I realized that up until now I haven't remembered to thank my two betas: Ricchan and BarkingPup. Apologies for not mentioning you until now. Ricchan is pretty much my muse incarnate and you can thank her for this fic's coming into existence, and BarkingPup makes sure everything here obeys the laws of English and logic, the two hardest legal systems to appease.
Now, an author note, to clear up something for people who might be familiar with the Quakers only as parrots: the Quakers, or the Religious Society of Friends, are a mostly-Christian religious denomination who, among other things, believe very strongly in pacifism. One of the stereotypes about them is that they think frivolous activities like dancing are sins; I don't know personally whether or not that's true, but that's what some people think about them.
Long explanation for what will be a fairly short joke. Anyway, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy chapter 5, and please do review and let me know what you think.
xxxxx
In Short Supply
Rank Tower
xxx
From a report published by the Vortian Ludus Institute, 1752 eras and six years ago, by the deceased Yah Hoo: The New Shape of Anatomy Among Irkens.
It has been a couple of millennia since our Irken allies permanently made the change to artificial propagation of their species, even going so far as to remove all genitalia from their bodies. Many papers have already been written, both by Irkens and Vortians, on whether or not this was a wise move. I do not intend to bring back these heated arguments, but simply, scientifically and without bias, bring up a point on which the Irkens' decision may have been advantageous to them. And if you disagree with my point, then a shit-brain like you has no right to debate on a subject like this anyway.
First, a note on Irken skeletons. From the outside they appear to have a normal internal skeleton, as we do. However, upon further examination, we will find that they in fact have what may be classified as an "internal exoskeleton": like any insectoid species, the Irkens have an exoskeleton, but are unique in that they have a skin cover over their skeleton. Their exoskeleton serves as a full-body shield of sorts for their internal organs. Any foreign articles under their skin (such as fat, liquid, or who knows what else) cannot damage or crush their organs.
However, this also leads to one advantage of artificial propagation: because eggs grew inside the exoskeleton and the exoskeleton is only slightly flexible, it could not stretch much to accommodate the growing eggs. While this wasn't a problem for most Irken females (or "layers"), it could often times be quite dangerous for shorter ones.
The growing eggs could literally crush the organs of the layer, and occasionally killed her. This danger existed primarily for very young Irkens who hadn't reached their adult heights yet; Irkens with a height quotient over 30 units almost never encountered this problem, and as the shortest Irkens are at least 50 units at full height, this is fine.
On the very rare occasion that an Irken layer 10 units or shorter might be growing eggs—and I do not know whether this was because of the height, or the undeveloped age—she would, 99 percent of the time, die long before laying any eggs.
If nothing else, the Irkens' smeet facilities prevent these deaths.
xxx
Today's fine selection of cafeteria food, provided by the loving Joonier Hi Skool chefs: apples that were starting to turn brown, milk with more preservatives than a Twinkie, Poop chocolate bars, and, for the main course, pasta with mystery meat sauce. This was why Dib brought his lunch from home instead. He was done with his soda and chicken sandwich by the time Zim made it through the horrible lunch line.
Not that Zim ate the cafeteria meals, either. Sometimes he pulled out small tools to examine the food; sometimes he ignored it completely and observed the other students, taking notes; sometimes he took little machines or weapons out of the pod on his back and worked on them; sometimes he fought with Dib.
Dib planned on going the "fight" route today. While Zim looked for a seat, Dib stood up, threw his trash away, and followed him.
As soon as Zim sat down, Dib claimed the seat across from him. "Explain yourself," he said bluntly. "I know you're up to something. You can't not be planning something. So what is it this time? Cancerous meatballs? Reanimated mummies? Hypnotic boy band music?"
Zim rolled his eyes. "I've already told you, Dib-stink. I'm not doing anything. Why would I be sitting here and putting up with you if I had another ingenious scheme to execute?"
"What if that was part of your plan?" Dib demanded.
"It wouldn't be!" Zim said. Suddenly, he grinned. "That'd be a really weird plan," he mused to himself, chuckling.
"See?!" Dib said. "You keep smiling and stuff!"
"And? You object to my stuff?!"
"I object to your evil, alien!"
"Ha! I am up to no evil today!" Zim glanced at the rest of the cafeteria. "And I'm still not an alien!"
"You're always up to evil," Dib said. "What about your mission, huh?"
