GOBLIN SPACE MARKET ROUND TWO HERE WE GOOOOO!

I should revisit the Space Market again later. It's such a fun and varied setting to explore! Plus, it might be fun to follow Gir around it at least once.

Note: I head canon that Irkens can 'ping' the location of the Massive, and are afforded that information, so they know where it is should they ever be called back for any reason. Be it for a mass invasion or defense of the Massive itself or if they go to war. Even Defective Irkens are given this privilege so long as they haven't committed direct treason (though, if they had, they'd be dead so. Moot point)

Enjoy!

Part 62: Space Market: A Little Confrontation

"Got it." Dib gave him a thumbs up before returning to the stall. Zim waved him off and disappeared into the crowd. Gir chased after him with a squeal before blasting off into one of the upper towers.

Zim wasn't entirely too concerned with Gir being off on his own. He'd attended the Market with Zim various times already and always managed to get back to the Voot one way or another. Sometimes that meant he'd skip the decontamination arches entirely and Zim was forced to backtrack, but Gir had yet to miss a deadline for being back on the Voot. Zim suspected it was because Gir was afraid of being left behind. Regardless of the fact Zim couldn't do that—Gir would wreak far too much havoc before being put down, if they could catch him—but, he wasn't about to let Gir know on the off chance it ended the punctuality streak of his.

Zim weaved through the bodies of aliens easily. The ones who recognized an Irken when they saw one would move out of his way and that certainly made it easier but one little factoid was nagging at him. The fact that when he'd come just half a decade earlier, the aliens didn't do that nearly as often. It'd been happening more frequently every visit and while Zim was aware of the Empire's advancements, it wasn't making much progress in this quadrant of the galaxy. No, the Armada was on the opposite side of the galaxy and had been for almost the entire duration of Zim's stay on Earth.

Just to be sure, he checked his PAK. The locator pinged the Massive in the same quadrant as it had been over a year ago. It had made progress across the planets, and was drifting towards the neighboring quadrant, but that also meant that it hadn't wiped a planet on his side of the galaxy in recent years. So, a growing sense of unease wasn't the cause.

Zim felt eyes on him, eyes that lingered, and he stopped at a stall. The vendor was busy with another alien so Zim took the moment to focus on his hearing. He could hear a familiar whir of machinery and he spun around as it got closer.

An Irken who was about his height stopped short of reaching him. Zim eyed them up and down even as the Irken put on a smirk.

"Zim?"

"…Yes."

"I'll be damned," the Irken said, almost laughing but refraining.

It was an odd behavior. Zim was used to Taller Irkens laughing openly at Shorter Irkens—but, this Irken was almost the same height as he was. Zim almost had a moment of 'wait, a second' thought but pushed it off for the moment.

"And you are…?"

"Oh, right. You're pretty infamous, but I don't think we've ever met. Elite Soldier Dova," the Irken says. Zim's antennae reflexively flicked up in greeting in time with Dova's. Dova's eyes lingered on Zim a moment before he spoke again. "You got… Taller."

"Have I?" Zim asks, only partially trying to mask the sarcasm.

He'd noticed his height, of course he had, but he'd grown so used to it that he hadn't really bothered to recall how tall he'd really gotten. Growing a foot was a cause for personal celebration to an Irken and Zim just hadn't bothered. Given Dova's rank, however, Zim supposed he should pay more attention to it for future encounters.

Regardless, the bit of sarcasm that had slipped through—he blamed Gaz's influence—had Dova's antennae flicking in irritation.

"Those pants aren't standard, either." Dova points out, losing some of the decorum he'd been trying to put up. Zim was partly glad that it was gone. He knew better what he was dealing with if Dova wasn't putting up a front.

"What's an Elite Soldier doing out here?" Zim asks. Dova blinked at him, taking a step closer. Zim noted that a few of the Market patrons were pointedly stepping to the side around them.

"I'm restocking, obviously," Dova says.

"As am I."

"Where'd you get those two Taller?" Dova asks, looking down the street towards Dib and Gaz. Zim spotted them for a moment through a gap in the other Market Goers. Zim's antennae started to tilt forward. "I mean… two Tallers as lackeys? How'd you manage that?"

