A/N: Once again a heart felt thank you to all those who reviewed. MajorDarkblade, wolfmoonshadow, BlackBaccaraRose, golddragonriderkira, evolved-angel, Power Taco, bloodyraven16, LaceyRide, Zerg170, CatGirlFireflare, Zekiev Clayton-Zolnerowich, Guest #1, 2 & 3, Fray100, UnwiseOne and Kazehana23.
The last two chapters were the first real scenes I had thought up nearly a year ago when I first started thinking of this story, and those details have been rolling around in my mind ever since. I am so glad that it got such an amazing response from the readers. You all make the effort worth it!
Guest: It's quite alright. I knew you probably meant created a world rather than cheated a world. One of the mistakes I've made was writing that Mrs. Alpha said something when it was supposed to be Gaz. It sounded like Mrs. Alpha was talking to herself. I completely missed it, but fortunately Cassidy pointed it out right away and I was able to correct it quickly. So no worries!
Guest of 12/4/13: Thank you so much for your comments! Reviews like yours really make my day, and are my favorite kind.
There is a little opening in the plot for Cassidy's future story that she and I have discussed at length these past few months. That small part is hers, and her story would take place a little further down the timeline after this one finishes. Sorry, I can't say more because of spoilers. Fray100 is also planning one, but is still early in the development stage. If his OC Nox makes an appearance before the conclusion, that element will be his as well depending on how our stories touch bases.
Nick the Slick yawned once again behind his elegant desk in the finely furnished room. What he really wanted was to go to bed, but sometimes business demanded late hours. And the hour was late indeed.
He listened to the record player sing out soft classical music. It helped him keep a calm focus, which facilitated clear thinking faculties. There were no windows to look out of. Lasers could be bounced off of glass to measure tiny vibrations of sound when phone taps proved unsuccessful. Not that he feared that the police would be listening in. He never got involved too deeply, or drew unwarranted attention for that. But his business did have competition at times for the more lucrative prospects.
Not that he missed the view outdoors. He made his residence in this more run down neighborhood within an urban project apartment building. After all, what authority would ever look for a successful businessman here? True, the rest of the building was as run down as the neighborhood itself. But with his presence there was little crime that took place on this block.
Nick took in several deep breaths to increase the oxygen flowing to his brain as he momentarily relaxed his eyelids, concentrating on tranquil vistas.
A knock sounded on the closed office door. "Enter," he commanded.
A nerve-racked Mr. Tinkles was brought in by a large man, but this time he was allowed to stand before the refined desk. The large man escorting him spoke in a deep and gruff voice. "The rest of his crew are waiting out in the car, sir."
Nick tipped his head in acknowledgement but did not dismiss his 'assistant.'
"I suppose you know why you are here?"
Tinkles nodded. Whether he actually knew or only thought he did was irrelevant.
Nick the Slick continued. "Someone has taken a personal interest in seeing that you do not get away with you did. And given the… unusual response of whoever this is, I feel it is in my best interest to dust off my hands of the whole affair."
Tinkles paled. "But- but-" he sputtered. His mind was replaying the traumatic horror of that walker running him down and vengeful robots swooping out of the darkness.
Nick cut him off. "Unusual problems require unusual solutions. Therefore I am offering this deal. I will allow you to turn yourself in to the authorities and take full responsibility for what happened. You will be driven to the police station and dropped off. You will tell them the truth and confess to your own actions and those of your men. You will be provided with a decent lawyer who will make it clear that this was merely a shakedown that turned tragic. That you never intended to seriously injure anyone, and you regret what happened to that girl."
The criminal businessman leaned back in his chair. "You and your crew will spend some time in jail. But you should be safe enough inside once the story gets told at your trial. And with all the press swarming over this, everyone will know you didn't intend to harm the girl. Especially if you look like a pathetic loser." Not that looking like one should prove all that difficult in your case. He smiled an unfriendly smile. "You will of course know nothing of me or my operation. Because if you even think of my name, I will use my influence to get word out from a reliable and anonymous source that you intended to kill the girl from the beginning. If I am in a good mood of course."
Tinkles just nodded over and over, grateful for an escape route into the vastly safer hazards of prison.
Nick rested his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers as Tinkles was led from the room and back to the waiting car outside. It was a good deal. Tinkles would get all the attention, and once justice was served it would all blow over. It wasn't like he himself had anything to do with what had happened. Granted, the lawyer would cost some. But it would be a small amount to simply rehearse with Tinkles how to tell his truthful story to a judge without looking like a complete scumbag and arrange for a guilty plea. Well worth getting an international incident settled quickly and not involving his business in the process.
Nick got up, stretched, and left the room to get ready for a well deserved sleep. He was not particularly upset with the outcome. One had to simply chalk it up to the profit or loss of doing business and be determined to start again.
No one had noticed a small spybot the size of a large cockroach sitting just inside a heating duct's grill within the wall. It had been deployed by a stealthy drone hovering above the complex. Two more had been tracking the remaining car, and the microscopic transponders covering the offender's bodies sent continuous signals as to their locations throughout the night. They had stopped here for several minutes before attempting to escape from the city, and then had returned. The extra drivers had been noted and cataloged as possible additional targets, and the building flagged as worth investigating.
A surveillance drone was assigned a permanent watch over this building complex, and other spybots deployed. Some attached themselves to cars. More entered the ventilation and exhaust vents to explore and refine any searches. Others crawled into bushes outside to watch the perimeter more closely, standing by to enter the building should they be required as well.
The dark SUV with tinted windows and lacking license plates turned a corner of the urban intersection and made it's way down the wide street. As it was so late at night, there was no traffic at all. It drove carefully anyway, it's travel moderate and meticulously observing all traffic laws. It was a straight shot to the police station now, nearly a mile away.
Tinkles and his three remaining men sat crammed in the back seats, feeling an upcoming sense of relief that they would soon be safe in the hands of the authorities and behind bars. Prison inmates would be much more reasonable than that murderous walking tank when it was known that no real harm had been intended toward that girl.
A tightly focused beam of green light flashed down from a high angle, slicing across the front of the SUV in less than a second. The vehicle pitched down, no longer attached to the front axles, and slammed down onto the pavement with sparks showering everywhere as it ground to a halt. The front of the vehicle that housed the engine compartment kept on going down the street until the motor sputtered and died.
"Sniper!" the driver called out. "Everyone out!"
Doors opened on the opposing side of where that incoming fire had originated from, and the occupants scrambled out. They crammed themselves against the side of the vehicle seeking protection. Posing as law abiding citizens, they carried no weapons and therefore had none to draw.
Tinkles and the driver closed the SUV's driver side door and peeked past the missing section of the vehicle. They quickly ducked back as another green beam momentarily, almost too quickly to be seen, flashed down and struck a fire hydrant near the next intersection a block further down the street. A narrow stream of water jetted out from high pressure horizontally across the road and spilled into the street up ahead. Except for the hole obscured by the streaming water, the hydrant was intact.
But the jet of water clearly formed a line between them and the path leading any further to the police station. A line which was clearly not to be crossed. Or else.