Up to that point, Zim had been half-smiling, clearly entertained by Dib and the conversation. Now the smirk vanished, the bright glow of amusement behind his contacts died. Zim's eyes went dark and the pupils of his contacts turned down, not meeting Dib's eyes. "Oh. Yeah. You don't have to worry about that," he said shortly. "I no longer have... eh... to do such an inferior mission! Yes!" Zim looked up again and grinned broadly; the light was back in his eyes. "I have a new, far more important mission now! So you don't need to fear for the destruction of your worthless dirt-ball anymore. At least, not from the Irkens," Zim said, waving a claw dismissively at reference to the "dirt-ball."
Dib frowned. Zim was pretty bad at lying about big things, and this didn't feel like a lie. But after two years of unceasing efforts to take over the world, he couldn't be telling the truth. "Prove it," Dib said.
"Gladly!" Zim said haughtily. "Name your terms!"
"Tell me the coordinates of your race's planet."
"Which planet?" Zim said, then caught himself. "Never! I said I'm not going to invade your planet, not that I'm letting you invade mine!"
"Fine, whatever," Dib said. If Zim was telling the truth, he could find out for sure later. "So, if you're really not going to take over the Earth, then why are you still here? I thought you hated this planet."
"I do," Zim said. "But, for the sake of my super secret special mission, I need to be somewhere no respectable Irken would ever be without a very good reason. That makes your worthless fleck of a planet perfect."
"Gee, thanks," Dib said testily.
Zim wasn't going to give anything else away, and Dib figured that for now he had a decent explanation for Zim's unusual cheer—a new mission would excite him. Dib stood up. "You may have won this for now, Zim, but I will find out what you're really up to. You can't outsmart me!"
"Mhmm. Sure," Zim said casually. "That's why Mr. Mudd thinks you should ask the amazing Zim for tutoring of maths, right?" He grinned evilly.
Dib glared at him. "Shut up." It wasn't Dib's fault he didn't have a giant alien calculator fused to his spinal cord. Besides, he'd be able to pass easily if he didn't spend all class watching Zim. And stalking him instead of doing homework.
Speaking of which, he should be doing his math homework now. It was due in two periods. He'd even had an extra day to do it; they hadn't had math yesterday, since they'd gone to the theme park...
As he walked back towards where he'd left his backpack, Zim said, "Hey, stink-pig."
Dib turned around. "What is it now, alien?"
Zim was holding out a piece of paper. "Zim is feeling benevolent today," he said, with a smile that Dib didn't trust at all. "In exchange for math answers, I ask only for Earth history facts. Do we have an agreement?"
Dib looked suspiciously at the notebook paper. Was Zim up to something, or was he really just too lazy to look up a few answers to a history worksheet? Finally, Dib snatched the notebook paper and snapped, "Just this once." He couldn't afford to fail another assignment. Dib sat down again, pulled out the spiral notebook he usually used to take notes on Zim's behavior, and started copying answers as fast as possible. He could transfer them to proper notebook paper later.
Looking triumphant, Zim took out the worksheet he'd been working on during homeroom and started reading off questions. "When did Christopher Columbus discover America?"
"1776."
"What was Marco Polo's greatest achievement?"
"He invented the light bulb."
Zim smirked. "That recently?" he said. "At that rate, you could have only discovered electricity a mere thousand years ago."
"Yeah, something like that," Dib said absently. Zim snickered.
Dib just barely managed to finish copying the answers when the bell rang to end lunch. He sighed, relieved, and flung Zim's paper back at him. "I'm still watching you, alien," he said, heading to where he'd left his backpack.
"By the way, Dib," Zim called, "as I am sure that at least half the answers you gave me were false, I took the liberty of giving you a paper with half my answers wrong." He laughed wickedly. "Good luck figuring out which ones!"
Dib stopped and stared in horror at his notebook. "What?!" He whirled around, but Zim was already gone. Half his answers completely wrong, and now he had no time to fix them. That monster! "Curse you, Zim!"
A seventh grader beside Dib gave him an alarmed look. "Freak."
xxx
It took Purple just under two days to get back to the Massive, and he still had plenty of snacks. To think that Zim had that huge stash of Duper Dip... Purple wondered where he'd gotten it all, with the shortage. Probably the black market; if Zim was dealing hydroxylic acid, who knew what kinds of traders he ran into? Well, Purple would be enjoying the dip for quite a while, at least.
