The Discount Smeet by Dib07

Summary:

It all started when Dib went to an alien market to buy supplies. He didn't realize he'd be going home with a smeet. Only, the young smeet slowly becomes Dib's whole world, and the human space explorer soon has to defend Zim against those who want all defectives dead.

Warnings:

Sci-fi adventure. Light swearing. Peril. Alternative Universe.

Disclaimer:

I do not own the IZ characters. However this story and this idea is mine.

The story picture I am using is not mine, it has been lovingly made by Sin Hogar/tenebrio. The picture is owned by her. Please do not use/burrow without her or my permission. Thanks for reading! ^^

P.S I love you Sin Hogar! I can't express how much I ADORE this picture! The next chapter's going to be dedicated to you!

AN:

This story will seem a bit bizarre and it is. The thing is, I dreamt it, and I had to get it down on paper AND then took to writing it to get it out of my system or it would just clog up my brain! ^^

It's my first AU and it doesn't make one bit of sense. But I thought I'd share it, as it is a little fun sci-fi flick with Dib07 nonsense thrown in. I tried to keep it light-hearted but I failed. I also tried to commission someone to do a picture for this story from deviant art, and it sadly isn't happening and turned out to be a huge waste of time, so luckily Sin Hogar came to the rescue and helped me out! :) So, if you want more of this story, just give me a yell. If not, I'll just leave it as it is.

Chapter One: The Smeet

He needed supplies. And not just any old kind.

Flaxier 19 had those supplies, but the planet was a hot, dusty one, covered in a huge populace of many alien races from all across the galaxies. Some races were of the peaceful and curious kind that came to trade and buy, but most that were attracted to Flaxier 19 were aggressive in spirit, and did all they could to rip out a profit and sell illegal goods banned by every other sector.

If you wanted rare minerals monitored by the sectors, you went to Flaxier 19. If you wanted godly weapons capable of wiping out whole solar systems, you went to F.19. And if you decided the hypnotic drugs were just too tame, you went to F.19 for the killer elixir.

As a rule, Dib tried to avoid going anywhere near that particular planet. As the only intergalactic human space traveller, he got some really nasty looks, and plenty of threats to remember later on his cold, darkly journeys.

But it wasn't just the aristocracy he was so wary of. It was the dust ball of heat, and the chaotic, disorderly spread of stalls that taught a few hard lessons about disorientation. That and the climate.

Dib was more inclined to browse the sometimes whacky technology and obtuse wonders in cleaner cities, cleaner planets but F.19 had it all. And every alien breed, no matter how distant, how unusual or rare, turned up in their intergalactic ships of sometimes monstrous sizes: sometimes in uniforms, sometimes wearing nothing at all. And Dib often got so distracted by their bizarre contours of face and body that he very often spent hours trying to relocate the way back to his docked ship.

And that was the beauty of space travel.

He was free to go wherever he pleased, to whatever quadrant he fancied.

And yes, it had taken many years of his life to get as far as he had.

It had all begun with his father: Professor Membrane. Ever the scientist to keep pushing logics and physics, he had designed the first interstellar spaceship capable to travelling all the way to Pluto and back without refuelling. It was fully sustainable and fast, but it could only house one pilot, and the product was a frivolous expense, as told by the local press. And so, it was dropped.

But Dib never let it fall from his mind as it did to his father, and all the other scientists. He took it upon himself to work on the concept and improve it. For, in theory, it worked beautifully. It was just held back by finance and legislation. But if he designed it with his own goals purely in mind, he was hoping to take it much, much further than dusty old Pluto.

Every year, technology got that little bit better, and faster, amalgamating into something that overshadowed the latest invention last year, and the one before and the one before that. Burrowing NASA's technology when his became exhausted, he swapped bits out, changed up on the engine, and made the ship bigger and longer each time he had to make a major adjustment. He was improving it all the time, and each new development forced an old part out. It was an almighty project that seemed to have no end, and it was costing him not just thousands of dollars, but millions.

Being rich sure had its advantages, but as he slowly began to run out of money, he slowly grew to realize that his adventure as the first solo man in space might not be so real after all. Then his father invented 'core' technology: a tiny circular orb that could provide any machine with refined, synthesized energy that could well last years. This later became Dib's only access to light-speed travel.

Dib had used the technology, and he remodelled the ship around it for the last time.

Now he was enjoying unadulterated space travel when no one else could.

That had been seven years ago since his first voyage into the known solar system. The first few times he went out, he always did a U-turn straight back to Earth. But as he grew bolder, and continued to improve his ship he went out further and further each time. And then one day he simply carried on: past Pluto, and out of Sol's solar system into the wastes beyond.

