Saving Zim by Dib07
Summary:
He was almost autumnal in a sense, as if he had lost the leaves of youth and didn't quite know what to do as a chill swept in. There was a gloom in his eyes, and a new slouch to his shoulders. When he held Dib's gaze in the rear-view mirror on the way home there had been something in his eyes, something that he couldn't quite say.
Disclaimer:
I do not own the IZ characters. However this story and this idea is mine.
Cover art beautifully made by TheCau! All credit goes to her, please do not use without his permission, thank you :)
Dib07: I am really grateful for all the feedback and reader generosity I have been receiving lately! (I am still amazed!) ^^ As I was revisiting this, I realized how painful realism is, and how inaccurate and unrealistic the previous version was (you'll realize why as we get further into the story!). So without further ado, here goes!
Zimothy
Fortunate coincidence strikes again as you were reading it! I am ever so pleased you are enjoying this version! I know the original had its moments good or bad, and that going ahead with a stronger character foundation helps build a better story (fingers crossed) and I don't want to change too much as I try to keep that balance XD I really hope the rest of the story continues to live up to the anticipation! As always, thank you for sticking along with me, and reading this story, I cannot tell you how grateful and happy I am to read your feedback!
JustPassingThru
Hello there, and thank you for your lovely and uplifting comment! It really struck me, it means a lot, I am so thrilled this story is doing okay (so far lols)! ^^
The Autodoc
''Dib. What is happiness?''
''It's a feeling you get... when something or someone makes you...happy."
''What makes you happy?''
SZ
He approached the slightly slanted purple door, feeling the tension turn his limbs and muscles into a twitchy mess, and turned the handle one-handed. The sound of it opening was too loud. Looking ahead, his arms tightening around the Irken, the door slowly swung closed behind him, and the lounge suddenly seemed to fill with something he could only describe as a watchful silence.
The red light from the PAK weakly shone through the patchwork blanket Zim was bundled up in.
Dib's eyes wildly darted around as a deeper chill crawled its way inside. There was no Gir, and he had the feeling the robot's absence was connected somehow.
He could hear a distinct, menacing hum coming from the walls, the floor perhaps, or the tubes honeycombing the ceiling above. Auto-sensory lights came on, and he nervously watched and waited as the security system scanned him from top to bottom.
The computer, the ever-unseen but all-seeing presence that dominated every facet and corner of Zim's territory made its ominous announcement. "Dib Membrane, relinquish Master Zim or be shot down where you stand!"
Dib stepped forwards, feeling the muscles in his legs really beginning to shake. "I will explain everything, but... but we don't have time! Zim is badly injured! Take me to whatever medical facilities he has! Right now!"
The reply was less immediate. "You are not authorized, intruder Dib!"
"Then you take him!" He loosened his hold on the warm bundle, but only slightly, "You want to help your stupid master? Then let me through!" He never knew where to look, the threat was everywhere. He had seen the way the computer worked through the years, of wall panels lifting and parting sideways to emit razor sharp grapplers, plasma hooks and stun-devices for catching stray humans that had no business being in an alien's base. And as much as he feared the inevitable, he stood rooted to the spot with his arms protectively wrapped around Zim.
But he didn't feel very brave, just drawn out, tired and lost.
The computer replied with an almost human bitterness. "You have limited access intruder Dib. Proceed with caution. But one false step, and I am evicting you however I like."
He still stood there in growing disbelief. Has it really given me permission? What if it's a trap? The computer does not know how weak Zim has become, and it could blame me, unless it's been monitoring his condition over time... I just don't know... I just... I don't think I can do this!
"Foolish child you still are after all these years. You can't hold my hand forever."
He anticipated more orders and more threats, and there was the unsettling feeling that he was being intently watched.
There was a moment when he considered simply placing Zim on the couch and leaving him there. He had returned him to his world, his secretive domain, and the computer could take over from here. He did not fancy going any further when he was now the one at risk, but despite this, he didn't go so far as to part his arms from the Irken.