Before contacting the Massive and asking to be let in, Purple stopped his Spittle Runner and got back in uniform. Torso armor, three waistbands, his stiff outer skirt with its hover-belt. The last things to go on were the armored gauntlets, because it would be impossible to put everything else on while wearing them. Purple probably preferred every other uniform he'd ever worn to the uniform of the Tallest. Even the hover-belt didn't help; occasionally he forgot how to move in it, although all he had to do was think how he wanted to move and his Pak took care of the rest. It just didn't feel natural. Of course, it amused Red no end whenever Purple said he was "stuck" in midair...
He hailed the Massive and was, of course, immediately answered; the Communication Technicians would know that he was hailing them from his Runner. "Hi, Red," he said. "Requesting permission to enter?" He grinned. As if he needed permission.
Red attempted a thoughtful look. "I dunno..." he said. "I'll have to think about it."
"Aww, c'mon. Please?"
"Nah, I don't think so." Red was trying to look serious and not quite succeeding. "Maybe I'll let you float out there for a year or two." The Communication and Navigation Techs were looking at Red as if he were insane.
Purple sighed melodramatically. "Oh, woe is me," he lamented. "I suppose I'll have to eat all this by myself, then..." He held up a jar of Duper Dip.
Red's eyes widened. "I changed my mind, come on in!" he said brightly. The Technicians sighed in relief.
On Purple's way from the hangar to the bridge, no less than thirty Irkens stopped to greet their returning Tallest. He responded absently to each, glancing at the tops of their heads, trying to estimate their heights... 70 units, 65 units, 140 units, 50 units, 125 units, 70 units, 60 units, 30, 130, 45, 135, 55, 150, 130, 40, 155, 20, 175... Not a single Irken between 80 and 120 units.
Red was waiting at the entrance to the bridge with an open bag of chips. "Dump it in," he said, holding out the bag. Purple opened a jar of Duper Dip, emptied it in the bag, and he and Red dug in as they hovered back to their platform above the rest of the bridge.
"So," Red said around a mouthful of chips, "I take it your vacation on Foodcourtia went well?"
Purple stopped with a chip halfway to his mouth. "Er... yeah." There was no way that he could have told Red that he was leaving for about six days in order to fly to Earth, impregnate Exile Zim, and fly back. So he'd said he was taking a vacation to Foodcourtia.
Red nodded. "Where'd you find the dip? I thought there was a shortage."
"Um, yeah. It was a... small specialty shop. You know," Purple said awkwardly.
"Huh." Red ate another few chips, watching Purple closely. "What was it called?"
"It was..." Purple gulped. "You know what? I completely forgot." He laughed nervously. "It was in some weird foreign alphabet."
"Oh." Red watched Purple another few seconds, and then looked back at the chips. "I thought we outlawed alien alphabets on Foodcourtia?"
"Yeah, guess they didn't hear," Purple said.
"Guess so." Red chuckled. "That's just like you, to forget the name of a place selling Duper Dip, of all things."
"Yeah, really," Purple said, trying to laugh too. He paused. "Hey!"
"You know it's true, Pur," Red said.
"No it's not!"
"Yeah it is! What about the time you forgot the Planet Jacker ambassador's name?"
"Yeah right, like Fluz-Boo is an easy name to remember! What about you and the Military Elite Exams, huh?"
"What about them?"
"You forgot the difference between Videogamia and Arcadia!"
"They're a lot alike, it's easy to confuse them!"
"Videogamia doesn't have crane games, Red. No crane games. That's a BIG difference."
"Hey, not everyone is stupid enough that they had to study for five days straight for that exam like you, Pur."
"No, some Irkens study for twenty days and then lie about it like you did!"
"I did not!"
The Nav and Comm Techs serenely ignored the argument, and Purple and Red were grinning throughout the fight. They were best friends, after all, and every Irken could tell you that the best friends in the universe are the ones you always battle with. After all, if you expect your friend to get along with you all the time, you're not going to keep that friend very long. As far as Red and Purple were concerned, they had the best friendship in the Empire, one where they could talk about (and fight about) almost anything.
Almost anything. Like every healthy Irken, both Red and Purple had a few secrets they would not and could not tell each other. Always small things, never enough to disturb their friendship.