He had only wished he could have done it all sooner.

Because once you got past the dangerous asteroid belts and Haley's dwarf with an orbit about as strong as a hurricane sucking you in, and once you got through the millions of miles of nothing, encountering only the stray meteors, dead planets and tiny, cold moons, you started picking up on transmissions. Alien transmissions. Some were coded, some were even garbled, but all of them belonged to a cryptic language he was desperate to unlock so that he could learn and study it.

Acquiring intergalactic space travel had not been a walk in the park. But one he had got his foot in the door, once he had begun his early runs, he finally encountered alien life, and not just alien life, but their citadels on distant worlds, and he was able to trade in their spectacular markets.

He had the fortune of buying superior technology for his ship that mankind would be eons behind in discovering (if they would ever discover it at all), and this helped him go even further, even faster, until massive distant voyages into deep space took mere weeks to achieve than the years he had been inundated with. His technology and equipment were now rivalling the very aliens who had long ago conquered interstellar travel when mankind were still dithering apes: hunting prey with sticks while these creatures poked their way through different solar systems to learn as much as they could about the universe.

And that was how Dib came to be a space traveller. The only human to have ever reached this far.

He had been to Luxot, Scallor, Umphir and Junka. Each planet or star system he visited, he recorded on his astrological star guide in the databanks of his ship's memory, and it provided him with the data with the simple push of a button. Some astrological maps he bought from various alien merchants, to further plot his course to keep from getting lost. For space was much like Earth's oceans, but a hundred times more deadly, and a million times more vast and empty.

But it was not without its complications.

Being a human instantly set him apart from every other species he met. Most aliens viewed him with disdain or even intolerance, as if he was no better than a monkey who had learned to fly. He supposed it would have been no different to mankind if a rat were to suddenly land amongst the busy streets of London in a spaceship.

And because he could not speak or even begin to understand their millions of different lingos and layers of intricate dialect he knew he was at a major disadvantage. For how could he buy or trade anything if they could not understand him and vice versa? So, Dib invented a headset with a little microphone with a computer chip inside that picked up on any language and translated it back into Dib's ear. And when Dib spoke into the microphone, depending on what language he had set it on, he was very soon conversing with the aliens as smoothly as a native.

And because he was the only human, (for he was quite the eye-sore in the big market crowds) he quickly became quite well known, and he even struck up a few uneasy friendships with those he traded frequently with. Rath was one such alien. He was an albino Irken with deep-set red eyes and a devious smile. Beaten and abused by his captors in the past, he had to walk with a staff, but he was most kind with Dib, and his manner seemed quite genuine. It was Rath who taught him to learn all he could, and that it was wise to teach himself about the various alien Federations and alliances: knowing which creatures were bad, which were insane, and which were friendly.

Now here Dib was again on Flaxier 19, walking the dusty streets he had walked some months prior in the pursuit of star ship fuel that was too costly to buy anywhere else. Even if you were rich here, it paid to be tight and conscientious of your spending, because you never quite knew if and when something was going to set you back. If you got hit by an asteroid during your flight, whoops, there's some big fucking damage right there. A new hull did not come cheap.

Ransacked by space pirates? Had some of your best goods stolen? Well, security was damn expensive, and you got no insurance or compensation out here, in space. Because no one owned that which was space.

And longer journeys meant more fuel. If you didn't have enough fuel, and your ship would peter out unexpectedly, stranded in space somewhere, like a boat in the middle of an endless expanse of ocean, you were fucked. Many lost their lives not to criminal aliens, pirates or disease, but to the nature of space itself.

As always, the streets were jam-packed with traders, sellers and consumers. It almost felt like Dib was in the middle of the Serengeti desert, breathing in grit through his mouth and being blinding by the infrequent dust storms that wreathed through the clogged streets in a sorrel haze.

He always came prepared too. Wearing his headset to convey whatever message he wanted, and able to understand them to avoid being ripped off or insulted behind his back (aliens did that a lot, he found) he carried an alien pistol for self-defence. Being the only human around always made him feel vulnerable. The other aliens were bigger, meaner and stronger. Dib felt like a scrawny chicken among scaly giants all too often.

"Okay, need fuel. Remember, it's the A-17 kind! Liquid purple, not blue!" He said to himself as he eased his way through the mob. He had rather hoped never to come here again. But Rath never sold spaceship fuel. He was allergic to it, apparently. And even if he did happen to sell it, as it was a rare, hard to refine product, the price was way too steep. Better to come here and brave the crowds just for an hour to locate and stock pile the stuff. Then he could be on his merry way again, back to Earth after a long, long trip through the stars that had almost lasted two full years.

