In case I haven't warned you guys and/or you haven't figured it out yet, I've got a whole freaking Irken culture worked out. This start of this chapter is just part of it. A rather... interesting part, heh. Thank you so so much for all your reviews/faves/alerts so far, and please, keep them coming. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
By the way, I'm gonna try for a weekly update schedule (unless that just starts to overwhelm me). I've already working on chapter 8, if that tells you anything.
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In Short Supply
Paper Planes
xxx
From a research article published by the Vortian Scola Institute eight years ago, jointly written by Lasa Gna and Sevince Vensvin, also known as Vortian prisoners # 452 and # 777: The Link Between Irken Physiology and Taboo: or, what they're really hiding on Abandonia
Section 5: on Irken copulation. It's the question we, as Vortians, have been asking since we first made contact with Irk; why the obsession with copulation? (Or, as Irkens will invariably call it, "dancing.")
On the whole, the Irkens do not possess the same characteristics as other copulation-crazed species that we've encountered. They do not force intimacy onto unwilling parties; they do not—in fact, cannot—masturbate; they do not hold an individual in higher or lower esteem based on how many partners one has had or how often one copulates; they do not create, view, or take any pleasure in pornography; and they do not look down upon other species merely for not attaching the same importance to copulation as they do.
Even so, Irkens continue to "dance" although they no longer have reproductive capabilities, have no qualms about copulating with near strangers, cannot comprehend why any Irken would NOT want to dance (unless the proposed partner is particularly unattractive), and seem to think that frequent dancing is as necessary to a healthy lifestyle as eating. In fact, if they discover that an Irken has not danced in a few dozen days or more, they will express concern for the individual (inasmuch as an Irken ever expresses concern over anyone other than himself), and a casual acquaintance might volunteer to "help," as if this is a problem that needs fixing.
Naturally, we've never been able to make sense of this. However, it may be that the answer is not difficult to find, but that the question we've been asking is incorrect. All along, we have asked, "What in Irken culture brought about this phenomenon?" However, the answer does not lie in their culture; it's in their physiology.
As explained in Section 2, Irkens do not produce several chemicals found in what we define as a "healthy" brain, most notably serotonin, norepinephrine, and especially dopamine. Their mental health thus depends on getting these chemicals elsewhere, or otherwise prompting the brain to produce more of these chemicals than normal.
One of the best-known, easiest methods the Irkens use to raise these chemicals' levels is copulation; upon reaching orgasm, Irkens get a whole flood of feel-good chemicals, including dopamine. Vortians also get a post-copulation high, as we all know (and if you don't yet, why are you reading this?); however, the Irkens are the only known species to release dopamine after intercourse. Also, we, like most other species, don't need that chemical flood. Irkens do.
The personality changes seen in Irkens who have recently copulated are astounding; they oftentimes become calmer, nicer, more sociable, more optimistic, and all together pleasant—even by Vortian standards. For a while, until their brains return to their normal mix of chemicals, they're almost completely different beings.
With that previous paragraph in mind, the writers of this paper would like to say that if the Irkens want to dance four times a day, let them go at it. It just makes things easier for everyone.
xxx
"Prepare yourself! The astounding Zim has arrived!" Zim cackled gleefully as the lift carried him into the kitchen toilet.
"Are you actually talking to anybody?" the computer asked.
"Eh? Not really," Zim said. He ran into the living room and stood on the sofa to yell at the ceiling. "Hey, computer! How long until school starts?"
"Uh, about two hours?"
"A mere eighteen degrees! Perfect," Zim said. "Excellent work, computer. You can take the day off."
"Um, not really. The base might blow up or something if I did," the computer said. "You know, I was serious. You really should get laid more often."
"Don't be silly! I feel fine," Zim said.
"That's my point."
Zim sat on top of the back of the couch. Eighteen degrees, two hours, what could he do in that time? Well, just about anything, really. What couldn't Zim do?
"Hey, computer. How are the cow-humans doing?"
"I dunno. Ask Gir."