Now, though, Purple had a new secret. Even without knowing anything about whatever Red was keeping hidden, he had a feeling that this secret was larger than the sum of everything they'd ever kept from each other before.
If Red ever found out about where Purple had really been the past six days...
Like every other healthy Irken, Purple just kept smiling and pretending he had no secrets. If this plan could in any way help save the Empire from ripping in two, it would be worth it. Every time an Irken came into the bridge, Purple looked them up and down, trying to measure them from sight alone.
30... 160... 45... 40... 155... 20... 185...
xxx
Zim was starting to regret being nice to Keef that once. He had figured he could put up with the fool for one morning, but no, it didn't stop there. That had been last Thursday morning; today was Tuesday, and Keef had insisted upon walking Zim home every single day since. And over the weekend, he'd showed up on Sunday and stood down the street from Zim's base, watching it, for an hour—from two to three AM. It was a little creepy, now that Zim stopped to think about it.
"So we could find someone else to invite with us," Keef was saying, "or we could just go stag. What do you think?"
"Eh?" Zim hadn't been listening to a single word that came out of Keef. "What are you talking about?"
Keef gave Zim a surprised look. "The Turkey Dance is this Friday. It's the week before Thanksgiving. Who are you inviting?"
"Huh?!" Zim almost shuddered in revulsion. Who would want to dance with a turkey? "Zim invites no one!"
"So you're going stag? Me too!" Keef said. "It'll be great, buddy. We can go alone... together." A dreamy look crossed his face.
"I don't think you understand," Zim said. "I don't intend to go with a stag, either." Honestly, humans danced with some strange things...
"Oh." Keef looked crestfallen. "Then, I guess someone else has already asked you?"
"No, just you."
"Oh n-no! I wasn't asking you or... or anything like that!" Keef said. His face was turning a rather alarming shade of red, a strange talent of humans that Zim had never understood the use for. "But... well, I mean, if you wanted me to—"
"Silence," Zim commanded. "I shall not be participating in this dance at all, either with a turkey or a stag."
"O... kay..." Keef turned a bit redder. His brows furrowed in puzzlement. "You mean you aren't going at all? Why not? It'll be a lot of fun."
"Of course it will be. Dancing is always fun," Zim said. "However, I... eh... would rather not go."
"Why?"
This would be tricky; it was simply unnatural to not want to dance, unless it was for a very good reason. If Zim weren't careful, he could arouse suspicions. "Well, you see, I, uh..." What was that thing the teacher-fiend in Health class last year kept telling the students to do? "I have chosen to abstain dancing until marriage!"
"Really?" Keef looked at Zim oddly. "Hey, Zim. As your bestest friend ever, do you mind if I ask you a... well, sorta really weird question?"
"What?" Zim's eyes shot wide open. Had he said something wrong after all? What was his mistake? How much did Keef suspect? He hadn't been careful enough; he'd somehow put his mission in grave danger. Zim crossed his arms protectively. The future of the Irken Empire depended on his not getting dissected for the next three weeks. "What kind of a question?"
"Are you a Quaker?"
Zim sighed in relief. "Sure, sure! Zim is a quacker."
"Wow, Zim," Keef said, eyes glimmering in adoration. Was he tearing up? "You really are a good person."
"Yes. Yes I am." Zim managed a casual laugh. "Heh, for a moment, I thought you were going to ask something really crazy, like, 'Are you an alien?' Which I'm not!"
"It's all right, Zim," Keef said. "I've known you're an alien since sixth grade. That surprise gift from you gave me x-ray vision for a while, so I saw under your disguise. But don't worry, I wouldn't tell anyone."
"X-ray vision, fascinating," Zim said idly, not paying a bit of attention. So his mission was safe after all. Keef didn't suspect a thing.
They walked in silence for a moment, until Keef ruined a perfectly good moment and spoke up again. "Hey, Zim. Have you been gaining weight lately?"
"I? Never!" Zim said indignantly.
"Sorry!" Keef said quickly. "You just looked a little, y'know, wider than usual." He held his hands a few inches in front of his stomach to demonstrate. "Guess it's just me."
"Hmph." Honestly, Zim had noticed it too—his uniform was a bit tighter than usual, and while the fabric used for the tops of most Irken uniforms was very stretchy, that didn't make it comfortable when it didn't quite fit.
Zim had forgotten that growing eggs would make him bigger for a while—when he'd been given this mission, he'd only considered the difficulties he would have in continuing his now-nonexistent mission to conquer Earth. No matter, Zim could handle the slight additional inconvenience.
