Thank you all for the reviews! It means a ton to me, it really does. The fact that so many people are enjoying this, people who are saying they've never seen a ZAPR before or never thought mpreg could be done well... It's really awesome.

Anyway, a quick note: despite the fact that Irkens do appear fairly bug-like, I see their smeets as having eggs with hard shells, rather than soft. Among other reasons, usually species with soft eggshells lay their eggs in water or other damp places, which would be a bad idea for Irkens. So, they get hard eggs.

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please remember to review!

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In Short Supply

Broken Pieces

xxx

From a form filled out at the Vortian Scola Institute nine Irken years ago: Military Inventor Layman's Facts Form (MILF form):

Name: ZIM Species: SUPERIOR IRKEN

Name of invention: WORMHOLE DRIVE THINGY

Purpose of invention: to locate wormholes in outer space, identify what is at the other end, and transport a spacecraft through the wormhole safely. without one of my brilliant drives, any ship that attempts to travel through a wormhole will be crushed by the pure mind-imploding pressure. i fixed that.

How has this invention been tested?: it hasn't. no one will let me.

How did it perform in tests?: IT WILL PERFORM PERFECTLY.

Is there any practical application of your invention?: zim does not make useless inventions. it can be used to cross the entire universe in a matter of degrees. i'm genius like that.

Final evaluation by heads of institution: While we at the Scola Institute do appreciate the Irken Zim's attempted contributions to the realm of scientific progress (and his remembering for the first time to fill out the MILF form), we find his proposed blueprint of the "Wormhole Drive" to be unreliable, incomprehensible, and generally ridiculous. We doubt he's ever seen the inside of a ship's engine in his life. Thus, we must veto Zim's request to build and test a prototype, and suggest he work on something more appropriate for his level of skill. Zim—why don't you start on that creature you thought up that can absorb energy for food? It could make a nice pet.

xxx

For the past few weeks, Purple had lived in pure terror that Zim would call and ruin everything. It had been twenty-five days since he'd returned to the Massive, twenty-seven since he had danced with Zim, and the eggs would be ready in the next two or three days.

Really, he was stunned that Zim had resisted the urge to call his quarters for this long. That probably meant he'd do something even worse.

"Approaching Planet Vort!" one of the Navigation Technicians declared.

Red glanced at Purple. "Think we need to stop here?" he asked. "Y'know, check in on the Vortian prisoners?"

"Huh? What?" Purple gave Red a blank look. He hadn't been listening.

"The Vortians, Purple."

"Oh. Uh... no," Purple said. "Why would we want to see the Vortians, huh?"

Red shrugged, and turned to the Nav Tech. "Maintain current course."

"As you command, my Tallest."

Sometimes, Purple really envied Red. Any time a question popped up, Red immediately reacted; they approached a planet, he asked Purple his opinion and then decided if they needed to stop. An alien race contacted them asking for a treaty with the Irken Empire, Red was the one that let Purple know, and then he practically ran any treaty discussions by himself—it was all Purple could do to come up with anything worth contributing. Yet, Red always stopped and made sure he heard what Purple was saying, and asked for Purple's input on everything, even though Purple was sure Red could handle everything by himself just fine.

Purple wasn't even supposed to be Tallest, after all. Sometimes he wondered what Red had been thinking when he'd come up with the Tenth Law—not that Purple minded. They'd both thought for years, ever since they were five or six, that one of them would become Tallest. They'd promised that should that day come, whoever was Tallest would appoint the other Grand Taller Advisor. But Purple had never expected Red to change the law for him.

Even so, sometimes Red could be a complete idiot. Purple would have a much easier time dealing with this disappearance of middle-height Irkens if Red would just help him...

A loud beeping from one of the Communication Tech's stations signaled that the Massive was being contacted. The Comm Tech turned to the Tallest and said, "Incoming transmission from Earth!"

Purple whirled to look at the Tech. "What did you say?!"

"Er..." The poor Comm Tech shrank down in his seat. "I said... 'Incoming transmission from Irk,' my Tallest."

"No, you didn't!"

"Yeah, he did." Red gave Purple a weird look. Purple had been getting that look a lot, lately.

"Nuh-uh, he did NOT say Irk the first time!"

"He said Irk, Pur. Really. I heard him." Red looked around the bridge. "Did any of you hear anything else?"

