Chapter 11
"But Daaa-aaaad!!"
"No buts, son. Who'll take care of those children if their mother is being dissected? Would you be prepared to take on that responsibility?"
Dib grimaced. "Are you kidding? I'm fourteen."
"Exactly."
"Well. . .couldn't you take care of them? You could bring them with you to your lab – maybe they could live there. They'll probably need doctors and stuff around anyways. They could be your new big project."
"Son, I'll admit that monitoring their progress will be a remarkable opportunity, but it's not one for which I'm willing to abandon my other projects. I will see them regularly, but it's best if the actual child-rearing was left to their mother, who had both the time and the inclination." The Professor put the finishing touches on the device he'd been working on. "Besides, you know Simmons isn't to be trusted around children."
Dib shuddered. "Good point. But –"
"No more buts." The Professor stepped out of his lab and into the infirmary, where Zim was sitting near the incubator, making adjustments to one of the tiny paks. "You will not turn him in. That is my final word."
Even though the lights were dimmed so as not to irritate the newborns' sensitive eyes, Dib could see the glint of Zim's teeth in a very satisfied grin. He would have given a lot to be able to go over there and wipe it off of him – preferably in some kind of nasty way.
"Well. . .you believe me now, don't you Dad? That I'm not crazy – that there are aliens."
The Professor handed the small device to Zim, then turned and put his hands on his hips.
"Yes, indeed. You've done a fine job of finding extraterrestrial life on earth, son. However, the events of this past month have given me cause to have even less faith in your sanity than I had previously. In fact, I plan to arrange for you to have access to a very good, very discreet psychiatrist starting this school year."
"Guh. . ." Dib stared in despair, his jaw and arms slack.
The Professor shook his head and turned to Zim. "Is it functioning to your satisfaction?"
Zim fiddled with one of the instruments he currently had inserted into an opening in the tiny pak. The pak glowed for a second, then seemed to disappear, replaced by a miasma of mottled light.
"It seems to be functional. I will contact you if it needs any adjustments."
The Professor nodded and took his leave. Dib stared after him for a few seconds, then turned to Zim.
"I hate you."
"Heh heh. You sure do." Zim chuckled to himself and opened up the incubator.
Dib tentatively stepped forward to see what was happening. Zim seemed to be in high spirits for the moment. Ever since he'd woken up he'd done his hysterical best to keep Dib out of the infirmary – screaming and throwing beakers full of chemicals until it wasn't safe for Dib to set his big toe inside the room. Even Gaz had been down to see her nieces and nephews since they'd started hatching, answering all of his burning questions about them with a shrug. 'They look like Zim' was the most information he'd gotten out of her.
Dib's jaw clenched in resentment. This would the first he'd seen of his children.
Inside the incubator were several gooey piles of shell remnants, but only one egg still intact – relatively. Its shell was almost paper-thin, stretched and riddled with cracks. The minute form inside was just about bent in half, its bulbous head obscuring the rest of its body.
Zim ran a scanner over the remaining egg, then pronounced, "TIME to be BORN, soldier!" He prodded the egg ungently with one gloved finger. The overtaxed shell gave way and the tiny smeet plopped out of the other side.
"Um. . .is it alive?" Dib asked.
The smeet lay unbreathing, staring blankly at the wall with its huge yellow eyes.
Zim ignored Dib, instead concentrating on the newborn smeet. He picked it up and punched two small holes in its back with one instrument, then swiftly inserted the remaining pak into its place. Touching a small rod to its chest, he gave the smeet a jolt of energy that brought it to life.
The smeet stood up unsteadily. Zim studied it carefully.
"No evident pak instability. Good."
Zim passed the scanner a few times over the smeet while it stood, still as a cornstalk.
Dib stared at the newborn. "What are you going to name it?"
Zim finished his readings, then turned his full attention back to the smeet. "Off-world paks are manufactured with name designations." He addressed the smeet, "What is your name soldier?"
Dib sneered, "Babies can't talk, Zim–"
"Wenn. My name is Wenn." The smeet looked up at Zim expectantly. Zim put down the scanner and held out his arm. The smeet grinned and jumped up to latch on tightly. Zim pulled out a rag from his pak and proceeded to wipe the smeet free of slime.
"Irken smeets, once born and bonded with their paks, have rudimentary language skills, intermediate motor function skills, and knowledge of elementary military strategy. As you can see, far superior to human wormbabies."
Once finished cleaning the smeet, Zim turned and tucked it into one of the rows of nest-beds occupying a large, multi-layered glass container. There it sat with its siblings, studying its surroundings with curiosity.
"They won't have access to the Great Download until they're older –the Tallests wish for their upbringing to be an experiment of sorts."
Dib stared at his offspring. They were, without question, smeets – not children. It was nearly impossible to tell that they had any human genes in them at all, except that a few of them had three fingers instead of two, and some, like Wenn, had eyes coloured a deep amber, like Dib's own. Some of the smeets stared back at him, though most seemed to be preoccupied with looking up at Zim, who bent to polish a few slime-spots he'd missed earlier. One of them smiled and held out it's arms.
"Mama!"
Zim pursed his lips and patted the smeet's head, unsure of what to make of this impulsive affection.
Dib shook his head. "You're going to be the worse mom ever."
Lowering a glass lid down over his smeets, Zim pressed a button triggering the release of gas into the carrying container that would render them unconscious for transportation back to the base.
"These will be the greatest Irken soldiers this age had EVER seen. Oh such destruction will they reign down on the universe!" Zim declared proudly.
Putting his hands in his pockets, Dib shrugged. "You can believe whatever you want to, Zim. I'm sure you'll have a real fun time raising all seventeen of them by yourself." Dib frowned. He didn't have the energy to fight Zim anymore, and he had the feeling that it would just be a useless struggle anyways. "Just remember that. . .you know. . .I tried to help."
"Hmmph." Replied Zim. With the press of few more buttons the smeet-carrier lifted itself to hover gently a few centimeters off the ground. "Out of my way, Dib-stink." He said as he tugged the carrier behind him by leash, leading it out of the infirmary and towards the vootcruiser waiting outside.
Dib waved halfheartedly, more to the smeets than to Zim.
Zim, who had made a point of brushing up on his earth insults lately, turned around, pulled down one of his lower eyelids, and stuck out his tongue.
Dib shook his head as he watched them go.