The sky looked like snow.
Mox hunched his shoulders and burrowed into the upturned collar of his jacket, wishing the thing had a hood. He had never been on Earth before and his knowledge of its weather patterns was less than sketchy — Feywu's explanation of what was normal and what might have changed due to the destruction of the invasion had gone over his head. Winter came early and harsh in this part of the world apparently. But if the heavy gray clouds were like those on Dusaj, they'd be ankle deep in the white stuff by nightfall. He didn't find the prospect pleasing.
From their mutterings, neither did the Irkens. Despite the Tallest's claim, the recovery operation wasn't complete. Mox had barely stepped off the shuttle ramp before he was hauled in front of an Irken in a black and green uniform with a very impressive insignia and informed he was now an honorary member and honored guest of the recovery team. For the last two days he'd been crawling on the ground, bagging shrapnel for analysis. When it came to scut work, he suspected his status as an inferior being outweighed his status as an honored guest.
The largest debris weres already in the camp's holding bay. He'd seen footage, but not the actual parts. The Irkens weren't going to give him an opportunity to contaminate their evidence. Though how he would contaminate chunks of fuselage nearly ninety feet across Mox couldn't guess.
Something black and shiny poked up from the sparse vegetation. Mox knelt for a closer look; a ragged square roughly the size of his hand. Inorganic, possibly of human make, possibly not. He picked it up with the tongs provided for this purpose and deposited his find in an evidence bag. The date, time and sector number appeared immediately on the information tag.
"You found something, cat-beast?"
The warrant officer's ears twitched. After two days, he still wasn't used to Irken manners or the lack thereof; "cat-beast" was the least offensive of the names he'd been called. The Irkens insulted him as an inferior being as matter-of-factly as they did any of their own kind of lesser status. Mox didn't think of himself as overly sensitive, but… it got annoying.
He looked up at a Planetary Reconfiguration officer — Kren, Mox thought his name was. "Nothing else in the last two hours, though," Mox said, brushing snow form his knees as he stood. The PR officer flinched, stepping back despite his protective suit .His antennae flared. "Let me see," he snapped, recovering his poise.
Mox held out the sample bag. The Irken grunted, his left eye half-closed. "Doesn't look quite like the stinkbeasts' primitive work," he announced. "You have completed this area?"
Mox nodded. The Irken looked at him. "Your work is adequate," he said at last. "I will mention this to the Invader. Take it to the lab." He cast a glance over his shoulder. "And … uh… take that with you." An antenna pointed off to his left. "I think it's hungry."
"That" was a round, purplish creature with big eyes, a wide smile and tiny antlers; it floated in mid-air like a balloon. As if sensing it was being discussed, the thing bobbed over to them. Its gaze shifted from the PR officer to Mox.
"Squeak!" *Hello.* A pleasant, almost child-like voice echoed in the dusajji's mind. *Cold, isn't it?*
Mox blinked several times. Irkens weren't telepathic…but then, this wasn't an Irken. It didn't look like any species he knew.
"Uh, yeah, it is," Mox said. Curiosity got the better of him. "What are you?"
"Squeak!" *Minimoose. Nice to meet you.*
"Um. Likewise." What in Kesh's name was a minimoose? Some Earth beast? He'd have to ask Feywu. "I'm headed for the lab. Want to come with me?"
"Squeak!" *Sure. I'm hungry. Master probably misses me.*
The lab bustled with activity. Planetary Reconfiguration and Organic Sweep personnel going about their business, lab-coated Irkens at computer terminals. Mox didn't stop to watch, or even let his gaze linger on anyone in particular. Irkens gave new meaning to "paranoia." Most didn't even look up from their work as they passed, though he caught a glance or two in his direction.
The minimoose bobbed along at Mox's side. It squeaked loudly as they approached the Invader in charge of overseeing the retrieval operations. He looked up from his computer console's oversized command chair, antennae twitching in irritation.
"Minimoose! Where have you been? Zim is surrounded by incompetents! Didn't I tell you to keep an eye on — Oh. It's you." The Invader's tirade broke off as he spotted Mox. "Have you finished the pathetically easy task I gave so as not to strain your inferior brain meats?"
"The recovery operation's done for the day," Mox said carefully. Over the last two days, he had learned the best way to deal with Zim was to ignore the bizarrely convoluted insults and just answer the question … if he could figure out what the question was. He held out the evidence bag. "All I found. I don't know if the other teams had better luck."
Zim's red eyes slitted thoughtfully. "I see. Very well. Add it to the rest of the debris. You'll begin the holographic reconstruction momentarily."
"The what?"
Zim smiled; not a pleasant sight. "Once again, cat beast, you demonstrate why we Irkens are the superior race. You're going to compare the schematics of one of your filthy alien ships to the holographic model of the enemy vessel that shot down the FE-47."
Mox rubbed his ear. "That's fine. I can do that. But am I supposed to use your … superior Irken equipment?"
Zim stared at him. "No," he said finally. "No, you are not. And I am too superior to do it for you. GIR! GIR, where are you? I have work for you!"
A robot popped up from behind the computer console, its mechanical face set in a petulant frown. "Awww….but I was watching the Scary Monkey Show!" It held up a small boxy viewscreen; on it, a mangy ape scratched itself.
Mox blinked. He had seen a robot like this once before, when his business associates decided to try 'skimming the boundaries of Irken territory for the first time and had to bribe the local official. As it turned out, they had also had to bribe an Invader on shore leave, thanks to the weaponry of the Invader's SIR unit.
Zim stabbed a button on the viewscreen-box and the image disappeared. "How are you watching that?"
"Through the TV signal thingies! They're everywhere." The SIR unit giggled. "They tickle."
Zim waved his arms in the air. "Enough! GIR, run the holographic imager for this cat-beast, then go through your data tanks of filthy human knowledge for their pathetic air defenses to prove it had to be the cat-beasts' doing!"
"Um… an analysis of the debris should be in there, too," Mox pointed out helpfully.
Zim screeched. "OF COURSE, you pathetic meat-animals! You annoy me with your statements of the obvious, like underwear that is not clean! The analysis is being done as we speak! Meanwhile, I will devise my next ingenious plan to prove Tak for the traitor she truly is. Minimoose! Come with me!" Zim stalked off, the minimoose floating in his wake.
The SIR unit's teal eyes turned deep red and he saluted his master's back. Then he turned on his viewscreen again, cheering as the mangy monkey appeared again.
Mox cleared his throat. "Um. The holographic imager…"
The SIR heaved a sigh. "Oh-kaaay." He frowned at his viewscreen as the picture suddenly changed to the image of a human surrounded by dozens of Irkens. "They're sending that dumb show to the human camps again."
Mox's eyes went wide. That "show" looked a lot like how Feywu had described her Happy Hour with the Tallest. "Why?" he asked.
The SIR unit shrugged. "I dunno." It whooped, frantically punching the computer console's buttons. "Let's make biscuits!"
Over the next hours, Mox pulled together a composite ship from the debris in between fending off the SIR unit's consumption of chocolate bubble gum, baked goods and rolling on the floor. Despite the robot's erratic behavior, the holographs were finished.
The dusajji pilot stretched cramped muscles, then turned back to the computer. The ship was a Compact ship, he was certain of that. Whether it was a Dusajji ship was another question. Non-Compact races adapted Compact technology when they could. The dusajji prided themselves on keeping their secrets: a bone of contention with their fellow Compact member as well as outsiders. Why a dusajji ship would be on Sol III, let alone attacking the Irken Empire would make a complicated situation even worse. He grimaced at the console.
"Um…GIR?"
The little robot ceased fussing with a rubber animal. "You want a burrito?"
"No. I need to know if I can get detailed schematics of Compact ships. Dusajji ships in particular."
Blue-green eyecams blinked. "Oh. Okay!" Dropping his toy, the SIR united pounced in front of the keyboard and began stabbing keys in a random fashion – so far as Mox could tell.
Apparently not that random. Images of Compact spaceships flowed across the screen, with full schematics for many of them. Mox's ears twitched. He shouldn't be surprised; the Compact had sensitive information about the Empire's fleet. Still…. Too many , whispered a voice in Mox's brain. He ignored it. Politics was the Admiral's job, and Feywu's, not his. He shrugged, and went back to playing "match the schematic."
Time passed. Mox's hope that the crashed ship was viyshoon or tsaata – Compact members known for being more lenient about whom they traded their technology to whenever possible – died a painful death.
The ship was dusajji. Modified, like a contraband runner –
The computer clicked. "Material analysis of recovered debris completed," it said.
Mox switched screens. Desumu would have his tail for a tie if he didn't follow procedures.
Chemical formulas marched against the screen in twin rows.
Mox stared at them.
"Computer? Repeat display."
The computer did.
Mox slumped in his chair.
"Cat-beast!"
"Gahh!" Mox spun his chair around. Zim glowered up at him. "Have you reached a conclusion?"
Mox nodded.
"Well?"
Mox swallowed. Careful, careful… . "The ship is dusajji –."
"I knew it! I knew you stinking cat-fur people couldn't be trusted!"
"— with major modifications that are not standard. Most likely, a contraband runner. Not an official Compact or dusajji vessel at all."
The Invader stared at him. "I see," Zim said slowly. "I shall make my report to the Tallest."
"I'll have the diplomatic liaison mention it to them, too," Mox said..
"Yes… you do that," Zim ground out. "You may wait in the lobby for your shuttle to be cleared for takeoff. GIR! Stop that hideous dancing and obey me!"
Mox headed for the lobby, not waiting for a guide. The quicker he got back to the Akinama and filled in Desumu, the better.
Their complicated situation had just been shot into orbit.
#
"I'm certain you can understand my position, Your Excellencies. The Admiral is eager to fulfill the Council's requests, and I'm eager to make sure the Admiral can tell the Council he has." And get him off my back. At least for the moment. Feywu rested her hands on the conference room table, hands clasped, her gaze fixed on the viewscreen. To smile or not to smile? She allowed one corner of her mouth to quirk upward briefly; a self-deprecating, we're-in-this-together gesture that eased the tension in her jaw somewhat.
"I do, Lieutenant. Oh, I do." Purple took a sip of his soda. "However, I'm not sure you understand ours.