The other Comm and Nav Techs shook their heads.

"See? What did you think he said?"

"Nothing," Purple muttered.

Red shook his head, grinning. "Idiot. 'Irk' doesn't sound anything like 'nothing'."

"You're an idiot," Purple shot back, then looked at the Comm Tech. "Display transmission on main screen."

The screen turned on to display a medium-tall Irken (175 units, Purple immediately thought) with small sewer-green eyes. He smiled widely and bowed so low Purple could only see his Pak and his butt. "Greetings, my Tallest!"

Red and Purple groaned. Taller Advisor Pon was the most annoying Advisor they had to put up with—they couldn't imagine why Spork had hired him, except because he was tall. He was also in charge of single-handedly tracking every monetary transaction made on Irk; the Control Brains did that automatically, but Red and Purple had given Pon the job as well because they figured he'd be too busy to ever contact them again. They told him that he was "checking the Control Brains' math" to make sure they didn't miscalculate anything. As if the Control Brains' math needed checking.

But no, Pon did the job. And he called them once every two hundred and twenty days to give a report on everything he'd recorded.

"Aren't you a bit early, Advisor Pon?" Red asked tiredly.

"Yes I am, Tallest Red, yes I am!" Pon said enthusiastically. "In my spare time, I developed a logarithm to predict what purchases will be made in the immediate future, so I can give my report five days early on what's going to happen in the next few days. I can predict the future with math! Isn't that neat?"

Red and Purple stared, slack-jawed, at Pon. Finally, Purple managed to say, "You have spare time?!"

Pon chuckled modestly. "Anyway, here's my report, my Tallest." He held up a stack of at least five hundred pages.

"That's the last two hundred and fifteen days?!" Red said.

"No, not at all. This is just the first 55 degrees of the first day." He beamed. The Tallest stared in horror as their Paks clicked through some quick calculations. Five hundred pages on one fourth of a day... meant two thousand pages for a single day... meant 430,000 pages for 215 days...

"So, in the first degree..." Pon pulled up the first paper. "The first purchase was from a hygiene store, the Aswipe, of five boxes of twenty plastic toothpicks, for 75.5 monies..."

Purple had an idea. He leaned over to Red and whispered, "Hey. Isn't it winter on Irk?"

Red shrugged. "I dunno. Is it?"

"Yeah, it is. That means it's gonna be really cold outside, right?" Purple grinned evilly. Irk was freakishly cold during winters; biologists were still trying to figure out how Irkens had survived their own winters long enough to develop indoor heating.

Red grinned back. He caught on fast. "Hey, Pon."

Pon cut off his report and blinked, obviously taken aback at being interrupted. "Yes, my Tallest?"

"We can't hear you very well. I don't think your transmission is coming through clearly. You've got a pretty bad signal."

"Yeah," Purple said. "You should go outside and find a public transmitter to contact us from."

Pon looked horrified. "Outside? I'm sure I could find another transmitter in this build—"

"No, that simply won't do!" Purple said regally.

Red was struggling not to snicker. "I think our superior heights should be more than enough to prove that we know what we're doing. Isn't that right, Pur?"

"Sure is, Red."

"Yeah. So go find a transmitter outside."

"Y... yes, my Tallest," Pon said weakly. He bowed ridiculously low again, and then cut the transmission.

Red and Purple cracked up, and most of the Techs snickered along; the Tallest didn't hire Technicians for the Massive who didn't enjoy being involved in their pranks. "He's gonna freeze solid out there," Red said. "Did you see the look on his face?"

"Yeah! You'd think we banished him to Insecticidia or something!"

The Tallest were still laughing when they heard the beep of another transmission. Pon at least got points for promptness, Purple thought.

The Comm Tech declared, "Incoming transmission from planet Earth!"

Now Purple was sure he was hearing things. "He said Irk, right?"

"What are you talking about?" Red asked. "He said Earth."

A second set of beeping started. The Comm Tech looked down at a second screen. "That one's from Irk, my Tallest."

Purple immediately stopped smiling. Red, however, grinned wider. "Hey, talk about timing! We can snub Pon and make fun of Zim at the same time," Red said. "Been a while since we heard from Zim, huh?"

"Why ruin a perfectly good record?" Purple said nervously. "Answer the transmission from Irk."