Tinkles gulped, and willed up the courage to take another peek. He saw nothing up on the roofs of the tall buildings, and no more shots were taken. But the distance was far for what he knew deep down had taken those shots. He looked back down as he was about to duck his face back behind cover when he noticed the damage to the SUV.
Everything in front of the firewall between the driver and the engine was gone. The two pieces separated as they had slowed to a stop at very different rates. But what caught his eye was that the damage was clean and precise. As if a razor sharp blade of a diamond saw had sliced through the vehicle, leaving not a single jagged or rough edge anywhere. Not in a single severed part. Even what remained of the heavy transmission, still connected to the drive shaft of the four wheel drive vehicle, showed no imperfection in the cut. Yet there was also no melting points given the speed with which the engine compartment was severed. The edges cool to the touch.
"It's up on one of the rooftops," the driver commented. He pointed a few times back toward last corner they had taken. They couldn't stay here forever.
The other men nodded and ran back the way they had come, crouched over to present a slightly smaller profile for the shooter. Not that any of them thought that would make a difference. But no more shots of green light were taken.
Not that any of them felt safe. More like herded.
Mimi watched Gir as he retracted the miniature Meson Disruptor back into his frame. His red eyes never moved away from his targets, still locked in duty mode. Mimi did not blame him, for she knew how she would respond if her mistress were struck down and her human master gave similar instructions. In fact Gir was operating fairly impressively. More like how a SIR unit should when dealing with a threat. At least on the surface. But these pathetic creatures were unable to be a threat, nor did they appear to have the desire to even try. But Gir was on a mission, and was not going to relent for a moment.
Mimi gave a silent electronic sigh as she followed Gir, bounding across rooftops while the humans below retreated on foot. They followed them for nearly two hours until they sought isolation in a small run down hotel. But Mimi was thinking during the chase. Gir was not like other SIR units. Unlike herself, he didn't have a single logical pathway in his processor. He thought almost entirely with emotions and friendly child-like desires that often changed from one moment to the next.
But now he was different. Locked in duty mode. But it went deeper than that. Gaz hadn't just been his mistress like Tak was her own. That was logic. A fact. Loyalty was involved, yes. Perhaps a computed sense of belonging. But for Gir it meant more. He saw not just an owner, and probably more than just a friend in his infantile way. Gaz and Zim were not just owners to Gir, nor just friends however Gir experienced that state. They were family. Almost parents. Gir, in his childlike way, loved.
And now Gir was angry.
They were now outside the small single story hotel, concealed in the bushes across the street observing the room the thugs now cowered in. Blueprints dug up from some city database by Computer showed that there was only the one exit to escape from and the outdoor lighting clearly exposed the closed door, walkway, and small parking lot during the night.
In the hotel room's window a human finger pulled back the drapes to scope out the environment as if he was being clandestine about it. Gir and Mimi let their red eyes flash brighter from within the shrubbery. The finger pulling back the drapes quickly withdrew as if the window covering was made with molten lava.
Mimi regarded the Irken robot next to her some more. Gir didn't just execute his mission like a SIR unit did. SIRs did their jobs. Obeyed instructions. Met objectives that were given them efficiently. SIRs were intimidating, true. Could be destructive and could be scary when they were. However it wasn't a personal scary. A normal SIR unit would probably have just captured the humans involved quickly and stuffed them into specimen tanks back at his master's base until it was decided what would be done with them. That would be scary for the humans, however it was done based on logical computations. But Gir was terrifying his prey on a personal level. Sending them messages deep into their souls through attacks that were mostly psychological in nature. Emotional.
Gir, Mimi spoke over the radio waves, Gaz will recover. Her injuries were serious, but your Mistress will recover. My Mistress was ill-treated too, but she's getting better. There is even joy in my Mistress' life now when before there was only anger and resentment. It will take time, Gir, but it will happen. Our Masters will not allow it to be otherwise.
"They hurt Gazzy," Gir said quietly in what almost sounded like an angry pain. "They will not hurt Mistress again."
No, Gir, they won't. Her guards will not allow it. Our Masters will not allow it. We will not allow it. Never again. She is the most protected human in the universe. She stopped signaling for a moment. What more could be transmitted? I will circle around to make sure they do not tunnel through a back wall. They will not escape.
It was not necessary. Surveillance drones were circling overhead as well, controlled by Computer. But somehow Mimi computed it was necessary.
Mimi sensed within herself a robotic longing. Not for herself, but for Gir. That he would go back to his old intensely annoying, insane, illogical, spontaneously combusting in happiness and joyful self. That his world would be made right again soon. For while Gir was impressive in this operating state, it seemed more like a loss rather than a gain.
Perhaps that was because there were many SIR units in the universe, but only one happily defective Gir.
It was dawn once more, and Professor Membrane was carefully examining test tubes containing various colored liquids deep within Membrane Labs. The laboratory workbench was covered in sophisticated tools, bubbling samples in beakers and electronic equipment while the room itself hummed with larger scientific gear flashing numerous lights. Good help was so hard to find, and it seemed like he had to do everything himself. He inserted a material analysis probe into a beaker and inspected the results.
He shook his head, and pressed a button on the device strapped to the sleeve of his lab coat. "Simons?"
"Yes, sir?" asked the excessively eager voice on the other end of the communication link.
"Sample from experiment A-232 shows a deviation of 0.002%. The mixture is all WRONG! Dr. Valaria is fortunate the experiment did not turn volatile and explode again. Tell him to stop impeding scientific progress. If he has to keep at it over the weekend, so be it. But I want reliable data by Monday so the Federal regulators will stop interfering with attempting animal trials."
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," Simons replied in his frantic hero worship voice.
The device on his arm clicked silent, and the Professor went back to his work muttering to himself. Animal activists objected to such testing and employed expensive lobbyists to sway the government in all sorts of ridiculous ways. How was he expected to develop universal animal shampoo those same activists demanded for their rescue efforts and yet at the same time opposed animal testing to ensure it was safe enough to use? Surely any reasoning person could see the necessity of making sure that the shampoo cleaned animals instead of causing their fur to explode in a fuzzy detonation of expanding hair particles.
Of course such results had applications for shaving cream too. Assuming it could pass human test trials. But that was a whole different set of vexing bureaucratic hurdles.
A soft but steady knock echoed on the laboratory door. Professor Membrane did not stop checking results of the various samples and reading data displayed on humming equipment in the large room. He called back without looking toward whoever was waiting in the hallway behind the closed door. "It's safe to come in."
The sound of the door opening and closing echoed, then the clicking footsteps of feminine shoes with only a slight heel. There was a slight clearing of a throat behind him, but he paid little attention. Merely checked the identity of the employee before going back to examining another beaker. This one containing steaming blue slime.
"Nurse Vakhrov. You're in early today. Excited about the next phase of the chlorophyll turkey testing? Just think. Turkeys that feed off of sunlight! It could help solve world hunger! Now if we could just keep them from turning green…" People were so picky about what color meat and eggs were. Sometimes there was just no pleasing them. Although he could invent a chip that-
"Ah, no sir. A lot of us are coming in early in case you needed the morning off. I just came downstairs to offer you my condolences about your daughter."
