I've yet to receive any death threats for writing this fic. I am thrilled to no end by this. Thank you all so much for the love so far, and please remember to review! Hope you enjoy chapter 3 (and oh, what a chapter it is).

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In Short Supply

Spittle Runner

xxx

From Dib's notes, five months ago: Okay, I think I finally cracked the time system that Zim's species uses, mostly. I guessed at half of it so who knows. Hopefully I'm lucky.

I figured out the system from the two transmissions from Irk that I managed to intercept fully. They both had a time stamp encoded in them when they were recorded. One of the transmissions was a news report about traffic jams on Parkinglotia—wonder what Parkinglotia is?—and the other was Zim's request for supplies. Here's an example of one of the time stamps: 29837 / 4 / 4.5 / 151° 76' 12"

Whoever came up with this thing is completely insane. Let's start simple.

The last number, 151°76'12", is the time. I think Zim's planet must have a day about as long as ours, because 220° is about 24 hours. I can't tell what the last two numbers are supposed to be—maybe minutes and seconds?—so I just use the first number, 151. So, 10° is about an hour and five minutes, so if I round it, 150° is about 15 hours and... fifteen times five... 75 minutes? So, sixteen hours and fifteen minutes, or 4:15 PM. Add in the spare numbers and it's probably closer to 4:30, but I'm not even trying to get a precise number.

10° equals 65 minutes, 110° is noon, that's all I'm bothering with.

I have no idea what the 4.5 means. Maybe months? I just ignore it.

Now, the first two numbers are interesting. 29837 is the "era" Zim's world is in. To them, an era is ten years. The 4 is which year of the era they're in. So, basically the recording was made in Irken year 298374 at 4:15-ish in the afternoon.

But that's not the weirdest part: Zim's years are ten times longer than ours. So, an "era" to them is a century to us. Which means, by Earth standards, they're in year 2983740. Zim's species has been keeping track of its written history for three million years.

Imagine, that one race can be that old—can have records that old. Humans can't even remember half of their own history, maybe 3000 years out of a few thousand total. How could any species survive as long as the Irkens?

You've gotta think that Zim's species has done some really, REALLY crazy things to keep itself going this long.

xxx

Zim had never been in such agony before.

Well, okay, he had, that time on Foodcourtia when he'd been standing over the deep fat frying tank to add some more lard, slipped, and fell in. He'd never forget what it was like to be completely submerged in a red-hot mix of grease and hydroxylic acid. And then a bunch of leeches had attacked him.

Apparently, deep-fat-fried live leeches were a delicacy on Blorch.

But this, this was certainly a comparable pain. At least this time he was enduring the pain for the good of the Irken Empire. That helped a little.

According to his Pak, he'd been half-asleep for the past 20° as he recovered from the surgery. His Pak was filtering air for him, so he could shut his eyes and rest.

Over the whir of the air filters, he faintly heard a door slide open and footsteps enter the med bay. Zim opened his eyes halfway; his air filters turned off now that he was breathing for himself, and the three colored panels on his Pak clicked shut. "M-my Tallest?"

There wasn't an answer, but a moment later the lights came on and Zim could see.

"Well?" Purple asked. "Did it work?"

"I... think so, my Tallest," Zim said, trying to keep the pain from his voice. "I haven't checked yet."

"Of course it worked," the computer piped in proudly. "I'm one-third Macintosh. I can do anything!"

Once again, Zim regretted using Earthen parts to repair his computer. With his luck, the computer had fused him with a sheep or something.

"Let me see," Purple said, walking up to Zim and pulling up his uniform. He squinted an eye. "Whoa. That's weird."

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Zim demanded, struggling to lift his head and peer down at his torso. Starting at his lower stomach was a strange vertical slit, traveling down and half-hidden by the top of his pants. "An open wound? COMPUTER!"

"Whaaat?!"

"What did you do to me?!" Zim shouted, panicking.

"It's supposed to look like that, Zim. Calm down," Purple said. He jerked Zim's uniform back into place and stepped back, crossing his arms. It was an uncommon gesture among Irkens, defensive. "So. Ready?" he said shortly.

