Chapter 2 – If
Shhcshh.
One day he'd walked back to his house and it wasn't there. In fact, the whole street wasn't there. If you followed the debris and ash back to it's source (and he had, without a thought), then it led back to a hole in the ground. It was a deep hole. Who knew Zim's base had gone down so deep?
Zim was gone, he didn't see him again. He'd been absent from skool that day. The day before things had been normal. The week before there been an altercation over a crossword and the rings of Saturn, but nothing out of the ordinary.
If he'd known, if he'd seen it coming,
If he'd made them believe, if he'd captured some piece of undeniable proof,
If he'd been able to confront the alien after that first, decisive strike,
If he'd, he would've, he would've done,
Something. Yeah, something.
But he didn't and he hadn't and that was, well in the past. So he didn't think about it much
All the time. If he'd just
because it didn't help and it was in the past anyway.
Sssshhc. Shhc.
Thing about Irkens, they never got rid of something if it might be useful. Scientists needed something to dissect, soldiers needed target practice, really short Irkens needed someone to push around.
Professor Membrane was useful. It seemed that his incredible popularity was contagious across the species as well, because Dib couldn't see any other reason why he himself hadn't been left to burn with the Earth (now a call centre planet apparently, though the moon was used to stockpile old earth-style food, for reasons nobody was clear on). He was also pretty sure that was why he hadn't been thrown out an airlock by now. Dib did not seem to be useful.
Sshhhhhhh.
In the last few months he'd been a cleaning drone, a fuel scrubber, a runner for some sort of daytime talk show and now this. This was the worst by far, even worse than that time when he'd found out that the fuel he was supposed to refine produced an allergic reaction that made a third leg sprout from his neck. This was just wrong.
Ssshca-splat!
The second grease-drowned glove came loose and Dib almost fell back. It was stuck to his work boot now, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He'd spent most of his brief break wrestling with his stained uniform, and who knew when the Frylord would give him another.
Dib splotched over to the screen bolted into the wall. He typed in the address for Lab Planet Gamma. Dumb name. But at least it wasn't HelloHowCanIHelpYouia.
Shouldn't be like this.
Professor Membrane appeared on the screen. Or at least his back and a gloved hand holding out a purple container that was giving off a greenish glow. Typical science fictiony stuff.
"Dad, it's me. Your, uh, son. Dib".
"Hmm? Oh.. aah! How's the research, son?", Membrane faced the camera, the glowy thing was placed in his pocket. Dib smiled nervously.
Pathetic.
"It's uh, it's going great! I'm really doing well with all the, uh science... work... stuff... I'm doing."
Membrane nodded. "I'm so proud of you, son."
No
Dib stared at his feet. The one time his dad could actually say those words, and it didn't mean anything. He almost wished Membrane would just look at the transmission's source. Foodcourtia was not known for its great centres of scientific repute.
He'd finally been proved right, and now he had to spin together lies just so his dad didn't go on thinking he was a loser. It was ironic. Or maybe poetic justice? Whatever, it wasn't fair.
"So, how's Gaz?"
"Tell Dib I hope he explodes!"
"Oh, she's adapting just fine."
Dib nodded. Gaz was unfazable. End of the world and mankind reduced to slavery? Pff, who cares? One set of crayons accidentally melted while he experimented with his telescope? Five years setting fire to his birthday presents. Of course Gaz was fine.
Gotta keep talking.
"So, what kind of work are you doing over there?"
"Well I probably shouldn't be talking classified information with you, but as we are partners in science," he sounded like he might be smiling, and Dib felt like crap, "We're all very exited about the new megadoomer series, the testing is disappointing but with a few modifications fatalities should be far fewer-"
Dib had been content. His dad had moved over and he'd been able to see Gaz at the back of the room, indulging her inner piggy hunter. Membrane had been talking about work, Gaz was gaming and Dib was feeling left out and depressed. It had been almost like before, but now for some reason
He's helping them make weapons
he felt cold and sick. As Membrane babbled he tried to recapture that feeling of nostalgia and of being, well, home, but it wouldn't come. From the kitchens he could hear an argument of some sort. It was a little weird, hearing the Frylord growling at someone else.
"HUMAN! Get in here!"
Ah, that was more like it.
Membrane looked at him with a puzzled expression. Dib forced a 'those wacky guys' kind of laugh.
"Ha, hey dad, I'll call you again ok? When I have less work."
Membrane nodded. "Of course son, I understand. Science is demanding mistress."
"Yeah... bye dad."
"You suck Dib!"
I know.
"Bye Gaz."
The screen flicked to black and Dib sighed. He pulled on his gloves and made his way towards the kitchen.
The Frylord was pissed. Dib was getting pretty good with Irken facial expressions, and he saw this particular one a lot.
Angry snarl 38: I've just had some bad news and someone is gonna pay for it. Guess what? It's you.
"Who have you been contacting?"
What was this? "Just my family, on Lab Planet Gamma."
"Who else?"
"I told you. Just them."
Sneer 13: yeah right.
"Then explain this."
Dib was unceremoniously hauled up by his head and dangled into the eating area. A few patrons of various species glanced up, but quickly lost interest. Human slave getting pushed around? And no-one was losing any limbs? What else is new? And where are my fries? Human'd better get a move on with that, ya know, soon as he finishes picking his teeth out of the garbage.
