Chapter 2
Dib's momentum waned when he hit a veritable brick wall of smeets at the bottom of the stairs. Actually it was more like a hornet's nest, but it was equally impassable. A handful of them were lined up in an orderly fashion, waiting to go downstairs and see Professor Membrane, but most of the others were scrambling around in some sort of game that, as far as Dib could tell, involved knocking as many things down as possible in a crude effort to awe your opponents with your agility as you climbed switfly over the mess with your spider-legs.
Some of them had their holo-disguises on, some of them didn't. The ones that didn't still showed a disturbing resemblance to Zim, except that they seemed to be growing at a rate that was more normal for humans. Only six years old, they were already nearly as tall as he remembered Zim to have been.
Gaz was sitting on the couch engaged in a linked Gameslave match with four of the smeets, including the one who'd just a few moments ago been upstairs grilling Dib. Presumable she was minding the rest of them, but she seemed to be approaching this task with the same apathy with which she approached most things in her life.
Dib looked out at the churning sea of smeets and drooped against the stair rail. How would he ever get to Zim through this mess? And had he really thought he could. . .talk to them, or something?
"Ros! Your turn!!" Called out a familiar voice. Dib peaked out from the stairwell.
It was like an old movie or something. All of the peripheral noise died down and through some sort of tunnel vision everything else in the room fell away – all Dib could see was Zim, standing at the living room entrance, glowing with inner radiance, or possibly Vaseline on the lens. After staring for a full minute or two Dib shook his head back to reality – any second now a choir was going to start singing, and that would just be no good.
Zim's disguise had changed quite a bit since Dib had last seen him. He wasn't wearing a holo-disguise like his kids, or at least so Dib assumed since his skin was still as green as ever. Apparently Zim was supposed to be a girl now. His wig was shoulder-length with a curl at the end, and the little pillbox hat and matching dress he wore made him look like some sort of midget Jackie-Kennedy drag impersonator. He even had ears now – except that they were clearly just dangling from his hat on green string. They waved and wiggled whenever Zim moved his head, and looked more like earrings than ears. Dib bit his lip to keep from laughing.
In all of the terrible ruckus, it was clear that Zim was still the one in charge. After calling out for Ros a few more times, Zim stopped to record something on one of the many com. pads hanging from around his waist, then leapt into the fray on his spider-legs and emerged with the errant smeet tucked under one arm in some sort of wrestling hold. He marched/half-carried the smeet out of the room towards the Professor's lab, and Dib could almost physically feel his sudden absence.
"Hiya Dib!"
Startled, Dib spun around.
Keef was standing right beside him on the bottom stair – thought how he'd gotten there Dib didn't know. He was smiling insufferably and holding one of the smeets in his arms. The smeet was apparently a little sick, judging by the wan look on its face.
"Gee, Dib! How are you doing? I haven't seen you in a long time!"
"Keef!? What are you doing here?"
"Oh, just helping Zim out with his kids. Little Vip here isn't feeling to good. But your Grampy will give you something to fix you right up, won't he, Vip." Keef smiled down encouragingly at the smeet in his arms, who in turn could only manage a weak nod.
"I've been having so much fun since Zim started letting me help out! They're such great kids!"
Vip leaned over and puked on Dib's shoes.
"Uh. Yeah."
"Oh, gosh. Here, could you hold him for a minute?" Keef plunked the smeet into Dib's arms, then pulled a handful of wipes out of the large purse on his shoulder and proceeded to clean up the mess.
Vip looked up at Dib apprehensively. Dib looked down at Vip apprehensively.
When Keef was done he had the mess all wrapped up in a ball of paper towels. He flagged a passing smeet.
"Hey, Mott – could you take this for the garbage for me? Thanks, big guy."
Gathering Vip back up in his arms, Keef plucked a tissue out of his purse and gently wiped off Vip's mouth.
"Sorry. . ." Vip managed weakly.
"Shhh. That's okay." Keef leaned over to kiss Vip's forehead. Glancing over warily at Dib one last time, the smeet turned to bury his face against Keef's shoulder.
"So. . .how've you been lately?" Asked Keef, turning to Dib with a sunny smile.
"Um. . .okay, I guess. Going to school. And yourself?" Dib replied absently, looking across the room for Zim's return.
"I've been great! Been going to school too, up until last month. Remember that career test we did back when we were kids? On the strength of that, I got a scholarship to Mrs. Bunty's College of Middle Management."
"Yeah, that's great, Keef."
"Yep, it was really fun until I flunked out. Lots of great teachers and cool classmates. But I didn't have enough time for classes because I was over helping Zim most of the time, but I thought 'oh well' – you've got to have your priorities, right?"
"Mmm–hmm. Priorities." Where the hell was Zim? Dib craned his neck over a pile of tussling smeets to see the top of the stairs where Zim would be arriving at any moment. That's right, any second now. Could be. . .now. Or. . .now. Aaany second.
"Zim lets me sleep on his couch most nights. I told my Mom I've got a late shift at MacMeatie's, 'cuz she'd just worry if she knew I didn't have a job. I'm not worried, though. I think things are gonna turn out okay. It's just my Mom – she can be like that sometimes. So, how's your Dad? Hey – he's single, right? My Mom's single too – wouldn't it be funny if we set them up?"