Well, considering the pain and the fact that he could hardly move... Then again, Zim would never turn down a challenge. Or, for that matter, an offer from a Tallest to dance. "Of course I'm ready!" Zim said, and tried to sit up. "You can't even imagine how ready I—urk!" Zim fell back down on the operation table, clutching his lower abdomen.

"Don't be a moron, Zim," Purple said. "We're not going to do this if it'll kill your or something. Then how will I get any eggs?"

He had a point. There was no use rushing this if it prevented Zim from doing his duty. Besides, Zim planned on enjoying every damn second he got to dance with the Tallest.

Zim extended his Pak-legs and used them to carefully maneuver his way off the operation table and stand (sorta) in front of Purple. In polite company, it was considered rude for shorter Irkens to artificially enhance their height, especially with Pak-legs, except under circumstances where it was necessary. Zim considered a recent surgery to be one of those exceptions. And in any case, surely he was so amazing that the normal rules didn't apply to him. "I'll be fine in no time at all, my Tallest!" Zim said, and saluted.

"You'd better," Purple muttered. Arms still crossed, he leaned his back against the wall as he spoke. "In any case, I need to give you some rules on how this... er, mission is going to work. So pay attention."

Zim nodded and watched Purple intently as he talked. Not a word would escape Zim's alert hearing!

"It'll take about four weeks to grow the eggs. That shouldn't be..."

Zim's attention drifted from his Tallest to the wall behind him. He wondered what horrible thing the cafeteria would be serving tomorrow... oh, right. School. He'd left in the middle of the day, hadn't he? Maybe no one would notice since they'd been on a field trip...

"Zim! ATTENTION!" Purple shouted.

Zim snapped his attention back to Purple. "Whuh?"

"This is important stuff!" Purple wiggled his fingers to emphasize the stuff's importantness. "You can't just stare off into space!"

"I wasn't! I was paying attention," Zim lied. "I was just... thinking of a question. Yes! Zim has a question!"

"Oh, really?" Purple gave Zim a disbelieving look, eyes half-lidded. "What is it?"

"Eh..." Zim thought fast. "Why must Zim be the layer? Why couldn't I have been the fertilizer?"

Purple looked awkwardly at the ceiling. "Umm... because."

"Because why?" Zim asked.

"Because because."

"Because because why?"

"Because because... because." Purple put his hands on his hips. "So there!"

"Why?!" Zim pointed at Purple commandingly. "Tell Zim!"

"Hey!" Purple pointed back, his finger almost poking Zim in the chest. "You don't give your Tallest orders!" He sighed. "Fine, Zim. If it'll get you to shut up. Reason one: do you see how skinny I am?"

Zim looked at Purple's torso. "Freakishly."

"Yeah, freakishly." Purple either hadn't noticed the slight insult (not, of course, that Zim had intended it as an insult), or had heard it enough times that he didn't take offense at it. "And I'm the Tallest—I'm on news broadcasts every day. This is supposed to be a super-secret mission, so how long do you think it'd be before the entire empire noticed that I'm growing eggs?"

"Six days!"

Purple glared at Zim. "I didn't want an answer."

"Oh."

"And you're isolated way out here on Earth," Purple continued. "So no one will find out if you're growing eggs."

Zim had to admit, that made sense...

"Two: if someone does find out, there's less damage this way. I mean, if someone finds out that I, a Tallest, did freaky stuff to my body so I could lay eggs, they'll think I'm crazy! ... Maybe I am." Purple shook his head and went on. "But if they find out the same thing about you, they'll just say, 'Typical! What else do you expect from Zim?'"

Something about that sounded funny. "Hey! What does that mean? What do they expect from Zim?"

Purple gave Zim an uncomfortable look. "Uh... Three: because I said you're the layer and I'm the Tallest. No more questions. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" Zim said, saluting. But still, something seemed off...

"As I was saying before you interrupted," Purple said testily. "We're going to have to be very careful in how we handle this. I mean, you can't just contact the Massive as soon as you lay the eggs. Everyone would find out."

"But how am I supposed to inform you when my super-secret mission has been completed?"

"Er... I suppose..." A pained expression crossed Purple's face. "You'll have to... Ah, voids." Looking supremely irritated, he took a small data chip out of his Pak and held it out. "Here. Take it."

Zim accepted the chip. "What's this do?"

