Chapter 8: Isolate and Contain

Zim lay slouched in the corner, panting heavily. His face was covered in bruises, and the top of his head was still burning from the wretched humans backhanded use of water. How he hated water. The more Zim thought about how he hated water, the more he hated Earth, and the more he hated Earth, the more he hated Dib. The stupid human would pay.

Dib lay slouched in the corner, panting heavily. His face was covered in bruises, His glasses were broken, and his ribs still ached from that dumb alien and his dumb. grabby. spider. thingies. If Dib hadn't been able to wriggle his right hand free to use the squirt gun, that stupid alien would have crushed him. Dib hated that alien. No wonder the rebels wanted him dead. For the first time since his incarceration, Dib analyzed the situation, and a strange notion cropped into his head.

If the rebels are fighting against the Irken Empire, then maybe they're potential allies. After all, an enemy of my enemy is a friend of mine.

 Dib wasn't sure how the balance of power stood between the Empire and these Rebels, but he was pretty anxious for all the allies he could get.

 On the other hand, what if the Rebels are disposing of Zim so they can conquer Earth. I'd be trading off an evil I know for an evil I don't, and that's never a good idea.

Dib's mind raced, searching a number of possible scenarios.

Maybe the rebels are fighting because they're tired of conquering planets and enslaving the native inhabitants. Maybe the rebels are on my side. Maybe they're the good guys, fighting against a seemingly insurmountable Evil simply because it's the right thing to do.

 Dib stopped himself. Could Irkens feel like that? Could they even feel at all? Dib reflected that all he knew about Irkens came from studying Zim. For the first time, Dib toyed with the notion that maybe, just maybe, Zim wasn't the best representative of his race. Maybe Earth was to Irkens like France or Yugoslavia was to the United States all those centuries ago. Maybe the Irken leaders promoted invading Earth while the majority of their population strongly objected.

Strongly enough for armed rebellion? Were these Irkens.

Dib stopped at the thought, taking a few moments to work through the shock of his own words.

Fighting to save Earth?

At the same time, a half-dozen armed Irkens stood outside the cafeteria doors, double-checking their equipment and system readouts while the commander went over the operational parameters.

"Power to the cafeteria went down about twelve minutes ago, and we haven't been able to contact anyone inside since. More then likely it's the work of EX-04, and if it is, he's probably still in there. We are to capture him. Understand? Riot Prods and Net-Guns only. No blaster fire. Got that, you stench-mongers?"

Most of the team looked up from their weapons to nod ascent.

"Good. Let's get this party started."

The soldiers shuffled backwards, raising their weapons as they formed a semi-circle around the door. The commander signaled to one of the privates, who slid out of the formation and punched a large green button near the entrance. With an ominous hiss, the doors opened, the containment squad filed in, and the doors slid shut behind them.

For the last time.

"Captain! We've lost contact with the containment team!"

The technical officer's shouts brought Jarka swooping down over the control panel, eyes glaring over the various screens and menus.

"Seal the area off. Now."

The officer scrambled to lockdown the cafeteria. Once the procedures were complete, the cafeteria would be effectively quarantined from the rest of the ship. The doors were automatically locked, bolted, and fused shut. The interior was hermetically sealed by six different disinfectants and a layer of progressively stronger containment shields sprung into existence around the interior wall. It took approximately 2.3 seconds to turn the room from a cafeteria into an impregnable fortress, secure from both the outside and within.

"Lockdown complete, sir."

"We can keep him in there until we get back to Irk. Assuming he hasn't already gotten out, of course. Better put the ship on yellow alert." Jarka sighed, slumping back into his chair.

"I'd better receive one hell of an advancement for this."

Jarka tilted his head up.

"Check in with the salvage team. Tell them I want to leave here as quickly as possible."

As soon as we dock Jarka thought to himself. I'm evacuating the Majestic and nobody is getting back on until the Tallest send someone to get that.  thing. out.

"I can't, Sir."

Jarka looked up.

"What?"

"I can't contact the salvage team. They're not responding."

"I should have guessed."

------------------------------------------------------------------

Actually, at that moment, the commander-in-chief of the team sent to salvage Zim's base, was not dead, but merely praying for a swift and merciful demise.

"GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! GETITOFFOFMEEE!"

"Awww.. You're my beeeeeeest friend!"

The Security Chief slammed into another wall as he careened madly about the room, trying desperately to separate himself from the Invader's death droid intent on crushing his skull.

"STOP! GET OFF! GET OFF! GET OFF!"

GIR, of course, heard none of this, being far to overwhelmed with the joy of having such a wonderful new friend. Two security guards, who had been overseeing the salvage operation, came running to their boss's aid.

"Quick! Help! Get it Off!"

"And we'll eat ice-cream, and go for walks."

The two guards looked at each other, confused.

"And we'll go on horsey rides, and watch TV, and eat tacos."

GIR let out a loud squeal of glee at the thought of tacos, and proceeded to hug his new friend even harder.

------------------------------------------------------------------

                        "Hold on, Captain. I'm getting something."

            The technical officer tapped several buttons, selecting the tone and frequency best suited to intercept the jumbled transmission. The video feed was pure static, but audio could still be heard in between the crackle.

            "Condition Cri..cal. Cor..ed SIR has br.. security. Cannot ho..f long. Please send reinfor.ents. Repeat, reinfo... needed at co~"

             The transmission was cut short by a high-pitched scream from the other line, followed by what Jarka thought sounded suspiciously like insanely joyous giggles. The technician turned around as the screen changed to an Irken Military Insignia with the words "Transmission Interrupted" blinking beneath it. He stared at Jarka expectantly, waiting for an order.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

            Larz shut the maintenance hatch as he finished his final adjustments on the power-generator. Most of the other engineers had gone to the surface to help with. a salvage mission or something. Typical. Run off to have some fun adventure while leaving poor old Larz behind to do their dirty work. As he began to run the diagnostic program, Larz heard the footsteps echoing down the hall behind him. The dim lighting of the generator room, the rumors he had heard about escaped prisoners killing crew on the upper levels, and the fact that he was completely alone, all combined to create a very un-Irken like moment of panic, during which Larz committed an act that would have gotten him laughed out of Irken Empire. 

He screamed.

He screamed a high-pitched, girly scream while throwing his hands over his head and diving to the floor.

--------------------------------------------------------------

            The death of Crewman #178, otherwise known as "Engineer Larz", was not the first, nor would it be the last death onboard the Majestic, but it was significant in that it marked the beginning of the cascading, downward spiral of events that would later become referred to only as "The Incident."

            "Sir, I've lost contact with an engineer working on the power core. Terminal Lifesigns."

            Jarka leapt from his seat, landing smoothly next to the Technical Officer.

            "Why? What's going on?"

            "I don't know. No weapons fire. An accident?"

            "I hope. Is anyone else there?"

            The officer's hands grazed lightly over the touch pad, bringing up live footage from the security camera monitoring the power core. The gray-scale footage showed the back of an Irken standing next to the core, messing with various buttons and levers. Jarka leaned in closer to the screen.

            "What the Hell is."

            As he spoke, the room jolted into a pitch black and the computer's female voice droned on about a ship wide power failure. Jarka's narrow red eyes were visible next to the wide green of the chief technical officer's.

            "Crapsticks."