sounded like he was nearing tears. "They need a pet to-"

The doorbell rang.

Oh thank god! Gaz thought. "I'll get it!" she called.

She guided her motorized chair to the front door, tuning out the rest of the demented conversation. She extended a spider limb from her PAK and pressed a hidden button on the door frame. The entrance activated its one-way transparency, showing two disguised Irkens waiting on the other side.

Gaz went to open the door, her cybernetic limb reaching for the doorknob then she grumbled in frustration. It was amazing how often one could forget how many simple mindless tasks no one ever thought about that required actual hands.

Sighing, Gaz guided her chair over to one of the windows on either side of the front entrance. Using her PAK's limbs, she lifted the window open. On the bright side, if I'm feeling frustrated and surrounded by crazy, at least I'm too distracted to be feeling depressed and dependent right now.

"Over here!" she called, maneuvering herself so her head could lean out the window.

"Our shift is coming up," one of the disguised Irkens said, "so we brought you your mail. Something came in on Roz's courier run this afternoon. The rest is junk."

The trace of 'normalcy' was a relief. At least until Gaz tried to reach out to take the pile held out to her.

"Uh, just hold it out for me," she told them.

With the stack of mail held out to her, Gaz grabbed them with her teeth. "-Ank ouh," she managed to get out. She spat the delivery into her lap and watched her guards climb up into the treehouse and the relieved guards climb down to return to the base.

Gaz cast a last look at the shoddy looking treehouse. It looked realistic, but those inside would be miserable when bad weather hit. Gaz made a mental note to have something done about that and stored it in her PAK.

As the noise of Zim chasing Gir around the kitchen table reached her ears and a terrorized, condiment covered squirrel streaked past her and out the window, Gaz reached up and closed it once again.

At least I'm getting plenty of distraction tonight, she thought feeling better than she had. She still felt hollow, appearing solid on the outside but precarious within. Just waiting for the next tripwire to cause a collapse.

Gaz shook herself, maneuvering herself back in front of the blank TV. She examined the contents of her lap. With the tip of one spider limb she pulled away fliers for organic manure and coupons for breakfast cereal that glowed in the dark, letting them fall to the floor. There was a spare Irken Pad in the mix.

Good thing these are multipurpose, Gaz thought as she plugged one limb into a socket and pulled it into her PAK. She spied a thick brown envelope with a shipping stamp that wasn't made on Earth. Her PAK read the front label as 'To: Governor of Earth.'

Gaz, stinking her tongue out in concentration, held down the middle of the envelope with two spider limbs and slipped another metal appendage into the flap. With a flick she tore the envelope open. The girl reached inside with those cybernetic arms, unable to grasp whatever lay inside.

She let out a heavy breath and tried again, this time extending out all four spider limbs. She used three to hold it down in her lap at the corners and the fourth to tear the envelope down the middle. Gaz carefully extended some pressure with one limb, poking through the envelope without stabbing herself as well. She lifted the metal limb up and shook the packaging onto the floor. Then Gaz used her four spider limbs to turn the content around so she could examine it.

Did I just have a 'Look what I can do' moment for opening a stupid letter? Gaz asked herself. She did feel a small sense of accomplishment in the trivial task, and a little unnerved at how much she was improving in the use of her extra limbs. Not that she was ready to use them to crawl up the walls and along the ceiling. Just using them to 'walk' herself into the bathroom by herself was kind of creepy, bringing back feelings of 'robot zombie girl.'

Gaz mentally shook herself of those feelings again. In her lap appeared to be some sort of certificate on gold paper. Red Irken script adorned the page in impressive styling. Her PAK translated the script directly into her mind as if she was looking at her native language.

'Congratulations on your purchase, Governor!' it read. 'You are now the proud registered owner of 65,475,000 cubic light-years of Galactic Real Estate. Happy Conquering!'

"Zim!" Gaz called out into the kitchen. "Do you know anything about sixty five million-"

"Computer handles the boring stuff," Zim called loudly from the kitchen. "It probably just won the lottery again. Gir! Empty your head of squirrels this instant! NO! No! Not in here! Outside! OUTSIDE!"

Gaz just shook her head. That could wait for another day. "Computer, just order me some take out tonight, please. Maybe something Chinese. No, not something from China. Forget it. Just order me a pizza."

Maybe insanity was good for her recovery, but she wished it would come in smaller doses at times.

---

Note: My calculations may be off, but that last part should equate to a radius of 250 light-years around Earth.