The chairs were too tall. All human chairs were like this. It was infuriating, because they weren't even trying to assert dominance, all matured humans just grew to be taller than Zim. His feet dangled while the full-grown humans easily touched the ground.
He was vulnerable, sitting like this. He couldn't leap fast enough if the large Steel-man sitting across the table got up and tried to hit him. He folded his feet under himself. This way, he could spring out of the seat and run for the door, or through one of the windows at a moment's notice.
And go where? He wondered, fighting the urge to tug at the metal band around his neck. It pierced the skin at the back of his neck, so turning his head too far in either direction hurt. With this horrible slave collar, they could find him anywhere he ran. The very first thing he would do, after taking control of this planet, would be to collar every single human on the planet just like this.
Zim turned his attention on the Steel-woman as she brought beverages to them. The female had chosen a different skin configuration for herself than her mate had. She was pale with coiled, dark brown frizzy hair all over her head. Her mate had opted for dark brown skin with no hair on his head at all.
Well, they both looked stupid.
The Steel-woman came out of the kitchen and set down a mug of brown liquid in front of him. She left and returned with another mug full of golden liquid for her mate. She returned with a third mug and a white container, then seated herself at the table. She set the white container near Zim. "Here. It's sugar. I wasn't sure how sweet you like your cocoa."
Zim lifted his spoon upright in the center of the mug, then released it. It clanked down against the side. He shook his head in disgust and opened the sugar container. Angling it with one hand, he stirred the spoon with the other hand as a stream of sugar plunged into the cocoa.
He kept this up for a full minute. The woman made strange noises as he kept pouring. When the consistency came closer to the level of a pudding, the man covered his mouth with one hand. Finally, Zim set the container aside and tested the consistency again. This time, the spoon stood straight up in the center of the drink. He set the nearly-empty sugar container aside and scooped a spoonful of bliss into his mouth.
"I think the shopping list is going to need some adjustments," the woman sighed. "Well, Zim. Ah. Welcome. My name is Della, and this is my husband, Tom. We…" she folded her hands over the greenish water in her mug, forming a dome. Steam curled up from the mug, filling the curve of her hands. She took far too much time forming her next sentence. "We have no idea how this is going to go. I'm not even sure where to start."
Zim scooped another spoonful of goop into his mouth, crunching the undissolved crystals with relish. Licking his teeth, he asked, "What did they tell you about the mighty…" He coughed, then gritted his teeth. "Me. What did they tell you about me?"
"They said you were a sort of refugee. They were cagey about the details. I assume they know more than they shared...?"
Zim stirred in silence. The handle of the spoon carved deep trenches in the goop with every pass.
"Right. So. You're a space refugee, but they don't know if they can trust you to integrate into society on your own. For some reason they decided we would be a good host family."
She kept changing the way she held her hands as she spoke. Since the start of the conversation, she'd folded them over the mug, then unfolded them, then tapped her fingers on the table, then wrapped her fingers around the mug and tapped them on the mug. Zim decided she would have never made it through training. She was like some low-level burrowing creature, always afraid of a hunter dropping in. There was too much motion in her and no sign of knowing strength in herself. Pathetic.
"They told us our role is to house you, feed you, and show you how to live on Earth. We're not sure how much you know, though." She unfolded her hands and spread them apart. "How long have you been here?"
Three years. Four months. Thirteen days. All wasted trying to conquer this Irk-forsaken sinkhole of a planet. He swallowed the words with another gulp of the quickly cooling chocolate glop. "A while."
"Oh." The Della frowned. "How long have you been with the government?"
"Significantly less time." The words came out bitter. Ignoring the spoon, Zim sipped straight from the mug.
The humans exchanged glances.
Tom leaned forward. "You didn't come to them by choice, did you?"
Zim spewed across the table. "GAH! IT SPEAKS!"
Goo dripped slowly down Della's face. Tom let out a booming laugh and slammed his palms down on the table. All the mugs jolted.