That's right, Zim had told the computer that if anything went wrong, the cow-humans were Gir's responsibility. "Gir? What condition are the cow-humans in?" Zim shouted. No response. "Hey! GI—"
Something fell over in the kitchen, with a series of clangs and squawks. Zim jumped off the couch and ran into the kitchen, to see Gir wrestling on top of the overturned refrigerator with a struggling rooster. "Oh. There you are."
"All I wants is a baby chicky!" Gir cried. "Why won't you give me a chicky?!" The rooster crowed in distress.
"Gir!"
Gir jumped to his feet, saluting and optics flashing red. "Yes, my master!" The rooster took the opportunity to flee, half flying and half running its way into the living room and out of sight.
It would take half a day to hunt the bird down and get it out of Zim's base. However, Zim found himself more amused by the display than anything else—an uncommon occurrence. "Gir, what is the condition of the cow-humans?"
"Aw, they's great!" Gir said enthusiastically. "They was real tasty, Master!"
"Er... good work, Gir." Zim chose not to think too deeply about what Gir had said. He decided the cow-humans weren't all that important after all. "Now, put the refrigyraty-thingy back upright."
"Okie-dokie!" Gir kicked a hole in the back of the fridge and jumped inside. Zim could hear a giggle from the inside. "Hi there, Mrs. Rooster."
So much for that order. "Eh, keep up the fine work," Zim said, and then giggled. He blinked. That was... unusual. Very unusual. But... Gir was just funny. Zim had no reason not to laugh. In fact, seeing as he still had about 17° until school, why not spend them doing something amusing?
Zim returned to the couch in the living room and said, "Computer, find an Earthen 'documentary' on the human called Napoleon." Napoleon was always good for a few laughs. What kind of idiot tries to conquer his own planet?
"Searching... searching... doodedoo..." the computer droned. "Documentary found: The Waterloo Hullabaloo."
"Excellent! Play it!" Zim said.
"Yeah, yeah..."
Zim had been watching only a few minutes, chuckling at every few quotes from Napoleon—"In politics, stupidity is not a handicap"—when Gir, covered in eggs, wandered in and took a seat beside him. "Whatchu watchin'?"
"A comedy."
"Mmhmm." Gir nodded, egg whites and shells dripping off his head. Zim would have to tell the computer to clean it later.
After a moment, Gir asked, "What was you doin' wrong?"
"Eh?" Zim gave Gir a baffled look. "Zim does nothing wrong!"
"Oh," Gir said. "'Cause last night the Tallest kept saying 'Zim! You're doing it wrong!'"
"You lie! You must have misheard!" He never remembered Tallest Purple saying that.
"Actually, yeah, I said that." Purple was standing in the kitchen entryway, arms crossed.
"No you didn't!" Zim leaped to his feet, fists planted on his sides. "You would have had no reason to! Clearly you cannot properly remember what we did because you're still dazed by your astoundingly passionate night with Zim!"
Purple gave Zim an unreadable look. "Actually... no. I'm not. Not at all."
"Admit it!" Zim shouted. "You have never had a lover like ZIM!"
Purple stared at Zim. Then he burst out laughing. Nearly doubled over, he had to grab the entryway with one hand to keep himself upright. "Z-Zim—that's—stupidest..." He couldn't continue, he was laughing so hard.
"My Tallest?" Zim said, baffled. And then, inexplicably, he started laughing himself. Well, why not?! Besides, there wasn't a reason in the world not to laugh.
"Never mind!" the computer said loudly over the laughter. "I take it back! Master, you should never get laid again."
That only made them laugh harder.
xxx
It took a few minutes to recover themselves. When Zim and Purple finally did quiet down, they heard a new quote from the Napoleon documentary—"Throw off your worries when you throw off your clothes at night"—and were set off all over again.
At last, when they were both fairly calm again Purple told Zim that he'd be leaving soon, and that he had a few instructions before then.
"You have a standard lifeform protection chamber in your base, don't you?" Purple asked.
