Disclaimer: As always, Invader Zim is the property of Jhonen Vasquez and his tribe of winged monkeys at Nickelodeon. On a pointless side note, "slark" is a fun (if nonsensical) word, isn't it? Let's all say it together now! Slark! And now... On to The Misadventures of Invader Skoodge and Fuzzball!
Chapter 2: Chew Toys And a Mission
For three weeks now, Skoodge had been traveling with Fuzzball - three long weeks of trying to establish a few house rules. Fuzzball had early on gotten the hang of the most important rule - no eating Skoodge - but still seemed to think that anything else was fair game. After the third time of rescuing the ship's steering stick from Fuzzball's gaping maw, Skoodge almost gave in to the temptation to keep the Rat confined to the cargo-hold. Almost. All Fuzzball had to do was turn its crimson gaze on to Skoodge and whimper pitifully, and all was forgiven.
Also, much to Skoodge's dismay, Fuzzball's teeth were constantly growing. Skoodge at last had to sacrifice one of the ship's metallic utility tentacles and make it into a chew toy so that Fuzzball wouldn't gnaw a hole in the ship.
But life with Fuzzball wasn't all that bad. Skoodge could spend hours on end debating the meaning of life with his furry companion, though he still wasn't quite sure how to out-argue with Fuzzball's rock-solid defense of, "Squeak." Just having someone to talk to made the trip bearable. Back in the Academy, everyone had thought that Skoodge was shy because he rarely spoke. The reality was that Skoodge merely didn't like the way his voice sounded, having never managed to quite lose the highness of childhood, and so he spent more time listening than talking. With Fuzzball, Skoodge found he had to be the talker, but he didn't mind because he had plenty of opinions to share. Sometimes he would relive old class debates, sometimes he would share that snazzy comeback that he'd thought of just a little too late, and sometimes he would just reminisce; but always Skoodge found himself with something to say.
"Well, Fuzzball," Skoodge murmured, leaning against his pet's side and resting his hands behind his head. "Someone's bound to notice I'm gone by now. I've missed a scheduled report to the Massive. What do you think they'll believe happened to me? That I've been eaten? That your kind has some kind of advanced weaponry that defeated me? Or do you think they'll figure out the truth?" Fuzzball looked up from his makeshift chew toy and chittered incomprehensibly. Skoodge chuckled and ruffled the Rat's fur, knowing that Fuzzball didn't understand a word he said. "Yeah, that last is probably a bit far-fetched. Defection will probably be the last thing to cross their minds."
Skoodge yawned, ready for a nap. Since the ship was set on autopilot, and he had no set destination in mind, there was no harm in a little snooze so long as the ship didn't crash into a sun. Just as Skoodge was starting to drift off, the computer decided to blare an announcement. "Incoming transmission!"
Skoodge sat up, instantly wide awake. "Open a communication channel," Skoodge commanded, wringing his hands nervously as he tried to figure out who could possibly be placing a call. "Audio only." The ship's cabin filled with the guttural growling of a language Skoodge had never heard before. Fuzzball's ears laid back on his head at the sounds. Skoodge clamped his hands over the Rat's snout before it could decide to respond with a challenging growl. "Shush, Fuzzy. Easy now," he whispered softly to his pet. To the unknown creatures, Skoodge said in what he hoped was a confident tone, "I do not understand. Please repeat in Intergalactic Common."
Translators, though useful, tended to leave room for misinterpretation quite often. Trader species used to spend long apprenticeships merely learning languages, not wanting to let a little thing like a language barrier interfere with a sell. Somewhere along the way, someone decided that life would be easier if there were only one language in which to conduct business in. Hence, Intergalactic Common was born. As use of Intergalactic Common spread among space-faring species, so did the purpose of the language, growing beyond a merchant's language and into the language of diplomacy.
A pause sounded on the other end of the line. Just as Skoodge was starting to worry, a low voice began speaking haltingly in Intergalactic Common. "Unknown vessel, you are entering Nhar-Gh'ok space. Identify yourself and your purpose." Well, that was certainly clear enough, Skoodge decided, though he had no clue who or what the Nhar-Gh'ok were.
"This is Invader Skoodge, formerly of the Irken Armada," Skoodge answered honestly. "I am a traveller, seeking nothing more than passage through Nhar-Gh'ok space to destinations unknown."
Hushed whispers from the Nhar-Gh'ok filled the channel. Skoodge tried to listen in, but the conversation was being conducted in that strange growling language that had been used to greet the Irken. At last, Skoodge was addressed again. "We may require a price to allow you to pass through, Invader Skoodge. Let me put you on with our Kirool." Skoodge frowned at the unfamiliar term, wondering why the Nhar-Gh'ok would mix their own language and Intergalactic Common in such a way. Intergalactic Common was supposed to be able to fit all situations. As if sensing Skoodge's confusion, the voice explained. "Kirool is leader. Sort of. It loses something in the translation."
Ah, a leader. That much Skoodge could understand. "Very well," Skoodge responded. "I would be honored to speak with your Tallest."
A new voice, soft and gravelly, interjected itself into the conversation. "I am no taller than any of the rest of my people, Invader Skoodge. Is your ship incapable of a visual display? I much prefer to see who I'm dealing with." Immediately Skoodge brought up a visual display, and found himself staring at the most hideous creatures he'd ever laid eyes on.
The Nhar-Gh'ok before him were pale creatures, their coloring reminding the Irken of the bellies of fish. Patchy, scraggly hair sprouted from the tops of their heads, and a bulbous protuberance rested right in the middle of their faces. The Nhar-Gh'ok regarded Skoodge with their weird tri-color eyes - white with a circle of color in the center and a black dot in the middle of that circle. "M-m-my apologies for not bringing up visual earlier," Skoodge stammered, gratefully that he hadn't yet eaten anything, for at the sight of these monsters his meal would have been lost. "One in my situation can't be too careful."