Zim spotted his base, and sighed in relief. He could finally get away from this fool. "This is where we part ways, Keef. I'll see you tomorrow." Unfortunately.
"All right, pal," Keef said. "I'd love to stay and chat, but my house is on the other side of the city and I missed my bus to walk with you home. If I get going now maybe I can get across the highway before rush hour starts. Wish me luck!" He turned around and broke into a run down the street.
"Good luck!" Zim shouted, then muttered, "If I'm lucky you'll get hit by a bus."
This mission wasn't nearly as glamorous as Zim had hoped. Sure, getting a chance to save his empire was sorta cool, but Zim was not born to make smeets. He still had Invader's blood, and it was still marching through him as insistently as ever. The last few days had been a challenge for him, watching the humans, listening as they practically begged to be conquered, learning their greatest weaknesses ("Omahgawd, I'd just die if I ran out of lip-gloss"), planning, scheming, yearning to just destroy them. However, he was not an Invader, and it would take quite some time for Zim to convince the Tallest to restore his proper title. But convince them he would.
When Zim entered his base, he was immediately pummeled by something feathery and panicky. Zim swatted it away from himself long enough to see it was a chicken before, with an alarming bawk, it flew past him and outside. A chicken? Hadn't Zim ordered Gir to get rid of them last week? "GIR!"
Gir leaped into the room with a flying kick, optics red and head covered in glued-on feathers. "Yes, my Master!"
"What is the meaning of this?" Zim demanded, gesturing wildly around the room.
Gir's optics reverted to their normal color as he looked around the room in wonder. "I think we live here..."
"Get rid of this stupid birdy filth!" Zim said, pointing outside in the direction the chicken had gone. "I want it out of my base! Now, Gir!"
"But—"
"No! No buts! Everything that's currently living inside this base except me needs to go out!" Why was it taking so long to get rid of these stupid birds anyway?
"Okaaay," Gir said, feather-coated antenna dropping.
"Good." Muttering to himself about the injustices he must put up with, Zim climbed into the kitchen toilet to take him down to the subterranean levels.
With great somberness and dole, Gir climbed into his costume, plodded outside, and sat down on the sidewalk. Master had said everything living in the base goes out. Gir gave a long, deep, tragic sigh, the kind of sigh that would move a world to tears. A really emotional world, at least. Woe was Gir.
One of the lawn gnomes rolled over to pat Gir on the head. In the computer's voice, it said, "I changed my mind again. Master needs to get laid."
Gir nodded.
A cheerful kid on a blue tricycle rolled by, humming the melody of a song that a young child his age should never, ever be allowed to hear. Gir gasped. "That's my favorite song!" he squealed, and gleefully took off after the kid in rocket mode. The kid shrieked in terror and pedaled away as fast as humanly possible.
When Gir was well out of sight, the computer spoke again through the lawn gnome. "Okay, Millie, I think it's safe now."
The hen, which had been hiding behind a tree, clucked in gratitude and ran back into Zim's base.
xxx
In the recharge chamber, Zim plugged into the chair, turned on the computer screen, and called up the Central Empirical Statistics Database. He'd meant to do some research of his own about his Tallest's claims. Not that he doubted that Tallest Purple had been telling the truth, of course—he just wanted to see the evidence for himself.
First, he looked up the records of the Tallest's heights. At the top, of course, were Tallest Red and Tallest Purple, 217.240081 and 217.239046 units, respectively. Zim paused, staring at the numbers. That couldn't be right. The Tallest, different heights? If these statistics were correct, then only Red was the true Tallest, and Purple was merely the second-tallest Irken alive. Sure, Purple should deserve a high rank in the empire, Military Commander or High Invader or Royal Technician or Grand Frylord or something. But he shouldn't be a Tallest. How had he ended up in charge?
Zim accessed Purple's file to see if there was any explanation for why he was Tallest. And there was, in the first paragraph:
Despite the fact that Tallest Purple is shorter than Tallest Red, they are legally recognized as the same height under the Tenth Law.
Zim had heard of no such law before. He looked it up.
The Tenth Law (enacted in 29836/9/8.3 by Tallest Red): Any Irken with a height quotient within a tenth of a unit (.1 unit) of the height quotient of the official Tallest Irken shall be legally recognized as a Tallest as well.