As he studied the vacant lounge and doorway into the kitchen, he remembered from past experiences that the toilet was too small for him now, and descending to those scary lower floors would prove difficult. Gir had once led him through an opening tile in the floor, but the tiles all looked the same, and he could not remember which one it was. As he stood there, deciding, and hopelessly wondering why a once spruce and tidy lounge was so ruined, the bookcase beside the giant TV suddenly began to creak open, exposing a hidden stairway with ludicrously tiny steps.
So you have stairs after all...
"Gir?" He called almost sheepishly in the fear he'd trigger or activate something. "Hello?" I'd like a guide, please. I don't want to be vaporized.
Maybe he's down below somewhere, playing.
The computer's impatient announcement made him jump. "Proceed to the conduit on your right, intruder Dib."
He took a sharp breath and tightened his hold on the invader. Like liquorice lace his broken and smooth antenna hung off his skull, and he could feel the slow, irregular motions of his ribs as Zim breathed. Here we go, Fudge. If your security system kills me, I am gonna haunt you for the rest of your life.
He stepped inside, he could hear the issuing creak of the bookcase as it began to close behind him before he had barely gone anywhere, and as he looked, he saw what appeared to be a perfectly smooth and small elevator perched to the right of staircase. The door opened without a sound and he nervously went in, the cylinder-coned walls pressing uncomfortably close all around him. The door then closed with a soft thump and at first he thought he wasn't going anywhere, there was no sound, no motion, and it was only when he looked at the slit in the wall that he could see the levels flying by. Sometimes he could see stairwells ascending or descending to places unknown through the window of pink glass, other times he could see secretive passages winding away to god knows where.
He had to wonder why Zim had 'stairs' at all, only to realize that if the conduit were to break down, the Irken could still move from level to level.
"Computer..." He gathered the courage to say, uncomfortably realizing the system would be able to hear him wherever he was: "Where are you taking me?" He could smell the strong reek of blood further augmented by the conduit's confines, which didn't help the panic pinging through his system.
"Seventh level. You are very privileged, intruder Dib. That level is reserved only for Zim. Not even Gir is allowed access."
He wasn't sure how happy he felt about that. A little louder, he asked: "What makes the seventh level so special?"
"The seventh level is mainly comprised of personal equipment and the Master's private resting chamber. It also contains the autodoc for Irken biological diagnosis and other such services."
The term 'biological diagnosis' was so impersonal and coldly indifferent, as if Zim was nothing more than a conveyor-belt soldier made entirely of metal and gears that should only need a quick repair now and again.
At least he was being taken to the right place. Here's to hoping I can still get out.
The conduit suddenly stopped – the suspension so soft that Dib barely felt the change in transition. The entryway door opened, but since every word and symbol was now in Irken, he could be stepping out into engineering, or some diabolical mortuary where Zim kept all his human and experimental animal corpses.
Every corner was daunting, with warrens and passages opening up new avenues of danger. Zim's deepest darkest lairs weren't at all like the creepy dungeons he had imagined them to be, however. The walkways and atriums, sometimes incredibly narrow and small, were tidy, polished and dainty-looking in their exactitude despite the machinery, bulk and overwhelming sense of power behind each part and facet. Everything was brightly lit and glowing with every colour imaginable. There were no dark corners, no derelict spaces, no holes, no cages, and no slime. The lair boasted a sleek and modern ambience, giving the impression that a scientist worked here and not a sinister and clumsy invader.
Similar to where he had been led with Gir, the level was neatly compact, with equipment stacked and stored in tiny panels to maximise space in strategic locations. The ceiling was dauntingly low and Dib had to duck often to avoid colliding with hanging tubes and ducts. Holding Zim securely to his chest and going carefully to avoid hurting him, he gormlessly drank up the place as he slowly manoeuvred around tight passageways. The walls seemed to bleed warm pinks and purples: with tiny connecting tracks or lines distinctly glowing alongside contours and pulsing grooves pulsing about seemed to be without any obvious energy source. Trading Zim's weight over to his left arm, he reached out with his right hand to touch one of these lightly phosphorescent walls, discovering how warm it was beneath his palm.