"Planetary Reconstruction can't begin until the Organic Sweep is finished, and the Organic Sweep — reassessment, really — can't be finished until the indigenous species is pacified. While progress is being made, that hasn't happened yet." The Tallest looked at her squarely. "The Irken Empire will keep our side of the agreement, Lieutenant. Never doubt that." Another sip of his soda. "You'll just have to wait a little longer, okay?"
Feywu forced an understanding smile to curve her lips. "Okay, Your Excellency."
"We do have news about those things you asked for."
"Oh?"
"They were destroyed," Red put in cheerily. "Sorry about that!"
I'm sure you are. Feywu kept her expression neutral. "I see."
"Sure you do." Red took a small puppet of himself from some pocket of his robe and balanced it on his claws. "Anything else you'd like to ask for?"
"Well, Your Excellency, yes." Feywu wished she had a glass of water. Unfortunately, eating or drinking — any indication you weren't giving the Almighty Tallest one's complete attention — was viewed as an insult and a breach of etiquette. "The Magna Carta. Mona Lisa. Michaelangelo's David."
Red's puppet was punching the keys on an electronic note pad. "The Blarney Stone. King Tutenkhamen's treasure. The Watergate tapes. The Wailing Wall —" Feywu's mouth snapped shut. The Middle East didn't exist anymore. No Wailing Wall, no Calvary, no ka'aba. "The Terre Cotta army —."
"The what?" Purple looked both confused and interested.
"An army made of clay."
"What good would that do?"
"To serve the emperor in the afterlife, Your Excellency."
"Huh. Weird."
"But as I was saying …. One of the heads from Easter Island. . The last A&W root beer stand. Faberge eggs. A Frank Lloyd Wright house. Marilyn Monroe's dress from Some Like It Hot. Elvis' first gold record —"
"Hold it!" Red threw his claws up, his puppet-self waving its arms frantically. "How much more do you want?"
"Quite a bit, Your Excellency."
His red eyes narrowed slightly. "We're busy conquering Earth, Lieutenant. We don't have time to take notes for your treasure hunt."
"It's not merely a 'treasure hunt', Your Excellency. I haven't even approached the matter of the flora, fauna, and geological specimens requested by various Compact members."
"You mean there's more? How are we supposed to examine all this?" Purple asked plaintively. "Even if we spare the personnel, that's a lot of stuff!"
"We can't keep track of all this!" Tallest Red's puppet curled in on itself. "You want these things, you keep track of them."
"I already have, Your Excellencies. I've been compiling a database of requests as they come in."
"You have, have you." Red leaned forward in his chair. "Then we want it. To review at our leisure."
"I'd be more than happy to give it to you. But there's the problem of file transfers and compatibility. The Compact recently upgraded to the nriu's latest hardware and software. I doubt it could integrate with your own system. I'm afraid I'd have to hand the database to you piecemeal."
"That is not acceptable, Lieutenant. We want the whole database, and we want it now." Red paused. "Or pretty quick. The nriu upgrade will have to be part of our … bargain."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Purple swiveled around to stare at his co-ruler. "And let them infiltrate the Massive computer system with their spyware?"
"It won't be in the Massive's system, Purple. We'll have it installed in a service-bot or something. That'll work fine." Red grinned at Feywu. "Won't it, Lieutenant?"
The fur on her neck ruffled. "It's a splendid solution, Your Excellency."
"Good," Red said smugly. "I guess we're done here."
"Not quite," Feywu broke in. "Arrangements need to be made for the nriu to install the database —"
Royal jaws dropped simultaneously. Purple's soda slipped from his claws and splattered to the ground. "What ?"
"No, no, no!" Purple's antennae flared back. "Those — bugs — are not coming onto the Massive!"
"Or setting their inferior clawed feet on our planetary bases." Red's eyes seemed to glow with anger. "No, Lieutenant. You will have to install it."
"Your Excellency, I don't know anything —"
The Irken waved a claw dismissively. "The Admiral, then, or your pilot. We'll give you two days to work out the details with the – with them. We'll have our service-bot ready by then." His eyes shuttered in the way Feywu believed to indicate deep thought – or at least what passed for deep thought in the Tallest. "I already have one in mind."
"What about personnel to go through the database itself?"
"Oh, we'll find someone," Purple said, looking down at where his soda had dropped. Red had ripped open a bag of Irken snacks and was busy gobbling them. "Don't you worry about it."
Red swallowed and wiped his mouth on his glove. "One last thing, Lieutenant, that this little talk reminded me of. The nriu's transmission snooping —"
"Scooping."
"—snooping is bad enough, but they're sending them to … wherever they send them whenever they want! It's gotten so bad they're interfering with some inter-ship communications. The Irken Empire won't stand for it, Lieutenant. Make them stop."
No one, not even the Compact, could stop the nriu from data-gathering. Negotiate, work around, yes. Stop, no. The Tallest wouldn't hear that, of course. "I apologize on behalf of the Compact, Your Excellency. I'll talk to them ."
Red nodded once. "Good."
The transmission screen went blank.
Feywu slumped in her chair. This…had not been a good meeting. No progress on the Council's requests, and now this business with the nriu. Desumu might know how to approach the nriu; she didn't. Why should she? She'd been chosen as envoy for her knowledge of Earth, after all.
And no word about the human. Remembering Tallest's cryptic, humorous comments that night about her suffering still churned Feywu's gut with guilt and anger. Powerless to prevent or alleviate the woman's suffering, Feywu had been turned into an accomplice by her presence.
The liaison closed her eyes. Detach. Stay distant. Her field professor's advice. Feywu tried, but hadn't … quite… managed back then.
And now?
Self-analysis isn't always good for the soul.
"I wish I could shove this off on you, Desumu," she muttered as she rose to her feet and left the conference room. "I've got enough on my plate."
The shuttle-approach light was blinking when she returned to the bridge. "Have a seat, Lieutenant," Desumu said, not looking up from the com. "I'll have your debriefing right after dhus Saarvi."
Feywu claimed her usual spot at the secondary computer terminal. Minutes later, Mox walked onto the bridge, fur still slightly ruffled from the decontamination procedure and tucking in his uniform. "Admiral," he began without preamble, "it's not good." He shot Feywu a furtive look that made her ears flatten.
"Something wrong, Mox?"
"Enough, you two." Desumu gestured Mox to a chair. "Say your piece, Warrant Officer. As short as possible for now. You can fill in the details later."
"The ship that attacked the Irken fight is dusajji. A modified model. But we didn't build it."
Desumu's ear twitched, once. "Explain."
"The computer did a chemical analysis of the debris – there's traces of ceramics, heat-resistant ceramics. We haven't used those in centuries. I can't think of a space-going species that has."
"I see." Desumu's face was expressionless. " Lieutenant, were the natives of Sol III capable of building a starcraft?"
"They had shuttles to their manned space station, and unmanned exploration probes."
"But could they have adapted Compact technology?"
"It's possible," Feywu said slowly. "There were always rumors and conspiracy theories about the governments hiding alien space craft in out-of-the-way military bases. Admiral, if the humans did shoot down the FE-47, the Empire needs to know."
"They wouldn't believe us, Lieutenant. There's no sense in telling."
Feywu's brows dipped in a frown. Their way out of a diplomatic crisis, with hard physical proof, no less — and Desumu was ignoring it? "Admiral, I must object."
"Your report, Lieutenant."
"But we can prove the Compact wasn't involved."
"Your report."
Feywu straightened in her chair, keeping her ears upright by sheer force of will. In clipped, even tones she detailed her meeting with the Tallest, from their unhappiness with the nriu to their insistence on a Mox-installed database. "I had to agree to everything, of course."
"Mm. Of course. Dhus Saarvi, are you familiar with the nriu database technology?"
"Um. A little."
"Good. I'll have the nriu send over their latest software and hardware upgrades. You've got two days, dhus Saarvi. Study hard."
"Sir," Feywu said, "shouldn't I be talking to the nriu? At least at first? To make it look…official?"
"I'll handle it, Lieutenant, and the Tallest's concerns. I'm sure you want to rest after your conference. Dismissed." He turned to the console.
Feywu stared at his back. Equipment requests between the Akinama, the nriu and the other ships hovering in-system had been her purview since becoming liaison. Like many top brass, Desumu hated dealing with "piddly work." Why was he breaking procedure now?
She tried to catch Mox's eye. He wouldn't look at her.
Feywu pivoted on her heel and left the bridge, Desumu's order to Mox to open a connection to the nriu ringing in her ears.
Back in her quarters, she lay on her bunk with the lights out, gazing at the shifting constellations of the Dusajji night sky projected on the ceiling. She hadn't wanted her rank or position as diplomatic liaison. She still didn't.
Didn't mean she wanted to fail.
Did Desumu want her to?
But why? There was too much at risk here; they couldn't afford to fail. Why the game-playing? Was she being set up to take a fall?
No. Ridiculous. Events were too serious, too critical. Desumu wasn't setting her up as a patsy He was just…being an ass. Going for the glory and credit, such as it was. Professional military did it all the time. Or trying to prove he didn't really need her, that she was simply a necessary evil.
She stared at the tiny constellations for hours, until she finally drifted off to sleep.
#
"This plan of yours, Red – I don't like it." Purple scowled at his co-Tallest over the their shared bowl of novelty nachos. He spun one absently between his claw-like fingers, ignoring the odd red-brown sugar – cinnamon, according to Tak – clinging to his skin.
"Relax, already." Red turned from the observation deck's display window. Behind him three squads of Spittle Fighters practiced maneuvers. Maneuvers Purple desperately hoped wouldn't be sent out of control by interference from the nriu's transmission collection. Like the last session had. "Everything will be fine."
"Fine? Red, that SIR unit's dangerously insane."
Red smirked. "It's not stupid, it's advanced!"
"Don't throw my words back at me." Purple crushed the cinnamon nacho and brushed away the crumbs. A Housekeeping drone scurried from a corner to clean it up. "How can we control it, let alone make it compatible with the honorable lieutenant's database? It would give away state secrets in exchange for a cupcake!"
"That's what I've been working on." Red held up his electronic notepad. "I looked up the standard SIR unit hardware and software, and made some changes. We need it, you know – it has all that human data it downloaded awhile back into its databanks. We'll have our own independent fact-checking source. Anyway. I added new stuff, deleted some of the more dangerous functions….:"
"Did you remove the free will modulator?"
"Yup. Gone as yesterday's lunch." Red grinned. "All we have to do is send the changes down to Zim!"
