Chapter Text
Arriving on planet Currus was supposed to be much, much more exciting than this.
During the 40 hour trek from Dendroba to Currus, Zim had filled Dib’s mind with images of some kind of Wild West wonderland. Sparse towns, gruff locals, a vigilante-defended market system, all on a planet with such extreme seasonal variance that sapient life had never even evolved on it. The climate was too inhospitable to cultivate societies, and only the hardiest of immigrants managed to live there year-round.
As they’d descended toward the planet’s surface in a roaring, shuddering fireball, it was easy for Dib to imagine why. Most of the planet appeared to be a dry, craggy wasteland, an expanse of ruddy-gray ground spackled here and there with dusty patches of scrub. The lower the ship went, the more textures Dib had made out: a rise of cliffs here, a series of canyons further off. Though he’d never been there himself, Dib imagined this was something like the Australian outback, though the dirt lacked the distinctive orange coloration.
But Currus wasn’t all desert. During their descent, Dib had caught the faintest flash of light at the edge of the horizon, the suggestion of a lake or a sea somewhere beyond the curve of the planet’s surface. And then there was the town of Calamus, the supposed hub of seedy Irken dealings. The town was settled near the foothills of a broad mountain range, the peaks of which shone with dazzling snowcaps.
All in all, Currus seemed like a setting ripe for adventure.
Even as their ramshackle ship all but outright crashed at the edge of town, Dib fantasized about striding into Calamus in a swirl of sand like the Lone Ranger, his midnight-black coat beating in the wind like a banner…
But it wasn’t meant to be.
Instead, when the hatch of their smoldering ship groaned open, Dib was struck by a wave of heat so intense he felt instantly ill. Between the hot air and the wreath of smoke encompassing the vessel, Dib succumbed to a coughing fit that left him red-faced and breathless.
A pair of Irken claws yanked him back into the cabin.
“Can you breathe?” Zim asked, pushing Dib against the wall in a way which in fact made it harder to breathe.
Dib waved him off. “I’m fine,” he croaked, and cleared his throat one more time. “It’s just hotter than I expected. And we’re on fire again.”
“Only two of the thrusters are on fire this time,” Zim said. “Yeesh. What a queen of dramatics. If you’re going to be such a smeet about it, you can stay in here while I douse the flames. Come along, GIR.”
GIR nearly knocked Dib off his feet as he dashed after Zim to follow his master out of the ship. While Zim shouted orders to his minion outside, Dib reluctantly shrugged off his coat. His space-cowboy daydreams weren’t worth getting heat stroke for.
Once he’d lovingly folded and stowed his poor, tattered jacket, Dib took another shot at stepping through the hatch into the unforgiving sunlight. He shaded his eyes and watched as Zim finished blasting foam at one of the vessel’s fins using some kind of spray-bottle-shaped fire extinguisher. Beneath the fin, GIR was busy making froth-angels from the overflow.
The poor ship wasn’t made for this kind of stress. It was merely a temporary vessel, cobbled together from the ruins of the abandoned civilization back on Oobli A, where their real ship awaited repair. The reason they were on Currus in the first place was to barter for material with which to fix the Voot.
Well, one of the reasons.
Zim lowered his extinguisher and, noticing Dib’s eyes on him, flashed a confident smile and a thumbs-up.
“I take it the ship’s not going to combust or something?” Dib asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zim dismissed. “That said, we should avoid engaging the engines until I’ve had a chance to work on them. But there’s no need for that at the moment. We have SHOPPING to do!”
“What? Are we just going to leave the ship here?” Dib asked as Zim marched back into the cabin.
Zim opened a storage hatch and began rifling through its contents, grabbing goods to trade and chucking them over his shoulder into a pile. “I don’t see why not.”
Dib stood in the hatchway and gestured widely to the dilapidated buildings and husks of looted vehicles around them. “Does this look like a safe place to park to you?”
Zim leaned back to look outside. “Looks fine to me.”
“You don’t think it seems a little shady?”
“If anything, it’s a bit bright and exposed for my liking,” Zim said, returning to his task.
“Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean by ‘shady.’”