He was beginning to forget what humans looked like.

Dib was meandering through, hearing the jibber jabber of customers, looking for the familiar tanks of his A-17 fuel at each stall he came across when he heard a distant hollering above the curtain of dusty wind and the noise of the alien traffic.

"Smeets! Get your smeets here!"

What the hell is a smeet?

He turned in the direction of the noise, curious to go and see what it was. He had seen all sorts of mystical and wondrous things, and Dib was naturally curious, perhaps too curious for his own good. And he found it hard to resist seeing something new. He loved to take notes of all he had seen, and everything newly experienced was quickly documented for later reading. He took pictures of new discoveries with his snap-camera if he could, even if doing so earned him laughter from the spectators. Sometimes he bought the oddly weird things. He had bought weird food once, only to find it too beautiful to eat. It had been a type of winged bat with alluring long feathers, made entirely out of a jelly-like serum. He had kept it in his refrigerator unit so that he could open the lid and peer at it whenever he chose to.

Sometimes aliens sold the latest technologic tablets like humans sold phones, or a vendor would be selling animals from different planets.

There seemed to be no end to the wonder of what Dib might find. If something was particularly interesting, so long as it didn't cost the Earth, he would buy it. In his ship was a growing collection of memorabilia he had bought and kept over the years.

"Smeets! Get 'em while they're fresh! Cook 'em, train 'em, put 'em to good use. Haven't been indoctrinated, but they are loyal, and they'll do all your chores without complaint."

The voice was thickly-set, and harsh. The accent was strongly Halycon. And Halycons weren't the nicest of creatures.

Dib was correct in his assumptions. He approached the stall where the seller was shouting out: 'Smeets for sale' and he was indeed a big, fat, hairy Halycon. They looked a lot like giant blue pigs, with curved teeth that jutted out their lips, but they had long, thick tails and bristly hands instead of hooves. And they were always naked and smelly.

But his attention quickly slipped from the smelly Halycon when his eyes dipped down towards the glass hutch the seller was standing behind. Inside it were tiny little green aliens, all crawling around. He had never seen such adorable little creatures.

So, these are smeets? He thought.

Next to the glass cage, on a humble wooden board, were words stencilled in hard, cruel black. A visor fell in front of Dib's left glass lens so that he could translate it into English via the visor:

'Will not be held responsible for any loss of limb: dysfunctionality or diseases present.'

'NO REFUNDS.'

Of the 'smeets' there were seven. Six of them, green from head to toe and not wearing a single scrap of clothing, save for the metal oval things on their backs, were all huddled on the straw that lined the glass cage. There were few toys that looked ancient and dirty, but the smeets were scrabbling for them, and hooting to each other in their native tongue. But the seventh smeet sat separately from the others, seemingly by its own accord, or it had been physically ousted from the group. It sat huddled in the furthest corner, not taking part in anything. It sat with its back to Dib, its arms around its knees as it wept. It was thinner than the others, and its green shade of skin looked sickly in comparison to the other six.

They looked incredibly bug-like, and looked a lot like old Rath, with the twin antennas, the big, bulbous eyes and the big heads. Dib could only gather that they must be Irken babies. And he had never seen Irken babies before.

The seller noticed him looking and didn't say anything for a beat as Dib studied them. A few customers glossed over them with dull interest before moving on again to the next stall.

Dib looked to the seller, and he immediately saw the hostility in the halycon's eyes. He was reminded once again that he was a human far, far from home.

"What... what are these?" Dib asked. He hoped his sleek appearance of black high-tech coat, gear and headpiece and the exposed gun on his hip would passively remind the seller that yes, he had money, and that he would not be pushed around like a pup. It seemed to work. The Halycon looked him idly up and down, as if sensing his worth before formulating a stoic reply.

"Irken smeets. But all six are damaged or defective in some way."

"Smeets?" He asked again. He hated his ignorance in the alien world sometimes. He was pretty good at remembering all that he had learnt so he didn't trip on the same mistakes, but every so often something new came up, re-establishing his lack of knowledge.

"Irken babies." The seller said impatiently.

"Where have they come from?"

"Irk. Stolen they are." Said the seller robustly without fear of punishment. "Would have been destroyed anyhow, considering they are worthless, even to other Irkens. Irkens only want the best of the best for their stinkin' military. These ones I take, and sell. For slave labour, or food mostly. Some aliens buy smeets as presents for their juveniles until they mature. They are useless for anything else. But they can be quite... uh... cute."