Della wiped her face on her sleeve. "Yeah, yeah, very funny," she muttered. "A real hoot."
Recovering himself, Zim gestured widely with one arm. "Of-of course I came by choice. Everything has been by my choice. Nothing happens to Zim that is not permitted! It just so happens that I was, eh… running low on resources and chose this time to reveal my existence to your government drones. Yes." He nodded firmly. "That is how it happened."
Della finished cleaning her face. "Right. Well, is there any more you can tell us about yourself? I mean, the file they gave us didn't even mention your planet name or what your job was… if you had jobs? It gave us basic nutrition suggestions and said you had probably seen combat. It also mentioned that Dib Membrane was not allowed to be within one city block of you, and that if we see him, we're supposed to call in. It didn't say why, though."
"I wondered why I hadn't seen the filthmonkey around." Zim grinned savagely. "I wish I could have seen the look on his stinking face when they told him."
Della stammered, "Th-the Membranes are world famous. The Professor's inventions and-and improvements are in practically every household. You know his son? How? When? Why is there a restraining order on him?!"
Zim's eyes narrowed. If he could keep these two as a buffer against further harassment from Dib, it would be worth disclosing a little information. "Perhaps because of the multiple threats that he would 'strew my guts all over an autopsy table.' Not that he has the capability to hold an Irken Elite, of course, but he is annoying. Like a norsh yizzing around the antennae."
Tom frowned. "What is an Irken Elite?"
Della leaned forward. "He threatened your life?"
Ignoring Tom, Zim jabbed his spoon in Della's direction. "He is a mere smeet playing conqueror. He is neither properly equipped nor trained to carry out such threats."
Tom was staring at him. He embodied the opposite of the woman's skittish hand-movings. This was a hunter watching a target, never wavering. It was a prickly, uncomfortable feeling, being the subject of that stare. Zim would have to watch his words around the Steel-man especially, as the human tended to home in on exactly what Zim did not want to talk more about. Zim tilted the mug back and slorped down the rest of the contents. Then, slamming the empty mug down, he focused on the weaker, more distractible human.
"Now. I demand suitable clothing. All of mine has been confiscated, and this giant bag of orange is galling. I am..." he paused, grinding his teeth a little. "...size hrst."
"Well," Della chewed her lip. "I can pick up a set of clothes that fits a little better, and doesn't look so… escaped convict-y." She paused to look him up and down. "They probably won't fit right, though."
"But I just conveyed my size to you."
She blinked. "You did?"
Zim's antennae flattened against his head. Humiliating. "Are you asking me to repeat it?"
"I didn't hear you say a size, you just made a noise in your throat."
"That was the size, foolworm!" Zim snarled.
Tom shifted in his seat, straightened his shoulders, and slowly leaned forward. Zim shrank back. He knew this species had height dominance, they just lied about it! The Steel-man's body posture screamed dominance and it was working, blast him. Zim eyed the door and windows again, ready to bolt.
Della put a hand on Tom's arm, addressing Zim. "If that's a measurement, it's not one we have here. Plus, our clothing sizes are kind of chaotic. I'm going to have to guess based on your height. Whatever I get will fit a little bit better than what you have now, and then you can come out with me to pick your own clothes."
"Pick my own…?"
"Yeah. You come to the store with me, you try on clothes that look like they might fit, and when you find a good fit and something that looks good on you, you buy those clothes."
That is such a stupid system. Zim glowered, but said nothing.
"How did you get clothes before, if you've never bought them at the store?"
"I came with my standard issue uniform. Disguises and replacement uniforms were fabricated by my base upon request and fit me perfectly. Is your home not programmed to understand clothing manufacture?"
Della's mouth opened and closed a couple of times. "Are you telling me your house could make clothes? That doesn't… even… make sense."
"It makes perfect sense. The base provides nearly everything…" he grimaced. Too easy to forget that every word he said went back to the flirking Earth authorities. "It provides… provided for my needs. What does your dwelling provide?"