Zim sighed and dropped an armful of shiny metal rods onto his pile. “Dib, according to Skoodge, the whole planet is shady. It doesn’t matter where we leave the ship. Besides, we’ll be taking our most valuable materials with us. The ship's security system will take care of the rest.”
Dib raised a brow. “I didn’t know this hunk of junk had a security system.”
“Of course it does! GIR?”
GIR climbed into the hatchway next to Dib, his face completely covered in pastel pink fire-suppressant. “Look! I got a beard! I’m gonna be the next Ms. Universe!”
“Uh-huh. GIR, tell the Dib what your mission is.”
GIR wiped foam from his eyes and stared up at Dib. “World peace!”
“No, GIR. Today’s mission. We talked about this.” Zim tapped his foot impatiently.
“Oh riiiiight, guarding the ship,” GIR said. “I’m not doin’ that.”
Zim spluttered for a moment before he found his words again. “You most certainly are doing that! I’m ordering you to defend the ship while Dib and I are in the market.”
GIR’s eyes flashed red and his voice dropped. “Yes, Sir. I will defend the ship and I will accompany you to the market.”
“You can’t do both,” Zim said. “You can’t be in two places at once.”
The SIR’s eyes mellowed to their usual teal tone. “Sure I can! Check it out.”
GIR balled his fists and began to quake violently. Sensing an explosive outburst of some kind, Dib grabbed GIR’s arms to disrupt him.
“I think we get the picture,” Dib said as the vibrating stopped.
“Did you see it?” GIR eagerly asked Dib.
Dib smiled thinly. “Yep. Sure did.”
Zim shoved Dib aside. “Don’t coddle him, stink-brain. GIR, you must listen to me. You will stay with the ship. I forbid you to leave it.”
“But… But I gotta go with you,” GIR said, his smile drooping. “You need me.”
“I need you to stay here. Now, pack up this equipment. We’re burning daylight,” Zim said.
GIR whined as he hauled a large sack out of the top of his head and began shoveling the goods into it. Zim nodded approvingly and reached for another, smaller compartment in the wall. From it, he withdrew a small energy pistol and holster, which he tossed Dib’s way without warning.
Dib, caught off guard, juggled the pistol in his hands before safely catching it. “A heads-up would be nice next time,” he grumbled as he belted on the holster.
Zim ignored his comment. “That pistol is for show. Don’t get cocky with it.”
“It works though, right?”
“It works, but I’d rather not instigate a firefight in the middle of the market,” Zim said, slamming the compartment closed.
Dib adjusted the holster, secretly pleased at the opportunity to indulge in part of his cowboy daydream. “I dunno, man. Instigating a marketplace shoot-out sounds very ‘Zim’.”
Zim glowered at him.
Dib whistled. “Not in the mood for jokes. Got it.”
“This is a very serious endeavor, Dib-worm,” Zim said. “I’ve never visited this planet, but from what Skoodge shared with us, this is no place for fooling around.”
Dib nodded, and bent to assist GIR with the last of the equipment. Most of what they hoped to sell were scrap parts, only useful for the somewhat rare metal that comprised them. Zim had assured Dib that between their cred and these parts, they’d be suitably funded to buy Voot components. Of course, Dib wasn’t especially concerned about the Voot’s repair, as much as he felt a nostalgic connection to the vessel.
No, the real priority was finding something called an LSI-Ring for Zim’s PAK. If that was the only thing they came away with, then Dib would be satisfied. They could always buy or build another ship, or even give their existing rocket-powered-death-trap a renovation. Maybe it would be time-consuming and expensive, but it was possible.
And yet, Zim barely spoke about the LSI-Ring, even though he’d listed at length the various pieces of hardware required for the Voot Cruiser. He even muttered about prices and negotiation strategies in his sleep. It was weird enough that Zim was sleeping at all, but at least he’d explained that to Dib. Sleeping was merely a method to counteract the corruption in his PAK and give the PAK a chance to re-energize. It was unsettling to see Zim fully unconscious, but if it meant he was acknowledging that his PAK needed a break, Dib wouldn’t dwell on it.
“Dib, you carry the bag.”
Dib blinked away his thoughts and stared at the overstuffed backpack on the floor. The thing could hold at least four GIRs, and Dib’s spine ached just looking at it.
“We don’t have a cart or something?” Dib asked.