"How much are they?" Dib pressed. His eyes kept trailing down to the littlest one crying in the corner. It sounded like it had a sniffly cold. The other smeets weren't paying it one bit of attention. They were too busy fighting over a squidgy toy that was ready to fall apart.

"16,000 raluni. Each." Said the seller with a smidge of complacence. He did not believe Dib had the money.

"16,000?"

That was steep. Real steep. Back at home, that was the equivalent of $2000 US dollars.

For an Irken baby that was apparently 'useless!'

But Flaxier 19 was well known for its extortionate prices. Because you could not get these things anywhere else in the 9 galaxies. And these smeets were stolen, which had been no doubt a risk. Even so, Dib watched a couple of adult Irkens saunter on by (these creatures ALWAYS gave Dib funny looks) but they did not seem to care AT ALL that their babies were on sale.

Dib opened up his very-human wallet and flicked through his electric blue notes.

What are you doing? He thought to himself. You're not buying one, are you?

Of course he wasn't going to buy one. He wasn't that daft. The last thing he needed on his plate was a baby: an alien baby no less. He had too many of his own problems to keep on top of and his next stop was home: Earth.

Even so, he was moved by their pathetic plight.

The Halycon was selling these precious little things as commodities, and not living creatures, like how humans viewed animals back on Earth.

The irony of it was, was that Dib had enough for one, as he had always been responsible with his money. But, as he was still deciding, the Halycon nodded over at the crying smeet huddled in the corner. "That runt, half price. It's a defective smeet, and a mute. Never speaks. You can have it for 8000 raluni."

It didn't matter how far the seller pushed down the price to sweeten the deal, to Dib he was still being asked too much.

Caring for a baby was a huge responsibility, and he had been enjoying his freedom as a singular explorer in his own ship. Doing what he wanted, going where he wanted, with no strings attached. The only things that governed his exploring was his fuel consumption levels, the durability of the ship, and the distance for the next adventure. Besides, he had not come here to buy smeets. He had come here for fuel!

"No, thank you." Dib snapped the wallet shut and quickly stuffed it back into his pocket so that it was safe from pickpockets.

The Halycon merely shrugged at him before resuming his hollering to potential clients: "Smeets! Get your smeets here!"

Dib turned away from the stall, and threaded his way back through the ever-moving tide of travellers and merchants and clients. But as soon as he had turned away, a funny feeling began to start in his mid-section. It was an empty feeling, a feeling of growing disappointment.

Dib went back to his search for the fuel. He found it amongst old machine parts, and paid a handsome price using electronic credits. A kindly merchant came out, whisked the heavy fuel on a levitating trolley, and was tasked of taking it back to his ship: Blue Thunder, which was docked with all the other ships.

Now that that was done, Dib intended to head back. But his mind ultimately betrayed him when he kept thinking back to the little lonesome smeet that had fetched itself against the far side of the glass wall, away from the others: snuggled into a little shivery ball. It had been squeakily crying, and crying.

How could I so heartlessly walk away from that?

But... but I can't...

It's a creature that needs a lot of care. And I don't have the time.

Maybe I could buy it? And... I dunno? Set it free somewhere else?

He tried not to think of the miserable future it would surely have, if he never returned to buy it.

As much as he endeavoured to keep himself distracted and to sway his mind from the babies, his mind would fixate on the smeets periodically.

He couldn't take it.

Dib stopped dead, and in moments he turned himself back round and surreally watched himself march back through old territory he had already been down, and he watched more than felt himself approach the stall with the smeets as if he was just a ghostly spectator in his own body.

What his mind was really saying was: What the fuck are you doing? You've gone bananas!

He ignored the highly strung voice in his head and produced the electric blue notes from his leather wallet. It was the last of his physical supply of cash, everything else was credits. Illegal sellers liked real currency, and not digital transactions as real money could not be traced or recorded.

Dib's eyes looked again at the sad, sorry collection of smeets. The healthier ones were still tackling each other for toys, but the seller had sprinkled food into their glass prison like they were fish being fed flakes. Some of these smeets picked these 'flakes' up and chewed on them, but the little runt in the corner had no interest.

All of them were awaiting their miserable, individual ends.

Dib had kinda hoped someone would come in and buy the runt during the time he had been gone, but that was clearly not the case.

"I'll take one." Dib said to the Halycon who was standing, slouched on one leg.

The Halycon gave Dib a surprised look that was almost condescending as if he truly disbelieved that the human didn't have the money. Then, without a word, the seller opened out his hand and went to snare one of the healthier smeets who were huddled around a mangled old dishrag of a doll.

"No!" Dib said, pointing at the one in the corner through the glass, "I want that one."