He knew he should be hurrying to whatever destination awaited him, but he didn't trust the place or want to juggle Zim around too much.
There was a chamber to the left of him. The outer door was rimmed with layers of inactivated metal archways – which he believed were force fields. He stopped outside these archways, peering down the metal tunnel to a cosy room within. "What's that place?" He asked. Such elaborate security had to mean the room beyond contained something very important: like the energy source for his base.
"That is Master's resting chamber." The computer replied from seemingly above and behind him. "The autodoc is in the next chamber ahead. Please proceed."
Dib complied, following the passage the computer seemed to be lighting up for him by the way of pink flashing arrows along the smooth and polished floor.
Zim never grew heavy in his arms, and seemed to be too much like something carved out of porcelain. He was sure the Irken used to be heavier and more substantial than this. It certainly seemed that way when they had traded blows in years gone by. "Nearly there, space jerk." He whispered to the antenna that rested, noodle-soft, on his shoulder, "If it wasn't for your awful design of the place, we would have got there by now."
Dib coasted down the walkway, surveying the pristinely clean machines and appliances as he went. Some were as smooth as melons, with other machines towering through the ceiling. What any of it did was a mystery. What I would give for my camera right about now.
He pointed randomly at one such construct with his chin as he carefully followed the flashing pink arrows. "What does that machine do?" He already decided that it had to be some kind of weapon-making dispenser. It was glowing with witchy intensity, and its polished glittery surface had more knobs and buttons than a jumbo jet's cockpit. Maybe it compounded the elements for explosives. Maybe it put magic in a box.
"That is the Sisilion 120. It sanitises all of Master Zim's uniforms."
"Oh, right." It's just a glorified washing machine that does his laundry. He gave the giant contraption a less than favourable look as he passed it.
"Beside you is the Hurlin 8. It dispenses remedial capsules."
"Uh... in layman's terms?" He asked, looking at the supposed Hurlin 8 that looked oddly like something you'd encounter in a mall.
"Specify 'layman's terms.'"
"Never mind." He stopped when he heard the invader gasp. A drop of oily green, no larger than a raindrop, glittered from the floor. His voice rattled out of him as another drop of green appeared by the first one. "H-How much further?"
"It's in front of you, intruder Dib."
The 'autodoc' could not have been overlooked. Though Dib had seen plenty of sci-fi movies and had grown familiar to the Hollywood design of alien relics and cryochambers, there was more elegance to it, and something incredibly alien.
In some regards, it resembled something like the glass coffin out of Snow White. And it wasn't very large – with enough berth to fit a medium sized Irken – but it would have been far too small if he were to crawl inside. Beneath the cylinder glass dome was an ebony base, and around and within were heavy black and pulsing pink tubes that ran in and around each other like weird intestines. Beside this glass coffin was a computer panel, and above it an overhead screen, both of which were dark with inactivity. Out of all of Zim's modern apparatuses, devices and wizard-like implements, this was the one contrivance that looked coldly out of place.
"Computer... urm... what do I do?"
As if he had just uttered the magic word, the glass shielding parted down the middle, and the two glass domes slid away, giving him access to internals that gave a frigid pink glow. Beside the pod, the screen panel and overhead screen came to life, showing the black Irken symbol as a percentage counted up on the right-hand corner of the screen.
Within the cavity of the autodoc, the confines were richly bathed in warmer pinks as the internals activated.
"Insert the entity into the autodoc. Remove all unnecessary material." Ordered the bodiless and watchful computer.
Dib was suddenly tired of all these impersonal terms. He's your master! He's an Irken named Zim! Do not call him an entity!
Within the bathing pinks was a greyish mattress-type foam insulator, and in the middle was a deep PAK-sized hole. At the base and head of the mattress were more gizmos, ducts, tubes and ports, all of which looked clean and new-looking. But placing Zim within this... cot... felt wrong, as if he was depositing him into the belly of a coffin.