Professor Membrane looked up from his work to glance at the nurse. "What about my daughter?" he asked.
The nurse averted her eyes for a moment. "It's been all over the news for hours. She was attacked by several perpetrators."
Professor Membrane set his tools down and turned to face her with dreadful concern. "She's alright isn't she?"
To his sickening fright the nurse shook her head. "I'm afraid not. She nearly died."
The father's legs nearly gave out, but he caught himself on the laboratory table. The nurse quickly brought a stool over for him to sit down on. Once he was sat firmly in place, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Sir. Your son-in-law managed to drive off the attackers and get her back to your house in time to save her life. But from what I understand it was a near thing. They had to perform emergency surgery in your living room, and she had to be fitted with a life support module to sustain her vitals. When your son called me in she was in rough shape, but out of immediate danger and under heavy sedation. Sir, she's alive and safe."
Professor Membrane just stared at the nurse. For perhaps the first time in his life he couldn't seem to think.
"Sir. I checked her out myself. Showed your son-in-law how to take care of your daughter's needs during the healing process. Your family are all with her."
"She should be brought here," the father said mostly out of instinct. "We have the best scientific-"
"Sir," the nurse interrupted. "Your daughter cannot be moved. Not for a while. Spinal surgeries are delicate things, and hers was extensive. I don't know exactly what they needed to do to save her, but I saw the surgical incisions all up and down her back. This was not a minor thing, Sir. What she needs is to stay put. And to be honest, I don't think they will let you move her."
The Professor looked up at his trusted nurse. His vision had strayed as she spoke. "They?" he asked. From the tone of her voice she didn't seem to be talking about his children.
"Yes, Sir. Your house is under the heaviest guard per square foot I've ever seen. That includes all the years I've worked here. And even I can tell that they are military. There are roadblocks leading to your house, the yard is practically swarming with what looks like a whole infantry company, and there are fighter jets chasing off anything in the air that gets close. I wouldn't have gotten through without your son walking me in. I don't know who they are, but they are deadly serious about keeping your family safe."
His brain was starting to catch back up, even if his inquiries were out of chronological order. It was only natural that his child's condition had taken a higher priority under the circumstances. "My daughter was attacked? By who? And have they been caught?"
The nurse shook her head. "We don't know exactly what happened. The news hasn't said much and I don't know how accurate the reports are. Just that she was assaulted by a large group of unidentified men, and most of them were killed when her husband went to her aid. And given the resources brought in to protect your daughter, I don't think whoever did this will get away with it."
The Professor was still shaky. The nurse helped him up on his feet. "Sir. If I may say so, you need to go home."
He merely nodded as she guided her boss toward the laboratory door. "I'll call Simons and have him clear your schedule until at least lunch with the rest of the day considered tentative. He will have your driver waiting for you by the time you get to the lobby."
Bravo turned another corner in his black SUV. He had spent most of the night at the crime scene. That evening he had to oversee it's cleanup and relayed information to Computer from disgruntled people to cover property damages. They could have called that in, but local shop owners had come in person to survey the damage and complain. But bitter complaints had been stilled when the 'insurance company' had settled damages immediately and property owner's accounts had hefty deposits accredited when they had called their bank's automated customer service system. Most were probably glad they could now afford to move their business to a better neighborhood after taking a nice vacation.
Fortunately before those civilians had shown up, city firefighters had extinguished the burning wreckage of the vehicles littering the alley and street, as well as the buildings on either side from when Zim's walker had lifted off again. Coroners had also removed any charred fragments of any remains that had been found. Bravo had been glad that he was spared that grisly task, but the smell hung in the air only partially covered up with the other smells of burned debris. He thought he would never barbeque again without throwing up from the smell of burned meat.
Finally the base's flatbed trucks had hauled away the remaining pieces of the criminal's vehicles back to the base to scan for any identifying serial numbers, as well as the burned out hulk of Gaz's Jeep.
Most of the work had been done by disguised Irkens from the support squadron, but he and a few other humans had been needed to drive the trucks as well as interact with any humans working the scene while Irken controlled 'forklifts' had lifted and secured wreckage onto the flatbeds. It had also helped that the officials had no desire to be involved in an 'international incident' and the associated bureaucracy they thought would come with it. As far as they were concerned, if someone else was handling the job it made their own professional life much easier.
Bravo let loose a worn out breath. All the humans from the base were no doubt exhausted from the lack of sleep. There were too few humans at the base to rotate them out with the current perimeter radius. He figured in a few more hours after the morning commute he would order the roadblocks to be pulled back into a tighter perimeter around the Membrane residence. He glanced up at the circling navigation lights far overhead with some jealousy. With the sophisticated systems those converted aircraft flew with, the pilots overhead could take naps when needed until an intruder alarm woke them up. The humans on the ground couldn't exactly do the same standing in their boots.
He turned a final corner, and pulled up to the roadblock behind a white town car with a license plate that read 'SCIENCE.' The lone man wearing grey fatigues under his riot gear and operating the roadblock on this side street was standing at the driver's window, apparently speaking to whoever was operating the vehicle.
Bravo left his running SUV and walked over. "Is there a problem here?" he asked as he approached.
The man standing next to the car was probably barely in his twenties, and was the youngest of the Dragon's Fangs that had been recruited. He had a flashlight in hand with a nightstick stuffed in his web belt and a bulky tear gas launcher slung over a shoulder. To be honest he looked fairly nervous which was understandable given the circumstances.
He turned toward Bravo and gave a sloppy but sincere salute. "Lieutenant. This driver is demanding that I let him pass, but his license says he lives on the other side of town and he won't state his business either."
Bravo leaned down to look inside the vehicle. The driver was dressed in a chauffer's uniform, and the passenger compartment was sealed behind one-way glass. The rear windows were also tinted. "I'm sorry, Sir. But only verified residents are being allowed to pass. Unless we can confirm that you have an unarmed passenger that lives here, we will have to ask you to turn around."
The driver was about to object, given that discretion was part of his job. But the window of the rear door began to come down with a quiet hum. Bravo took a step to the side to inquire, but a light inside came on illuminating the occupant.
"You'll have to forgive my driver," Professor Membrane spoke through the open window. "He's very prudent about his profession, and often has to deal with crowds." He paused for a moment, as if uncomfortable. "I'm going home to see my daughter. Now who might you be?"
"Lieutenant Bravo, Sir. We work for your daughter and her husband. Our apologies. Her guards are overcompensating right now, so we are making sure there are no more incidents with the public and keeping the media away. If your driver will follow me, Sir, I will escort you to the house and see that you are allowed inside."
The Professor exited his car and followed the escorting soldier up to the Membrane house as his transportation was driven away. There was a solid ring of armored figures standing shoulder to shoulder around the residence with high tech rifles at the ready. Under other circumstances, he would have thought they were children dressed up for some event. But these midgets hidden in those grey armored combat suits and polarized faceplates stood there emitting an air of stern protectiveness and a willingness to deal with matters in uncivilized ways.