“If we had a cart, Zim would have said: ‘Dib, you tow the cart.’”
With a discontented huff, Dib hoisted the bag onto his back. It wasn’t as heavy as he’d feared, but it was cumbersome, and already putting a strain on his shoulders. “Listen, I’m grateful that you’re taking this seriously and are trying to be cautious, but don’t you think hauling around a giant bag of difficult-to-run-with valuables is asking for trouble?”
Zim crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. “If you’re so worried, then I’ll take the bag and go to the market alone.”
“As hilarious as it would be to watch your tiny gecko body lug this thing around, there’s no way I’m letting that happen,” Dib said. He boosted the pack a little higher, trying to relieve some of the pressure. “So, are we heading out?”
Zim nodded sharply, then turned to his minion. “GIR! We will be back shortly. Are you clear on your instructions?”
“Yes, my master…” GIR droned miserably. “You’ll be back soon?”
“As soon as we have what we need, yes,” Zim said.
GIR continued to frown. “And you won’t go out of range?”
Zim tilted his head, confused. “Our communicators will be well within range the entire time.”
GIR twisted his claws together anxiously, but remained silent.
“Oookay,” Zim said, throwing a final, skeptical look at his SIR. “We should get moving. Come on, Dib.”
As they walked away from the ship, Dib watched GIR from the corner of eye. The robot waited by the hatch door with an uncharacteristically morose expression. This wasn’t the first time GIR had been left in charge of guarding the ship while Zim and Dib were elsewhere. In fact, he’d been perfectly content to perform that duty less than two days ago, back on Dendroba. The malfunctioning bot wasn’t known for his consistency, but something about his current behavior felt off.
As they rounded the corner of a collapsed building, Dib spoke quietly to Zim. “I think something’s up with GIR.”
“What do you mean?” Zim asked, picking his way over a low mound of rubble.
“Doesn’t he seem, I don’t know, extra clingy today?”
“He probably just wanted to come along so he could pick out a souvenir,” Zim said.
Dib slipped a little as he followed Zim over the shattered blocks of concrete, but caught himself before he lost control of the backpack. “You’re not worried he’s going to follow us?”
“Naaah. He knows I pick out the best souvenirs for him.”
“I don’t think this is about souvenirs,” Dib said.
“It doesn’t matter. I ordered him to stay behind, and he will stay behind,” Zim said. “Now, hurry up. I want to get there before midnight.”
Dib rolled his eyes and decided the effort of arguing with Zim wasn’t worth the energy. Sweat tickled the back of his neck, and the straps of the backpack were already biting into his shoulders. Dib distracted himself from his discomfort by observing the structures around them.
The closer they got to the town proper, the more intact the buildings became. Most were squat, thick-walled cubes made from some sort of purple-gray cement. Other buildings had a metallic gleam that Dib couldn’t readily identify. Altogether, the architecture was ugly and plain, but likely very practical in the face of extreme weather.
Eventually, Dib could make out the sound of voices up ahead. Zim – who had been several paces in front of him – paused for Dib to catch up, then pulled a tablet from his PAK.
“I’ll do the talking. If anyone asks, you’re my empty-headed alien servant. A bag-carrying service drone who is not permitted to speak,” Zim said.
“Cool. Love it,” Dib deadpanned.
“Alert me if you happen to notice any of these parts,” Zim continued, nonplussed. He scrolled slowly through the tablet, displaying the various coils, batteries, and other gadgets that they were shopping for. He’d talked about the items frequently, but hadn’t shown them to Dib before now. Fortunately, having spent his fair share of time working on the Voot himself, Dib recognized many of the shapes.
When a circular device appeared on the screen, Dib stayed Zim’s hand. “Is that the LSI-Ring?”
“Yes,” Zim said.
“Don’t you think we should try to find that part first?”
Zim stared at the screen as if he were processing Dib’s suggestion. “… Yes, ideally. But we should still be looking for all of these parts. Now, I hope you’ve made note of the items we’re after. And you remember your role?”
Dib sighed through his nose. “Yep. Mute alien servant with a pistol for some reason.”
“You get a pistol because you are a highly valued and deeply trusted service drone,” Zim said, and he flashed Dib a shit-eating grin. “Such a good drone. What an honor!”