This started the grand tour of the house. The television they showed him in the "living room" was no surprise. However, the kitchen and "laundry" rooms disturbed him. There were large, boxy devices in each room. He read the manufacturing stickers on each device thoroughly and jammed his face between the wall and the devices to inspect the connections that the humans claimed ran water and electricity to each.
"This makes no sense. These writings say that your cold storage device comes from a different earth region than your clothing soaper. How are your dwellings constructed and filled?"
Della looked at Tom and gestured at Zim. Tom shrugged, and Della tried to answer. "I mean… there's a building planner and then a lot of people come together with wood and drywall to build the walls and roof of a house. Other people who know how plumbing and electricity work make sure the house has pipes and wires going where they're needed. There's insulation… um… air conditioning and heating units… then it's up to the owners or renters to buy other things they need and bring it to the house and put it where they want. You can have builders come back and add extra rooms or fix problems in old rooms. There's a lot more, I think. I haven't really thought much about house construction."
Zim stared. "You are telling me that every single piece of this dwelling, including its machines, was separately built and brought to this place, consuming the labor of countless humans who could be better employed stamping out diseases or enemies or barriers to advancement? And still the building is too primitive to produce your clothes or fight off intruders with weaponry or expand itself as needed? That is the forty seventh stupidest system I have ever heard of. The inefficiencies are too many to list for you. Your race is doomed."
Tom looked like he was trying to chew his lips off so they did not smile.
"Do not laugh at Zim," he growled, pushing past them and choosing a different room at random. "Instruct me on the purpose of this room."
It turned out to be the bathroom. Zim recognized one item with great relief. He promptly climbed on top of the toilet, balancing his feet carefully on either side of the seat. "Remove the water from this so we may travel to the underground chambers."
Della ran a hand through her hair. "Zim… we don't have a basement. And even if we did, what does the toilet have to do with that?"
He paused, scrutinizing her face. "You are saying that there are no underground chambers? But, then, what is this?" He stamped his foot on the toilet seat.
"That's a toilet. You… well, you… go to the bathroom in it."
"You just said this was not a conveyance and we are already in the bathroom!" Zim clenched his fists. "What is this device?"
"You poop in it," Tom said, calmly.
Zim's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open. "You.. I… eeeeuUUUUUGH!" He leaped off the toilet and into the bathtub, shuddering. Then he screeched, "IS THIS ALSO AN EXCREMENT DELETION UNIT?"
Della laughed. "No, no. That's where you take a bath or a shower. Washing up?"
"Cleaning your body," Tom clarified. "Dirt deletion. Though your file says you can't handle water, so you'll never use it."
Della's amusement vanished. "But if he doesn't shower, how will he stay clean?"
Zim scowled at the ground. "The government drones provided me with some cleansing chalk stolen from my base before I came. Likely they will bring me more." At least until it ran out. Then they would try and use that lack to get him to teach them how to use the fabricator. Blast. Blast. Blast. He'd have to sit down and think about how to get out of this collar. If he could remove the collar and get back to the base, it would be smeetplay to collapse the base and find a new location.
In fact, what was he doing, following these two around as if he would stay here? There was no need to learn the rooms of this place, surely he would be gone by this evening. "I am finished learning rooms today. Show me to my cell."
The moment Zim slammed the door to his room in their faces, Della grabbed Tom's hand and towed him to their bedroom. The agents had promised there weren't any surveillance devices in that room. She knew they could have lied, but she wasn't ready to deal with that level of evasion. So Della dragged Tom in, shut the door, and pretended with all her might that they were the only two people aware of their conversation.
"Well? What do you think?"
Tom leaned against the door. "You first."
"Me? I don't even know. Something's bad about all this. From the start, something's been big. Huge. Wrong. I feel like… like I'm skating in the center of a frozen lake at the very end of winter. There's no telling when it'll start to crack under my skates, and then it'll be too late. But I didn't even put myself there…" She clenched and unclenched her fingers. "I didn't make this gamble. We didn't. We were strong-armed into it. We were, weren't we?"