Dova's antennae perked up at the sound of hissing. He turned to look at Zim, one antennae raising curiously at the PAK leg poking out of Zim's PAK. It was already tilting in his direction. Dova turned to him fully. Several aliens in the immediate vicinity took off down the streets.

"Do not call them that," Zim growls.

"….What? They're not Irken."

"They are not lackeys, either," Zim stresses. The PAK leg started to aim. Zim ignored the sound of rapidly shuffling feet around him. Dova glared him down.

Zim thought, for just a moment, of retracting the PAK leg and grabbing one of the heavier items on the stall tables to bludgeon Dova with instead. It might not be quicker than trying to all out fight with the asshole, but it would be so satisfying. He quickly disregarded that thought, though. A fight with two Irkens was never fast, especially if one was Taller—which Dova was by maybe half an inch—and it would be horrible if Zim started one right this second. Despite how much he wanted to just skewer the Irken in front of him and go about his day.

Irkens fighting… he'd be slated as a traitor for doing it. Irkens past smeethood were forbidden from doing it at all. Forbidden unless they had very good reason. Zim weighed the options. Killing Dova for two humans would not be something The Control Brains or The Tallest would approve of. Zim doubted most Irkens would approve of it. He needed more of a break before he tried to poke that hornet's nest, as Dib would call it.

Zim retracted the PAK leg, hiding his disappointment in doing so. Dova watched it carefully until it had fully retracted into the PAK.

"Yeah, we're not going to do that," Dova says evenly. Zim looked him up and down. He was fairly certain that he could take him on. He fought to get the thought out of his head. He could humor that violent streak another time playing games with Gaz.

"Beating you to death would be more preferable. Simply skewering you would have been too fast," Zim says. Dova's smirk fell into a glower.

"Know your rank."

"My rank improved," Zim gloated, shrugged nonchalantly. The aggravation growing in Dova's twitching antennae was far more satisfying to see than Zim knew it probably should have been—he blamed Gaz's influence again—and he leveled his gaze. "And I'm leaving."

Zim turned on his heel. He mentally called Gir back to him with the PAK. It took approximately three seconds of Dova demanding Zim turn back around for him to hear Gir's shrill laughter just before the robot made contact with Dova's head. Zim did turn just slightly, smirking at the sight of Gir using his own swinging weight to keep Dova off balance. The screaming from Dova only made it better.

Zim hummed to himself as he visited the stalls. He went further than he expected either Gaz or Dib to try going, even with the translator, to stalls that had more exotic displays. He found different technological gadgets he was sure Dib would lose his mind over and pieces of equipment that messed with physics that Gaz would stare at for hours if he let her. He planned to. Seeing her eyes light up for anything that wasn't her video game was a challenge he'd imposed on himself and he'd be damned if he couldn't find one piece of equipment that would do it.

He heard the sirens of the Market's Authority Division before the small ships passed over his head. Seeing Gir being the primary source of the chase was something he wished was more of a surprise. He would deal with it later.

Zim visited various stalls before he finally relented that he was carrying enough and made his way back to the ship. Hoisting over a hundred pounds of merchandise and food was easier said than done when everything was in their own packaging. He spotted a hover-cart stall and briefly wondered if Dib had seen them, yet. Unloading his purchases and dragging the rental behind him certainly made it easier to get to the ship. Even as Gir blasted his way into one of the towers, Zim let him be. He was not about to be dragged into that hysteria when Dib and Gaz were still somewhere in the Market and he certainly wasn't about to call Gir to him with a whole fleet of the Authority Division on his smoke trail.

Zim thought of the possibility that Dova would already be gone as he passed through the decontamination arches. He hoped the Irken had. He could do without seeing another Irken for the next century if the universe was kind enough.

Zim leaned against the Voot once he'd finished unloading the hover cart. He didn't see Dib or Gaz in sight and the two hours he'd imposed were almost up. Anxiety crept into his gut and he shoved off the Voot. He had to return the hover cart to the entrance regardless. He made it to the front and while depositing the cart on the other side, he could already hear Gir's recognizable giggling. He looked up to see him at one of the arches, pointedly messing with the guards below. Zim sighed heavily, trudging over to him.