“You jerk,” Dib grumbled, but he found himself smiling back.
Predictably, Zim cut the moment short. “Shut up and follow me.”
Dib lumbered after Zim down an alleyway between more purple-gray buildings, wondering how badly his sweat was already staining his shirt. He tugged at his shirt’s collar to get more airflow as he followed Zim into the main Calamus thoroughfare.
Suddenly, the voices he’d noticed before were much louder. Vendors shouted deals into the street, their words instantly translating through the TransDibber on Dib’s wrist and transmitting to an implant in his molar. Pedestrians chatted amongst themselves and called questions to the shopkeepers, and as curious as Dib was about their words, he had to shut them out in order to focus on his surroundings.
A wide road extended in front of him, crowded with vibrant market stalls and colorfully-clothed aliens. Like Dendroba, a diverse array of species wandered through the stands. Unlike Dendroba, a considerable number of the market patrons were Irken. They moved among the other customers in little clusters, and Dib was somewhat surprised to see that the other species paid them little mind. Then again, Calamus was supposedly a hub of Irken trading, which perhaps offered an incentive for all the assorted species to get along. Irk’s tech, if Dib took Zim’s word for it, was enviable across the galaxy. Maybe the interest in Irken goods outweighed the animosity toward their race as genocidal conquerors.
At least in this singular town on Currus, anyway.
“Stay close,” Zim hissed to Dib as he forged a path through the crowd.
The street stalls were a cartoonishly bright contrast to the dull concrete buildings around them. Dib stood on his toes to peek inside one such building and caught a glimpse of stacked crates and long rows of shelving. It seemed the buildings themselves acted as warehouses for the open-air market.
A hand closed around Dib’s wrist and yanked him to the side before he could collide with the corner of a stall selling bolts of luminescent fabric.
“Pay attention!” Zim snapped.
Remembering the instruction not to speak, Dib raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. Zim growled and, his claws still around Dib’s wrist, pulled the human further into the densely-packed market.
After a few minutes of maneuvering through the masses, Zim again tugged on Dib’s arm to draw him toward a larger stand. This one was more integrated with the blocky building behind it. Through the wide doorway, an assortment of engines and other large pieces of machinery awaited purchase. At least one of the engines displayed the telltale organic design of Irken engineering.
“You! Shopkeeper!”
Dib cringed at Zim’s exclamation, but remained in character.
A wide-framed, pink-eyed Irken looked up from the other end of the stall, where she’d been busy assisting a purple-skinned Vortian customer. The Irken murmured something to the Vortian, who nodded and resumed parsing through a box of goods on the counter.
“Can I help you?” the Irken asked as she approached Zim and Dib. Her voice was unexpectedly high and sweet, considering she was nearly Dib’s height and built like a refrigerator.
“I’m looking for Voot Cruiser parts,” Zim said. Dib noticed he was standing on his toes, not that it made him much taller.
“Oh sure, we have plenty of Voot components,” said the shopkeeper, cheerfully. “Looking for anything in particular?”
Zim rattled off a series of parts while Dib bit his tongue. Clearly, Voot equipment wasn’t a rarity. What they really needed were PAK parts. They could always come back here after they secured the ring.
“I think I have a charging cell like that in the back,” the shopkeeper said in response to the last item in Zim’s list. “Why don’t you check that bin over there for the smaller pieces while I look for it?”
Once the shopkeeper had disappeared into the shadows of her warehouse, Zim approached the metal tub she’d directed them to. It sat atop the counter a few feet away, and to Dib, it seemed terribly exposed. For a bustling, Irken-dominated market, the atmosphere here felt oddly lax.
“We could steal this stuff, I bet,” Zim said, apparently riding the same wavelength as Dib.
“You were the one who warned me about fooling around, remember? Let’s not push our luck,” Dib said as he pawed through the collection of Irken hardware. After checking for potential eavesdroppers, Dib continued. “I noticed you didn’t mention the ring.”
“This vendor obviously deals in ship components, not PAK parts. We’ll get to it,” Zim said, inspecting a coil of maroon tubing.
“I know, but-” Dib paused as he found a chunk of circuitry that he recognized from the list. “Oh! Isn’t this for the navigational system?”