Tom lifted a shoulder and dropped it. "Probably. Can't measure unspoken threats."
"So, we were. And now we have no idea if the ice is going to crack, here. That's what I think."
Tom straightened up and draped an arm across her shoulders. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Your turn," she mumbled.
It was still a few minutes before the words found their way out of him. They trickled out one sentence at a time. "He's dangerous. Too many unanswered questions. What's an Irken Elite? And if he was hiding for years, why the sudden rush to the authorities? He has that thing in his house that makes things he needs. I doubt he ran out of supplies. He was found out. And he doesn't know what a toilet is? Like… like he never cared to find out the basics because it… wasn't going to matter. Like the plan was something other than peaceful integration." Tom's grip tightened. "The way he talks? Anger. Overconfidence. Contempt. He doesn't want to integrate. That's… the feeling I get."
A chill crawled up Della's spine. "Do you think we should get in touch with Professor Membrane's son? Ask him what's really going on?"
Tom's fingers dug into her arm. "Nah. You hear what they say about him. He's nuts." His voice had an edge on it. Della hid her face in his chest. She didn't want to think about the possibility that there was zero privacy in the house.
"You're right. Sorry. I didn't mean it," she said, loudly. "I'm just nervous about all this."
He tucked her head under his chin and whispered, "Not yet."
Not yet. But not never, either. Della nodded into his chest. She tried to keep her mind fixed on the benefits of the situation. They had a new house, they had compensation, and they were getting the adoption pushed through in record time. The alien-sitting situation wasn't permanent, and when it ended, the Steelmans would be in great shape for their new life as a complete family. She just had to hold onto that.
In the annals of sentient adventuring, not every ship has been worthy of its name. The Shooting Star was the first ship Meekrobians built to travel at lightspeed, but it barely got off their planet before disintegrating. Eater of Worlds was an asteroid-sized Vortian battlecruiser of early design, and every single weapon on board managed to malfunction in an entirely different way. The Indomitable II under the Resisty was worth a mention because it managed impressive guerrilla warfare tactics on much larger vessels, but it wasn't much to look at.
The Massive, however, lived up to its name in every sense of the word. Legend has it that the ship was named after the first word out of Tallest Miyuki's mouth when she saw it. It was the sort of ship that could hit a planet at top speed without its pilots flinching. The Massive would need a new coat of paint, but the planet would crumble. The Massive and its flotilla of accompanying battle, siege, and supply ships could house the entire population of Irk indefinitely, as long as there were planets to conquer and raid.
Which was a good thing, since some idiot had made their home planet uninhabitable for the next few hundred years.
Not that it mattered too much to the Tallests. Luxury was luxury, whether it was with stable ground under your feet or careening around the galaxy in the biggest conceivable ship. If anything, the freedom to go anywhere, take all you wanted, and burn the leftovers was, arguably, much more attractive than being tied down to one planet. At least, that's how it looked to Tallest Red.
Sure, when you needed to resupply the entire armada, you swung by Foodcourtia. When you needed to have a meeting with all off-planet Irkens, you rendevouzed at Conventia. But you never stayed longer than you had to.
Far below, the surface of Blorch was being burned clean. Tallest Purple had wandered off after an hour, but a day later Tallest Red still couldn't tear his eyes away. It was so… satisfying. Another useless planet, populated by disease-ridden, barely sentient monsters was being cleansed. Purified. Soon it would be made useful.
It was almost as satisfying as finally telling Zim the truth and watching him disintegrate on camera. You couldn't cube away the sort of reaction that defect had had. The censure of the Tallests and the Assembly must have torn him apart. Zim had probably self-destructed by now. That thought brought a smile to Tallest Red.
What would they do with this new planet? That didn't concern Red. Purple was the one who enjoyed commanding the destiny of newly inducted planets. Blorch would keep him busy for a few months. Red, on the other hand, lived for the moment when a planet's surface glimmered with light and laser fire.