"Okay, Zim. Hope you're ready for this." He unwrapped the Irken from the warmth of his blanket and slipped off the handmade jacket from his tiny arms and shoulders but he did not remove the loosely fitting purple shirt or the saturated gauze. Placing him gently into the pod and lastly resting his head on the foam, he stepped back to grimly watch the sides of the autodoc close, with the damp little jacket hanging from his arm. Zim was being separated from him, and even though they were mere inches apart with only glass between them, he couldn't stand it.
Once the dome was fully sealed over the Irken, sticky pads with barbed hooks (much like the telemetry pads humans used in hospitals), emerged from miniscule holes and hooked themselves over Zim's throat and chest under the shirt. Flustered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he stood helplessly watching with his hands pressed to the glass, the damp little jacket dropping to the floor. He was only slightly relieved to see new information appear on the top right corner of the massive HUD screen when a crooked, fast moving line appeared.
There was something quietly misgiving in the way the Elite lay there, unrobed of uniform and strength, with bones pressing against green skin, skin that was far paler and greyer than it had ever been. It told tales of the silence he had maintained, hiding it quietly as he grew gaunter, left only with his front as a shield.
Dib held the image of the creature he saw before him with one cheek pressed to the warm glass. The blockades Zim had maintained so tightly had all fallen, leaving him with so many questions.
"Turn to the touch-screen monitor, and access the feed from there." Advised the computer.
"Feed? Monitor?" He turned to the little autodoc panel. He shakily touched it, and Irken jargon rolled upwards. The overhead screen displayed the same pattern of symbols. "But... but I can't read any of this! I haven't studied enough Irken to understand! Can't you fix him?"
The computer's reply was just as insensitive as it had been with its other statements. "The biological bay requires a manual operator in cases of severe injury and disease."
"A manual operator? This is ridiculous! You are a military computer! You're his goddamn nanny and protector! You do it!"
"I can only determine so much. I can make diagnostics, I can medicate, but I cannot surgically repair him." Tools and webs of metal appendages eased themselves out of the walls as if to show him how inflexible and unwieldy the computer's hands were.
The growl came out of him, unchecked and bitterly forged. "So you're basically useless then?"
"Invaders know the risks involved. Sometimes severe injury can prevent them from the mission, when that happens, protocols must be followed."
Dib turned to the small, indisposed Irken through the thick transparent glass. Zim's chest was barely lifting, and the saturation on his side was starting to appear through the thin material of the shirt. "Computer," he began, eyes flickering. The condensation of his hands left wet, clammy imprints on the glass, "translate all Irken into English."
"Complying..." The panel and overhead screen started to change as he inwardly urged the computer to hurry. "Translation complete." It said succinctly.
He turned to the panel, vaguely astonished that he could now read it.
Autodoc: one host installed. State function...
But there were no more options to pick from, as if it was waiting for some code or verbal instruction.
His legs were stilts of jelly. He would precariously lean to and fro like a ramshackle tower about to fall.
What do I do?
"I... I don't understand! Are you telling me he needs surgery? But... but why?"
"Give me a moment to assess him. You have full control over the diagnosis panel, Dib Membrane. I suggest you use it."
Please, please let this work. Let it be enough.
Think it through, step by step.
Within the glass dome, fixed to the underside of the ceiling, a little purple portable device no larger than a bar of soap came to life and a dazzling sheet of pink light fell on the Irken's dainty and tapered toes and then started to move slowly up his body - suffusing the tiny compartment in harsh, cold gemstone pink. Dib pressed his hands on the glass, forehead leaning on its surface as alien instruments took over. The relief of getting Zim here tumbled out the last of his resistance, and he sagged against the autodoc's glass side, knowing his knees would buckle before long. His eyes kept watering, with scenes melding into mashes of confusing pink as tears left glistening tracks on his cheeks.
Standing just beyond the Elite was a helplessness he wasn't ready for.
The panel coldly informed: Scanning in progress. 25% complete.
As he watched and waited, one concern came immediately to mind. "Is he warm enough in there?"
"Yes. I have risen the temperature to keep him comfortable."