"That one?" The seller raised a piggish brow, one yellowed tooth jutting from his greasy lips. "Very well then, but no refunds! If something happens to it, I don't want to know!"

The other smeets began talking to themselves in a language he wasn't too enthusiastic to translate. One of them waved at Dib. He gingerly waved back. He felt sorry for all of them. Now he knew what an Animal Rights Activist felt like on Earth. As much as you wanted to try, you could never save all life in the world. It was better just to cope with what you could deal with.

"So, uh, what does it need?" He asked.

The seller hooked the runt with his claw-like hands and at once the crying smeet tried to scrabble away, bright blue tears rimming the bottom of its fuchsia eyes. But the seller had no trouble scooping it up, one-handed, and dumping it in a metal carrier, similar to what people put their pets into. The top of the secure metal carrier was filled with little breathing holes.

"Very little." The seller replied unhelpfully as he closed the little carrier hatch and turned the latch to lock it in.

"Don't they need diapers or something?"

"No, they're usually good in that department. Except the one you just bought. That one still wets itself."

The seller did not elaborate, or give Dib any further knowledge on the Irken smeet and what was normal for its young age.

While the Halycon stood holding the metal pet carrier, Dib looked down at his blue, shiny notes, hesitating at the most crucial step in the transaction.

What am I doing?

This is the most frivolous thing I've ever done. I'm practical, I plan. I don't do impulsive things like this!

Despite his mind wailing with regret, he passed over the money. The Halycon expected the glossy notes suspiciously, as if still doubting a human could carry that amount of real money. Then, decided, he stuffed the money into his leather satchel and handed over the metal carrier. He could feel the weight of the little smeet inside. It weighed about as much as a kitten.

"Don't I get a starting kit or something?" Dib asked, dully bemused when the seller gave him nothing else for the care of the creature.

"What is this?" Snorted the seller. "20 questions? Does this look like a nursery to you? I'm a Nox merchant, and I happen to be selling Irken leftovers. Tomorrow I might be selling star crabs, seeds or table legs!" Dib just stared at him adamantly, despite his shorter stature in comparison to the Halycon. "Fine!" The seller moaned. "Just feed it leftovers until it can fend for itself."

"What about milk? Babies need milk, don't they?"

"Irkens don't lactate." The Halycon said bitterly.

"Then how do they feed them?"

"I don't know! Go and ask an Irken!" And he spat on the ground when he said this. It was possible the Nox merchant did know, but preferred not to say.

"Fine, fine. Just tell me, is it a boy or a girl?"

"That runt is a male. I can show you if..."

"No, no, it's okay. I believe you." Dib said, shaking his hand at the merchant. "And how old is the smeet?"

"Five days old, give or take. The others are a week older, but I've known day old cretins to be bigger than that runt you have there."

Five days old? Is that all?

Dib's heart broke that such a dear little thing had been propelled from wherever it was born, to here, in a dry, dirty patch on Flaxier 19, and to be treated like common vermin.

There was nothing more to say, even though Dib wanted to stay a little longer and ask the seller about all there was to know about smeets and how to care for them. Even a book or a download for his alien tablet would have helped. But the seller was done with the questions, by the looks of it. He had his fat, hairy arms folded, and his eyes were glaring coldly at him from the top of his wrinkly snout.

"Thank you." Dib said, and he turned and walked away from the stall, feeling oddly happy that he had actively stepped in and rescued something.

That seller hasn't even given me clothes or a stitch of cloth for a blanket for this poor mite. What a bastard.

And he was inundated with what he had gone and done. He was a thinker: a planner. Now he had thrown all his own established rules aside to buy a baby he knew nothing about. He had no idea how big the smeet would grow, and what that metal thing was on its back. How long did they even live for?

Rath was the only Irken he knew well enough to compare the smeet with, and even then Rath told him very little on Irkens in general. To be honest, Dib hadn't really asked that many questions, because he hadn't wanted to be rude, and Rath was clearly reluctant to share.

Now he actually had a reason.

Dib paused in the crowd and lifted the carrier up to try and have a peek inside. He could hear the smeet sniffing and weeping within the darkness of the carrier, but the holes were too small to see inside.

"Congratulations, Dib, old buddy, old pal." He said aloud to himself as rivers of customers passed him on either side. "What have you gone and done this time?"

Dib07: That's it! Hope you enjoyed. It's very different and refreshing for me in a new, exciting way. I think I'll just keep this first chapter as a one-shot. Please let me know, and if you enjoyed it. I hope it wasn't too... bizarre. I suppose it is from my usual story arcs.