Dib wasn't sure what he was supposed to be explaining. The place was a dump but no more so then any other fast food place on this or any other world.
Wait.
That was kinda weird.
"D'you mean those two?" Dib pointed, and the Frylord nodded.
Two taller than average Irkens wearing colours and insignia Dib vaguely recognised, though he wasn't sure where from. They were standing at a table near the counter, picking at something greenish-yellow. Dib could feel his arteries clogging from just being in the same room with it.
The two gave off an air of standing to attention even when dissecting junk food. One glanced at Dib and muttered to the other, who turned to scrutinise him for a few seconds. They stopped playing with their food and stood a little more professionally, but did not approach.
What do they want?
… my neck hurts.
The Frylord turned Dib around to face him. He did not look happy with current developments. Maybe they were health inspetors? But no, the Frylord hadn't armed himself.
"What did you do ?"
"Nothing! I've got nothing to do with this!"
"They asked for you, Human Slave-"
Go to hell, Alien Scum.
"by name, and you say you have nothing to do with this?"
"For me... what? I don't, I haven't done, Why would they do that?"
The Irken grinned suddenly and Dib felt horrible uncertainty and helplessness he'd become accustomed to welling up in his belly.
Hate it hate it hate it
"Well I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun finding out when they take you to the Armada."
"The..."
He knew this was bad. The Frylord was happy, so someone had to be getting screwed somewhere, and that someone was almost certainly Dib. What did they do to you on the Armada?
He didn't say anything as he was dropped and pushed out the door with the two important-looking Irkens.
He couldn't even recall any rumours or stories about how other species were treated out there. He heard the Frylord bellow something about being short-staffed now, and one of his escorts replied that they would have someone unimportant sent over.
So this was... permanent?
Permanent like a new job or the dead kind of permanent?
Why him? Why now? Even Dad didn't even work directly with the Armada. Who-
Him
A report on the Conventia broadcast, way back when this all felt like a bad dream he just hadn't woken from yet.
He'd seen his face. He remembered the feelings screaming through him with a viscous intensity. He still couldn't put a name to those feelings exactly, but they made him throw up on his shoes, which had lost him that cleaning job pretty quickly. He remembered that the Irken leaders looked, even to his, hah, alien eyes, like men who can see the tonsils of the jaws of death. They'd stuttered a lot.
It had to be. It had to be. He didn't know anyone else who
This is it. This is it. My second chance. I can make it right. This is it.
would conceivably want to call a grease monkey up to the Armada with no kind of warning. It was ridiculous, stupid and probably going to get him injured or humiliated in some way. Typical Zim.
Maybe he's finally remembered that we're enemies. Maybe he just wants me up there to have someone to gloat at. That would be very Zim.
Maybe he just wanted to toss him out into space and watch his head explode.
It's not like he had much choice either way. Aside from provoking the guards into killing him,
So my choice is basically: how do I want to die?
so he'd just have to suck it up and hope that Zim wouldn't be in a murderous or evil-laugh-bow-before me-pitiful-human mood.
He doesn't have any other moods! I don't have to keep just accepting this
He didn't really want to die just yet. He'd have to hope that he could get through this thing quickly and painlessly and then get back to
toadying and cowering from these arrogant genociders.. genomaking.. planet blowy-upping.. stupid evil alien guys that killed my planet
surviving, and holding on to what little he had left.
I should be fighting them
for the sake of a burnt out, captured and mutilated planet?
I can't give up, not now, I've finally got my chance for revenge
for all the stupid, blind idiots who never believed me?
I have to fight them, I'm
because screwing it up the first time wasn't humiliating enough?
A long time ago, he'd watched Earth burn. Since then, he'd seen things more amazing than he'd ever thought possible. Pretty much all of it had sucked.
He wanted to survive. He wanted his family to survive, despite all its flaws. He did not want to die out here in this universe where an entire solar system could be bulldozed aside because a few million green guys with more id than brain cells between them wanted more space to kill robots and aliens and if nothing else was available, each other. He just wanted to survive.
For how long? Until I get to old to work and get recycled or eaten or whatever the hell it is they actually do to pensioners or until they decide to hand Earth over? Here you go, have your world back, try not to lose it again because its only defender is an ineffectual loser not even in his teens yet who everyone thinks is crazy, bye and don't be a stranger now!
There was nothing he could do. His impassive escort herded him through the streets and he tried not to think of lambs and slaughter.
I can't give up.
*
When Dib's replacement turned up, he inherited three off-coloured gloves, a pile of old napkins which turned out to be sleeping arrangements, and one rather xenophobic boss.
There was also the issue of the inbox, which in the space of two and a half days had acquired over seventy-four messages, all from the same person. The later ones sounded rather desperate.
At the end, Dib wondered if knowing beforehand would have helped him. Maybe he could at least have made his choice in a space longer than a few desperate milliseconds.
But the messages were deleted, and by the time Dib got around to meeting the sender he was in a very desperate situation indeed.
He'd just spoken to Zim, and then something horrible happened.
Author's Notes – It was hard to write Dib, which kinda sucked 'cause he's co-main character here. I got massive help on how to get into a characer's head (and a lovely ego boost, hehehe) from a fellow amature fanfic author, so obviously:
This chapter dedicated to InsideYourDreams24, thanks for the help, you are all kinds of awesome.