"Of course," Zim said. The SLP chamber was the vast room with dozens of tubes where the Invaders could store captured alien species. "Every Invader's base has one of those!"
"But you're not a... Never mind." Purple sighed. "Okay, you've got one. Good. When you have the eggs, put them in those tubes before you contact me, okay? That'll keep them stable until I can show up. After that I can do... something with them." Purple looked thoughtful. "I could try to take the eggs back to the birthing facilities and sneak them in with the rest, but that might mess the system up."
"The birthing facilities are messed up really easily," Zim said earnestly. On the day he was born he'd made a really, really small mistake, and the entire facility had crashed. Surely that was due to faulty systems at the facility.
Purple gave Zim a cold look. "Yes, I'm aware of that," he said. "Just remember what I told you to do, okay?"
"Do about what?"
"About the... Slark, just forget it. Computer?"
"Yes, my Almighty Tallest?" the computer said smartly. Suck-up, Zim thought.
"You make sure that when Zim has my eggs, they're stored in the SLP chamber. Got it?"
"Yes sir, my Tallest."
"Good." Purple turned back to Zim. "I need enough snacks to last me three days, for the trip back to the Massive. Go get some."
"Yes sir, my Tallest!" Zim saluted, stretching himself out to his full height. "Your wish is my command!" He wasn't about to let his computer become more popular with the Tallest than he himself was.
As he dashed past Purple, he had a sudden thought, and stopped. "Three days?!" he said. "But that can't possibly last the trip! It's months to the Massive!" Given that it took a twentieth of an Irken year for Zim to reach Earth from Conventia, and the Massive was about two thirds of the way from Earth to Conventia right now...
"What's a month?" Purple asked, baffled.
"Eh, sorry. Earth term," Zim said. "Didn't you hear about it from my reports?"
"No."
"Oh." What, hadn't the Tallest been listening to his reports? "Still!" Zim said. "How can you go with only three days' snacks? It will take you much longer than that to get to the Massive."
"Not really," Purple said smugly. "Maybe in a trashy little Voot Cruiser, but not in my ship."
Zim's eyes widened. A Spittle Runner was really that fast? "It can go that far in three days?" he asked, awed.
"Or less," Purple said. "And you should see the kind of handling it has. You hardly even notice you're piloting it." He paused. "Not that I'm ever letting you find out first hand."
"Fine," Zim grumbled. He'd never gotten to pilot a Spittle Runner before. But, he understood—it wasn't every Irken that could afford a ship of their own. Those that could, had reason to be protective of them. It was actually one of the few things Zim understood humans about: lay so much as a finger on their vehicle, and there's hell to pay.
"Now how about those snacks?" Purple said.
"Yes, my Tallest!" Zim said, and stepped around the busted fridge to reach the cabinets with the snacks, Purple following to look at the selection.
"Actually," Purple said, "After last night, I probably won't be hungry again for a while..."
That was true. No need for snacks so soon after dancing. "So you won't need as much, right?" Zim said eagerly. More snacks for Zim!
Purple looked over Zim's supplies again, and his eyes widened. "You have Duper Dip? I thought there was a shortage!"
"Oh, well, I guess I was lucky," Zim said, shrugging. Actually, he was probably partially responsible for the shortage. That was the last time he left Gir with the responsibility to order more chips and dip. The robot had forgotten the chips and overloaded on dip. In fact, Zim had gotten so much that he'd decided to use half the dip to fill the Dib-stink's room, then set up a camera in his hallway to see how Dib reacted... That had been fun.
Purple's eyes glimmered greedily. "Actually, I might need enough food for three days after all," he said, reaching past Zim for a jar of dip. "Maybe four."
Zim sighed. He couldn't really say no to his leader, could he? "Yes, my Tallest."
xxx
7:06 AM, approximately fifteen minutes until class started. Dib was leaning against his locker, arms crossed, trying to keep his eyes open as he scanned the students who walked past him. Junior high started way too early. He missed elementary school, with its 7:40 start time. Not that he'd appreciated the extra twenty minutes back then, he'd always gotten up before six... oh, for the good old pre-puberty days, when he woke up early enough to see Saturday morning cartoons.