One of the Nhar-Gh'ok beasts inclined its head to the side in thought. "What situation might that be, Invader Skoodge? The one that led you to be 'formerly' of this Irken Armada?" At the sound of the creature's voice, Skoodge identified it as the Kirool.
Such a clever monster, able to pick up on such slight hints, however, Skoodge had nothing to hide. With a nod, he began explaining. "I have spent the past year on Planet Blorch, trying to conquer it for my people. But I was unable to complete my mission and so I abandoned my post. I hate to say it, but defection was probably the best move I ever made. My size made life difficult enough for me back on Irk anyway."
The assembled Nhar-Gh'ok frowned as they tried to make sense of Skoodge's words. The Kirool tapped its chin with a brightly-colored scepter as it thought. "I do not understand, Invader Skoodge. Anyone who survives a year on Blorch is most deserving of respect. There should be no shame in returning to your people."
Realizing that he was going to have to explain his culture's social structure, Skoodge sighed. "My size is the problem, Kirool. Where I come from, a person is judged by his height, and I am quite... small. And there is nothing I can do about this little social gaffe. Even our leaders are chosen because they-"
"Are the Tallest!" the Kirool exclaimed in sudden understanding. "What a foolish way to run a society! Why, we Nhar-Gh'ok are generally considered short, but we are fierce and respected warriors!" The Nhar-Gh'ok behind the Kirool began chattering at each other in their own language. Skoodge figured they were explaining to those among them that couldn't speak Intergalactic Common because occassionally one would point in his direction.
"Silence!" the Kirool shouted at its people. Obedience was instant. "Now then, Invader, as you have no set destination, we have a mission for you. If you are willing, that is. I promise that this will be nowhere near as dangerous as Blorch." Skoodge raised his antennae slowly, his curiousity snagged. Seeing that it had Skoodge's attention, the Kirool continued. "Seven years ago we had an away team exploring a planet. They sent up an emergency distress signal, and we beamed them back to the mother ship. At least, we thought we had. The creatures we'd gotten looked like adult Nhar-Gh'ok, but their minds were like newborns. The assumption was that the monsters of the planet had employed some technology which wiped the minds of our people. Actually, though, the planet's young had been brought back. The away team transmitted the wrong coordinates. We would have sent a ship back earlier, but the planet is so far out of the way..."
"And since I have no place to go, you want me to go get your people back," Skoodge finished.
The Kirool beamed, pleased at how quickly Skoodge picked up on the problem. "And return the human young. We will, of course, provide you with all the information we have about the planet, as well as the last known coordinates of the away team. And we'll give you an escort to the edge of Nhar-Gh'ok territory. You need not even return here once you've located the team. We have the twelve human young in stasis. All you have to do is tow a ship to Earth and locate the away team. They can board the ship that we'll provide and send the humans to take their places. And you'll be free to continue your travels. Simple enough, yes?"
A mission! Skoodge had a mission again! He saluted the Kirool. "I'm just the Irken for the job!"
*~*~*~*~*
'And now,' Skoodge grinned to himself as he leaned back against Fuzzball. 'Now I've got a purpose again.' True, it wasn't as glamorous as conquering a planet, but there was no dishonor in rescue missions. Skoodge watched the monitors, eyeing the seven small craft that circled his ship. He'd been leery of such tiny ships - they were almost small enough to be considered body armor - but the Kirool had assured him that in these, the Nhar-Gh'ok were the best fliers in the galaxy. Deciding to try again for a nap, Skoodge shut his eyes.
"Incoming transmission!" the computer blared.
Oh! Now what? Skoodge growled angrily and opened a communication channel - audio and visual this time. And this time he found himself facing an Irken! Not either of the Tallest, thankfully, though this Irken did hold himself as one who was accustomed to being obeyed. "Invader Skoodge! You have abandoned your post and stolen Armada property! I am here to escort you to the Massive to be dealt with by the Tallests. Surrender now and you might survive."
Skoodge glanced at the ship's rear monitor and a shiver of fear traveled down his spine. A ship was fast approaching. How could he have been found? "Slark," Skoodge swore under his breath, studying the control panel for any clues. Nothing. Without responding, Skoodge closed the channel and then got into contact with the Nhar-Gh'ok escort. "The ship coming up behind me wants to take me back to Irk. I won't be able to complete the rescue mission if it does so. Can you stop it?" Skoodge relaxed when he got a chorus of affirmatives. Now to figure out how he was followed. "Computer, how could another Irken ship have found me?"
"Processing query!" the computer responded. The console holo-projector flipped on, and the image of a black box was shown. "Onboard homing beacon. Used to seek out lost ships." On the projection, an image of the box was cut away to reveal the inner workings of the homing beacon.
Skoodge turned his gaze back to the rear monitor, watching the battle going on behind him. The Nhar-Gh'ok seemed to have the upper hand amazingly enough, making use of the maneuverability of their smaller craft. "Computer, where is the homing beacon located?" Another panel, this one on the floor, opened. Skoodge got down and looked inside. There, nestled amongst the wiring, was the homing beacon. Skoodge yanked it loose and examined the little box. He knew just how to get rid of it. "Hey, Fuzzy! I've got a new toy for you!"
As Fuzzball set to work chewing up the homing beacon, Skoodge relaxed. The Irken ship was fading from sight, and as long as they couldn't track him he'd be safe. The first of the Nhar-Gh'ok escort was pulling away, which meant that the battle was over. Skoodge climbed into his ship's command chair, wondering if now he could get in a little nap.