He stared without really seeing as dazzling pink light moved along its designated course, making soft, whirring noises not dissimilar to an electronic paper shredder as it scanned Zim's swollen ankles, knobbly knees, his crotch area and then his narrow hips and abdomen. As Dib ran a sleeve under his eyes, he couldn't help but sadly think: Why are you doing this to me, Zim?
The scanner's light travelled over the Elite's swollen, saturated midsection, spindly arms, and over his chest. His collarbone had become an upraised bridge connecting his shoulders, and his tiny diagram was likened to a deepening cave beneath the shirt.
Dib blinked and turned away, fighting the lump in his throat, with emotions rolling uncontrollably through him. He could hardly look at the skeleton Zim had become.
Finally the scanner progressed over his throat, head, and lastly his limp antennae.
Scan complete. Initializing results...
Dib reluctantly turned back, trying to see through blurring eyes as he shakily exhaled. There was nothing that could have prepared him.
List in order of symptomatic severity:
PAK ERROR CODE 17
PAK ERROR CODE 02
PAK cable 205 and thermal connectivity compromised
Left-ventricle of heart failing
Atrial fibrillations detected
Low blood pressure
Hypovolemic shock
Internal bleeding – abdominal haemorrhage
Tachypnea
Infection (bacterial) - foreign object of undetermined source
Fluid in lungs
Inflamed joints
Shattered left antenna
...
Please state next action
OR
Highlight a specific symptom for more information.
Dib tipped too far to the right. His knees simultaneously buckled and he was falling before he realized it. When he fell, he didn't actively brace for impact, and hit the floor with barely a reaction other than to curl up by the nest of intestinal tubes, a hand covering his eyes as the colourful and pulsating room swayed before him. He grew cold, and he wasn't sure if this was happening in his own head or if the power had suddenly drained in those few seconds.
There's too much going wrong...
I can't... I can't do this...
The real guillotine-swing was the PAK error codes. That PAK was an industrious, indestructible and everlasting machine. It could not go wrong.
"I fell down some stairs."
"You don't have any stairs."
Quietly sinking, he looked at blurry coils of tubing and ingots of beautiful light that almost looked like sapphires and African jewels melded into the walls. His hand groped for the necklace that had swung out of his shirt and held it in his palm until its crystal phial cut into the skin.
He really is haemorrhaging...
Had Zim swallowed something he shouldn't have? Like a magnetic button? Or a metal pin?
And his heart...
There was a distant hum as the computer spoke. "The PAK can only weather so much damage and so much time."
It took Dib long moments to gather his thoughts together, let alone find a voice. He had grown to fear the noises the PAK had started to make, and the excess heat it generated. Though he wasn't in the habit of touching his PAK, he had never noticed it doing anything unusual before now.
He curled up tighter as something of a voice squeezed out of his throat. "Can't it be r-repaired? If it's repaired... Zim will be okay... r-right?" Please, please don't tell me his PAK is an older model or something, and that they don't make them like they used to...
"PAK repair is denied to all without authorization." Testily returned the system above and around him. "Master Zim has already been denied such approval."
He didn't understand. Approval? Authorisation?
Zim had never shown such concerns. He had laughed, still smiled. Something like this could not have just happened overnight. If it had been gradual, why hadn't the bastard done something?
All those times at the Treaty... it looked like you wanted to say something...
"How did... how did it get so damaged?"
The computer's answer was straightforward and cutting. "Why does it matter?"
It was a struggle to even think. "Why has he done nothing to repair it?"
The computer sighed, catching Dib off guard. "Such restoration is delicate, and fraught with further injury and death. Minor repair is manageable from time to time, but without authorization and a qualified technician, integral repair is impossible."
"So why didn't he just pack up and leave Earth? Why did he stay?"
"Irkens must await permission to leave their assigned posts. And even if he were to leave, his body can no longer handle the g-forces necessary to leave the stratosphere."
You kept quiet. Because there was nothing you could do.
Why... why should I care?
Anger cloaked the sadness and he sat up, eyes brimming with melted gold.
How could you?! You could have told me! There could have been a way!
How could you just GIVE UP?