No. Focus. Dib pushed his glasses on his forehead to rub his eyes, and then settled them back into position. His first period class was just down the hall from his locker, so he waited every morning for Zim to go to his own locker, That way, Dib could find out before school started if the alien was up to anything that day. It was usually easy to tell; when Zim was planning something, he came to school much happier than normal. He almost always passed by between 7:14 and 7:18 AM, so Dib still had a few more minutes to wait.
In fact, he didn't really need to be watching, did he? After all, Dib wasn't the only student who waited for Zim to arrive. That weird Keef kid with the orange puff of hair (Dib had dubbed it an afrohawk last year) also hung out in this hallway, waiting to greet Zim, his bestest friend in the world. Dib pitied Keef. Still, he had a shrill voice... which meant Dib could close his eyes for... a few minutes...
"Hey there BESTEST BUDDY ZIM!"
Dib jerked his head back up and blinked stupidly down the hall. Had Zim really gotten here so soon? Or maybe Dib had dozed off for a moment? He checked his watch; no, it was only 7:08. He looked at Keef, who was waving with both arms down the hallway, and looked the other way, to find Zim. There was no less than a distance of twenty feet between Keef and Zim. That kid was obsessive.
"Man, is it good to see you!" Keef shouted at the top of his lungs. "You're six minutes early!" Okay, that was just creepy. What kind of weirdo figured out the exact time someone showed up at school? ... Well, Dib had an excuse, at least.
Zim glanced down the hall and clearly saw Keef. And now would start the morning ritual: Zim pretends not to notice his crazy "friend," until Keef runs over to get Zim's attention. At that point, Zim yells at Keef to go away, upsetting Keef greatly, until Zim resorts to doing something funny with his Pak so that Keef shuts up and walks away on his own. Dib was pretty sure that Zim had put some sort of alien mind-control device in Keef, but decided for once he'd let Zim get away with his evil scheme: he preferred Keef silent.
And now, Dib thought, time for the shouting to start.
To his utter shock, Zim broke into a wide grin. "Hello KEEF!" he yelled back, waving at least as enthusiastically as Keef was. "Boy oh boy am I glad to see you!"
Keef's eyes almost bugged out. "Really?!"
"Sure!" Zim shouted, smiling as if he really were thrilled to see Keef.
Dib looked back and forth between the two of them. Zim was practically skipping up to Keef, humming something Dib didn't recognize. Keef, meanwhile, had a dazed look of speechless joy on his face—this was probably the first time Zim had been nice to Keef in over two years, since he'd decided to be Keef's friend for all of four days.
What was going on here?! Zim couldn't possibly be happy to see Keef. At least, not this happy. He had to be up to something big. Just based on his mood, Dib wouldn't have been surprised at all if the roof of the school was torn away and five billion alien soldiers jumped inside... Okay, so maybe five billion wouldn't fit. But something had to be making Zim this cheerful.
"So, Keef!" Zim said. "How was your day yesterday?"
Keef looked about ready to pass out with euphoria from the sudden wave of positive attention from his idol. "It was really really good! How was yours, bestest friend ever?"
A triumphant gleam shone from behind Zim's contacts. He pointed one finger in the air as he declared, "It was the most amazing day in the HISTORY of your PLANET!" Dib was so stunned, he didn't even think to try to drag people's attention to Zim's comment.
Keef gasped. "You mean that?!"
"I do!"
"I'm so happy for you, Zim!"
"I'm sure you are," Zim said dismissively. "Now! To Earth history!" He grabbed Keef's arm and started dragging him along, despite the fact that he was nearly a foot taller than Zim. Keef had to stoop over to stumble after Zim.
"But I've got math, Zim!" Keef said. "I don't go to world history until third period!"
"Shut your speech-hole!" Zim commanded. "We are going to Earth history. Onward to victory!" He laughed maniacally as he hauled Keef along.