“Eh?” Zim snatched the piece from his hands and squinted at it. “It… it is. How did you know we were looking for that?”
“Uh, because you showed me? Like, less than 10 minutes ago?”
“No I di-” Zim cut himself off, and a strange expression flickered across his features, so fast that Dib nearly missed it. A flash deep inside of Zim’s magenta eyes, a spasm at the corner of his mouth. Dib knew Zim’s anger, and this wasn’t anger.
Whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it appeared, chased away by the shopkeeper returning from the depths of her warehouse. She placed a tall, metallic cylinder on the counter in front of them and gave the top of it a proud little pat.
“Excellent shape for its age, this one. What do you think?” she asked.
“We’ll take it,” Zim said quickly.
Dib opened his mouth to speak but, remembering his instructions, swiftly shut it again and settled for pinching Zim’s arm.
Zim jumped away from him. “Ow! Hey! What’s gotten into you, bag drone?”
Dib held up his hand, his thumb and fingers shaping a ring. It took Zim a second to catch his drift, but his resulting snarl assured Dib that the Irken did indeed understand.
Zim composed himself and turned back to the vendor. “There is another matter with which you may be able to assist me, despite this clearly being a shop for vehicle parts.”
Dib rolled his eyes, and the shopkeeper tilted her head, confused. Zim beckoned for her to lean closer, and with some (completely justified) trepidation, she did.
“I am also seeking PAK components. Do you know of anyone who deals in such things?” Zim asked, his voice low.
The shopkeeper’s confusion fell away, and she drew back to laugh. “Oh! Oh, you were just doing a bit. I thought you were looking for drugs or something.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Are you looking for drugs? I know a guy. And you don’t have to be all that hush-hush about it around here, either. This your first time on Currus?”
“What? No – I mean, yes – I mean… URGH!” Zim grabbed his antennae, but before he could pull, Dib placed his hand on the back of Zim’s neck. Zim froze for a beat, then released his feelers and straightened his posture. “I was not doing a ‘bit.’ I require PAK components. Not for myself, of course! For a project.”
The shopkeeper’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. This really is your first time here, isn’t it?”
Zim’s antennae flattened against his skull. “So what if it is?”
“No insult intended!” said the shopkeeper. “It’s just that you’re not going to find anything like that in the marketplace. PAKs, robotics, basically anything advanced enough to be manufactured on Machinus is forbidden around here.”
“What? Why?” Zim asked.
“You think the Resisty are still manufacturing Irken tech on Machinus now that they have control of the planet? Don’t make me laugh. Unless you really are doing a bit, and this is still a joke?”
“… Yes… I’m still joking…” Zim said with a painfully fake smile.
“Ha! You’re a funny little guy, huh?” the shopkeeper beamed, oblivious.
“Yes. I’m hilarious. Now, for the sake of the joke, what were you saying about Machinus?”
“Well, the planet's been locked down for a few years now. There’s even talk that they’ll blow the whole thing up, just in case the last of the Empire loyalists manage to get a new smeetery up and running. Easier to make smeets than to build a new PAK-making facility from scratch, especially without the Control Brains,” the shopkeeper explained. “As you can imagine, then, there’s quite a demand for all the advanced tech that used to come out of Machinus. For a while, you could get away with pirating parts and making a tidy profit off of them, but after the Resisty took full control and cracked down on smuggling? Every market on Currus went crazy over the stuff. It was chaos. People were murdering each other in the streets over it. Eventually, Esh-El’s Order stepped in to ban all Machinus-made technology from the marketplace, or else we wouldn’t even have a marketplace left to trade in.”
“So, there are no PAK parts on this planet?” Dib blurted. Zim glared daggers at him, but made no comment.
“Even the bag drone is in on it, eh?” the shopkeeper said with a wink, apparently still convinced that this was some kind of comedy sketch. “Oh, you can find what you’re looking for here, but it isn’t easy.”
“I demand to know how!” Zim said, his claws splayed on the countertop.
“All the Machinus-made goods that were confiscated after the ban are guarded by Director Esh-El and used as grand prizes for the Round-the-World Rally,” the shopkeeper said. “If you want to get your hands on functional PAK-ware, you have to win the race.”
“Explain this race you speak of,” Zim said.