"Gir."

Gir looked up and broke into a wide smile. "Mastah!"

"Gir, get down here," Zim ordered.

He was thankful that the reputation of Irkens at least kept trouble like the Authority Division off his case in retrieving his robot. Zim felt no qualms about the possibility of killing any random alien if he had to, should they make a fuss out of it, but that was on days that Dib and Gaz weren't going to be caught up in any mess he made.

Gir dropped beside him and Zim immediately threw him into the decontamination chamber. Gir laughed incessantly as the spray assaulted him, rolling around on the floor and swinging his arms to ensure everywhere was covered. Gir skipped out, stopping short of reaching Zim. Zim cocked an antennae at the behavior. Gir's eyes went red, despite the fact he still had the smile on his face. Zim picked up the word 'Resisty' somewhere in the crowd behind him and stiffened. HIs antennae flicked at the sound of two familiar voices shortly after.

"She didn't mean that."

"I did mean it, don't lie to the poor alien… I could take it."

Zim whirled around at the sight of Dib and Gaz partially hidden behind two aliens. A Vortian and a Glosk. Zim was surprised to see a Glosk this far from their galaxy, but given that it was with a Vortian, he supposed he shouldn't be. Vortians had a habit of making allies wherever they went, particularly with races that were against or all for the Irken Empire. There didn't seem to be much in between for that last fact. Either the Vortian was an ally or a member of The Resisty.

Even thinking of the name, Zim found he was starting to agree with the siblings in how dumb it sounded.

"LISTEN, CHILD—"

"She didn't mean it," Dib stresses. "Besides, we're trying to leave. So, if you let us pass—"

"HEY, BLASK?"

"WHAT?"

"Move aside. Now."

The Vortian stepped aside, spying Zim and paling immediately. Dib could hear the shift in Blask's tone as he tried to play it off.

"H-HELLO! ARE THESE TWO WITH YOU?" Blask asks. The Glosk looked on edge as well. Gaz walked past the two and Dib followed quickly so as not to get cut off from the other two. Zim looked unimpressed and equally unconvinced as he took the two aliens in.

"I believe I heard you say you were 'Resisty'…" Zim says slowly. "Was that true? Were you harassing my associates?"

"N-NO! NOT AT ALL!" Blask says hastily. "WE WERE JUST TRYING TO EXPLAIN HOW THE ATTIRE WOULD ATTRACT ATTENTION."

"Liar," Zim growls.

The aliens blanched. Gaz gave them another once over and toed Zim's boot heel. She leaned close, whispering to him after she'd gotten his attention. "They're all talk, anyway."

"I'm aware," Zim says back. "Get to the Voot."

"You're not having all the fun without me," Gaz says. "I stay and have fun; or, you come with us. That's your compromise."

Zim groaned, turning to her. "Gaz—"

The world lurched a little, in time with a crackling pain on the side of Zim's head. Gaz's face distorted from annoyed aggravation to shock when the pain hit Zim's head and flecks of his own pink-ish blood scattered across the right side of her face. The thought of how that didn't seem right barely scratched the surface of his brain when he caught Dib's look. He looked ready to bolt and throw a punch all at once (Zim hadn't seen that look on his face in years).

The pain subsided in record time and Zim turned, putting a hand to his head, feeling the blood already starting to stop gushing. That didn't stop it from ruining his uniform, however. Blask and the Glosk were both stood frozen a moment. The air had grown tense enough that if a pin had dropped, the entire market might have broken out into a brawl. Blask had some sort of gun in his hand, the barrel still expelling a small stream of smoke.

Oh, hell no.

The PAK leg was shooting out and attempting to skewer Blask before he could fire another shot. Blask leapt out of the way—maybe the only advantage to a Vortian's legs were their power, Zim thought—and the Glosk was following closely after him. Zim's PAK lifted him up to follow the two. Gaz shot her arm out, catching Dib by the sleeve when he bolted forward to follow as well.