Zim went back to the first page. Now that he looked at the dates, he realized that Red had become Tallest three days before Purple; this law had been made during that three-day gap. Zim hadn't known that law existed. He wondered what its purpose was—and why Red had been the one to write it, when it meant that he wouldn't be Tallest by himself. If Zim were Tallest, he certainly wouldn't have made a law that forced him to share power with some inferior...
Zim shrugged to himself, and returned to his original mission, skimming the list of former Tallest to determine their heights. Purple had been right about one thing: the farther back in time the records went, the shorter the Tallest got. So, this at least proved that Irkens had been growing taller through the eras. But had they been growing shorter on the other end?
Unfortunately, according to the Statistics Database, no records of the shortest Irkens were kept, only the Tallest. Only the current shortest Irken alive was listed, Exile Zim. (He conveniently ignored the title that came before his name; he had decided not to dwell on his exile, the same way he didn't dwell on the fact that he had blacked out Irk twice, Devastis once, and accidentally assassinated two Tallest.)
Then, perhaps Zim could find those curvy-graph-bells that Purple had shown him, so he could look at them more closely? The Statistics Database kept records of the average pay of Irkens, the numbers and species of aliens assimilated into the empire and what worlds they lived on, which supplies had a surplus (usually small electronics) and which had a shortage (usually the best snacks), and Slark knew what else. Surely, it would have height records, as well?
As soon as Zim did a search for a height quotient graph, the screen went dark. "Eh?!" He stretched forward to poke the screen. "What is this?"
"Access denied," the screen said in bright yellow letters. "Insufficient security clearance to unlock information."
"Says who?"
"Says the Control Brains," the text read. "Clearance levels below Rank Tower are insufficient."
"But that's the Tallest's rank!"
"That is correct." The text flashed for a moment, went dark, and a new message popped up. "How do you know that Rank Tower is the Tallest's rank? Only the Tallest and the Taller Advisors are supposed to know about Rank Tower."
Zim shrugged. "I guess I'm just that amazing." As an Invader, he was—or he had been—Rank Façade-3. He had no idea what it meant but only that it sounded cooler than his rank as a Frycook. Rank Drive-Thru-5 indeed. Only losers were Rank Anything-5.
"No. You are very creepy, Exile Zim," the text said, and then vanished. The screen returned to the front page of the Empirical Statistics Database.
Zim tried a few more times to find the graphs Purple had shown him. He never again got the black screen with the yellow text, but he did keep getting "Error – Data Not Found" notices. On his tenth try, when he got a notice that said "Error – Data STILL Not Found. Give it up, you moron," he concluded that he wouldn't be finding out any more about the height issue.
He left the Database and opened two new windows; one streaming a news report from the Massive, and one ancient Vortian report about Irken reproduction. He figured he'd better find out exactly what laying eggs would entail.
Unfortunately, he didn't get very far on his research; the news was reporting on Invader Spleen's recent conquest of his planet, which no one had bothered to learn the name of. It was officially renamed Cheaphookeria and was already predicted to become the second most popular vacation destination in the Irken Empire, right behind Foodcourtia.
Zim couldn't help but feel an awful twisting in his guts as he watched, something dark and painful inside him. When was the last time the Tallest had beamed at him the way they were beaming at Spleen? Even when Tallest Purple had given Zim his super special secret mission, even when Zim had boldly accepted it... sure, in that one moment, Purple had looked a little impressed, but never proud of Zim. Never proud. Why not? Didn't Zim deserve that honor? Didn't he?
Did he deserve it?
Snacks—Zim needed snacks. That'd help. Trying not to feel unnerved by his moment of darkness, Zim unplugged his Pak, exited the recharge chamber, and headed quickly up to the kitchen to get something to eat. Something sugary. Anything to prevent that darkness from progressing, from sucking him down; every Irken had to deal with that whirlpool every once in a while, even if they didn't always admit it...
He never read the report he'd opened: she would, 99 percent of the time, die long before laying any eggs... Oblivious, Zim found a bag of candy and started eating. To think, the Tallest were still running the Empire without Zim there to assist. A tragedy. After all, the Irken Empire needed Zim, whether or not they realized it. Zim knew it, at least.
Well, he'd find a way to become a part of the Empire again. Zim would get back in the Tallest's good graces, or die trying.
xxxxx