Dib looked over at Keef. "No. That's. . .horrible."
Keef chuckled. "I think it'd be pretty funny."
"FOSK!!! Your turn!" Yelled Zim from the other end of the room.
Dib's heart leapt like a frog from a dynamite pond. On instinct he started towards the object of his newly rekindled desire, but took two steps into the room and tripped on one of the smeets' extended spider legs.
He flew threw the air like an eagle before landing on his head like a really stupid eagle.
"Zim! Wait!" Shouted Keef as Zim was about to go down the stairs with the ever-obedient Fosk. Deftly, he made his way past the savage horde to where Zim waited with his hands on his hips.
"I think we should bring Vip down next. He's really not feeling well." Keef presented the ill smeet to Zim for inspection. Nodding, Zim waved Keef down the stairs.
"Very well. But come right back up. My offspring need PRIVACY for their medical examinations."
"Sure, Zim." Keef said as he descended towards the infirmary. "And I think Dib wants to talk to you." His voice rose up one last time.
Having hit his head rather badly on the way down, Dib lay docile on the floor, looking up at the ceiling and into the faces of a few smeets who'd stopped briefly to poke him.
Another body came into view, glaring down at him with a sour look on his face and crossed arms. This one was. . .beautiful. Sublime, even. The little birds chirping in Dib's head began to sound sweeter.
This one was also wearing a dress. And standing rather close.
"What do you want, stink-beast?" Zim asked as calmly as he could.
I see London, I see France. I see Zim's. . .
". . .Underpants." Slurred Dib. A few of the smeets tittered.
"You want underpants? You mean you're not wearing. . .?" Zim's jaw tightened and his left eye twitched. He bent over and grabbed ahold of Dib's collar, pulling him up to speak to him face to face.
"I'll thank you to keep your sick. . .filthy. . .self away from my offspring in the future, or you'll wish dearly that all of your nerves were orbiting the moon instead of inhabiting your hideous, earth-stink body." Zim hissed. He was so close Dib could feel the end of his tongue whisp against his nose as he spoke.
With that Zim drew back his fist. . . and Dib was thrust a little further into the velvet darkness of concussionland.
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"By observation of the subject's response-state. . ."". . .and careful calculation based on the study of standard human physiology. . ."
". . .we have ascertained that subject Dib is not quite conscious."
"Not yet, my precocious little grandchildren. My AMAZING concussion-concoction TM-pending needs at least ten minutes to work its marvelous wonders, and the dose of Brain-Damage-Be-Gone will take at least another five. OH, the IMPATIENCE of YOUTH. Hahaha!"
"Gosh – that's quite an ow-ie. Will he need a band-aid? I've got some right –"
"KEEF!!! The smeets loading into the cruiser need supervision so HURRY UP AND GET OUT THERE!!!!"
"Sure thing, Zim! I'll be right there!"
"Fosk! Natt! Zoon! Senn! Goom! Mirk!!! Whatareyoudoingsittingaround??!!? We're leaving! NOW!!!
"These four can stay here with me, Zim. We're in the Zone."
"Grampy has informed us that we may stay. . ."
". . .to make use of his lab until suppertime."
"That's right! Today's lesson will be – how to make fun, fruit-flavoured snacks out of common household cleaning products!"
Dib groaned. There was too much loudness going on here. It was interrupting his dreamless, near-coma stupor. Bits of sound floated up into his brain like flotsam. He was aware that somebody had been poking and prodding him a moment ago, and in the back of his mouth he could still taste the vile concoction that had been forced down his throat. He was sitting up – someone must have propped him against something. His head hurt. Things were getting a little clearer, but not by much.
"Hmmph. Very well. I think I'll be taking my leave before the Dib-stink wakes up. Have the smeets delivered to Keef's mother's house by 6 of the clock– we'll be eating there tonight."
Keef's mother's house – 6 of the clock. Keef's mother's house – 6 of the clock. Dib's mind had an instinct for crucial information – he snatched onto it like. . .some kind of. . .metal trap.
Keef's mother's house – 6 of the clock. . . . . the white rabbit biscuits, doe-see-doe. . .in closing – ass-over-teakettle, by God. . .the officer's tea club. . .frowney-pants' daily itch. . .solo-by-the-sea. . .none of it, now, donkey – sputnik, tuba concertos. . .WHY all the turnips??! WHY??!!
Uh oh. . .there's the door to insanity again. Best wake up. . .
Dib opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the harsh light. It was quiet now, save the frantic click-clacking of thumbs on video game controllers nearby. He blinked a few times, testing out his consciousness. He seemed to be fine – his head didn't even hurt that much.
"Zim?" He called out weakly.
"Shut up, Dib – you're ruining my concentration." Replied Gaz, from where she still sat playing with a small group of smeets.
"Where's Zim?"
"He's gone. Now BE QUIET."
"Gone? Where – ?" Started Dib, but he found he already knew – Keef's mother's house, 6 of the clock.
The TV remote came sailing through the air to hit Dib square on the head.
Good aim. Was the thought that ran through his mind before he fell over again.