"No! Nope! No, you're not doing that," Gaz says, digging her heels into the ground. She snatched Gir when he tried to rush past her. "NO! GIR, YOU'RE STAYING HERE!"

"But Mastah—"

"Can handle himself. You're our guard dog," Gaz says.

"What?!" Dib asks. He tried to shake her off, unsuccessfully. "Are you kidding me? You were just chomping at the bit to get a hit in!"

"Yeah, when I was sure we weren't gonna get skewered by a stray PAK leg."

"What if he needs help?" Dib asks desperately. Gaz pointed down the street.

Zim had just pounced on the Glosk's back. The mammoth alien screamed and stumbled to the side into a stall. Zim hopped off him, giving him a good kick, and sticking him in the chest with the PAK leg. Dib grimaced as he watched the Glosk slump dead in the stall and Zim started after Blask.

"God, he's like a rampaging spider…" Dib mumbled. Gaz hummed, watching the chaos as the two made it further down the street. She dropped what she was carrying to the ground.

"…I changed my mind, we're following him," Gaz says, abandoning their purchases and pulling Dib along.

"Huh?!"

"I decided I want to see blood, Dib," Gaz says. Dib couldn't tell if she was joking or not. He knew for a fact she wanted to see a fight, at the very least. Regardless, Gaz's strong hold on his arm was making the decision for him.

Zim landed on the pavement and kicked off in a sprint. Blask reached up and grasped the edge of a tower of crates, pulling them down behind him. Zim jumped to the side, kicking off the support beam of a market stall, over the tumbling crates. Blask slid under a table, grabbing something behind the curtain that had been laid over it. Zim landed on it, the PAK leg raised and ready to strike. Blask lifted the table up. Zim, in a moment of confusion with the sudden shift in balance, cursed something colorful in Irken.

Dib halted, gaping at him. Gaz had kept going and was yanked back harshly. She stumbled back, fighting to keep herself up and glared at him.

"What the hell?"

"I didn't know he could swear like that," Dib mumbled. Gaz snapped her fingers at him.

"Dude, focus."

Zim landed on the pavement, kicking the table back at the stall and pinning the owner, catching sight of Blask slipping between market patrons. He started off, hopping over a shorter patron and using their back as a springboard. He cleared the taller patrons. Zim caught sight of the various stall merchandise being thrown his way just after clearing the height of the other Market Goers. Most of it missed, except for a thick and long rod that hit him square in the arms he brought up to block. The force of it was worse than he'd have expected of a Vortian—even a tall one. His PAK collided with something solid. The pain in his back was brief—the PAK pressing harshly into his back was uncomfortable to say the least but he could manage it—it was the pain in his fractured arms that really hurt him more.

Dib looked up to where Zim had been flung. The PAK dispensed four limbs, the tips digging into the stone of the bridge he'd collided with; and suspending Zim so he didn't fall. Zim shook out his arms with a hiss. He looked up and swore again. Blask had sent another shot his way. The PAK shuffled him to the side, then under the bridge, until finally it flipped Zim onto the walkway. Dib made a note that he had to watch Zim's PAK move like that again as soon as possible. Blask had fired three more times in an attempt to hit him, only succeeding in damaging the bridge. The blaster jammed on him at the next attempt to shoot.

Blask hit it with his other palm. "Come on! No! Stupid hand-me-downs!"

Blask shoved patrons out of his way, fiddling with the blaster. Gaz looked around, spotting a stall with various handheld weapons. She blindly grabbed for something to use. Dib turned his attention back up to Zim. Zim was currently running along the thin ledge of the tower. He spotted Blask shoving past patrons, knocking a few over in his haste, and jumped down onto a market stall that looked like it had a rather solid rooftop. He hit pavement next, ducking in time for Blask to miss him with a thrown crate box. Zim growled, grabbing the legs of the nearest table and lifting it up.

Market patrons ran to the edges of the street, showing Zim exactly where Blask was. He brought the table down, making contact with the Vortian with a satisfying 'WHACK!', and a body collapsing under the table. Zim pulled it back to check on the work he'd left. It was a mistake.