Bravo walked along the pathway and up to the picket line with a large travel bag held in one hand and the Professor following behind. He saluted the short figures he towered over near the front porch. "Colonel Beed. I have a have a few changes of clothes and a box of IV bags that was requested. With me is Professor Membrane. He resides here with his children, and he would like to see his daughter Lady Gaz."
The suited figure that appeared to be Colonel Beed scrutinized the tall figure standing next to Bravo for a few seconds. Then the high ranking guard reached behind himself to produce a scanning device of some sort from his backpack. He held out the flat device to Professor Membrane.
"Place your finger here," said the tinny voice from the suit's speakers.
The Professor did so, and the small guard covered in the grey mottled armor examined the results. Looking down, he could see the upside down image of himself from some government database confirming his identity, as well as what appeared to be a DNA analysis. Several DNA markers flashed green, and four figures guarding the house's entrance stepped aside to allow passage while exhibiting a modest air of respect for the father of their Lady.
"Most of them are still asleep," Beed warned. "But Governor Zim may be awake by now. Be sure not to disturb Lady Gaz. She must remain sedated and immobile."
"Understood," Bravo confirmed.
Professor Membrane was led up onto the porch where he unlocked the front door and took a few steps inside the dark living room. He flipped the light on and nearly let out a gasp at the sight. The living room's holographic windowpane had been blown in, and a sheet of semi-transparent plastic covered the hole. But what he couldn't take his eyes off of was the floor in front of the misaligned couch. The area was strewn with opened first aid kits his son Dib had devised when he was younger and hadn't yet realized he didn't have the necessary medical background to use the more elaborate trauma kits. There were a few prototype devices the Professor recognized from earlier ideas that he hadn't finalized yet, a clearly used defibrillator, and empty vials of medication. The feint smell of blood hung in the air underneath the slightly stronger smell of stale urine.
But what truly drew his attention and composed most of the scattered objects were the large amounts of bloody gauze. And those blotches of bloodstains in the carpet that faintly outlined a human torso, indicating something far more significant than a cut or banged nose.
"Uh, excuse me, Sir," Bravo said pulling the Professor's attention from the sight. He nodded to the dark upstairs hallway. From the slight illumination reflecting on the wall, he judged that one of the bedroom lights was on. But this was not his house and didn't want to be seen as an interloper, especially under the circumstances. "I have to deliver these," he said indicating the travel bag he was holding. "Could you show me which room belongs to Lady Gaz? Then I can be on my way."
Professor Membrane led the uniformed man around the other side of the couch, skirting around the mess left over from treating Gaz's injuries. They walked quietly with care upstairs, and paused outside the room with a light shining out from under the door. The Professor puzzled in his mind. He didn't understand why his daughter was referred to as "Lady." Not a lady, but addressed as a respectful title backed by reality. Lady with a capital 'L.' But his mind was a bit preoccupied as well with so many other more important parental things. So he passed it off as a formal politeness or custom as the soldier's accent had that British classy ring to it.
Bravo stepped forward and knocked softly on the door so as not to disturb the other sleeping occupants within the house. He heard Zim's muffled voice from behind the door.
"What is it?"
"Sir," Bravo started quietly. "It's Lieutenant Bravo. I came to drop off a few things. I have a box of IV solutions and the biggest syringe we could find for your wife's feeding tube. Also a spare set of clothes the base had made up for you. We all figured you wouldn't be leaving here anytime soon and hadn't packed anything for yourself. I also have Lady Gaz's father with me. I think he would like to come in for a moment."
"Give me what you have and a few minutes to dress," Zim commanded.
His voice seemed deflated, which was understandable. There were a few footsteps, and the door cracked open. Bravo held out the travel bag, and a green hand reached out to take it before the door closed again. They could hear rustling on the other side and more footsteps. Bravo and the Professor stood outside in the dark hallway for another uncomfortable minute.
"Come in," came Zim's voice through the closed door.
Bravo held out his hand toward the entrance. "After you, Sir," he told the Professor.
Professor Membrane opened the door, and stepped inside. Zim had changed into his new set of clothes, red stripped shirt and black pants and slim boots. He was wearing the wig and contacts of his human disguise, but not the gloves which concealed his green three fingered hands. He was sitting in Gaz's desk chair next to her bed, sitting on it's edge to make room for his PAK. Gaz remained as she had been for most of the night while her family kept vigil and during the few hours that Zim had taken to get some sleep.
Her father came up cautiously, examining his only daughter. She was laid on her front, her face turned toward them, with the blankets brought up covering her sides but wrapped behind the module attached to her bare back. A module exactly like the one Zim wore. Much of her skin all along her backside was heavily bruised, almost literally black and blue. Her arms were resting on the blanket as well and an IV bag hung above her ran a drip of fluids down a line leading into a vein in her left hand, which was taped securely in place. Zim gently held that hand in his own while Gaz's facial expression was the most peaceful Professor Membrane had ever seen.
"Is this what they did to my girl?" the father asked. It looked like she had been nearly beaten to death all along her torso. The large bore breathing tube and thin feeding line protruding from her lips and taped securely in place at one corner of her mouth, nor the bicycle helmet protecting her head subtracted from the impression of severe trauma.
Zim spoke in a quiet but firm voice having to answer the inquiry. "No. She fought them off well. Zim was almost there in time to retrieve Gaz-blossom unharmed, but one of them shot her in the chest with some sort of electro-pulse weapon. She suffered severe but localized deep tissue burns. Overall the damage was small and precise but in a critical location, destroying the nerve cluster regulating her heart and causing her heart to fail. As bad as it was, it could have been much worse. The discharge was significant enough to char tissue and carbonize nerves before it could spread through her nervous system."
Zim's tone was anything but grateful for that fact. But now it turned to regret. "We could not get her heart beating again on its own and she was running out of time. We didn't have any other option than to install the PAK. There was no time to modify the physical attachment process and it is not designed to be subtle. Zim could only guide some of the microfilaments so they would attach to her heart and reconnect her damaged nervous pathways to her lower organs. Then we had to go in and modify Gaz-blossom's spinal column so that she would not become crippled from the installation. What you see are the results of what we had to do to save her."
"You mean her Vagus Nerve has been damaged?" the Professor asked.
That particular nerve ran from the human brain down along the esophagus, and branched out along the major organs clear to the bladder. While it didn't directly control many things like nerves leading to the muscle groups did, it regulated the function of a large number of organs. Esophagus, heart, bronchi diaphragm for breathing, stomach, liver and intestines for digestion, and even her bladder function were all regulated by this branching nerve. A damaged one could mean all manner of health problems from difficulty swallowing, problems with breathing or troubles with digestion, constipation and bowel pain, bladder issues, and especially an irregular heartbeat, low or erratic blood pressure.