He could imagine what they'd see if they answered the one from Earth—Zim, beaming, holding up an armful of eggs: "Hey, my Tallest! Tallest Purple! I've got all the eggs you impregnated me with! My Tallest! Hey! Tallest Purple? I have your eggs!" Purple shuddered at the thought.

"No, don't answer Pon, he's boring," Red said. "Answer Zim."

"No!"

The Comm Tech was looking back and forth between the Tallest, baffled. Red looked almost as confused. "Why not? Hey, don't you want to let Pon sit out in the cold a while?"

"No! He's got important information to give us," Purple said.

Now most of the bridge was staring. "You think Pon's important?"

Purple gulped. "Well, he's more important than Zim, isn't he?"

Red thought about that a moment. "True... but Zim's more fun."

"Business before pleasure!" Purple glared at the Comm Tech. "Answer Pon. Now."

"Don't!" Red glared at Purple. "What's up with you? C'mon, Pon will be here later. Who knows, Zim might blow himself up or something if we don't answer, and then we'll never get to hear him being stupid again."

Purple laughed nervously. "Oh, blow himself up! Yeah, that's a good idea. Why don't we let him?"

"Don't be a moron, Pur."

"Hey!"

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to both the Tallest, the Nav Tech sitting beside the Comm Tech who had to decide which transmission to answer was doing a quick search on the Central Empirical Statistics Database. She leaned over to the poor Comm Tech and whispered, "Look at this."

He dragged his eyes away from the Tallest to see her screen.

"Among all the Tallest-ordered executions in the last two years, sixty-four percent of them were ordered by Tallest Red," she whispered. "So if you're gonna get killed for disobeying orders, there's only a thirty-six percent chance Tallest Purple would kill you."

He nodded weakly. "Thanks. I owe you."

"I know you do," the Nav Tech said. "Got any good snacks?" He shook his head. "Fine. In that case, my room's on the fourteenth tier, hall seven, room twenty-five. I get off duty at one-fifty degrees. Be there."

He grinned behind his collar. "Yes ma'am!" With that, he happily answered the transmission from Earth, safe in the knowledge that Purple was far less likely to kill him than Red was, and that if he survived the day then he'd be getting some.

The Comm Tech's satisfaction evaporated the instant the transmission from Earth was displayed on the view screen.

Red and Purple were cut off mid-argument by a raw shriek of pure agony. Both Tallest, along with the rest of the bridge, turned to look up at the transmission. Every Irken in the room gasped in shock.

Purple's prediction had been completely off. There was no beaming Zim, holding up half a dozen eggs. There was no Zim at all. Only what seemed to be a thousand metallic arms—long, thin arms, each tipped with vicious blades and scalpels and scissors, gleaming sharp and wicked with cold silver and dripping with hot, green, fresh, brilliantly shining blood. They danced almost blurrily over the scene, up and down, either operating on or dissecting something below the view of the transmission screen.

Purple felt his squeedilyspooch tie up in knots and bile rise in his throat. That was where Zim was.

The screen was suddenly half-covered. Zim's defective SIR had gotten in the way. It was splattered with rivulets of blood as well—how could such a small Irken produce so much blood?!—and looking quite a bit more somber than usual. "Hi," it said over the screaming. "Master said if he couldn't call when he got the eggs, I was supposed to call you for him. Mmkay?"

Purple didn't even notice that the SIR had just said the very thing he'd been fearing; just as well, because no one in the bridge would ever remember the comment. The robot hopped down and wandered out of sight, leaving only the knives and the blood and the sounds of slick metal and of screaming.

Every Irken in the bridge had their antennae flat against their head, doing everything they could to not hear the shrieks. But as Purple listened, he could start to hear words, between Zim's howls and his gasps for breath.

"Th-the PAIN! It's... I..." A moment of choking for air. "I c-can't... You... Y-you MONSTER!"

A cold shiver ran down Purple's back as he realized that he was the monster at which Zim was screaming.

With renewed fury in his voice, Zim carried on. "You did this! YOU DID THIS TO ME! I d-don't want to die!" Another furious, pained cry, and then, with a bellow that could probably be heard six tiers above and below the bridge: "K-KILLER!"

Purple felt a weight on one side; Red had grabbed his shoulder armor, either for balance or for comfort. Purple wished he could do the same.

Gasp. "Y-you..." Gasp; the fury in Zim's voice broke. "Please, help me! My Tallest! HELP ME!"