Blask bolted the second that Zim pulled the table back. It didn't seem to matter that his arm was broken. Zim tossed the table aside. Blask slid under another table and threw it up to block Zim's path. Two PAK legs skewered the center, pulling away and tearing the table in two. Zim saw splintering and breaking wood just before he saw the flash of a blaster's shot. He had just enough time to get further up in the air on his back two PAK legs before the shot hit him.

It landed square on his chest. Zim thought first of the pain—like fire through his system until the PAK administered the pain medication—and then of the uniform. There was no way the front of it had survived the shot. There was no doubt a scorched hole right in the middle. Zim felt less upset about that than he thought he would have.

He managed to land on his feet, stumbling a step or two until he felt two hands on his shoulders. A whir of purple-ish hair rushed past him, accompanied by the blurry body of a familiar robot. He blinked, the PAK returning his senses once the pain had subsided enough, recognizing Gaz as she sprinted towards Blask. His antennae flicked, catching Dib's heartrate behind him as the one holding him up. Dib set him on his feet, looking less frightful than when he'd caught him.

"Are you okay?" he asks. He looked at Zim's chest. The bleeding had already stopped, but the bright pink of his blood still stood out from the stark red of the uniform. Dib sounded sheepish when he spoke again. "Um… dumb question. I bet it wouldn't be too good to have that PAK hit the ground, huh?"

"It would have been fine," Zim said, rubbing at his chest. His claws raked across his skin, drawing his focus back even more. He still wanted to stab that Vortian in the head…. He looked up and pouted. "Oh, that's not fair."

Dib glanced up. He gaped at the sight. Gaz had reached Blask, pipe in hand, and was in the process of hitting him over the head. Dib blinked, rubbing at his eye just to be sure he was seeing it right. Gaz hit Blask again. Gir cheered like some sadistic audience member at the Roman Colosseum.

"What is it that she calls it? A kill steal?" Zim asks, drawing Dib's focus back.

"Oh, God. No, no, no, no—" Dib rushed up, grabbing at the pipe when Gaz drew back for another swing. "Gaz, stop, he's already down!"

"He ain't dead!"

"YOU ARE NOT KILLING HIM!" Dib shouted. He abandoned the pipe, grabbing her around the shoulders. Gaz got one kick in for good measure before he could pull her out of range. He could hear Zim snickering behind him. He shot him a glare. "Oh, shut it."

"I'm not opposed to her finishing the job," Zim admitted. "He did shoot me. Twice."

"Oh, did you want the honors?" Gaz asks mockingly, swinging her pipe to point at the unconscious alien. Zim looked Blask over and grimaced.

"No. It's no fun when they're unconscious. …If he's unconscious."

Dib turned slowly to stare at him. "…I'm not commenting on that."

"Good human."

"Listen, stink-bug—"

"I AM NOT A BUG!" Zim roared. Gir hopped to his side, latching onto his leg. Zim glanced down at him.

Gaz shoved Dib off, resting the pipe over her shoulder. "So, can I kill him?"

"NO," Dib said sternly, steering her by her shoulders in the opposite direction. The sirens of the Authority Division were already drawing close to them. Zim led the way to the Voot, taking some pleasure in how the aliens they passed on the way parted for him.

Gaz pushed Dib away, shooting a glare in Blask's direction. "But he shot Zim. Twice. And the first shot was unprovoked!"

"Yes, I heard. I don't care, you're not going to be inter-galactically wanted for murder on your first outing," Dib says. He shivered. "You really looked like you wanted to be."

"Hmm. He may have a point there," Zim says. Dib raised his hands.

"Thank you!"

"You're both no fun," Gaz grumbled. She tossed the pipe aside when they reached the purchases. She was shocked to find it all there. Gir snatched up some of it, rushing off towards the decontamination chambers.

"Thank Irk he remembered to use them this time," Zim mumbled.