Most of the time issues could be annoying and sometimes unpleasant to live with. Other times it meant a great deal of specialist care. But in rare instances mere over-stimulation could be lethal. Gaz had been struck with an electrical weapon of some sort, strong enough to physically burn away the nerve branching to her heart. Far more than just over-stimulation. It also must have caused at least some secondary damage to the whole cluster at that junction, disrupting everything below her heart which explained the smell of urine in the living room along with the bloodstains of Gaz's surgery.
"Will she be alright?" he asked the figure seated next to his daughter's bed. "I mean I have many resources to draw upon. Call in scientists from around the world. I can invent something to repair the damage. I could send a rubber duck back in time to replace the tazer."
"No," Zim answered flatly.
"What do you mean no?" Professor Membrane asked.
"Sending something back in time only makes things worse," Zim stated with the voice of experience. "She has all the people and resources we need. We have technology more advanced than what you have available, and she is being cared for."
"Surely I can take a look at the life support module. Perhaps I can replace it with a smaller pace-"
"You will do NOTHING!" Zim snarled. "You stupid human! Always thinking you can replace what you don't comprehend with something vastly inferior!"
The Professor took a few steps back as Zim stood up out of the chair and took a position in front of the bed, blocking the path. He was not used to direct hostility, nor to being called stupid.
"This," Zim stated pointing to his own PAK, "is so classified that no one can know it even exists! And thinking you can simply remove it will kill her. We won't let you or any of your doctors anywhere near her!"
Professor Membrane stood there dumbfounded. I could have killed my daughter? he thought.
Zim continued to drive points home, primed to defend his vulnerable human wife. "She doesn't need you to fix her. You weren't there for most of her life when she needed a parent. So Gaz-blossom adapted to not need anyone. To keep everyone away so they could not hurt her when they abandoned her. But she began to blossom when we became bonded. When she realized Zim can never leave her like others can. Can never walk away from her. That Zim can only bond for life. And now you think she all of a sudden needs you? Gaz-blossom needs her mate. Me! Not you!" he rebuked bluntly.
Professor Membrane didn't know how to take this. Didn't know how to process this. As far as he could understand, he had provided his children with everything they needed. So he fell back on more familiar ground. "You and my daughter-in-law have these modules too? My insane son said it keeps you alive. And now my daughter has one? She has be on life support for the rest of her life?"
"Yes," Zim stated with a hint of sadness, but still standing his ground. "We all have one. But it is far more than a simple life support module to beat her heart for her. It is part of her physiology now. It has tendrils running up and down her spine and attached to her heart and damaged nerves. It has microfilaments woven throughout her brain. It has become one with her, and the secondary brain is learning to interpret all the signals needed to help regulate her body functions and comply with her needs. Even now she has access to it's functions, but it has access to hers too. Gaz-blossom's heart is already dependent on the PAK. There is no going back after such a meld."
"I'd listen to him if I were you, Sir," Bravo spoke up, uncomfortable being in the room with a family squabble going on. "They have lived with this sort of thing their whole lives. It's more than a pacemaker or iron lung. It's almost like a big Swiss Army Knife with all the tools they typically need inside, as well as onboard computer support with a direct neural interface. Tampering with that is far too dangerous, and Lady Gaz's people will fight to the last man to protect her. And they won't be nice in doing it. Don't push them because they will do whatever it takes to keep her safe. From you and your people if necessary."
"But- but she's my daughter," Professor Membrane said quietly.
Bravo reached over and put a guiding hand on the father's shoulder as he turned him away. "Sir, we all know that. But she has her own family now. Lady Gaz needs her husband at her side during this time. No one else can take his place in her life. You need to respect that."
Professor Membrane let himself be guided out of the room and Bravo closed the door behind them. The two men walked down the stairs. "Sir?" Bravo addressed the Professor. "It's got to be hard to accept, but right now there is little you can do. She is in the best hands possible, surrounded by guards that will protect her. But right now all anyone can really do is wait for Lady Gaz to make the next move."
The Professor just nodded sadly. He walked into the kitchen for a moment, and returned with a garbage can, and a bucket of warm water, cleaning solution and a scrub brush. Bravo just watched as the father walked over past the couch and knelt down to begin scrubbing his daughter's blood out of the carpet.
To Bravo it was one of the saddest sights he had seen in a long time. The man needed to do something for his gravely wounded child. Yet he seemed out of place in his own home. Bravo thought for a few moments. What he wanted to do was leave, but that seemed wrong somehow.
"Sir?" he gently intruded into the Professor's attention.
The father scrubbing the carpet stopped to look at him.
"Um. There might be a few things that you could do, Sir. My people are stretched thin with all we have to do and manning these roadblocks is a round the clock job. Quite frankly, we can't keep going like this. All of my people are exhausted. Lady Gaz said she had made arrangements with your security earlier yesterday. If you can put that into effect, and perhaps have your people take over manning the roadblocks, it would help out a lot."
The Professor just nodded. It seemed like such a mundane thing to do at a time like this.
"Also there is another thing. The morphine. I know spinal fractures take time to heal, and this sounds far more extensive. Then there are all sorts of things intruding into her nervous system as well as nerve damage. She may well be on painkillers for quite some time to deal with all that physical trauma, and morphine is addictive. I don't think she will want to wake up to find she's been turned into a junkie."
Professor Membrane looked up from his kneeling position on the living room floor. "Yes, yes. You are quite right. I'll whip up a non-addictive variant during lunch."
"Very good, Sir. I best be on my way," Bravo told the father. He turned to go, and paused. "Sir? I'll have one of the guards outside come in and clean that up. You should be with your kids."
"But I was just-"
"No, Sir. You were only thinking of your father-daughter connection with Lady Gaz. Trying to fix your child's hurt as a father. I understand that, but Lady Gaz isn't just your daughter. She is also Zim's wife, and this has been a terrible night for him too. From what I heard she came a hair away from brain death, and he was with her as she was flatlining. Like I said, he comes first in her life now. And that makes Zim her next of kin. Not you. It is his place to make decisions about her well being. Not yours. Just go up there and be there with her. You're still her father and nothing will change that. But you need to accept that what could be done already has been done by her husband."
The soldier fished into his pocket and withdrew something. "I almost forgot. We recovered your daughter's wedding ring at the crime scene. I cleaned it up and everything. Perhaps it would smooth things out with Zim if you returned it for me."
Lieutenant Bravo had walked out the front door, and now a couple of armored guards were downstairs cleaning up the carpet stains. Professor Membrane flipped on the hallway light as he walked upstairs. This time he didn't stop at Gaz's room. He continued until he was facing his insane son's door. He had installed the security system years ago, so his own code was still valid. Professor Membrane went to tap in a sequence, but found his son's security was offline. He opened the door slightly and peeked inside to check on his oldest child, letting the hallway light illuminate the room just enough to see.
Dib and Tak were snuggled together sound asleep. Her exposed green arms and her body covered by the blanket were wrapped up tightly next to Dib. Tak's PAK was in sight toward the door, plugged into a machine that was also being used as a nightstand. Around the module attached to her back a pinkish purple nightgown was visible with slight straps reaching up along the PAK and over her bare shoulders. Her head rested against Dib's shoulder, which was practically tunneling into the mattress, as a pillow. Her curly and bent antennae was deeply threaded in his hair.