"What kind of madness is this? Why does he need authority just to repair himself?" He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to keep it together, but just seeing that ridiculously tiny jacket on the floor made his heart squeeze all the tighter. He covered his eyes with his hands, his voice croaky and spent. "All his life, he's served, and you're trying to tell me he doesn't qualify for basic care? Is he really just a cog in a machine, destined to be thrown away the moment he's too damaged?"
The computer's silence was answer enough.
He blinked, but the tears wouldn't stop. Panic and anger were spinning him round and round on a fevered carousel, gravitating him to its centre.
There's nothing more I can do. Even his heart is failing...
But if I don't try...!
He had no idea where to even begin when it came to Irken technology and their biology, and Zim obviously hadn't been able to do anything either, or else he would have surpassed this problem eons ago.
Don't fool yourself. We were never meant to be anything more than what we are. You came to conquer and hurt and annihilate, Zim. If you hadn't got so sick, we'd still be enemies.
I wish I could erase every memory we spent together.
He tried to hitch himself back up, his legs wouldn't quite work, and he had to put both hands on the autodoc's lid to keep himself upright. "You'll..." It was so hard to say it, "you'll take care of him... won't you, computer?"
The silence was like ice sinking into his core.
He gently lowered his forehead against the warm glass and gazed brokenly at the little thing inside. When you stepped into your sunset years, you became almost kind of... soft, and melancholic, staring at things you'd never normally stare at, like twinkling snowfall or the auburn leaves twirling down in the red light of evening. You'd smile this forlorn, broken smile, and even then I didn't want to believe what I saw.
Tears plopped onto the glass of the autodoc and slowly trickled down its smooth ebony side.
There's nothing more I can do.
I wish I hadn't made that promise, not knowing what it would do to me.
He could barely see through the stupid tears. He took a breath, eyes and throat burning as if he was being strangled. "I... I tried, Zim. I'm... I'm so sorry."
I'm sorry, for a lot of things.
His jaw clenched, eyes closing as he felt himself rock dizzyingly to and fro. He couldn't bring himself to say goodbye.
Maybe your fate was inevitable, but I can't give up on my life. Just because of you.
It had been a sunny day when he'd set the trap. The cars blinded you as they streaked past, and the wires had been crystal bright.
Dib let his hand hover on the glass for a moment before lifting it away, the residue leaving a ring of condensation in the shape of his palm.
He numbly turned round and started walking in no particular direction, eyes so blurry he couldn't really see where he was going and bumped into things protruding from the glittery, pulsing walls.
The heartache followed him as surely as his shadow.
As much as Zim had been an enemy and a nuisance over the years, for so long time there'd only been the two of them, and Dib intuitively knew he wouldn't have made it this far alone in life without him. Long before the Irken had invaded the small city of Lincoln, death had come to his family, and his world and everything in it had grown cold and distant. Things that used to have meaning no longer held any appeal or attraction. His father could barely touch him, much less show any real affection.
He had stood at her bedside as he had stood by the autodoc, as stricken and as scared then as he was now.
To try and escape the hurt and grief, he had chosen the path of the paranormal to help lift him from the miseries of life in the hope there was some way his mother could still exist, that he could be close to her somehow, and maybe, just maybe, he could contact her. His father strongly disapproved of these notions, believing there to be no heaven and no afterlife. Instead of offering support and guidance, his father had instead chosen to throw his efforts and frustrations into science.
Then Zim had arrived, rising on his horizon like a mountain: giving him a distraction and a direction that had finally set aside some of the grief so that he could move forwards.
He stumbled more than walked through the confusing twists and hairpin walkways, dazedly trying to navigate his way to the conduit through a haze of hurt and loss. Hanging tubes blocked his way and he cut through them, heart growing heavier with each step. No matter how far he managed, how many confusing turns he went down, the memories impaled him at every dead-end, and every turn.
This was never your world, Zim.
"You don't turn your back on me, Dib worm! You promised me you wouldn't!"
I have to leave you behind. It's the only way.
I have my own pain to bear. I held my wounds tight so that nobody could see.
The promise turned us both into fools.