Once again, the shopkeeper broke out in giggles. “You’re really committed to this joke, aren’t you?” she said as she wiped a tear from her eye.
Dib had had enough. “OK, I don’t know how any of this seems like a joke to you, but it’s not. We’re new here, and we want to know what’s going on. Can you help us or not?”
“Wait, are we still riffing, or…?” The shopkeeper’s brow ridges furrowed in genuine confusion.
“JUST TELL ZIM ABOUT THE RACE!” Zim shouted, his PAK legs boosting him to eye-level with the baffled vendor.
“Yeesh, sorry, I thought we were doing a little scene,” she said, stepping back. “This is why they cut you from the improv troupe, Didi… Anyway, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’m just surprised that you’re here the day before the biggest event of the trading season without even knowing what it is.”
As intrigued as Dib was by the jarring concept of an Irken improv troupe on a lawless desert planet, he forced himself to stay on task. “So, if I’m understanding you correctly, there’s going to be a race around the world tomorrow, and the winner gets access to rare technology?”
“Yes, that’s right,” the shopkeeper said, watching Zim warily as he lowered himself and retracted his metal limbs. “That’s why it’s so busy here today. The Rally draws a huge crowd. It’s great for business. Oh! Speaking of, I was just helping a competitor with something. She might be able to tell you more about the race itself.” She turned back toward the Vortian she’d been assisting previously, who was still stationed at the far end of the stall, carefully counting out pieces of hardware on the counter. “Hey! These guys want to know about the Rally!”
The purple Vortian tensed and shot a withering look toward the shopkeeper. “Actually, I need to get going. Hold these for me,” she said in a lilting, nasally voice as she pointed at the collection of parts.
“Will do!” the shopkeeper said as the Vortian strode away on spindly, goat-like legs. “Must be those pre-competition jitters. That’s alright. Are you two looking for a good spot to watch the start? I know a rooftop where you can see the starting line. The owner sets up a bunch of seats, too. You might have to sit in someone’s lap, but-”
“That’s OK,” Dib said, cutting her off. “Your name’s Didi, right?”
The shopkeeper – Didi – nodded.
“Didi, if we were interested in participating in the race, would we need to register for it or something?” Dib asked.
Didi grinned. “You really are a plucky pair. You two have a Drifter?”
“Is that the type of ship they race here?” Dib asked.
“It’s basically a ship, yes, but it has to stay within a certain distance of the ground. I’m not really the one to ask about it, though. If you want the full set of regulations, you should probably talk to Esh-El’s Order. They’re the ones to ask about registration, too. Their headquarters is just a couple blocks away. You can’t miss it, I promise. Plus, I hear they have the grand prize package on display there, if that’s of any interest.”
“That’s definitely of interest,” Dib said. “Which way did you say that was?”
Didi pointed further down the thoroughfare.
“Great, thanks!” Dib adjusted the bag on his aching shoulders and made to leave the stall, but Zim’s hand stopped him.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, bag drone?” Zim said. Dib stared at him blankly. “We have trades to make, remember?”
Dib started to argue, but then realized Zim was right. If they couldn’t purchase PAK parts, then they may as well offload their goods and buy the available Voot equipment. Still, he didn’t want to waste much time here. He needed to see that prize display. If it had what they were after, maybe they wouldn’t need to race for it at all. Dib could already see himself descending from the ceiling, Mission Impossible-style, to secretly swipe an LSI-Ring from a technological treasure hoard. He’d hacked into a giant space station before; surely he and Zim could manage a smaller-scale heist in a town where half the buildings sat in abandoned disrepair.
Dib shifted the pack off of himself and grimaced at the way his shirt clung to his back with sweat. As gross as it was, at least he could sweat. Zim, on the other hand, had wilted a little during their time in the market. His tongue lolled out of his mouth in a lazy pant as he dug through the bag and hauled out pieces to offer to Didi. Maybe it was a good plan to find a cool place to rest for a moment before they went to this “Esh-El’s Order” place.
Dib was about to ask Didi if she knew somewhere they could get a cold drink when a commotion rose up from a few stands away. Dib, who had been leaning against the counter while Zim and Didi bartered, straightened up to his full height to see over the crowd.