Purple, who had been contemplating dipping a cinnamon nacho into the cheese sauce supplied for the plain ones, stopped in mid-reach. "Zim? We're letting Zim handle this? For the love of Spork, what were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that all Zim would have to do is watch, and monitor for any tricks on Desumu's part," Red ground out.
"Oh, yes. Just watch," Purple said sarcastically. "Like he 'just watched' the launch of Operation Impending Doom I?" He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the chaos and destruction the impossibly short Irken had unleashed.
Red shrugged. "It was either that, or listen to him beg for three hours. It's his SIR unit, Purple. Imagine the fit he'd throw if we gave the job to somebody else. He'd come up with one of his idiotic 'amazing plans' to 'improve' things and end up destroying the base, most likely. In any case, he'll be supervising, Purple, from a good distance away. A tech will do the actual work."
Purple made a face. "I still don't like it. What if something goes wrong? What if the cat-beasts have a way to…I dunno, reverse engineer our technology somehow?"
Red opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by the communications officer.
"Incoming transmission from the nriu newspod!"
The Tallest cringed. "What do they want?" Purple whined.
"How am I supposed to know?" Red snapped. "Put them through, soldier."
"Yes, sir!"
The viewscreen cleared, went black, and then filled with the transmission. Purple steeled himself against flinching; the Tallest didn't flinch at the sight of anything, especially not …
Red hissed beneath his breath. "They're so disgusting!" he muttered.
"Uh-huh," Purple murmured back. A few days ago while going through some old reports on Earth Zim had sent to them before the invasion. He'd screamed and leaped halfway up to the ceiling upon coming across what appeared to be a miniature nriu. A hasty confrontation with his slave-pet revealed the miniature nriu was in fact an Earth insect. The nriu resembled nothing so much as four-foot-tall versions of these "preying mantises." Purple had had nightmares for two nights running. He'd punished Quin by making her polish Red's laser collection. Under Red's supervision. At least he'd left no bruises on her face.
"Greetings, Your Excellencies, from Newspod 761!"
The Tallest gaped. "Tak?" Red asked, confused. "Is this some kind of trick?"
"No, Your Excellencies," the nriu replied. "We seek to set you at ease using the speech of a well-known member of your species." It paused, then continued in an all-too-well-known voice. "Perhaps you would prefer the most amazing Zim?"
"No." Red pulled his antennae down. "Not Zim!"
"Just…use your regular voice." Purple covered his eyes. "Please. That'd be … really neat."
"As Your Excellencies wish." The nriu spoke now in its standard, musical, female-sounding tones. Purple slumped in relief, and then straightened.
"Well? What do you want?"
"We wish to tender out apologies for the trouble our data-gathering and transferring has caused you. As Headmouth of Newspod 761, I feel most distressed in having done so."
"You do, do you?" Purple folded his arms. "What if we don't want your apology?"
The nriu blinked its multifaceted eyes. "I offer them regardless. You are free to accept or not, as suits you."
"Fine, Purple said. "We don't accept."
Red grabbed his shoulder. "Hang on, Purple. It's not that your apology isn't welcome," he went on, "but —"
"Yes?" the Headmouth prompted.
"We need compensation," Purple finished. Typical of their revolting species, to think empty courtesies made up for everything.
The Headmouth tilted its head – or his, or hers, Purple could never differentiate between genders in the nriu, as they all used that annoying voice . "That we will henceforth only transmit a day's worth of data from 2400 hours to 0100 hours does not apply?"
"Oh, it helps." Purple smirked. "It's just not enough."
"What else is required?"
"More of your …communication … stuff."
"A favor."
"A favor?" Red echoed.
"A favor," Purple repeated firmly. "Of our own choosing, when we need it. No questions asked." He leaned toward the viewscreen, eyes half-lidded. "An no telling anyone else. Especially Desumu."
The nriu drew up its arm-claws to its chest. "This is most unorthodox," it replied.
"We don't care," Purple snapped. "That's the only restitution we'll accept. Otherwise we'll have to take…measures."
"Such actions will jeopardize the spirit of cooperation and understanding the Irken Empire has with Compact regarding Sol III."
"Oh, we wouldn't necessarily do anything here," Red said, idly examining his claws . "The Empire's got a big reach, after all."
Nriu and Irkens stared at each other.
"Very well," the Headmouth said after a long moment. Purple bit back a grin; the synthesized voice didn't sound quite so content. "We agree to your terms." It bowed, like water spilling from a bowl – not a natural movement for such a stick-like body. " Good evening, Your Excellencies."
The viewscreen went black.
"That was rude," Red said. "W e should have dropped contact first."
"Let it go, Red. We came out ahead."
The crimson-eyed Tallest swiveled his chair to face his co-ruler. "We did, huh? With a favor? What good will that do us?"
"Right now, none. In the future, maybe quite a bit." Purple scooped up a handful of the cinnamon nachos into his mouth, crunching noisily. They weren't so bad, he decided. He swallowed.
"Consider it a trick up our sleeve. Pass the soda, will you?"
#
The bridge was oddly quiet without two-thirds of Bubastis' crew. No click of keyboards, no audio-responses from the computer, no gentle hum of the coffee maker. No squabbling chatter from Mox, or terse replies from Feywu. Essentially deserted, the ship's center of command felt like a different place altogether.
Desumu switched on the comm's sub-vocal setting. He'd chosen this time deliberately; all the officers took a turn at night watch. In practice, most of them had been split between his lieutenant and his warrant officer.
Making up for lost time, Desumu thought with some amusement. Dhus Atkir doubtless had her suspicions about his motives. She was welcome to them, as long as she didn't try to force those suspicions into fact.
He ordered the computer to open the frequency Mox had discovered the call for help; the "SOS" as Feywu called it. Apparently someone on Earth wasn't in the Irken detainment camps. Assuming that someone was involved with the modified dusajji ship was a madman's gamble….but sometimes, that was all you had.
He sent out the human's SOS and the dusajji hailing message. The go-ahead light on the comm. flashed green; a receiver found. Desumu cued his headset.
"Kip. Kip, wake up! That damn radio's making noise!"
He was going to bitch-slap whoever was doing this. Kip opened his eyes, half-sitting up. "What the shit?" he mumbled. Fred. Fred had woken him out of a sound sleep at – he glanced at his alarm clock – 0013 hours.
"The shortwave! We're getting something from it!" Fred sounded – excited? Scared? Maybe both. "Walker wants everyone in the mess, now!"
Minutes later Kip raced into the mess hall, Fred a half-step behind him. No one seemed to notice as they joined the crowd. Even Walker only flicked a glance in their direction as if checking off a mental roll-call before focusing his attention back on the shortwave.
It sat enshrined on the middle-most table, where Kip had set it down. No one had believed him at first – no one wanted to believe him, until more of those unknown codes burst forth from the speakers. After that, a watch was kept around the clock by Walker's orders. Other than that, it wasn't discussed, the proverbial elephant in the living room. No one wanted to jinx the desperate, foolhardy hope by talking about it.
"Set it on loudspeaker," Walker said to Roth, picking up the mike.
Nothing. Not even static
"Salutations from the Dusajji Compact to the defenders of Sol III."
No one moved. No one seemed to breathe. The words were English, impeccable and precise, but the voice made the hair on his neck stand up.
"It's a trick!" someone blurted out. "A trick by the greenies!"
"No trick," said the voice. "The Dusajji Compact and Sol III have a common enemy in the Irken Empire ."
"You did nothing to stop them," Walker said.
"We did not arrive in time to stop them. We did not expect them to be here at all. They should not have been in your solar system at all. There is a way to drive them from your homeworld. It will not restore your planet or bring back your dead, but you won't be fodder for the Irken Empire."
"Why should we believe you?"
"What do you have to lose? Can you repel them on your own? Think of your own saying – 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.'
"If further proof of goodwill is needed, we're willing to assist in the completion of the second ship." There was a pause, then the not-quite-human voice continued in what sounded like dry humor, "You did build a second ship, didn't you?"
There was panicky laughter at that. "Quiet!" Walker glared over his shoulder.
"Keep talking," he said, focusing again on the shortwave. "We're listening."
#
The nriu had never been a subject of interest to Mox. Up until the mission to Sol III his contact with them had been limited to ship-to-ship communications and seeing the random nriu on a space station dock, his opinion a vague amusement at their speech patterns and their ever-polite behavior, and the automatic assumption that nriu didn't think like anyone else.
In the last few hours, his opinion had changed drastically. The nriu didn't think like anyone sane.
Power sources so miniscule he could cradle four in his palm. Data-retention and transmission-receiving centers half their size, all of it somehow woven into a lacy web of micro-fine optic fibers – at least, Mox thought they were optic fiber – that he lost sight of if he moved wrong or the light from the Irken service-drone shifted. The whole thing reminded him of the neural systems he'd studied at the Academy….
Mox swallowed, dropping his end of the web. He swore and scrambled after it. "Reattachment necessary," the service-drone informed him.
"Yeah, I know," Mox muttered. Kesh, why did these realizations strike him at the worst possible times?
He was installing a neural system – of a sort. Not all his business associates dealt in pharmaceuticals. Illicit tech had been just as popular. Before the Compact Defense Force offered him a career move he couldn't refuse, Mox had heard rumors of something the nriu had cooked up called a chameleon program. In theory, it allowed pre-programmed nanobots to blend in with existing hardware and subvert the existing program, leaving enough of the original code intact to avoid detection.
Mox hadn't believed the rumors. Tech like that just didn't exist. Couldn't exist.
But that had been before he had to install one blind….
"Cat-beast! What is that – that – doily doing there?!"
Mox glanced up from the body of the SIR unit to the SIR unit's master. Zim stood in what he called an "observer's circle"; the Invader had gone on at great lengths about the Tallest depending on him to oversee the installment of the nriu's database system. Mox privately though the Tallest wanted Zim out of the way, probably for good reason. The Invader wasn't entirely happy about losing his SIR unit, but he wasn't about to pass up a chance to suck up to his leaders.
"It's not a doily," Mox said. An apt comparison, though. Half the time he felt like he was sewing, not installing hardware. "It's the last connection matrix."
Zim blinked. "Oh. Okay. Carry on, then." He leaned forward threateningly, careful not to cross the circle's boundaries. "And no tricks! You are under the inscrutable, all-seeing, all-knowing, never-blinking eye of Zim!"