"Er..." Keef recovered himself quickly, and beamed at Zim. "If you say so, Zim, bestest friend!"
"I sure do," Zim said, and then pointedly added, "buddy." Dib could have sworn that Keef nearly swooned.
As they walked away, Dib quietly opened his locker, pulled out a small camcorder, and followed Zim and Keef. He could miss first period to find out what Zim was up to—
Someone grabbed the back of Dib's coat and shirt, jerking him back. He gasped and swung an arm behind him, trying to get at his assailant, but they let go and Dib lost balance and fell over. A few kids chuckled, then moved on.
Dib got to his feet, fists raised. "Hey, what do you think you're—" He saw his "assailant," and quickly dropped his fists. "Er, Mr. Nub!"
"I should ask you the same question," Mr. Nub said, in a nasal twang. "Mr. Dib Gomolka, what do you think you're doing, trying to sneak past my class less than a minute before the bell?" Before Dib could answer, the bell rang. "And you're now late, Mr. Gomolka. Three more tardies and I'll have to count it as an unexcused absence. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"Uh..." Dib glanced down the hallway; Zim and Keef, of course, were long gone. He sighed. "No, sir. I just got back from the restroom late."
Mr. Nub let out a long breath through his pudgy nose; it sounded slightly like a very distant train whistle. "You do realize that you've skipped my class four times, don't you?"
"Yes, Mr. Nub," Dib said dully.
"And that if you have one more unexcused absence, you'll fail Intro Tech and have to retake it over summer break?"
"Yes, Mr. Nub."
"It would be such a shame if I had to fail you," Mr. Nub said with a false pitying look. "You're the best student in class."
"Yes, Mr. Nub." Not only that, but Dib was quite a bit better with computers than the Introduction to Technology teacher himself. He still wondered why on Earth he had to take this course. He was Professor Membrane's son, for crying out loud; he'd learned all this stuff before the school even let kids use calculators. And it was only mid-November; he still had to suffer through another six months of this.
Mr. Nub sighed. "Get in," he said, standing aside and letting Dib into the classroom. Dib quickly claimed his seat, at the computer as far from Mr. Nub's desk as possible.
"Now, children," Mr. Nub said, squeezing his tubby body into his swivel chair, "with Mr. Gomolka's interruption out of the day, let's get started. Today, we're going to—er, yes, Mr. Gomolka?"
Dib had been waving his hand for attention. He lowered it and said, "Can I go to the restroom?" There was no way he was letting Zim go without finding out what he was up to—it wasn't too late to run down to the world history class, peek in the window, and at least see if he was doing anything weird in there...
"Didn't you say you were late to class because you were just coming back from the restroom, Mr. Gomolka?" Mr. Nub said, squinting his beady eyes.
"Oh... yeah, I guess so," Dib muttered. "What if I say it's an emergency?"
"That's what the plastic buckets under your computer are for," Mr. Nub said tiredly. Half the class peeked under their desks at the buckets, eyes widening in disgusted realization. So that's why those buckets smelled so funny.
From the opposite corner of the room Dib heard a relieved sigh and the sound of a zipper. To cover up whatever sounds came next, Dib said loudly, "I think I can hold it."
"Good lad," Mr. Nub said. "As I was saying, today, we're going to learn how to send each other electronic mail!" The class let out a collective groan; only the slowest students couldn't send emails. "Oh, I know, children, but what's school without a bit of intellectual challenge? Now, everybody turn on your computers—do you all remember where the power switches are? No need to be shy..."
Dib turned on the computer, sighing. What a waste of time. And to think, Zim was in another class somewhere, doing things, without Dib there to keep him in check. How he'd rather be out of this room, hunting Zim down...
There was a series of horrified gasps from the corner that the zipper sound had come from, and Dib quickly amended his previous thought: he'd rather be anywhere but first period Intro Tech.
xxx
Somehow, whenever Dib and Zim ended up in the same class, they had the precise same seating arrangement.