“Ope, someone’s causing a stink again,” Didi commented. She clucked her tongue and went back to typing numbers into a tablet. “You know, things got so, well, orderly once Esh-El’s Order showed up a few years ago. But every year around the time of the Rally, some poor newcomer or other tries to pull something stupid in the marketplace. They never know what they’re in for.”
A sudden electric thrum lifted the hair on Dib’s arms. Over the heads of the rapidly dispersing crowd, Dib glimpsed the pronged tops of spear-like weapons that glowed with crackling blue energy. The marketplace patrons avoided the approaching weapon-bearers, but the street was still too packed for Dib to get a good look at them. Through a brief gap in the crowd, Dib caught a flash of light, a crystalline glimmer that might have been a mask, or might have been part of whatever species was carrying the spears.
Four spears of the eight that had arrived tilted down in flawless synchrony, and a thunderous clap broke the air, followed by a short, tinny shriek. A hush fell over the street as several dozen aliens waited for whatever was coming next. Dib felt the collective tension of the crowd release as the spears lifted upright again, no longer swarming with electricity. The spears formed a circle around whatever unfortunate creature had invoked their wrath, and then, as swiftly as they’d arrived, the spear-carriers paired up and marched away. The crowd flowed back together, and the chatter of the market resumed as though nothing had happened.
“Guess it was just something petty,” Didi said, sounding a touch disappointed.
“Did they just murder someone?” Dib asked, tearing his eyes away from the scene.
Didi shrugged. “Maybe? It’s good that we heard a scream. Because when you don’t hear a scream…”
Dib frowned, needing no additional explanation. When he looked to Zim for his reaction, he found Zim still staring into the crowd, his eyes wide and antennae ramrod straight.
“Hey, you good?” Dib asked quietly while Didi resumed her typing.
“I thought I heard…” Zim shook his head, and his antennae fell limply back.
“Zim…?”
But Zim had already turned his attention back to Didi, with whom he started a debate over the value of the navigational circuitry Dib had found. Dib stood aside and let the Irkens haggle for a while until at last both parties seemed satisfied. The transaction complete, Dib packed the new materials and the remaining unsold goods into their bag and slung it onto his back.
Dib assumed Zim would start complaining as soon as they were a safe distance from Didi’s booth, heading in the direction she’d indicated before. He’d clearly been frustrated with some of her deals, though they’d sounded reasonable to Dib. Knowing Zim, he probably expected the shopkeeper to agree to all his initial, way-too-low offers. All in all, Dib thought they’d landed on some good bargains. He was about to say as much when Zim suddenly tripped over his own boots and clanged into an electronic menu board, causing it to flicker.
Dib lunged to catch Zim and pull him away from the board as the food-seller behind it raised a menacing, vulture-like claw at them and grunted something in a language his translator didn’t respond to.
“Sorry!” Dib called to the vendor as he steadied Zim on his feet.
Whether or not the unidentified alien understood the apology, they seemed appeased enough and went back to stirring their vat of sweet-smelling yellow goop.
“What was that? Are you OK?” Dib asked. With his hands still on Zim’s shoulders, he could feel the heat rising from his PAK. “Whoa, your PAK’s burning up…”
Zim shrugged Dib’s hands away and quickened his pace down the street. “That’s because this horrible place never developed urban climate control. Still, we’ve been on hotter planets. Eeugh, you got your nasty human juices on my shirt…”
Dib checked his wrist, where his TransDibber had automatically adjusted to local time. “We still have a lot of daylight to work with. Maybe we could take a break, grab something to eat?”
“I thought you were in a hurry to get to the ‘Shelly’ Order.”
“We can afford a quick detour. There has to be something I can digest around here. Why don’t we find another food stall, then look for some shade where we can… Hey, what are you doing?”
Zim’s communicator hung in front of his face and he blinked at Dib as if the human were a bothersome child he’d been tasked with babysitting. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m checking in with GIR.”
“OK, makes sense, but do you want to maybe step out of the street to do that?” Dib said, swerving to avoid a Plookesian who had accidentally stumbled into his path.
But Zim was already ranting into the communicator. “GIR! I require a status update. Are you and the ship still secure? Any sign of looters? GIR?”
Static, and then a garbled version of GIR’s voice came through. “M-mas-Master? Hi! H-hi hi! Hi!”