Mox's ears twitched. As if he could forget.
he service-drone sent from the Massive to assist him beeped. Mox bent down, trying to focus on the job. "Hold that loop clear," Mox told the service-drone. "Just need to fit this in…"
"You cleaned up after yourself, cat-person," Zim said, as the service-drone carried away the modified SIR unit. "Very good. The stinkbeasts were always so…messy."
Mox grunted noncommittally. Zim looked him up and down. "You may go," he said, sounding bored. "Your part in this is appreciated by the Irken Empire, and I'm sure by your own pathetic stink-people as well."
Mox trudged back to the shuttle, unable to shake the feeling of impending disaster. He tried to tell himself it was a normal reaction to being in the Irken base; enemy territory, essentially, all talk of treaties aside. Once back on the Bubastis, he'd be fine.
It didn't work.
After initial contact had been made with the nriu, Desumu had relayed the Tallests' request in the too-small captain's office. Something he hadn't done before or since.
Where neither Mox nor Feywu could hear.
Mox suppressed a shudder. What the chameleon's purpose was, he didn't know and didn't want to know.
He just hoped Desumu knew what he was doing.
#
"Quin,we have something to show you."
Quin slewed around on her knees, Red's left boot and a polish rag in her hands. The Tallest hovered just inside the conference room door. She started to rise.
"No, don't stand up," Red said. "That's an appropriate position for a slave."
"You're not being punished," Purple said soothingly. "It's something to help you in your new duties."
Quin looked at him blankly. "My new duties?"
Purple tsked. "Identifying artifacts from your inferior civilization and giving us an analysis, silly!"
"Oh." She'd all but forgotten about that. The Tallest had set her to relatively easy if boring and pointless tasks since her time in the World of Pain.
The Tallest moved next to her. "Bring it in," Purple said.
The door opened. Four guards marched in. Quin realized uneasily they were in the same formation they used to escort her around the Massive : two in front, two in back. But who were they guarding? Another slave?
Red gestured the guards to one side. "Quin, meet your new assistant, GIR."
A little robot – it barely reached her knees – stood in the midst of the guards, who had their hands on their lasers. It was mostly white in color with a green panel on its chest, and green shoulder pads and wrist cuffs. A single antenna crowned its bucket-shaped head. Green camera lens-like eyes and mitten-hands gave it a childlike appearance. It looked at the Tallest, then at Quin. It smiled and waved. "Hi!"
Quin stared.
She'd seen robots before, now and then, boxy things on wheels that attended to the functions of the spaceship itself. They didn't look anything like this.
Red poked her in the ribs. "Say hi, Quin."
"Hi," Quin said.
The little robot's smile grew wider. "We're going to work together!"
"We are?"
"Yes, we told you that already," Purple said, exasperated. "Weren't you paying attention? Honestly, Quin, I think the World of Pain rattled your mind." He frowned, then shook his head. "That's neither here nor there at the moment. GIR, what is your mission?"
GIR's eyes flashed red and it stood at attention. "Retrieve the Compact requests stored in the Massive's computer to the Quin-slave's terminal, upload the completed commentary for review, signal its readiness to the disgusting cat-beasts, yay!" GIR saluted smartly, its eyes reverting to their normal blue-green color.
Quin glanced at Purple. The Tallest's mouth turned up in a smile. "Very good." He set his hand on Quin's shoulder, nudging her forward. "We need to return to your nest, Quin."
Once in the main room of her "nest", Purple ordered the computer to open the secondary terminal. A panel slid back in the left wall, revealing a large monitor and what looked like a standard computer keyboard. Purple peered down at the setup, gesturing Quin over. "Computer, lock security clearance at Zim-level for the Quin-human."
"Sub-Zim, Purple," Red said.
"Red, she can't be Sub-Zim. She'll need a spell-checker."
"Oh, all right."
"Now, Quin." Purple turned to her. "You'll go over the lists of … artifacts the Dusajji send after GIR gets them off the main computer. We expect a fully detailed explanation, Quin, including what military capability they have. When our discussion is complete, GIR will upload the file again and let the Dusajji know it's on the way." The Tallest paused, eyeing her. "You'll have no access to anything else in the Massive's system, not that you could do anything if you did. Is that clear?"
Quin nodded.
"Very good. GIR, connect to the main database just to make sure everything's working."
The robot's chest swung open; a cable shot out and plugged into a socket on the terminal. Lines of numbers and strange letters Quin couldn't recognize flowed across the screen.
The Tallest hovered to the door. "We'll leave you to two to get acquainted," Red said. "Any questions?"
"Who are the Dusajji?" Quin asked.
"No one you need to worry about," Purple told her.
Well, she had tried. "What do I do with GIR when it's done?"
Purple laughed. "You could put him in your closet. He's staying with you, Quin. Have a good evening." He waved and left, Red following.
"Do you have any bubble gum?" GIR asked hopefully.
For Quin, the next few hours passed in a quiet surrealism. GIR remained plugged into the terminal, occasionally spouting off what sounded like code, or random comments. Quin sat in her chair, watching. She had linen napkins for the Tallest to hem, and guards had brought her Red's boots to finish polishing, as well as three more pairs. She should go to the sewing room and work there. She knew that.
She didn't.
She stayed in her chair in the main room and watched GIR. After finishing Red's boots, she brought her napkins and sewing kit from the sewing room and worked on them while she watched GIR.
After uncountable days without seeing or talking to anyone, the presence of a physical being in the same room disturbed and fascinated her. She didn't know what she was going to do with the robot. She didn't want it in her bedroom while she slept. Put it in the closet, maybe, like Purple said?
It didn't act like the other robots, even the one that had suddenly malfunctioned while changing a light fixture in the lounge. They were simply machines, fulfilling their programming. They didn't have personalities. GIR was… different. At one point, GIR sighed heavily, said "I'm boooorrred," and stood on his head.
It, she reminded herself. Robots didn't have genders, and giving GIR one was a bad sign. Whatever the Tallest said they hoped to accomplish by giving her GIR, it wasn't for her good.
At last the napkins were done. Quin rose, stretching. She felt like she'd stayed up considerably later than usual. Perhaps she had. It was hard to tell, without a clock…. She glanced at the monitor. Small blocky numbers blinked in the lower right-hand side: 00:37.
"Twelve-thirty-seven," Quin said. "And a clock, a clock –"
"To Veronica Quin, human slave of the Tallest, greetings from Admiral Desumu of the Dusajji Compact."
Quin froze.
Not GIR's voice. Not Tallest Red. Not anyone she had heard before. The diction, the pronunciation was perfect, impeccable. But the voice wasn't human. The Tallest sounded more human. It made Quin want to hide under the bed.
"Who are you? Where are you?" The computer – the voice was coming from the computer. GIR was just standing there, expectantly.
"Admiral Desumu of the Dusajji Warship Akinama, currently acting captain of the Dusajji science vessel Bubastis, in your solar system, Sol III."
"You're a trick." Quin took a shuddering breath. This couldn't be real. "A trap."
"Not a trick," the voice countered, "and a trap only for the Irken Empire." There was a pause. "My time is limited. I will explain as best I can, if you allow me."
It had to be a trap. Or it might be a game Red and Purple cooked up. Would she be punished for not playing along? "Go on."
"The Dusajji Compact and the Irken Empire are…at odds. Your world has become the current skirmish, as it was intended to be a Dusajji protectorate – "
Quin snorted.
"We did not expect to find the Irken Empire here; there was no reason for them to be. Had we known they had Invaders stationed on your world, we would have taken measures to stop the Invasion. "
"So now what?" Quin folded her arms. She wasn't convinced this wasn't a setup. She should run into her bedroom, contact the Tallest –
The Tallest. "Why aren't the guards pounding down the door?
"We managed to subvert the SIR unit's programming with our own when it was adapted for its new duties. It's running a continuous loop audio-video loop, made from the last moments before I began to speak with you. Any observers or recording instruments will see and hear you sleeping, and the SIR unit scanning the system."
"I see." It didn't quite make sense, but why should that worry her now? Nothing had made sense from the day of the invasion. "When are you nuking the shit out of the Irkens? Why are you contacting me?"
"We're not. We can't be that obvious. Rather than take on the Irken Army directly, we want to strike at its flagship: the Massive .
"We need your help. Get us the Massive's schematics, and its escort ships' flight patterns. Every ship, no matter how huge or powerful, has its weak point. With this information, you can avenge the destruction of your world."
Destroy the Massive….but…
"What about me?"
"We have no way to save you," Desumu said after a moment. "Out of necessity, this is a suicide mission ." Abruptly he hissed a word, something that sounded vaguely obscene. " I need an answer. Accept, and I will contact you at this time again periodically, in this manner. Refuse, and the reprogramming we did to the SIR will self-erase. And your world will belong to the Irkens."
"You can't ask me that," Quin cried out. "Damn you, it's not fair. It's not fair!"
Silence.
Quin buried her face in her hands. It wasn't fair. She wasn't brave. She wasn't heroic. She never had been; she knew that now. She wanted to live. She had been enslaved, humiliated and tortured, and she still wanted to live.
Rage, sharp and clear and whitehot, overwhelmed her. She hated the Tallest – loathed them – for tearing away that façade of her self-image and destroying it utterly. Nothing she did could repair it, let alone make it a reality. Rebellion was pointless. The Tallest would win, would always win.
It's not that bad , whispered a small, craven part of her soul. If she did what she was told, she wasn't hurt anymore. At least, not often. Purple treated her like a pampered pet. She may be completely and utterly alone, but she wasn't in the detainment camps. Did the camps still exist? She thought she'd overheard the Tallest discussing them once, but she couldn't be sure. Did it matter? Her friends were dead, her family was dead, everyone was dead… Or were they? The Irkens wouldn't have killed everyone --
"Are there others?" she asked in a raspy, broken voice. "Other people still alive?"
"Yes."
"Prove it," Quin shot back. "Show me."
The computer screen flickered, then filled with people.
Humans, not aliens. Hundreds of them, thousands, crowded into a place all-too-familiar for Quin. Force-field barricades. Shoddy rain shelters. Irken guards patrolling on floating discs. Blank faces looking without seeing.
Quin hugged herself, rocking on her heels. "Where – when –"
"At this moment, and on your home continent. I need an answer. My time is all but up."
Quin took a ragged breath and stared at the ceiling as she gave him her answer – the only answer she could give.