"It's got the transmission code to my private quarters," Purple muttered. "If you DARE contact me for ANYTHING except an emergency with the eggs, I will personally make sure that any and all transmissions you make from Earth will be blocked by every single machine in the Irken Empire, from the Control Brains to electric toothbrushes. Understand?"

Zim didn't hear a thing past the first sentence. "WOW! Your private quarters? You mean your ROOM?! My Tallest, never in my wildest thoughts did I imagine that you would bestow such an honor upon me, well-deserved though it is—"

"Zim, please stop," Purple whined, and rubbed his forehead. "Do you try to make my head hurt this much?"

"I'll call you every day, my Tallest, and we can—"

"Only when you've laid the eggs," Purple hastily interrupted.

"Huh?" Zim said. "Oh. Yeah. I can do that."

Purple sighed in relief. "Good. I probably won't be in my room except between 160 and 180 degrees, so don't call at any other times. A Cleaning Drone might see you or something. That'd be bad."

Zim nodded. That was several hours after school got out for the day anyway, so there wouldn't be any scheduling conflicts. That solved one issue, how to contact Purple without jeopardizing the secrecy of the mission. As to his other mission, though... "But what about my reports?"

Purple gave him a puzzled look. "What reports?"

"My mission reports! On how my glorious conquest of Earth is proceeding! Surely, I'll still be able to contact you, so you will be kept up-to-date. But if I'm growing eggs it would certainly become obvious soon. How do I maintain contact with Tallest Red without giving away the secret?"

"Oh. Right," Purple said. "I'm, uh, sure you could just not report for a few weeks and Red wouldn't notice."

Zim stared at him. "What?! But he'll be dying with worry about my mission! He'll have no idea why I'm not contacting him!"

"Really, Zim, it'll be fine," Purple insisted. "Red and I are very busy with... Tallest-y things... He won't notice if you don't report in for a few weeks." He paused thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, you can probably... er, take a break from your mission while you're growing the eggs. Just to stay on the safe side."

"You're joking!" Zim said, horrified. "I can't take a break from invading! That's ridiculous! Not when Earth is so close to falling before my mighty might! I can handle both missions at the same time, my Tallest, easily."

The Tallest themselves had said in their speech to the Invaders before Operation Impending Doom I that the only way the Irkens could achieve universal conquest would be through a unceasing, obscene barrage of invasion. For an Invader to be successful, he was to have no breaks, no vacations, no slacking: if you get tired, buck up, have a plate of nachos, get back to work! The future of the Irken Empire rests on you.

How could one of the Tallest who said that now tell Zim to take a four-week break?

"Zim, really, it doesn't matter," Purple said. "A few weeks won't make a diff—"

"Doesn't matter?!" Zim drew himself to his full height—and on his Pak-legs, that was even taller than the Tallest. "How can you say that! You... you and Tallest Red, more than any other Irkens alive, should know better than that! You should know how damaging it can be to postpone an invasion such as this! I can't even believe that you'd say such a thing!" A thought struck Zim. "You must be joking. It's a joke, isn't it?"

After all, every single Invader's mission was important, not to be delayed. Which meant either Purple had to be kidding, or Zim's mission...

Purple wrapped one hand around Zim's waist and jerked him down so they were eye to eye. Zim winced; he was still sensitive from the surgery. "Listen," Purple snarled. "I didn't want to tell you this, but if I don't you'll probably go do something stupid enough to get you and the eggs killed, trying to conquer this pitiful dirt-ball. You have no mission on Earth."

Zim looked blankly at Purple. "Yes, I understand," he said. "But you still can't expect me to put my mission on hold!"

Purple stared back. "Did... anything I just said make it into your head?"

"Anything you said about what?"

Purple slowly shook his head, bewildered. "Zim. You're not an Invader. You're not supposed to conquer Earth. When we sent you out here, we thought you'd float in space until you ran out of fuel, snacks, or sanity and died out in the infinite Firmament where no one would ever have to see you again. You're an exile! Do you know what that means?"

"Eh..." Zim knew what an exile was, sure. But it wasn't a word that applied in any way to him. "I don't think I follow, my Tallest."