There was just no other way to situate them. The teachers wanted them as far apart as possible, they wanted to be as far apart as possible, but neither would allow the other to sit behind him, out of his line of sight. Their teachers would never let such a pair of troublemakers sit in the back of the class together, so they sat in the front row. And, as Dib had discovered several months ago, when Zim was in a large group he'd invariably try to situate himself so that rest of the crowd was on his left side. And thus, in every class they shared—front row, far left desk, Dib; front row, far right desk, Zim.
The first class of the day they shared was homeroom, twenty minutes long, between second and third period. Nowhere near enough time for Dib to find out anything useful about what Zim was planning. But he'd certainly try.
While the announcements droned about school pride for the Joonier Hi football game after school (who cared about school football teams before high school, anyway?) Dib pulled out a piece of notebook paper, scrawled "What are you up to?!" on it, folded it into a paper airplane, and let fly. After uncounted detentions for arguments in class, he and Zim had reluctantly agreed to this silent form of communication. Now each just hoped that the other would get caught passing notes and have detention alone. It wasn't likely today, though; Ms. Airy was engrossed in a book and every once in a while heaving wistful sighs. Dib was pretty sure the cover said Mein Kampf.
Zim was staring blankly at a worksheet when the paper plane hit his head. Dib expected he'd at least earned himself a scowl, but Zim just glanced to the side, saw the paper plane on the floor, and picked it up. He read it, answered it, and sent it back without displaying any annoyance at all.
The response was only one word. "NOTHING." (Zim had an annoying tendency to either write in all caps, or forget to capitalize all together.)
Dib frowned, and scrawled back, "I don't buy that for 1 second alien! What are you doig this time??"
Plane re-folded, sent over; reply sent back. Zim hadn't written anything new, just traced over and underlined his previous answer: "NOTHING."
"Yea rite! Someting's making you so hapy!! What??"
Zim read the message, smirked, and pulled out a new pen from the pod on his back. When Dib got his note back, all his spelling mistakes had been scrawled out and written over in red. Okay, so Dib had a tendency to take short cuts on spelling when he was writing fast, but this was just obnoxious. "WATCH YOUR SPELLING. YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED THAT I KNOW YOUR LANGUAGE BETTER THAN YOU DO. XP"
And when Dib was starting to think that Zim had finally reached the upper threshold of his abilities to infuriate, he discovered emoticons. "Watch your capitalizaton! & answer the qestion I askd!!" Dib threw the plane so hard that it just flopped down next to his chair. Zim bit his lip to keep from laughing. His face heating up, Dib picked up the paper again, smoothed out the tip, and threw it again.
When Dib got the letter back, Zim had once again marked up his mistakes, but thankfully his actual response was more enlightening. "it is none of your business why i am in a good mood today, dib. besides, you are far too young to possibly know about such mature forms of pleasure-acquisition. perhaps you will understand when you reach your adult stage."
Dib was not naive. Unless this was some freakishly incomprehensible alien concept, then he knew exactly what Zim was talking about. His eyes widened. Zim got laid? He didn't even want to THINK about his arch-nemesis doing that. With who? There were no other aliens of his species on the planet, as far as Dib knew. Zim didn't even have any allies, except...
An image of Gir sprawled out on a satin bed with a lewd look flashed through Dib's mind. He shuddered and crumpled up the notebook paper. That was an idea he could have gone his entire life without thinking.
A moment later, a new paper plane landed on Dib's desk. He gave Zim a confused look, and then unfolded it. It only had a question: "what earth year did your christopher columbus find the america-continent?"
Baffled, Dib read the question twice, turned the paper over to look for a hidden message, and then remembered the worksheet he'd seen Zim doing earlier and scowled. "Do your own damn histrory homework," he wrote, "alien pervert."
When Zim read Dib's response, he looked momentarily surprised, and then snickered. He didn't seem angry at all.
Dib watched Zim, worried, for the rest of homeroom. He was too happy. He had to be planning something particularly wicked.
Dib intended to find out what by the end of the day.
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