"Deal."
Mox hunched his shoulders and burrowed into the upturned collar of his jacket, wishing the thing had a hood. He had never been on Earth before and his knowledge of its weather patterns was less than sketchy — Feywu's explanation of what was normal and what might have changed due to the destruction of the invasion had gone over his head. Winter came early and harsh in this part of the world apparently. But if the heavy gray clouds were like those on Dusaj, they'd be ankle deep in the white stuff by nightfall. He didn't find the prospect pleasing.
From their mutterings, neither did the Irkens. Despite the Tallest's claim, the recovery operation wasn't complete. Mox had barely stepped off the shuttle ramp before he was hauled in front of an Irken in a black and green uniform with a very impressive insignia and informed he was now an honorary member and honored guest of the recovery team. For the last two days he'd been crawling on the ground, bagging shrapnel for analysis. When it came to scut work, he suspected his status as an inferior being outweighed his status as an honored guest.
The largest debris weres already in the camp's holding bay. He'd seen footage, but not the actual parts. The Irkens weren't going to give him an opportunity to contaminate their evidence. Though how he would contaminate chunks of fuselage nearly ninety feet across Mox couldn't guess.
Something black and shiny poked up from the sparse vegetation. Mox knelt for a closer look; a ragged square roughly the size of his hand. Inorganic, possibly of human make, possibly not. He picked it up with the tongs provided for this purpose and deposited his find in an evidence bag. The date, time and sector number appeared immediately on the information tag.
"You found something, cat-beast?"
The warrant officer's ears twitched. After two days, he still wasn't used to Irken manners or the lack thereof; "cat-beast" was the least offensive of the names he'd been called. The Irkens insulted him as an inferior being as matter-of-factly as they did any of their own kind of lesser status. Mox didn't think of himself as overly sensitive, but… it got annoying.
He looked up at a Planetary Reconfiguration officer — Kren, Mox thought his name was. "Nothing else in the last two hours, though," Mox said, brushing snow form his knees as he stood. The PR officer flinched, stepping back despite his protective suit .His antennae flared. "Let me see," he snapped, recovering his poise.
Mox held out the sample bag. The Irken grunted, his left eye half-closed. "Doesn't look quite like the stinkbeasts' primitive work," he announced. "You have completed this area?"
Mox nodded. The Irken looked at him. "Your work is adequate," he said at last. "I will mention this to the Invader. Take it to the lab." He cast a glance over his shoulder. "And … uh… take that with you." An antenna pointed off to his left. "I think it's hungry."
"That" was a round, purplish creature with big eyes, a wide smile and tiny antlers; it floated in mid-air like a balloon. As if sensing it was being discussed, the thing bobbed over to them. Its gaze shifted from the PR officer to Mox.
"Squeak!" *Hello.* A pleasant, almost child-like voice echoed in the dusajji's mind. *Cold, isn't it?*
Mox blinked several times. Irkens weren't telepathic…but then, this wasn't an Irken. It didn't look like any species he knew.
"Uh, yeah, it is," Mox said. Curiosity got the better of him. "What are you?"
"Squeak!" *Minimoose. Nice to meet you.*
"Um. Likewise." What in Kesh's name was a minimoose? Some Earth beast? He'd have to ask Feywu. "I'm headed for the lab. Want to come with me?"
"Squeak!" *Sure. I'm hungry. Master probably misses me.*
The lab bustled with activity. Planetary Reconfiguration and Organic Sweep personnel going about their business, lab-coated Irkens at computer terminals. Mox didn't stop to watch, or even let his gaze linger on anyone in particular. Irkens gave new meaning to "paranoia." Most didn't even look up from their work as they passed, though he caught a glance or two in his direction.
The minimoose bobbed along at Mox's side. It squeaked loudly as they approached the Invader in charge of overseeing the retrieval operations. He looked up from his computer console's oversized command chair, antennae twitching in irritation.
"Minimoose! Where have you been? Zim is surrounded by incompetents! Didn't I tell you to keep an eye on — Oh. It's you." The Invader's tirade broke off as he spotted Mox. "Have you finished the pathetically easy task I gave so as not to strain your inferior brain meats?"
"The recovery operation's done for the day," Mox said carefully. Over the last two days, he had learned the best way to deal with Zim was to ignore the bizarrely convoluted insults and just answer the question … if he could figure out what the question was. He held out the evidence bag. "All I found. I don't know if the other teams had better luck."
Zim's red eyes slitted thoughtfully. "I see. Very well. Add it to the rest of the debris. You'll begin the holographic reconstruction momentarily."
"The what?"
Zim smiled; not a pleasant sight. "Once again, cat beast, you demonstrate why we Irkens are the superior race. You're going to compare the schematics of one of your filthy alien ships to the holographic model of the enemy vessel that shot down the FE-47."
Mox rubbed his ear. "That's fine. I can do that. But am I supposed to use your … superior Irken equipment?"
Zim stared at him. "No," he said finally. "No, you are not. And I am too superior to do it for you. GIR! GIR, where are you? I have work for you!"
A robot popped up from behind the computer console, its mechanical face set in a petulant frown. "Awww….but I was watching the Scary Monkey Show!" It held up a small boxy viewscreen; on it, a mangy ape scratched itself.
Mox blinked. He had seen a robot like this once before, when his business associates decided to try 'skimming the boundaries of Irken territory for the first time and had to bribe the local official. As it turned out, they had also had to bribe an Invader on shore leave, thanks to the weaponry of the Invader's SIR unit.
Zim stabbed a button on the viewscreen-box and the image disappeared. "How are you watching that?"
"Through the TV signal thingies! They're everywhere." The SIR unit giggled. "They tickle."
Zim waved his arms in the air. "Enough! GIR, run the holographic imager for this cat-beast, then go through your data tanks of filthy human knowledge for their pathetic air defenses to prove it had to be the cat-beasts' doing!"
"Um… an analysis of the debris should be in there, too," Mox pointed out helpfully.
Zim screeched. "OF COURSE, you pathetic meat-animals! You annoy me with your statements of the obvious, like underwear that is not clean! The analysis is being done as we speak! Meanwhile, I will devise my next ingenious plan to prove Tak for the traitor she truly is. Minimoose! Come with me!" Zim stalked off, the minimoose floating in his wake.
The SIR unit's teal eyes turned deep red and he saluted his master's back. Then he turned on his viewscreen again, cheering as the mangy monkey appeared again.
Mox cleared his throat. "Um. The holographic imager…"
The SIR heaved a sigh. "Oh-kaaay." He frowned at his viewscreen as the picture suddenly changed to the image of a human surrounded by dozens of Irkens. "They're sending that dumb show to the human camps again."
Mox's eyes went wide. That "show" looked a lot like how Feywu had described her Happy Hour with the Tallest. "Why?" he asked.
The SIR unit shrugged. "I dunno." It whooped, frantically punching the computer console's buttons. "Let's make biscuits!"
Over the next hours, Mox pulled together a composite ship from the debris in between fending off the SIR unit's consumption of chocolate bubble gum, baked goods and rolling on the floor. Despite the robot's erratic behavior, the holographs were finished.
The dusajji pilot stretched cramped muscles, then turned back to the computer. The ship was a Compact ship, he was certain of that. Whether it was a Dusajji ship was another question. Non-Compact races adapted Compact technology when they could. The dusajji prided themselves on keeping their secrets: a bone of contention with their fellow Compact member as well as outsiders. Why a dusajji ship would be on Sol III, let alone attacking the Irken Empire would make a complicated situation even worse. He grimaced at the console.
"Um…GIR?"
The little robot ceased fussing with a rubber animal. "You want a burrito?"
"No. I need to know if I can get detailed schematics of Compact ships. Dusajji ships in particular."
Blue-green eyecams blinked. "Oh. Okay!" Dropping his toy, the SIR united pounced in front of the keyboard and began stabbing keys in a random fashion – so far as Mox could tell.
Apparently not that random. Images of Compact spaceships flowed across the screen, with full schematics for many of them. Mox's ears twitched. He shouldn't be surprised; the Compact had sensitive information about the Empire's fleet. Still…. Too many , whispered a voice in Mox's brain. He ignored it. Politics was the Admiral's job, and Feywu's, not his. He shrugged, and went back to playing "match the schematic."
Time passed. Mox's hope that the crashed ship was viyshoon or tsaata – Compact members known for being more lenient about whom they traded their technology to whenever possible – died a painful death.
The ship was dusajji. Modified, like a contraband runner –
The computer clicked. "Material analysis of recovered debris completed," it said.
Mox switched screens. Desumu would have his tail for a tie if he didn't follow procedures.
Chemical formulas marched against the screen in twin rows.
Mox stared at them.
"Computer? Repeat display."
The computer did.
Mox slumped in his chair.
"Cat-beast!"
"Gahh!" Mox spun his chair around. Zim glowered up at him. "Have you reached a conclusion?"
Mox nodded.
"Well?"
Mox swallowed. Careful, careful… . "The ship is dusajji –."
"I knew it! I knew you stinking cat-fur people couldn't be trusted!"
"— with major modifications that are not standard. Most likely, a contraband runner. Not an official Compact or dusajji vessel at all."
The Invader stared at him. "I see," Zim said slowly. "I shall make my report to the Tallest."
"I'll have the diplomatic liaison mention it to them, too," Mox said..
"Yes… you do that," Zim ground out. "You may wait in the lobby for your shuttle to be cleared for takeoff. GIR! Stop that hideous dancing and obey me!"
Mox headed for the lobby, not waiting for a guide. The quicker he got back to the Akinama and filled in Desumu, the better.
Their complicated situation had just been shot into orbit.
#
"I'm certain you can understand my position, Your Excellencies. The Admiral is eager to fulfill the Council's requests, and I'm eager to make sure the Admiral can tell the Council he has." And get him off my back. At least for the moment. Feywu rested her hands on the conference room table, hands clasped, her gaze fixed on the viewscreen. To smile or not to smile? She allowed one corner of her mouth to quirk upward briefly; a self-deprecating, we're-in-this-together gesture that eased the tension in her jaw somewhat.
"I do, Lieutenant. Oh, I do." Purple took a sip of his soda. "However, I'm not sure you understand ours.