Dib was nearly cocooning his not-visibly-pregnant wife in their slumber, his cheek resting on Tak's green forehead. One arm wrapping up from underneath his mutant wife ran across her lower back, resting along her PAK. His other arm met it's opposite as it ran up and over the girl with him.
Looking at them, Professor Membrane's poor insane son didn't seem poor anymore. Seeing them like this seemed… fitting somehow. Like his mutant daughter-in-law belonged here with his insane son. The sense of a family within this room was almost tangible, as if it were a physical thing one could touch. In in the middle of all that was his unborn grandchild too.
Professor Membrane closed the door on the family slumbering within and moved away. His children had grown up. It seemed like yesterday that he was inventing a table that would change their diapers. And now they would soon have diapers of their own to change.
He stepped over and knocked softly on Gaz's bedroom door. "Zim? I only found out my daughter was attacked and nearly died a few minutes ago. She was nearly killed and I knew nothing about it. I just needed my little girl to be okay, and she's not. Someday when you have a child you will understand. But I did not mean to be meddling or-"
The door opened to reveal Zim holding at arms length a large and rather foul smelling diaper. "Here. Dispose of this. Zim still needs a few minutes to clean up his Gaz-blossom and replace medication patches." He put the used diaper in Professor Membrane's hands, then turned to go back into Gaz's bedroom. He paused a moment and spoke over his shoulder with a hint of possessiveness. "Gaz-blossom will need nourishment soon. Zim can operate her feeding tube, but does not know how to make liquid food that will sustain her."
Professor Membrane held the adult sized and fuming diaper at arms length. "I'll go make breakfast and bring something up for her. You will call for me if anything changes?" He paused, and stretched out his other hand to give Zim something. "The Lieutenant recovered my girl's wedding ring and asked me to give it to you. Here, put it back on her finger where it belongs."
Zim slowly reached out and took the precious object from his hand. He bobbed his head up and down grateful that this symbol of his marriage to Gaz had not been lost forever. "Thank you," was all he said before slowly closing the door to go return his wife's ring to it's rightful place on her hand.
After shedding a few necessary tears of relief that recovering her wedding ring had caused, Zim composed himself, and moved his chair back to Gaz's computer that was stationed on her desk. There was an opportunity to get some work done before Dib woke up and the Professor invented the perfect liquid nourishment for Gaz-blossom.
He had given the modified Earth built computer to Gaz so that she could manage more of the responsibilities that went with her Ladyship at home without it being obvious that it was linked to Irken technology. But that seemed so long ago, when Gaz was just feeling her way into her new life as Lady and being bonded with Zim while trying to balance in skool and her own home life.
Zim sat down and typed in his own backdoor password into the system. He could have used the communicator in his own PAK, but perhaps he just wanted to feel closer to his wife. Use something she used. The Irken symbol appeared on the display, and the link to Computer became active. "Computer, Zim will need his diagnostic tools to check on Gaz-blossom's PAK functions soon. Zim is sure that it will take several days to fine tune connections."
"Understood, Master. I am focusing on reestablishing surface access with the main lift for the Voot Cruiser for lab access as either you will want to being up equipment, or to bring Mistress down here. And for that she will need to be on a stretcher. So I am ignoring the personal lifts for the moment. The surface structure walls and roof will be complete by dawn, but the surface level will only be an empty shell for two more days. My attention is being stretched thin at the moment, and cosmetic repairs are a low priority."
"Very good, Computer."
While he sat with his stricken wife, he had also been thinking a small amount of other matters. With his focus on Gaz's condition and seeing to it that she recovered, he found himself with the need to delegate more and more. Learning that he couldn't do everything himself. Gaz came first. He would have to trust others to handle arrangements to deal with another matter. He wanted to do both, but Zim had to make a choice in his priorities.
Zim continued speaking without pause. "Can you open up a communications channel to Specialist Roz? Or is she in a wormhole right now?"
"Master, Specialist Roz is scheduled for a return trip this morning and traces of an exotic matter dispersion indicate a wormhole has indeed formed just outside the Mars orbital line. I can transmit a signal into the aperture."
Zim gave the command and a few moments later a view of an Irken female sitting in her delivery ship's small cabin appeared on the display. She was heavily strapped into her seat with a black custom five-point harness.
"Hey, Gov'na," Roz verbally saluted with a significant air of informality as she was lifted up into her harness by G-forces. Her Irken body was slammed back down into her seat two seconds later.
Zim was slack-jawed for a moment. "Don't tell me you're flying a wormhole with your inertial dampening system disabled?"
Roz was pulled to her right side in her pilot's chair, antennae being pulled by the inertia of her course changes. "Okay, I wont. But you wouldn't believe the speed you can get when you collapse the entry point just after you begin your run. It's like slingshooting a gravimetric singularity while it chases you through a Fular's tunnel. Talk about a rush!"
Zim really didn't feel like dealing with that particular issue right now. Despite the way she flew, she was reliable and a good pilot even by his egotistic standards. But what was it about Earth that seemed to draw… abnormal… Irkens? Zim shook himself of the distraction. And not just because he would have to include himself in that group as well.
"Just don't wreck your cargo," Zim admonished half-heartedly. How she normally flew her ship wasn't his responsibility. She was answerable to the logistics center she reported to, and he had enough to deal with. "The reason Zim called is that there is a package Zim needs delivered to Blorch. Something that needs to stay off the records. So there needs to be a reason for you to detour on your way back."
The image of the Irken delivery pilot jerked roughly in her harness, and her head bobbed down and back up. Roz reached down out of view and then held up a silver thermos. She made another course correction one handed, and thumbed open the top with the other. Rox then proceeded to pour it's contents on a control panel to her right side. Blue electrical arcs sizzled on the panel.
"Oh, look. It seems my inertial dampening controls are malfunctioning," she said with a straight face of concern. "I think I will have to stop somewhere for a new one."
Zim slapped his face.
"Oh, it's all right, Gov'na. I hardly ever use it anyway."
Zim looked at her through his fingers. He had too many things going on in his mind as it was. He took a deep breath and brought his hand back down to the desk. "Specialist Roz, you'll be transporting an important Earth rifle. Zim does not want a record of this. So you'll have to keep it with you as you fly. Then hand it off without anyone knowing about it."
"No problem, Gov'na. I almost would have sold my own PAK to the Meekrob to get this run." The image of Roz was once again lifted up against her harness for a nauseating length of time.
"That's treasonous talk," Zim warned.
Roz just winked. "Not if I say almost. Then it's just emphasis."
Zim started to get a bit angry. "Specialist Roz! This is a very serious matter. My bondmate was attacked and a hairbreadth from murdered! There will be a response, but Gaz-blossom was the one hurt. Zim must do this her way. This rifle is an integral part of that!"