Purple let go of Zim, shut his eyes, and sighed. "Fine. Let's try again." He opened his eyes again. He looked pretty close to exhausted. No... that was the human word. He looked starved. Humans grow tired; Irkens grow hungry. It was same emotion, in the end: a lack of energy, a deadness that makes you want to just collapse and hope the world won't ask any more of your for a while. Earthen exhaustion, Irken starvation... either way, it was a deep, dismal fatigue. "Get off your stupid Pak-legs, Zim," he said wearily.

Zim retracted the legs and sat on the operation table—he was strong enough that he didn't need to lie down now.

"Do you remember when you were banished to Foodcourtia, Zim?" Purple asked.

"Of course. But I quit that to join Operation Impending—"

"You can't quit, Zim!" Purple interrupted. "Do you know what 'banish' means?"

"Obviously!"

"Define it."

"Easy! It's what the Control Brains do to defects, criminals and losers when they figure they're not bad enough to execute." Zim smiled proudly. A connection clicked into place in his mind, and the smile vanished. "Did you say I was banished?"

Purple nodded gravely.

Zim was banished. Banished equals defects, criminals, losers... "There must have been a mistake," Zim said worriedly.

Purple shook his head.

Any other day, Zim would have brushed this all off as an error. Any normal day, he could have easily forgotten this entire conversation. But today...

See you after the ride, shorty.

Today had been strange.

The iron-hard shell of Zim's ego had already been cracked many times over the past few hours, without any time for him to repair it. The suggestion that he had been honestly, justly banished—defect, criminal, loser—instead of rebounding off, simply chiseled deeper into the shell, widening the crack... "But, at Operation Impeding Doom II!" Zim said desperately. "You told me yourself that I had a mission! Ha! I remember, you said I'd get a special mission to a planet so secret, you couldn't even tell me its name! You and Tallest Red both said that! You didn't call it an exile." He smiled up at Purple widely, uncertainly, pathetically. "Didn't... didn't you say that?"

"Yes, we said that, Zim." Purple's voice didn't have any of the friendliness that Zim thought should be in a comment like that. "We were lying."

Crack, another gap in the shell. "Oh. You were... then..." A beam of hope, and Zim's smile became less pathetic and more sly. "Then... how do I know you weren't lying to me about being banished?" That was good. If Purple claimed to have been lying about his mission, then, logically, he could be lying about anything—even lying about lying. Which would make his mission real again.

"Zim, why would we lie to you about banishment?" Purple demanded. "Why would we tell you that you were banished if you weren't?"

"Why would you tell me I have a mission if I don't?!" Zim shot back. "Ha!"

"Because if we HADN'T," Purple said angrily, "then you would have stayed in the empire and just kept ruining everything for every other Irken alive!"

Crack. "B-but... why would you want to get rid of me?"

"Because you're the most worthless Invader to ever exist!"

Shatter.

xxx

Purple almost immediately regretted letting his temper get the best of him. Sure, Zim was infuriating, but Purple needed him for this plan to work. And now...

Purple had never seen such an expression on Zim's face before—on many Irkens at all, really. His eyes were as wide as they could get, yet were completely blank. Something deep inside them had gone dark, as dark as the bottom of a whirlpool. Purple had to look away before he was sucked inside as well.

Zim hadn't moved in almost a minute. Purple was starting to wonder if he'd just spontaneously died. Did that happen on Earth?

"Uh, Zim?" Purple reached out to poke him. "Are you still ali—"

Before he could touch him, Zim doubled over and burst into deep, heaving sobs. Purple jerked his hand back, startled. "Zim?!"

"S-so what's my purpose?" Zim demanded. Purple wondered whether or not that question was actually directed at anyone. "Why do I even n-need to live, huh? Why shouldn't I just crawl off and... and die or something? I'm short and useless a-and exiled and... and short..."

This, Purple thought with alarm, was treading dangerously close to talk of the S-word. The takey-your-lifey word. On the Massive, Purple and Red usually threw Irkens who brought up the subject out the airlock; better than waiting for them to throw themselves out. But this wasn't the Massive, and Purple needed Zim alive.

"Zim, cut that out! C'mon, that stuff's not true! You're not really..." Purple hesitated. "Okay, well, you are short... and we did exile you..."

Zim let out a long, agonized whine.

"But you're not useless," Purple said quickly.