"Planetary Reconstruction can't begin until the Organic Sweep is finished, and the Organic Sweep — reassessment, really — can't be finished until the indigenous species is pacified. While progress is being made, that hasn't happened yet." The Tallest looked at her squarely. "The Irken Empire will keep our side of the agreement, Lieutenant. Never doubt that." Another sip of his soda. "You'll just have to wait a little longer, okay?"
Feywu forced an understanding smile to curve her lips. "Okay, Your Excellency."
"We do have news about those things you asked for."
"Oh?"
"They were destroyed," Red put in cheerily. "Sorry about that!"
I'm sure you are. Feywu kept her expression neutral. "I see."
"Sure you do." Red took a small puppet of himself from some pocket of his robe and balanced it on his claws. "Anything else you'd like to ask for?"
"Well, Your Excellency, yes." Feywu wished she had a glass of water. Unfortunately, eating or drinking — any indication you weren't giving the Almighty Tallest one's complete attention — was viewed as an insult and a breach of etiquette. "The Magna Carta. Mona Lisa. Michaelangelo's David."
Red's puppet was punching the keys on an electronic note pad. "The Blarney Stone. King Tutenkhamen's treasure. The Watergate tapes. The Wailing Wall —" Feywu's mouth snapped shut. The Middle East didn't exist anymore. No Wailing Wall, no Calvary, no ka'aba. "The Terre Cotta army —."
"The what?" Purple looked both confused and interested.
"An army made of clay."
"What good would that do?"
"To serve the emperor in the afterlife, Your Excellency."
"Huh. Weird."
"But as I was saying …. One of the heads from Easter Island. . The last A&W root beer stand. Faberge eggs. A Frank Lloyd Wright house. Marilyn Monroe's dress from Some Like It Hot. Elvis' first gold record —"
"Hold it!" Red threw his claws up, his puppet-self waving its arms frantically. "How much more do you want?"
"Quite a bit, Your Excellency."
His red eyes narrowed slightly. "We're busy conquering Earth, Lieutenant. We don't have time to take notes for your treasure hunt."
"It's not merely a 'treasure hunt', Your Excellency. I haven't even approached the matter of the flora, fauna, and geological specimens requested by various Compact members."
"You mean there's more? How are we supposed to examine all this?" Purple asked plaintively. "Even if we spare the personnel, that's a lot of stuff!"
"We can't keep track of all this!" Tallest Red's puppet curled in on itself. "You want these things, you keep track of them."
"I already have, Your Excellencies. I've been compiling a database of requests as they come in."
"You have, have you." Red leaned forward in his chair. "Then we want it. To review at our leisure."
"I'd be more than happy to give it to you. But there's the problem of file transfers and compatibility. The Compact recently upgraded to the nriu's latest hardware and software. I doubt it could integrate with your own system. I'm afraid I'd have to hand the database to you piecemeal."
"That is not acceptable, Lieutenant. We want the whole database, and we want it now." Red paused. "Or pretty quick. The nriu upgrade will have to be part of our … bargain."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Purple swiveled around to stare at his co-ruler. "And let them infiltrate the Massive computer system with their spyware?"
"It won't be in the Massive's system, Purple. We'll have it installed in a service-bot or something. That'll work fine." Red grinned at Feywu. "Won't it, Lieutenant?"
The fur on her neck ruffled. "It's a splendid solution, Your Excellency."
"Good," Red said smugly. "I guess we're done here."
"Not quite," Feywu broke in. "Arrangements need to be made for the nriu to install the database —"
Royal jaws dropped simultaneously. Purple's soda slipped from his claws and splattered to the ground. "What ?"
"No, no, no!" Purple's antennae flared back. "Those — bugs — are not coming onto the Massive!"
"Or setting their inferior clawed feet on our planetary bases." Red's eyes seemed to glow with anger. "No, Lieutenant. You will have to install it."
"Your Excellency, I don't know anything —"
The Irken waved a claw dismissively. "The Admiral, then, or your pilot. We'll give you two days to work out the details with the – with them. We'll have our service-bot ready by then." His eyes shuttered in the way Feywu believed to indicate deep thought – or at least what passed for deep thought in the Tallest. "I already have one in mind."
"What about personnel to go through the database itself?"
"Oh, we'll find someone," Purple said, looking down at where his soda had dropped. Red had ripped open a bag of Irken snacks and was busy gobbling them. "Don't you worry about it."
Red swallowed and wiped his mouth on his glove. "One last thing, Lieutenant, that this little talk reminded me of. The nriu's transmission snooping —"
"Scooping."
"—snooping is bad enough, but they're sending them to … wherever they send them whenever they want! It's gotten so bad they're interfering with some inter-ship communications. The Irken Empire won't stand for it, Lieutenant. Make them stop."
No one, not even the Compact, could stop the nriu from data-gathering. Negotiate, work around, yes. Stop, no. The Tallest wouldn't hear that, of course. "I apologize on behalf of the Compact, Your Excellency. I'll talk to them ."
Red nodded once. "Good."
The transmission screen went blank.
Feywu slumped in her chair. This…had not been a good meeting. No progress on the Council's requests, and now this business with the nriu. Desumu might know how to approach the nriu; she didn't. Why should she? She'd been chosen as envoy for her knowledge of Earth, after all.
And no word about the human. Remembering Tallest's cryptic, humorous comments that night about her suffering still churned Feywu's gut with guilt and anger. Powerless to prevent or alleviate the woman's suffering, Feywu had been turned into an accomplice by her presence.
The liaison closed her eyes. Detach. Stay distant. Her field professor's advice. Feywu tried, but hadn't … quite… managed back then.
And now?
Self-analysis isn't always good for the soul.
"I wish I could shove this off on you, Desumu," she muttered as she rose to her feet and left the conference room. "I've got enough on my plate."
The shuttle-approach light was blinking when she returned to the bridge. "Have a seat, Lieutenant," Desumu said, not looking up from the com. "I'll have your debriefing right after dhus Saarvi."
Feywu claimed her usual spot at the secondary computer terminal. Minutes later, Mox walked onto the bridge, fur still slightly ruffled from the decontamination procedure and tucking in his uniform. "Admiral," he began without preamble, "it's not good." He shot Feywu a furtive look that made her ears flatten.
"Something wrong, Mox?"
"Enough, you two." Desumu gestured Mox to a chair. "Say your piece, Warrant Officer. As short as possible for now. You can fill in the details later."
"The ship that attacked the Irken fight is dusajji. A modified model. But we didn't build it."
Desumu's ear twitched, once. "Explain."
"The computer did a chemical analysis of the debris – there's traces of ceramics, heat-resistant ceramics. We haven't used those in centuries. I can't think of a space-going species that has."
"I see." Desumu's face was expressionless. " Lieutenant, were the natives of Sol III capable of building a starcraft?"
"They had shuttles to their manned space station, and unmanned exploration probes."
"But could they have adapted Compact technology?"
"It's possible," Feywu said slowly. "There were always rumors and conspiracy theories about the governments hiding alien space craft in out-of-the-way military bases. Admiral, if the humans did shoot down the FE-47, the Empire needs to know."
"They wouldn't believe us, Lieutenant. There's no sense in telling."
Feywu's brows dipped in a frown. Their way out of a diplomatic crisis, with hard physical proof, no less — and Desumu was ignoring it? "Admiral, I must object."
"Your report, Lieutenant."
"But we can prove the Compact wasn't involved."
"Your report."
Feywu straightened in her chair, keeping her ears upright by sheer force of will. In clipped, even tones she detailed her meeting with the Tallest, from their unhappiness with the nriu to their insistence on a Mox-installed database. "I had to agree to everything, of course."
"Mm. Of course. Dhus Saarvi, are you familiar with the nriu database technology?"
"Um. A little."
"Good. I'll have the nriu send over their latest software and hardware upgrades. You've got two days, dhus Saarvi. Study hard."
"Sir," Feywu said, "shouldn't I be talking to the nriu? At least at first? To make it look…official?"
"I'll handle it, Lieutenant, and the Tallest's concerns. I'm sure you want to rest after your conference. Dismissed." He turned to the console.
Feywu stared at his back. Equipment requests between the Akinama, the nriu and the other ships hovering in-system had been her purview since becoming liaison. Like many top brass, Desumu hated dealing with "piddly work." Why was he breaking procedure now?
She tried to catch Mox's eye. He wouldn't look at her.
Feywu pivoted on her heel and left the bridge, Desumu's order to Mox to open a connection to the nriu ringing in her ears.
Back in her quarters, she lay on her bunk with the lights out, gazing at the shifting constellations of the Dusajji night sky projected on the ceiling. She hadn't wanted her rank or position as diplomatic liaison. She still didn't.
Didn't mean she wanted to fail.
Did Desumu want her to?
But why? There was too much at risk here; they couldn't afford to fail. Why the game-playing? Was she being set up to take a fall?
No. Ridiculous. Events were too serious, too critical. Desumu wasn't setting her up as a patsy He was just…being an ass. Going for the glory and credit, such as it was. Professional military did it all the time. Or trying to prove he didn't really need her, that she was simply a necessary evil.
She stared at the tiny constellations for hours, until she finally drifted off to sleep.
#
"This plan of yours, Red – I don't like it." Purple scowled at his co-Tallest over the their shared bowl of novelty nachos. He spun one absently between his claw-like fingers, ignoring the odd red-brown sugar – cinnamon, according to Tak – clinging to his skin.
"Relax, already." Red turned from the observation deck's display window. Behind him three squads of Spittle Fighters practiced maneuvers. Maneuvers Purple desperately hoped wouldn't be sent out of control by interference from the nriu's transmission collection. Like the last session had. "Everything will be fine."
"Fine? Red, that SIR unit's dangerously insane."
Red smirked. "It's not stupid, it's advanced!"
"Don't throw my words back at me." Purple crushed the cinnamon nacho and brushed away the crumbs. A Housekeeping drone scurried from a corner to clean it up. "How can we control it, let alone make it compatible with the honorable lieutenant's database? It would give away state secrets in exchange for a cupcake!"
"That's what I've been working on." Red held up his electronic notepad. "I looked up the standard SIR unit hardware and software, and made some changes. We need it, you know – it has all that human data it downloaded awhile back into its databanks. We'll have our own independent fact-checking source. Anyway. I added new stuff, deleted some of the more dangerous functions….:"
"Did you remove the free will modulator?"
"Yup. Gone as yesterday's lunch." Red grinned. "All we have to do is send the changes down to Zim!"