Roz became serious all of a sudden. "She's going to be okay, right? I mean, Lady Gaz got me this run. My job is awesome now, threading wormholes every day. No one complaining about how I do it or having a thrill ride as I fly. There are no regulations out here other than be on time and don't crash my ship or break a delivery. I've never been so juiced, and I owe her. I mean if you need a maim tank misdelivered-"
Zim looked down for a moment. "Zim doesn't care what you do any other time. But this time just deliver the rifle and don't draw attention to yourself with your usual antics." Zim shook his head, his thoughts wandering back to Gaz. "Later on Gaz-blossom may need special diagnostic and repair equipment for her PAK. That will not be easy even if you don't draw every one's attention to yourself looking like your completely out of control."
"Say no more. Not like this," Roz said, her body bouncing up and down in her harness as she flew.
Her eyes were wide, but flying a civilian ship she did not have encrypted or scrambled communications. Zim knew why. If Gaz developed a deep level problem with her PAK, she probably couldn't just fly to Irk to have it fixed. A rifle or a maim tank was one thing, but misappropriating something as classified and critical to Irken society as equipment to adjust a PAK for a non-Irken to an unsecured planet? No one would listen long enough other than to pronounce judgment. "If there is a requisition, I'll make sure it gets delivered. I'll fly quietly."
Zim nodded his head in gratitude. "I have another call to make and not much time before I'm disturbed. Someone at the base will have the package and will be waiting for you on the tarmac when you arrive. They had to send someone out in a Spittle Runner to collect it before the sun came up. So it will be there when you arrive."
Technically it wasn't stealing as Computer had done the research, picked out the item as top of the line (for an Earth product anyway), paid for the item online and hacked their server to mark it as 'picked up by customer.' And the Irken involved didn't have to break anything to enter the warehouse that night. In Zim's mind Gaz would have no reason to fuss over it.
Roz nodded her confirmation of the instructions and Zim cut the connection. She needed to concentrate on her flying, and Zim didn't want to distract her anymore. A pilot who could be relied upon like that was not easy to replace if she crashed due to inattention.
Computer routed the next call. Zim had to wait a few minutes before the display flickered with an image. A short, wide bodied and ugly Irken with all manner of stains on his uniform. He looked to be sitting at a workbench with all sorts of tools and smudges of grime on the surfaces. Several piles of Pads for analyzing data were scattered about haphazardly.
"Hiya buddy!" Skoodge greeted his best friend. "How are you doing? I haven't spoken to you in years! Sorry I haven't called, but being assigned assistant to Planetary Governor Skoodge keeps me busy. You know how it is. All the responsibilities, duties, and workload of being Governor without the recognition, power, wealth or privileges of actually being one."
Zim just shook his head. "You were the conqueror of Blorch! Doesn't it bother you that not only did they take away your due Governorship, but they took your identity and gave it to that pretty boy Grapa? Just because you're short, overweight, ugly and filthy to boot? And doesn't it get confusing having two 'Skoodges' around?"
Skoodge just waved him off. "Nope. Nobody here knows my real name. They just call me 'Assistant.'
Zim almost felt like pulling on his antennae. How any Irken could be such a doormat, although useful at times, was beyond him. But Skoodge was dependable, and Zim needed dependable while he watched over Gaz.
"Skoodge, do you remember that private encryption code we used when we escaped from smeet training to the surface and entered the military academy early? It's important."
The Irken on the display nodded, and Zim typed some commands on the primitive human keyboard. The image destabilized for a moment, then cleared.
Zim took a deep breath before letting out his admission. "Skoodge, Zim is… struggling. Zim has a human mate. She was attacked last night, and we almost couldn't save her life. She is in an induced coma, and Zim must do everything for her. Gaz-blossom can't feed herself. Keep herself clean. Keep herself warm or cool when needed. Zim even has to help her when she passes urine and dookie! Gaz-blossom needs all my attention, and then there are the attackers that must be dealt with. Zim needs help."
Zim paused, looking at the floor. "Skoodge. Zim had to put a PAK on my Gaz-blossom. She can't survive without one. She'd die almost instantly if it's removed. Zim has kept that part from her family units. They know she is dependent, but not that it is this bad."
Zim turned the computer monitor and it's built-in camera to face Gaz lying on her chest in her bed, PAK clearly evident. "Zim tampered with the PAK. Removed it's memory core and programmed personality. There isn't any classified knowledge remaining, but all it's other functions are intact."
Skoodge didn't say anything for several moments. Just looked at the female human wearing her PAK.
Zim tried to collect himself, failing to do so. "Skoodge. Zim can't lose his mate. Zim is… Zim is having a smeet with Gaz-blossom. But Zim does not know if she will be angry when she wakes up. Gaz-blossom could not give her consent to any of this. Zim does not know if she will be so angry that she-"
Skoodge interrupted. "Zim, don't. You did what you had to do to save your bondmate. Wouldn't she do the same for you? Even if what happened made you upset, would it be her that you were angry with?"
"Why, Skoodge?" Zim asked. "Why are you trying to make Zim feel better? My mate is human. Why should you care if she survives or not? If she remains with Zim. Why do you not hate me for starting a smeet with a human?"
Skoodge looked down at his workdesk. "Maybe because I know a little of what it's like."
"You?" Zim asked. "Who would-" he cut himself off before he could say something insulting. His beloved wife was from outside his own species, and they saw each other as mates. He had even started a smeet with her human egg! Who was he to speak ill of another Irken's bond? Zim let out a sigh before he continued. "What stage?"
"I only knew the symptoms after the broadcast when you called the Tallest; after you married your Lady Gaz," Skoodge stated flatly. "Before that I didn't know. But I think I match the second stage. But it doesn't matter. By the time I realized what it was she had been dead for a long time. She was killed years ago when her SIRs went insane during her assignment. If I was in the final stage I would have died too just from the long separation, but fortunately I just think of her everyday and nurse the empty place in my spooch with snacks."
Skoodge shook it off and quickly collected himself. "But enough about me. What do you need?"
He hadn't known that about Skoodge. What Gaz and Zim had now could easily have never been if Gaz hadn't invited him to go be her partner for the CWZ convention, or had he refused to help her. He too could have been trapped in the second stage of bonding if they had not accidentally eloped. It was far too disturbing to think about, so he chose not to. But he did feel sorry for Skoodge, which felt really weird.
"Right," Zim responded to the question. "Zim is sending you an Earth rifle. It is a specialty purpose weapon and completely pathetic, useless for combat. Zim wants you to construct an Irken battle version, then replicate more using the same principles with a single stack magazine for the projectiles, and able to function in rapid fire. You'll see what Zim means when you examine it. The pilot will hand it over in person, so be there to meet her ship when it lands. It will be suffering from a failing inertial dampener control module."
"That will be easy," Skoodge told him.
"Listen. It is an important part of how Gaz-blossom would want me to deal with these… beings," Zim told him. "Zim has enough here to deal with them, but it does not feel appropriate for the offense. Zim needs more. A lot more." Zim's voice dropped lower as it turned venomous, and amazingly he stopped talking in the third person for a moment. "I want them to know just how badly they stepped over the line; that there is no escape. No hope. No chance. No salvation. Only doom. And I want them to live for a very, very, very long time."