Slowly, Zim lifted his head to look up at Purple. "How can you say that?" he said, almost accusatorially. "I have no mission, no duty, no purpose..." He buried his head again. "I can do nothing for my empire!"

"Sure you can!" Purple said. "Hey, come on, I came here to give you a new mission, didn't I?"

Zim's whimpers quieted a bit. "Y-yeah?"

"So you can still serve your empire! What I said earlier is true. You can be a hero."

A long moment, and Zim straightened up. Now he looked angry. Good—anger was good; anger was a normal emotion, a living emotion, under many circumstances a praiseworthy emotion among Irkens. It had lit a dim, smoldering glow in Zim's eyes. "How do I know you aren't lying about this mission, too? Huh?" he hissed. "Zim demands an explanation!"

Purple was almost glad to see Zim being an obnoxious little roach again. "Zim, you're going to be making smeets. You can't trick someone into thinking they're growing eggs when they aren't. I mean... it's kinda impossible."

"Oh. Yeah. Heh." Zim still looked distrustful, but nevertheless leaped off the operation table and saluted up at Purple. "Then, even if I cannot serve my empire as..." his voice almost caught, but he went on, "as an Invader... I will still do my best to serve it in any way possible!"

Purple wondered why Zim couldn't have been this willing to serve his banishment on Foodcourtia. It would have made everything easier. "Even if you're still exiled?"

"Duh!" Zim said. Purple wondered what in the Firmament the sound was supposed to mean. "The Irken Empire comes before the Irken, my Tallest. It's most important that I do my duty!"

Tallest Miyuki had said that first: the Empire before the Irken, always. Purple was surprised Zim still remembered the quote, much less understood it. Perhaps Zim wasn't as egocentric as Purple had thought...

"Besides!" Zim said. "When you see what a good job I do with this mission, you'll have no choice but to let me be an Invader again!" He laughed in evil delight.

And then again, perhaps he was. "Was the laugh really necessary, Zim?"

"But of course."

True, Zim sounded better now, and he looked better as well. But something in the edges of his eyes still looked dark—he was out of the whirlpool but still in the water. Purple would let him cling to the idea that he could become an Invader again; he probably needed that hope, right now.

But, most of all, he needed a quick way to boost his mood. A way like...

"I think I'm quite healed now," Zim said. "Where do we dance?" He grinned at Purple expectantly.

Dancing. Oy. Right. "Do you have a couch or anything?" Purple asked.

"Only the one on the ground floor. And there's always the risk of a fffilthy hhyuuman sneaking in," Zim said darkly. He dragged out the words as if they were nasty curses he could barely bring himself to say. "Especially the Dib." Zim raised his voice and glanced upward. "Though that wouldn't be a problem if my base had better security!"

"Well excuuuse me," the computer said. "I'm doing the best I can, Princess."

"Hey! Zim is no princess!"

"Sure you are. You've got a vajayjay now."

"I have no... a what?"

"Va-jaaay-jaa—"

"NO MORE INTAR-WEBS FOR YOU!"

"What?! You can't take away my Internet! It's like my soul!"

"Irken computers have no soul!"

"Zim!" Purple snarled. "You can argue about your vajiggies and Enterwhats later. We still need a place to dance." How hard could this be? Zim had to have more than one couch in his base. Or a pillow collection. Or something. With their height difference, there was no way they could do it standing up, and Purple refused to do it on the floor. He was the Tallest, for Irk's sake.

"Didn't you come here in a Spittle Runner, my Tallest?"

"Yeah. And?"

"Don't Runners have a padded bench in the back?" Zim asked. "A really big comfy one?"

No. There was no way Purple was letting Zim on his personal Runner. Not in any of the heavens, hells, or voids. "We're using your couch," he said firmly.

"Fine," Zim muttered, then added, almost casually enough to sound off-handed, "That means Gir will probably be around..."

That defective thing? Oh, no. That changed everything. For all Purple knew the defective SIR Unit might record the whole dance and then broadcast it to the entire empire. "We're using my Runner," he said reluctantly.

"Yes!" Zim pumped a fist in the air victoriously and ran out of the med bay, heading towards the lift.

"Woohoo!" the computer cheered. "Car sex!"