Purple, who had been contemplating dipping a cinnamon nacho into the cheese sauce supplied for the plain ones, stopped in mid-reach. "Zim? We're letting Zim handle this? For the love of Spork, what were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that all Zim would have to do is watch, and monitor for any tricks on Desumu's part," Red ground out.
"Oh, yes. Just watch," Purple said sarcastically. "Like he 'just watched' the launch of Operation Impending Doom I?" He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the chaos and destruction the impossibly short Irken had unleashed.
Red shrugged. "It was either that, or listen to him beg for three hours. It's his SIR unit, Purple. Imagine the fit he'd throw if we gave the job to somebody else. He'd come up with one of his idiotic 'amazing plans' to 'improve' things and end up destroying the base, most likely. In any case, he'll be supervising, Purple, from a good distance away. A tech will do the actual work."
Purple made a face. "I still don't like it. What if something goes wrong? What if the cat-beasts have a way to…I dunno, reverse engineer our technology somehow?"
Red opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by the communications officer.
"Incoming transmission from the nriu newspod!"
The Tallest cringed. "What do they want?" Purple whined.
"How am I supposed to know?" Red snapped. "Put them through, soldier."
"Yes, sir!"
The viewscreen cleared, went black, and then filled with the transmission. Purple steeled himself against flinching; the Tallest didn't flinch at the sight of anything, especially not …
Red hissed beneath his breath. "They're so disgusting!" he muttered.
"Uh-huh," Purple murmured back. A few days ago while going through some old reports on Earth Zim had sent to them before the invasion. He'd screamed and leaped halfway up to the ceiling upon coming across what appeared to be a miniature nriu. A hasty confrontation with his slave-pet revealed the miniature nriu was in fact an Earth insect. The nriu resembled nothing so much as four-foot-tall versions of these "preying mantises." Purple had had nightmares for two nights running. He'd punished Quin by making her polish Red's laser collection. Under Red's supervision. At least he'd left no bruises on her face.
"Greetings, Your Excellencies, from Newspod 761!"
The Tallest gaped. "Tak?" Red asked, confused. "Is this some kind of trick?"
"No, Your Excellencies," the nriu replied. "We seek to set you at ease using the speech of a well-known member of your species." It paused, then continued in an all-too-well-known voice. "Perhaps you would prefer the most amazing Zim?"
"No." Red pulled his antennae down. "Not Zim!"
"Just…use your regular voice." Purple covered his eyes. "Please. That'd be … really neat."
"As Your Excellencies wish." The nriu spoke now in its standard, musical, female-sounding tones. Purple slumped in relief, and then straightened.
"Well? What do you want?"
"We wish to tender out apologies for the trouble our data-gathering and transferring has caused you. As Headmouth of Newspod 761, I feel most distressed in having done so."
"You do, do you?" Purple folded his arms. "What if we don't want your apology?"
The nriu blinked its multifaceted eyes. "I offer them regardless. You are free to accept or not, as suits you."
"Fine, Purple said. "We don't accept."
Red grabbed his shoulder. "Hang on, Purple. It's not that your apology isn't welcome," he went on, "but —"
"Yes?" the Headmouth prompted.
"We need compensation," Purple finished. Typical of their revolting species, to think empty courtesies made up for everything.
The Headmouth tilted its head – or his, or hers, Purple could never differentiate between genders in the nriu, as they all used that annoying voice . "That we will henceforth only transmit a day's worth of data from 2400 hours to 0100 hours does not apply?"
"Oh, it helps." Purple smirked. "It's just not enough."
"What else is required?"
"More of your …communication … stuff."
"A favor."
"A favor?" Red echoed.
"A favor," Purple repeated firmly. "Of our own choosing, when we need it. No questions asked." He leaned toward the viewscreen, eyes half-lidded. "An no telling anyone else. Especially Desumu."
The nriu drew up its arm-claws to its chest. "This is most unorthodox," it replied.
"We don't care," Purple snapped. "That's the only restitution we'll accept. Otherwise we'll have to take…measures."
"Such actions will jeopardize the spirit of cooperation and understanding the Irken Empire has with Compact regarding Sol III."
"Oh, we wouldn't necessarily do anything here," Red said, idly examining his claws . "The Empire's got a big reach, after all."
Nriu and Irkens stared at each other.
"Very well," the Headmouth said after a long moment. Purple bit back a grin; the synthesized voice didn't sound quite so content. "We agree to your terms." It bowed, like water spilling from a bowl – not a natural movement for such a stick-like body. " Good evening, Your Excellencies."
The viewscreen went black.
"That was rude," Red said. "W e should have dropped contact first."
"Let it go, Red. We came out ahead."
The crimson-eyed Tallest swiveled his chair to face his co-ruler. "We did, huh? With a favor? What good will that do us?"
"Right now, none. In the future, maybe quite a bit." Purple scooped up a handful of the cinnamon nachos into his mouth, crunching noisily. They weren't so bad, he decided. He swallowed.
"Consider it a trick up our sleeve. Pass the soda, will you?"
#
The bridge was oddly quiet without two-thirds of Bubastis' crew. No click of keyboards, no audio-responses from the computer, no gentle hum of the coffee maker. No squabbling chatter from Mox, or terse replies from Feywu. Essentially deserted, the ship's center of command felt like a different place altogether.
Desumu switched on the comm's sub-vocal setting. He'd chosen this time deliberately; all the officers took a turn at night watch. In practice, most of them had been split between his lieutenant and his warrant officer.
Making up for lost time, Desumu thought with some amusement. Dhus Atkir doubtless had her suspicions about his motives. She was welcome to them, as long as she didn't try to force those suspicions into fact.
He ordered the computer to open the frequency Mox had discovered the call for help; the "SOS" as Feywu called it. Apparently someone on Earth wasn't in the Irken detainment camps. Assuming that someone was involved with the modified dusajji ship was a madman's gamble….but sometimes, that was all you had.
He sent out the human's SOS and the dusajji hailing message. The go-ahead light on the comm. flashed green; a receiver found. Desumu cued his headset.
"Kip. Kip, wake up! That damn radio's making noise!"
He was going to bitch-slap whoever was doing this. Kip opened his eyes, half-sitting up. "What the shit?" he mumbled. Fred. Fred had woken him out of a sound sleep at – he glanced at his alarm clock – 0013 hours.
"The shortwave! We're getting something from it!" Fred sounded – excited? Scared? Maybe both. "Walker wants everyone in the mess, now!"
Minutes later Kip raced into the mess hall, Fred a half-step behind him. No one seemed to notice as they joined the crowd. Even Walker only flicked a glance in their direction as if checking off a mental roll-call before focusing his attention back on the shortwave.
It sat enshrined on the middle-most table, where Kip had set it down. No one had believed him at first – no one wanted to believe him, until more of those unknown codes burst forth from the speakers. After that, a watch was kept around the clock by Walker's orders. Other than that, it wasn't discussed, the proverbial elephant in the living room. No one wanted to jinx the desperate, foolhardy hope by talking about it.
"Set it on loudspeaker," Walker said to Roth, picking up the mike.
Nothing. Not even static
"Salutations from the Dusajji Compact to the defenders of Sol III."
No one moved. No one seemed to breathe. The words were English, impeccable and precise, but the voice made the hair on his neck stand up.
"It's a trick!" someone blurted out. "A trick by the greenies!"
"No trick," said the voice. "The Dusajji Compact and Sol III have a common enemy in the Irken Empire ."
"You did nothing to stop them," Walker said.
"We did not arrive in time to stop them. We did not expect them to be here at all. They should not have been in your solar system at all. There is a way to drive them from your homeworld. It will not restore your planet or bring back your dead, but you won't be fodder for the Irken Empire."
"Why should we believe you?"
"What do you have to lose? Can you repel them on your own? Think of your own saying – 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.'
"If further proof of goodwill is needed, we're willing to assist in the completion of the second ship." There was a pause, then the not-quite-human voice continued in what sounded like dry humor, "You did build a second ship, didn't you?"
There was panicky laughter at that. "Quiet!" Walker glared over his shoulder.
"Keep talking," he said, focusing again on the shortwave. "We're listening."
#
The nriu had never been a subject of interest to Mox. Up until the mission to Sol III his contact with them had been limited to ship-to-ship communications and seeing the random nriu on a space station dock, his opinion a vague amusement at their speech patterns and their ever-polite behavior, and the automatic assumption that nriu didn't think like anyone else.
In the last few hours, his opinion had changed drastically. The nriu didn't think like anyone sane.
Power sources so miniscule he could cradle four in his palm. Data-retention and transmission-receiving centers half their size, all of it somehow woven into a lacy web of micro-fine optic fibers – at least, Mox thought they were optic fiber – that he lost sight of if he moved wrong or the light from the Irken service-drone shifted. The whole thing reminded him of the neural systems he'd studied at the Academy….
Mox swallowed, dropping his end of the web. He swore and scrambled after it. "Reattachment necessary," the service-drone informed him.
"Yeah, I know," Mox muttered. Kesh, why did these realizations strike him at the worst possible times?
He was installing a neural system – of a sort. Not all his business associates dealt in pharmaceuticals. Illicit tech had been just as popular. Before the Compact Defense Force offered him a career move he couldn't refuse, Mox had heard rumors of something the nriu had cooked up called a chameleon program. In theory, it allowed pre-programmed nanobots to blend in with existing hardware and subvert the existing program, leaving enough of the original code intact to avoid detection.
Mox hadn't believed the rumors. Tech like that just didn't exist. Couldn't exist.
But that had been before he had to install one blind….
"Cat-beast! What is that – that – doily doing there?!"
Mox glanced up from the body of the SIR unit to the SIR unit's master. Zim stood in what he called an "observer's circle"; the Invader had gone on at great lengths about the Tallest depending on him to oversee the installment of the nriu's database system. Mox privately though the Tallest wanted Zim out of the way, probably for good reason. The Invader wasn't entirely happy about losing his SIR unit, but he wasn't about to pass up a chance to suck up to his leaders.
"It's not a doily," Mox said. An apt comparison, though. Half the time he felt like he was sewing, not installing hardware. "It's the last connection matrix."
Zim blinked. "Oh. Okay. Carry on, then." He leaned forward threateningly, careful not to cross the circle's boundaries. "And no tricks! You are under the inscrutable, all-seeing, all-knowing, never-blinking eye of Zim!"
