Author's note:

Okay, so not only is ff.net being touchy about reviews, but apparently my yahoo account is randomly swallowing up emails too. Thanks very much to peplos kore (aka flying metal child), who among others helped bring this to my attention. liesdeeyahoo.ca is indeed my email addy, but it's randomly deleted/disallowed at least three emails already, and those are just the ones I know about (and it's not my filter – I checked that). So. . .if you want to send a review by email, but find it won't send, or I don't respond (I'm going to try to get thank-you notes out regularly from now on), please, do try again. I'm going to switch to another account soon, which I'll be announcing at the next chapter (which will be posted in a few days).

(also, thank you AnEchoOfTime for catching those spelling errors. I very much do appreciate it.)

Shameless plug:

I highly recommend 'Joined at the Dib' It's written by theunsquickablekid, who also happens to be both my betareader and my fiancé. (The unedited version is available at adultfanfiction.net under the same title and author.)

Chapter 3

"So, ah, which way to Keef's mom's house again?" Dib smiled nervously at his passengers – the six smeets who'd decided to stay at his Dad's house for the afternoon.

No answer. Four of them were still deeply entrenching in their interconnected Gameslave 3000 tournament, wires running across from the front seats to the back in his Dad's mini-van. Dib wasn't sure, but he thought he'd seen one of them who'd actually had an outlet in his head that connected him to his game console. The other two were crouched in the back, occupied between them with something that fizzled, glowed, and smelled of burnt hair – frankly, Dib didn't want to know.

"Keep going about fifteen blocks until you reach Elm Springs Lane, turn right on Lane Springs, keep going for ten blocks to Spring Elm, turn right – pull into Elm Lane, drive all the way down and it'll be right there on the left." Came a voice from the back.

Very helpful. Dib thought he could probably muddle through anyways. Frankly he was too nervous to ask again.

"Um. . .you guys have dinner at Keef's house a lot?" Asked Dib after an appropriately long, uncomfortable silence.

A lone cough from the back, and nothing more.

"Hey – you ever notice how all the houses out here look the same? Isn't that funny?"

You could almost hear crickets.

Finally, there was a long sigh, and Dib thought he heard the sound of four Gameslaves being paused. There was a bit of shuffling. . .and an odd conversation Dib could only hear in snatches:

"I did it last time. . .it's Vinn's turn. . .Natt, you're closest on rotation. . .but our experiment!. . .you've always got an experiment. . .I call an emergency vote. . .vested interest - Fosk, you can'tpreside. . .okay – for: three, against: two, abstain: one. . .so noted by Mirk. . .meeting 117b. . .tough luck, Natt. . .don't worry, he doesn't bite – he's just stupid. . .I think it's rather plain why he's such a disappointment to Grampy. . .stop whining. . .you stop with the 'stop whining'. . .

There was another shuffle, and then, of course, the sound of four Gameslaves restarting.

"Hey – do you guys all have your seat-belts on back there?"

One of the smeets came forward to sit in the passenger seat and obediently buckled his seat belt.

"Grampy has personally designed this vehicle to be 114.2 % fatality-free, but if you insist on such perfunctorities I suppose I don't have the authority to dissuade you."

The smeet looked resolutely forward, as though monitoring Dib's driving. This made Dib even more nervous. He coughed anxiously. The smeet sighed and turned to look at him.

"My name is Natt and I've been assigned to be your co-conversationalist during this trip. By my calculations based on your current speed I estimate we have about ten minutes until we reach our destination. Please feel free to direct any relevant questions, declarative statements, or inane chit-chat to me while we wait because I can assure you my siblings won't answer."

Dib's eyebrows raised involuntarily. After the initial surprise he was actually quite relieved – one clinical and standoff-ish smeet who would talk to him was better than six condescending and probably-hostile smeets who seemed determined to ignore him.

"O-kay. Um. . ." Dib wiped one sweaty palm on his pant leg. He could go on with the 'inane' small talk, or he could take the opportunity to ask the questions he really wanted to ask – broach the subject that he was, absurdly, almost scared to approach.

"I, uh, I was wondering. . ." Dib swallowed. "How are you doing?" It seemed like a standard question, but after six years of non-contact with his children, the answer now would mean very much to him.

"How? Please, redefine the question. How what? Happy? Healthy? Well-adjusted? And does 'you' refer to myself or myself including my siblings?"

"Um. . .everything, I guess. For both you and your siblings. How. . .well are you doing?"

The smeet shrugged. "Aside from a few instances that Grampy has dealt with competently, we are all physically healthy."

Dib nodded. "Good – that's good."

"We are not, on the whole, terribly well-adjusted to our situation – school, family, society in general, but taking into account both sides of our parentage, this is probably a terminal genetic condition."

"Oh. That's. . .not so bad, I guess. It doesn't have to be bad."

"I agree. Grampy says true greatness cannot be achieved through conformity."

Dib smiled. "Sounds like something Dad would say. I'm glad, that you get along with him so well." Thought the corner of his eye Dib saw the smeet nod and smile.

"And as for happy, well, I can't really speak for any of my siblings. But I am, at least. . .content."

Dib nodded again.

"So. . .how's your Mom?" Dib approached the question casually, but a tiny tremble in his arm made the van swerve ever so slightly.

"Mom. . .is Mom." The smeet shrugged again. "Strained, stressed, and at most times physically drained, but as far as we can tell, healthy. As completely unadjusted to this planet as one could expect of an invading non-native." The smeet looked away. "Happy – well, from what we can gather Irkens weren't designed to be happy. For Mom, I suppose, all that really counts is the mission, and right now the mission goes well. We snuck a peek at the last report written for our Tallest, which stated that our development was progressing very well, and that Mom was, well, quite proud of us."

Dib looked ahead, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that was welling up inside of him. He pictured Zim. . .stressed and strained, looking after this flock of rambunctious, smart-assed kids day in and day out. He supposed that if it was a job for anyone it was a job for Zim.

It was good that they knew Zim was proud of them – he'd always thought Zim would be the most horrible parent on earth, but if he'd done that much for them he must be doing alright. Dib had lived his whole life wanting his Dad to be proud of him.

Zim was probably doing a good job, all on his own. Well. . .with what little help he had. . .

"So, um, what's the deal with Keef? Is Zim keeping him as a maid or something? I mean, is he. . ." Dib didn't really know what to ask about Keef. Something about that guy bothered him, something about the whole situation bothered him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He seemed so harmless, and he was sure Zim would handle him appropriately if he ever got annoying, or bothersome to the smeets. Dib was just really resentful that he'd spent so much time already with Zim, that he knew all of the smeets by name. . .as though he was as a replacement for what Dib should have been. But it wasn't as thought Keef could ever replace Dib – he was just so pathetic and creepy.

"Does he take care of you guys. . .alot? And, do you like him?" Dib finally asked.

The smeet smiled. "He does spend a lot of time tending to us – almost as much time as Mom does. The time he does spend at the base is of his own free will, so no, he isn't a maid. He probably would more, if he didn't have to sleep. And at last vote, yes, we do approve of him – almost unanimously. He is. . .very kind. We like that."

Dib snorted. It's probably all an act for Zim's sake. He thought bitterly.

Finally, the smeets pointed out Keef's mother's house coming up at the end of the block – another cookie-cutter home on the edge of suburbia. Natt jumped out as soon as the vehicle stopped – Dib didn't even have time to thank him or anything, but he waved while they all piled onto the doorstep, and in the dim light coming from the house he thought he saw one of them wave back.