Purple looked at the computer's speaker, baffled. Karseks? "Is there something wrong with your computer?"

"No," Zim said, "it's just completely insane."

Coming from Zim, that was saying something.

xxx

At that precise moment, Purple couldn't exactly recall how he had ended up dancing with the most reviled Irken in the empire, and wasn't in any condition to try.

Not that he was complaining exactly, oh no. Once you get going it doesn't matter whom you're dancing with, as long as you keep going. That is the only purpose of a dance; pure physical pleasure, enough pleasure to carry you through any despair, any trial, any shame. Like the shame of dancing with Exile Zim.

It was awkward, of course. The size difference, the fact that they didn't really like each other... but after a while, Purple didn't care anymore.

For both of them—fingers running over skin, antennae rubbing against antennae, body pressed against body—the dance was the only thing they cared about.

And after all, Purple thought (when he was capable of thought), it didn't really mean anything.

They were simply doing their duty for the Irken Empire.

xxx

The next time Zim was capable of intelligent thought, he was sitting on the floor of the hangar. He blinked slowly. "Whuhappen?" He'd been dancing, he knew that. With the Tallest. But after a point he couldn't remember anything. It must've been good, then.

"Almighty Tallest Purple told you that you absolutely weren't falling asleep in his ship," the computer said. "But you did anyway, so he tossed you out."

He'd fallen asleep? Odd. Zim stood up, stretched to get the kinks out of his back. Purple's Spittle Runner was still in the hangar, so he hadn't left. Zim couldn't see inside the Runner (he wasn't tall enough; oh, well), but he assumed Purple was still there.

If Zim was tired enough that his body had fallen asleep, then he sorely needed to recharge his Pak, as soon as possible. After all, he'd been interrupted while recharging it earlier by Tallest Purple's arrival. He headed to the lift to take him down to the recharge chamber, humming to himself.

"Uh, Master?" the computer asked.

"Yes, computer?"

"You realize you're naked, right?"

Zim glanced down at himself. "Oh. I guess so," he said cheerfully. Actually, everything he'd done so far had been cheerful. He was just in a good mood, pure and simple. Chemical imbalance, he thought idly; when he'd been on Vort, he'd learned that dancing set off some kind of chemical imbalance in Irkens' brains. Well, whatever it was, it was certainly nice.

As Zim rode the lift down, the computer said, "By the way, you remember the mutant cow-human fusions you've been working on?"

"Yes?" He'd worked on those cow-humans a couple of months now.

"I think they're getting hungry." A pause. "Actually, they're in imminent danger of death by starvation."

Zim couldn't bring himself to be bothered by this at all. "Transfer them all to the same holding chamber and let them eat each other. Humans eat cows, right?"

"Er... if you say so..." the computer said. "What if that doesn't work?"

"I don't care." It was true; he'd been planning on using a cow-human army to take over Earth if one of his other plans didn't work out. But now... all his plans were irrelevant. He was feeling so good that it barely stung to remember that he no longer had a mission. "Let Gir take care of it."

"Sure," the computer said. "I guess..."

The lift stopped, and Zim stepped out and headed to the recharge chamber. "Good job, computer. I'll see you in the morning."

"What?! Uh, thanks?" The computer sounded thoroughly baffled. "Master, are you feeling all right?"

"Of course I am! I've never been better!"

"Huh," the computer said. "You should get laid more often."

Should do what? Someone at school had told Zim the same thing, which meant it was a human phrase. "Shut up," Zim said happily. "You say stupidness."

"Thank you, Master," the computer said, sounding relieved.

"Whatever."

Zim shut the recharge chamber's door, plugged his Pak into the chair, turned on the computer, and spent the rest of the night getting caught up with the news he'd missed that day.

xxx

Zim had taken many risks over the years, done countless foolish things. Thousands of beings from dozens of species (but mostly from his own) would have been thrilled to see Zim dead. Luckily, every time he had faced danger, he just barely slid out of harm's way, yet he did it with enough finesse and bravado that it seemed as though he did it every day—which, in the end, was fairly close to the truth.

However, that night, Zim had created a new threat to his life, perhaps the most dangerous one he'd ever faced—a threat that could very likely kill him.

Silently, passively, the killer began growing inside him.

xxxxx