Besides, every second he stood here was another second he didn't have to face the Control Brains.
Their summons flashed in the center of his vision. If he focused on the edges of his eyes, he could almost pretend the black symbol was a part of Blorch that had already been scorched. Except the symbol blinked in and out of existence, destroying the pretence. It didn't even flash in a steady rhythm. Every time Red thought he'd gotten the pattern of the pulse, it changed up and Red's mind would refocus to lock down the new pattern. It was a very effective irritant at this level. Deeper levels, he'd heard, were used in the torture chambers and corrective centers.
"All right!" he finally snapped, whirling away from the view in the Command Center. He stalked past banks of administrators and controllers, each preoccupied with their own consoles, and left his favorite room behind.
It wasn't difficult to find his least favorite room, it was just tedious. The Control Brains were at the Core of the Massive, the point most densely protected by the machinery, structure, and armor. The Brains were wired into the ship's mainframe, so they could have communicated with him in his quarters, or in any room they chose. If they were calling him into their sanctum, it had to be about the project.
That Irk-forsaken project. Everything about it set his skin crawling, and he hadn't even gotten to the truly disgusting stages. He had the feeling they were close, though, and it made each trip to the Massive's core harder to face.
He stalked down corridors on his own two feet, refusing to switch on the hover belt. It felt right to stomp. Let the Control Brains know what he thought of this.
Seeing service drones scatter ahead of him, warning everyone to get out of his way, didn't cheer him up this time. Look out for the Tallest. Make way for Tallest Red. Make sure the path of our mighty ruler is clear! Sure, he was the Tallest. The all-powerful, all-mighty Tallest, or one of two. But if the Control Brains told him to dive into sludge, he'd still have to ask, "How deep?" So what good was being Tallest?
Corridor after service lift after winding turn after service lift. Using the teleport pods would not have suited his point. And so, Tallest Red spent almost two Irken day-cycles stomping to the Core. By the time he arrived at the final door, his spooch rumbled loud enough to hear and he was sweating and swaying on his feet, but he'd kept them waiting an awfully long time. Tiny victories.
He leaned on the wall for support as he plugged his PAK into the door port. He could feel the surge of electricity probing him, confirming his identity, before withdrawing. The door opened, and he stepped in.
He paused as the door closed behind him. He was not the only Irken in attendance. Highly unusual. His personal shell maintenance drone was here, along with two low-level assistants. They stood next to a padded PAK maintenance table in the center of the huge, domed room. A single light source pointed down on that table, and in the shadows all around him, the multi-colored lenses of the Control Brains lit up.
"Welcome, Tallest Red. Your dedication to our summons is an inspiration."
The lack of inflection in the computerized voices failed to disguise the bite in their words. He never could not tell who was speaking, if it was one or all of them. He shifted his eyes from the table, addressing the nearest set of glowing lenses. "I wanted to oversee the cleansing of Blorch myself. Why was I called away at such a critical moment?"
"Critical moments are carried out by Invaders, not Tallests. Your spectatorship can wait."
Red clenched his jaw, but lowered his antennae submissively. "I am at your disposal. Apparently."
"Yes, you are."
Note: I'm still here! It's just this other fic series I've been writing for six and a half years is in its final stretch so, y'know. I'm trying so hard to get to the finish line on that one at the moment. But I've been stewing on aspects of THIS story in the backburner of my brain and some fun new lore ideas have been cropping up. I hope I can incorporate them all. If you're reading this on t(um)blr, consider switching over to AO3 because I intend to stop posting fic chapters to social media by the end of the year and keep the fanfic writing strictly on the big three fanfic sites (AO3, Watt Pad, and ffDOTnet). I have the same username across all sites. ALSO you should check out pixelw0lf on t(um)blr because she did the new cover art! ALSO ALSO you should check out Velociraptoraddict's fic Chomp. Raptor helps me beta in parts and brainstorm lore and most of all, helps me sew up old plotholes. Standing ovation for these two!