“We’re getting some interference… Standby, GIR. I think I see an open area up ahead.”
Zim doubled his speed, and Dib had to jog to keep up with him. As Zim had anticipated, the street opened up into a wide town square. There were fewer stands here, but they were of a higher quality and arranged in a tidy ring around a 20-foot-tall crystal obelisk in the middle of the square which scattered bands of rainbow light across the scene. A festive, whistling tune carried over the plaza from an unseen stage, and a few small, bird-like aliens (perhaps even children?) danced gleefully to the music.
Skoodge had not mentioned this. But then again, Dib was pretty sure Skoodge had done his trading in a different town. Dib and Zim had only come to Calamus because of its rumored specialty in Irken goods. Unless Skoodge had indeed been here but failed to notice the town square?
No, surely not. He had to have visited somewhere else on the planet. Somewhere far more dubious, and with fewer crystalline spires and skipping youths.
“GIR, can you hear me?” Zim panted, finally coming to a stop.
“Yeah! I c-c-c-caaaaannnn hearrrrr-” The connection seemed to break, but then GIR’s voice chimed in again. “Hi, my Master-ster!”
“I need you to focus,” Zim said, his tone shifting into something softer, a voice he only used for GIR. “What’s your status?”
“I’m in a pal-pal-palace!”
“You can tell me stories later, GIR. I need an update.”
“Hi, my-my-my Master! I love you!”
Dark tendrils of dread creeped from the pit of Dib’s stomach up toward his throat as it dawned on him that it wasn’t bad reception that was distorting GIR’s voice. An idea pinged in his head, and Dib moved away from Zim to get a better look at the buildings surrounding the square, a task made difficult by the taller, sturdier market booths arranged across it.
“GIR, I’m picking out a souvenir for you now, but you’re only going to get it if you report on your status!” Zim said.
“You said-said – You said you wouldn’t go out-t-t-t of range! Of range!”
“Report, GIR. Right now!” Zim demanded, his gentleness breaking into something more strained and bordering on panicked.
And then Dib saw it. On the opposite end of the plaza: a jagged, sparkling pyramid of quartz. A palace if Dib had ever seen one.
“Zim!”
Zim’s head snapped in his direction, and Dib pointed toward the structure. Realization brightened Zim’s tired eyes, and in a flash of metal, his PAK legs deployed. As surprised patrons dodged out of his way, Zim beelined for the crystal castle with Dib in hot pursuit, shouting apologies to the vendors whose stands Zim vaulted over.
Dib’s heart nearly burst out of his chest as they neared the “palace.” An array of guards, all bearing electric spears and gleaming armor, flanked the entrance to the pyramid. Dib had little time to take the structure in, but it reminded him of the wild geometrical architecture that formed in ice caves and crystal caverns.
To Dib’s surprise, even as Zim barreled past the guards, none of them so much as flinched. They simply watched through delicate quartz masks as Zim and Dib raced into the building.
They both skidded to a halt at the sight of an enormous, glowing cube. It floated in the middle of the hollow interior of the pyramid, rotating slowly, casting a shifting cerulean light across the angular walls which housed it. It felt to Dib as though he were in the depths of the ocean, the sunlight filtering down to him through layers and layers of sea. For a few seconds, he forgot why he’d run in here in the first place.
Then his eyes adjusted. The cube – at least the size of his father’s house back on Earth, if not larger – was not a solid block of blue. Instead, suspended within it were dozens of objects, ranging in size from tiny clusters of screws to fully-constructed control panels. Dib knew instantly from the unmistakably Irken nature of the objects that this was the Rally prize Didi had spoken of. He understood now why the guards hadn’t fretted over their rush to the inside. There would be no subtle infiltration of such a treasure. Dib could hack a digital security system, sure. But this?
If Dib didn’t know better, he’d call it magic.
“Oh, h-h-hi, Mas-Master!” GIR burbled through Zim’s communicator.
There, floating front and center, was the singed but smiling form of Zim’s perpetual companion. GIR waved a broken mechanical claw at them.
“Fuck,” said Dib, leaning forward with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He’d gotten what he wished for, he supposed. Suddenly, Currus had become infinitely more exciting.