Mox's ears twitched. As if he could forget.
he service-drone sent from the Massive to assist him beeped. Mox bent down, trying to focus on the job. "Hold that loop clear," Mox told the service-drone. "Just need to fit this in…"
"You cleaned up after yourself, cat-person," Zim said, as the service-drone carried away the modified SIR unit. "Very good. The stinkbeasts were always so…messy."
Mox grunted noncommittally. Zim looked him up and down. "You may go," he said, sounding bored. "Your part in this is appreciated by the Irken Empire, and I'm sure by your own pathetic stink-people as well."
Mox trudged back to the shuttle, unable to shake the feeling of impending disaster. He tried to tell himself it was a normal reaction to being in the Irken base; enemy territory, essentially, all talk of treaties aside. Once back on the Bubastis, he'd be fine.
It didn't work.
After initial contact had been made with the nriu, Desumu had relayed the Tallests' request in the too-small captain's office. Something he hadn't done before or since.
Where neither Mox nor Feywu could hear.
Mox suppressed a shudder. What the chameleon's purpose was, he didn't know and didn't want to know.
He just hoped Desumu knew what he was doing.
#
"Quin,we have something to show you."
Quin slewed around on her knees, Red's left boot and a polish rag in her hands. The Tallest hovered just inside the conference room door. She started to rise.
"No, don't stand up," Red said. "That's an appropriate position for a slave."
"You're not being punished," Purple said soothingly. "It's something to help you in your new duties."
Quin looked at him blankly. "My new duties?"
Purple tsked. "Identifying artifacts from your inferior civilization and giving us an analysis, silly!"
"Oh." She'd all but forgotten about that. The Tallest had set her to relatively easy if boring and pointless tasks since her time in the World of Pain.
The Tallest moved next to her. "Bring it in," Purple said.
The door opened. Four guards marched in. Quin realized uneasily they were in the same formation they used to escort her around the Massive : two in front, two in back. But who were they guarding? Another slave?
Red gestured the guards to one side. "Quin, meet your new assistant, GIR."
A little robot – it barely reached her knees – stood in the midst of the guards, who had their hands on their lasers. It was mostly white in color with a green panel on its chest, and green shoulder pads and wrist cuffs. A single antenna crowned its bucket-shaped head. Green camera lens-like eyes and mitten-hands gave it a childlike appearance. It looked at the Tallest, then at Quin. It smiled and waved. "Hi!"
Quin stared.
She'd seen robots before, now and then, boxy things on wheels that attended to the functions of the spaceship itself. They didn't look anything like this.
Red poked her in the ribs. "Say hi, Quin."
"Hi," Quin said.
The little robot's smile grew wider. "We're going to work together!"
"We are?"
"Yes, we told you that already," Purple said, exasperated. "Weren't you paying attention? Honestly, Quin, I think the World of Pain rattled your mind." He frowned, then shook his head. "That's neither here nor there at the moment. GIR, what is your mission?"
GIR's eyes flashed red and it stood at attention. "Retrieve the Compact requests stored in the Massive's computer to the Quin-slave's terminal, upload the completed commentary for review, signal its readiness to the disgusting cat-beasts, yay!" GIR saluted smartly, its eyes reverting to their normal blue-green color.
Quin glanced at Purple. The Tallest's mouth turned up in a smile. "Very good." He set his hand on Quin's shoulder, nudging her forward. "We need to return to your nest, Quin."
Once in the main room of her "nest", Purple ordered the computer to open the secondary terminal. A panel slid back in the left wall, revealing a large monitor and what looked like a standard computer keyboard. Purple peered down at the setup, gesturing Quin over. "Computer, lock security clearance at Zim-level for the Quin-human."
"Sub-Zim, Purple," Red said.
"Red, she can't be Sub-Zim. She'll need a spell-checker."
"Oh, all right."
"Now, Quin." Purple turned to her. "You'll go over the lists of … artifacts the Dusajji send after GIR gets them off the main computer. We expect a fully detailed explanation, Quin, including what military capability they have. When our discussion is complete, GIR will upload the file again and let the Dusajji know it's on the way." The Tallest paused, eyeing her. "You'll have no access to anything else in the Massive's system, not that you could do anything if you did. Is that clear?"
Quin nodded.
"Very good. GIR, connect to the main database just to make sure everything's working."
The robot's chest swung open; a cable shot out and plugged into a socket on the terminal. Lines of numbers and strange letters Quin couldn't recognize flowed across the screen.
The Tallest hovered to the door. "We'll leave you to two to get acquainted," Red said. "Any questions?"
"Who are the Dusajji?" Quin asked.
"No one you need to worry about," Purple told her.
Well, she had tried. "What do I do with GIR when it's done?"
Purple laughed. "You could put him in your closet. He's staying with you, Quin. Have a good evening." He waved and left, Red following.
"Do you have any bubble gum?" GIR asked hopefully.
For Quin, the next few hours passed in a quiet surrealism. GIR remained plugged into the terminal, occasionally spouting off what sounded like code, or random comments. Quin sat in her chair, watching. She had linen napkins for the Tallest to hem, and guards had brought her Red's boots to finish polishing, as well as three more pairs. She should go to the sewing room and work there. She knew that.
She didn't.
She stayed in her chair in the main room and watched GIR. After finishing Red's boots, she brought her napkins and sewing kit from the sewing room and worked on them while she watched GIR.
After uncountable days without seeing or talking to anyone, the presence of a physical being in the same room disturbed and fascinated her. She didn't know what she was going to do with the robot. She didn't want it in her bedroom while she slept. Put it in the closet, maybe, like Purple said?
It didn't act like the other robots, even the one that had suddenly malfunctioned while changing a light fixture in the lounge. They were simply machines, fulfilling their programming. They didn't have personalities. GIR was… different. At one point, GIR sighed heavily, said "I'm boooorrred," and stood on his head.
It, she reminded herself. Robots didn't have genders, and giving GIR one was a bad sign. Whatever the Tallest said they hoped to accomplish by giving her GIR, it wasn't for her good.
At last the napkins were done. Quin rose, stretching. She felt like she'd stayed up considerably later than usual. Perhaps she had. It was hard to tell, without a clock…. She glanced at the monitor. Small blocky numbers blinked in the lower right-hand side: 00:37.
"Twelve-thirty-seven," Quin said. "And a clock, a clock –"
"To Veronica Quin, human slave of the Tallest, greetings from Admiral Desumu of the Dusajji Compact."
Quin froze.
Not GIR's voice. Not Tallest Red. Not anyone she had heard before. The diction, the pronunciation was perfect, impeccable. But the voice wasn't human. The Tallest sounded more human. It made Quin want to hide under the bed.
"Who are you? Where are you?" The computer – the voice was coming from the computer. GIR was just standing there, expectantly.
"Admiral Desumu of the Dusajji Warship Akinama, currently acting captain of the Dusajji science vessel Bubastis, in your solar system, Sol III."
"You're a trick." Quin took a shuddering breath. This couldn't be real. "A trap."
"Not a trick," the voice countered, "and a trap only for the Irken Empire." There was a pause. "My time is limited. I will explain as best I can, if you allow me."
It had to be a trap. Or it might be a game Red and Purple cooked up. Would she be punished for not playing along? "Go on."
"The Dusajji Compact and the Irken Empire are…at odds. Your world has become the current skirmish, as it was intended to be a Dusajji protectorate – "
Quin snorted.
"We did not expect to find the Irken Empire here; there was no reason for them to be. Had we known they had Invaders stationed on your world, we would have taken measures to stop the Invasion. "
"So now what?" Quin folded her arms. She wasn't convinced this wasn't a setup. She should run into her bedroom, contact the Tallest –
The Tallest. "Why aren't the guards pounding down the door?
"We managed to subvert the SIR unit's programming with our own when it was adapted for its new duties. It's running a continuous loop audio-video loop, made from the last moments before I began to speak with you. Any observers or recording instruments will see and hear you sleeping, and the SIR unit scanning the system."
"I see." It didn't quite make sense, but why should that worry her now? Nothing had made sense from the day of the invasion. "When are you nuking the shit out of the Irkens? Why are you contacting me?"
"We're not. We can't be that obvious. Rather than take on the Irken Army directly, we want to strike at its flagship: the Massive .
"We need your help. Get us the Massive's schematics, and its escort ships' flight patterns. Every ship, no matter how huge or powerful, has its weak point. With this information, you can avenge the destruction of your world."
Destroy the Massive….but…
"What about me?"
"We have no way to save you," Desumu said after a moment. "Out of necessity, this is a suicide mission ." Abruptly he hissed a word, something that sounded vaguely obscene. " I need an answer. Accept, and I will contact you at this time again periodically, in this manner. Refuse, and the reprogramming we did to the SIR will self-erase. And your world will belong to the Irkens."
"You can't ask me that," Quin cried out. "Damn you, it's not fair. It's not fair!"
Silence.
Quin buried her face in her hands. It wasn't fair. She wasn't brave. She wasn't heroic. She never had been; she knew that now. She wanted to live. She had been enslaved, humiliated and tortured, and she still wanted to live.
Rage, sharp and clear and whitehot, overwhelmed her. She hated the Tallest – loathed them – for tearing away that façade of her self-image and destroying it utterly. Nothing she did could repair it, let alone make it a reality. Rebellion was pointless. The Tallest would win, would always win.
It's not that bad , whispered a small, craven part of her soul. If she did what she was told, she wasn't hurt anymore. At least, not often. Purple treated her like a pampered pet. She may be completely and utterly alone, but she wasn't in the detainment camps. Did the camps still exist? She thought she'd overheard the Tallest discussing them once, but she couldn't be sure. Did it matter? Her friends were dead, her family was dead, everyone was dead… Or were they? The Irkens wouldn't have killed everyone --
"Are there others?" she asked in a raspy, broken voice. "Other people still alive?"
"Yes."
"Prove it," Quin shot back. "Show me."
The computer screen flickered, then filled with people.
Humans, not aliens. Hundreds of them, thousands, crowded into a place all-too-familiar for Quin. Force-field barricades. Shoddy rain shelters. Irken guards patrolling on floating discs. Blank faces looking without seeing.
Quin hugged herself, rocking on her heels. "Where – when –"
"At this moment, and on your home continent. I need an answer. My time is all but up."
Quin took a ragged breath and stared at the ceiling as she gave him her answer – the only answer she could give.
"Deal."