Once they'd gotten back to the Voot, Gir set out to organizing the purchases in a manner that they would all fit in the storage compartment. Zim's PAK lifted them all into the Voot's main compartment and he collapsed into the pilot's seat with a heavy sigh. Gaz fell onto the Voot's spare seat and wiped at her cheeks in an angry swipe of her sleeve. She stared down at the pink flecks that had caught on the fabric. She'd thought the decontamination bath would have taken it all off. She hoped it washed out or she'd be gunning for that Vortian until she was sure he was dead. Dib's hand came into her view just before he held her head, ignoring her glare as he turned to see her cheek.

"Your skin is red where the blood was."

"My skin is stained, how horrible."

"No, it looks irritated."

"Ah… I forgot to tell you. Irken blood is slightly acidic," Zim cuts in tiredly.

He held his head, the pain settling out into a consistent throb. He hadn't even realized the pain had subsided when he had chased Blask until it was done. His adrenaline must have subsided. Now, he was left with the leftover pain as the PAK healed the wound. Dib made a choking noise beside him.

"It's what?!" he asked.

"Very slight," Zim emphasized. He groaned, spinning the pilot's seat around to face away from the lights of the docking and launching ships around them.

Gaz glanced up at him curiously. She shoved Dib away. Gir hopped into the main compartment, carrying a few items that wouldn't fit. He shut the windshield before dropping them in the back. When he turned to look Zim over he paused.

"Is Mastah sick again?" he asks. Gaz blinked at him, still rubbing at her cheek.

"Again?"

"From the shot! He got sick last time, too!" Gir says simply. He climbed onto Zim's lap, sitting down and poking at Zim's cheeks. Zim only half-heartedly swatted him away. Gir pointed to the spot where Zim had been shot, then to another spot off to the side. "Right here!"

"Are you going to pass out?" Gaz asks. She elbowed Dib. "Hey. Is he going to pass out?"

"Maybe. The last shot was worse," Dib says. Zim swung his arm over Gir, pinning the robot down so he couldn't poke him any further.

"I'm not passing out," Zim says. "I just… have a headache."

Gaz exchanged a glance with Dib. She stood, pulling Gir away from Zim and holding the robot like a teddy bear as she faced the controls.

"Ok, robot, how do I set this thing on autopilot for Earth?" she asks. Zim whirled the chair around, ignoring the pain it caused in his head, and leapt forward. He quickly punched in the coordinates and the Voot started up.

Gaz blinked and turned to him as he took his seat again. "WOW."

"He is never touching the controls," Zim said. His voice carried a determination that held a story behind it, but Gaz relented to ask that later. She took up the seat next to Dib, holding Gir tight so he couldn't run around during take-off.

"Whatever, drama queen."

"I am not a queen."

"It's…." Gaz pinched her brow, taking a deep breath as the Voot picked up speed steadily. "It's an expression…" she sighed.

"Humans have too many 'expressions'," Zim grumbled. Gaz left that comment in the air, too tired to give a rebuttal. The cab of the Voot fell into somewhat of a comfortable silence. It didn't take long, however, before Gaz got too antsy and couldn't take the silence any longer.

"Why were we getting so much attention?" Gaz asks finally. Despite her voice sounding quite annoyed at the topic, Dib couldn't blame her for asking. He'd been seconds away from starting a conversation himself if she hadn't spoken first.

"Nnh. Humans are exceedingly rare off your planet," Zim says. He pulled the jacket further down over his face. Everything made his head hurt and he hated it. He was starting to despise guns of all types. "You're something new. Or, they were debating going in for a kill."

"What?" Gaz asks a little too loudly for Zim's liking.

"Humans are considered delicacies to some galaxies," Zim spits. "So are Irkens. So are Vortians. So are half the species in the universe—those jackets would have kept most at bay. Those and the Authority Division. They're the Market's police force."

"Yeah… we saw them," Dib says, side-eying Gir. Zim caught the look but didn't comment on it. He rested his arm over his eyes.

"I'm staying with you two next time."

Gaz leaned back, smirking. "Aw, does the little bug worry about us?"

"Shut up."

"I think that's as close to a 'yes' as we're ever going to get," Dib teased. Gaz nodded, leaning back and kicking out her legs.

"I'll take it."