"Alright, Zim. I'll take care of it. We have thousands of ships parked here. Several hundred in for maintenance and overhauls, so we've got a lot of security here and I can look through the smaller ranks easily. Most of them are just supposed to wander around the garage columns and make sure everything is in order and that no one takes the wrong ship. They all look alike after all." Skoodge paused to think for a moment. "So how what you do have to work with now? Just you and Gir?"
"No. We have more than that." A sly look appeared on Zim's face. "Tak is here with her SIR unit too. She's in the next room resting with her mate. But with her condition she is stuck on the sidelines commanding the new base. Zim will speak to Tak about planning and overseeing the operation."
"Wait. Tak is with you? She was supposed to be sent- Tak is bonded also? But if she's with you, and you are already bonded to a human-"
Zim didn't wait for the Irken to finish. "Then there are the two hundred of our Governor's Own that Gaz formed and their squadron of Spittle Runners. Plus a few assault and cargo shuttles. They'll be up to speed by the time this is all ready."
"You have-"
"Yes, yes. But they all follow Gaz-blossom and are fiercely devoted to their Lady. Not me. Then there are the humans. We will have five squadrons of superiority and attack fighters to go with the carrier we have. But we are only starting to train them, and suitable humans are hard to find."
Skoodge was slack-jawed. He closed his mouth after a moment.
Zim continued. "Zim will of course cover the expense as this is a personal thing. Do you think one hundred monies will cover an afternoon of work? Of course there would be the months of getting back to Blorch. And you would have to obtain all your own equipment like combat armor and what not. Zim can't sit down and think of details right now."
"One hundred monies? For one afternoon and paid vacation afterward? I don't understand Zim," Skoodge said confused. "You have a double contingent of a Governor's Own unit, six fighter squadrons, a capital ship plus whatever you've forgotten. And that's not enough? How many planets are we talking about?"
"Seven to eight humans so far that still live. Computer, Gir and Mimi have only been out identifying targets this last night, and most humans are asleep. Zim insists on waiting until their whole criminal network is mapped out and all these individuals have been herded together. Gaz-blossom would not want me to destroy half the city to root out these pests. Plus Zim would have to hear Dib complain on and on and on."
Skoodge just shook his head, but reserved judgment. The Irken he had developed a bond for had died long ago due to technical problems. It happened in war, and she had been sent on a very dangerous assignment. But Zim was fully bonded, and had a thing for the dramatic and grandiose. Still, it wasn't the biggest response on Irken record for something like this.
"Okay, Zim. One hundred monies should let me pay and equip a dozen people-"
"Skoodge," Zim interrupted. "Zim did not mean one hundred monies total for your expenses. Zim meant one hundred monies per soldier."
Now Skoodge gawked. One hundred monies was nearly five years wages for a full fledged Invader. And this was for a single afternoon of work with at least six months of relaxing afterward? Even having to supply themselves with all the gear they would need, that was a lot of incentive.
"Zim, word of this gets out and every mercenary in the quadrant will be heading in your direction. And a lot of them are people you don't want."
Zim waved him off. "Bah. No one even knows where Earth is and we're too far out for a systematic search that would take centuries for a ship to cover. Zim wants only Irkens, and they all have to go though you, Skoodge, to get to Earth. Just use a little discretion."
"A little-" Skoodge stopped himself. "I'll see to it. There are enough here looking for a chance for a sideways promotion to better duties, and an attack operation would look good on their record. Not to mention the pay. Plus I can put out some quiet feelers for reliable specialists and trainers. But I don't want to exceed you're allowance. Just how much are you able to dedicate to this?"
"One hundred thousand should cover it. We have an amazing delicacy export setup, and in a few months we'll have enough for anything you come up with," Zim informed the other Irken. "It's not like Zim is hiring a whole battle fleet."
The wheels in Skoodges mind could almost be seen to whirl. Zim was looking to hire another thousand troops? To deal with a few human criminals?
Zim could almost see Skoodge's thoughts on his face. "My Gaz-blossom has taught Zim a thing or two about being wronged. It is not enough to destroy a person physically. Killing them keeps them from understanding that they made a very bad mistake and having to suffer that knowledge forever. Oh, no. You overwhelm them with doom from every direction so they know there is no escape. Or as my Gaz-blossom would say, 'plunge them into a nightmare world from which there is no awakening.'"
"Zim," Skoodge said. "I can't possibly barrow enough Spittle Runners or shuttles to get that many to Earth. And you forget it would take months to get there. All those ships would be gone for at least a year! How would I get out of that kind of trouble?"
Zim shook his head. "Skoodge, Skoodge, Skoodge. Just get your hands on a few bigger ones. And Tak recently found a way to get them here really fast. But Zim will let her sort out the details. She is good at that kind of work and there will be a few months to get ready. By the way, you don't even have a name. Who would be identified to take the blame for a borrowing an overhauled ship for a test run that came back a bit late?"
Skoodge didn't respond for a minute. Then a smile spread across his face. "I'll get right on it." Perhaps there was an advantage to having one's name stolen for a useless leech of a figurehead that had been given the Blorch Parking Planet and the label of 'Governor Skoodge.'
The Irken displayed on the computer moved to cut the connection, then paused. "Zim?" he asked. "You do realize that your Gaz isn't just human anymore? Her PAK makes her one of us, even if she is in a human body. I mean the PAKs are what make us what we are. Without them we're just meat. And if two hundred Irkens accept her as their Lady even before she had the PAK, and her PAK makes her sort of Irken, maybe a cloning a smeet with your mate isn't insane."
Zim nodded, his eyes closed and lips dawn tightly together to form a narrow line. "Thanks, Skoodge. Zim does love his human mate, nor wishes to live without being at her side."
The call ended and Zim shut the computer terminal down. He resumed his place watching over his human wife, brushing her hair along her face and bonding necklace, stroking her hand and fiddling with her restored wedding ring. It was a kind gift that Skoodge had given Zim. Even if he didn't have the language for it, the meaning was clear. The acceptance of his inter-species family they had started by someone who was still a part of the Irken society.
Note: There are several references in various places that indicate a PAK can detach from a dying host and force itself on a non-Irken. So I imagine that there would be rare occasions where a PAK would return from a patrol wearing the wrong body. Sort of like a black box recorder that highjacks a car to return to the authorities so they could determine what happened after an airplane crashed.
I imagine there would be some sort of IFF gear within the PAKs that is a closely guarded secret to prevent infiltration, and naturally Zim's defective PAK may be dysfunctional in that sense too. But unlike Gaz, it seems such a PAK from a fallen Irken would be removed from the enemy host and recycled after uploading it's data.
So it is plausible that 'Lady Gaz of the Irken Empire' could be seen as an Irken-that-is-not-Irken with all that data going back and forth between PAK and an Irken brain. And good natured, gullible Skoodge would accept it without question I think. I believe it would also increase her standing with her own Irken guard.