That was too much for Purple. Nauseous, he crossed his arms, jerked out of Red's grip, and said, weakly, "C-cut the transmission. Please. Just..."

No one responded. Purple growled. "I think I just said cut the transmission you worthless roaches, and that is an order from your TALLEST! Cut it or so help me, I'll shoot myself in front of all of you. NOW!"

All eyes were turned from the bloody screen to Purple; the transmission was cut immediately, leaving an unpleasant humming in their antennae. The echoes of Zim's dying screams.

"Pur, a-are you..."

Purple looked at Red guiltily. Red looked absolutely terrified. "Did you really mean..."

"No. No, of course not," Purple said quickly. He couldn't believe he'd just said that, broken the strongest taboo in the Irken Empire; he and Red had executed Irkens for saying less than what Purple had. The power of suggestion, especially on a topic like... like the S-word, could have enormous consequences. Even suggesting it to one's self increased the risk of actually... doing it. But Purple knew he had no intent to do that. "I'm fine, Red. I didn't mean it. Really. I'm just... a little... grossed out."

Red nodded slowly, looking very carefully at Purple's face. "Yeah. Okay."

"In fact," Purple said. "I'm gonna go get some curly fries. I'll be back later."

"Sure. Good idea," Red said as Purple turned away and started for the door. "Hey, bring some back for me, okay?"

"Get your own stupid fries. Lazy."

Purple could have sworn he heard Red chuckle. Good, he was about back to normal.

Really, Purple needed those fries. After that transmission from Zim, and his own outburst, he could have done with several baskets of fries. Either that or a quick dance, whatever it took to pick up his mood. But he didn't have time to swing by the Massive's food court.

Purple couldn't let Zim die like that. Even with all his flaws, he was still the only way Purple could think of to keep the empire from splitting in two. Besides, Zim couldn't die believing that somehow Purple had killed him.

It wasn't often that Purple felt guilty.

And, he told himself firmly, this was not one of those times.

They were probably still near Vort. Purple pulled a Sintillate candy out of his Pak and popped it in his mouth; sure, they were expensive, but this was a special occasion. As the sugar worked its way into his system, Purple hurried to the hangar of the Massive. He'd never reach Earth in time in his Spittle Runner, even flying as fast as possible.

Now, Vortians. Vortians, as every Irken knew, could figure out how to do anything.

xxx

Sevince Vensvin had a very, very difficult choice to make.

A Vortian several cells down the row had discovered a way for all of them to get more water; the process was whispered from cell to cell, from one prisoner to the next, until half the prison facility knew it. More water meant they wouldn't all be perpetually on the brink of dehydration, and perhaps, if the opportunity arose, it could be used as a weapon against the Irken guards. More water would be a blessing.

The source, however, made it something of a mixed blessing. Was it worth it?

Sevince Vensvin had been pacing his cell for half the day, thinking, when he realized just how thirsty he was. He glanced down at the cup in his hand; he'd drained it without even noticing. And the guards wouldn't refill it until evening. He groaned. "Fine, I give," he muttered. "I'll do it."

He eyed his cell's toilet critically. Now, how was he gonna figure out which pipe brought in the clean water and which one flushed out the dirty...?

"Prisoner 777?"

Sevince Vensvin jumped and whirled around to face the two Irkens outside his cell. "I'm not up to anything!"

"Sure," the first said flatly. Sevince Vensvin didn't recognize him, but he was dressed in basic Guard uniform. He didn't know the uniform of the second Irken; he was pretty tall, though, so maybe he was the prison warden.

Laser raised, the guard tapped in a code on the number pad beside Sevince Vensvin's cell, and one of the blue force-field walls dissolved. "The Tallest has requested the assistance of a Vortian without another assignment who has extensive knowledge of the construction of Irken ships. Your file says you helped design the Massive. Correct?"

"Yes sir!" Sevince Vensvin said eagerly, standing as tall as he could without losing balance. A chance to work for the Irken Tallest? It'd be the most interesting thing he'd done since getting arrested. Besides, maybe if he impressed the Tallest enough, he'd be given a pardon and allowed to go free... He'd heard that had happened with a few Vortians. What was the current Tallest like, anyway? He had lost track of Irken news after Tallest Miyuki died.

"All right." The Guard looked up at the second Irken, saluted, and left. Definitely a warden, then. Or a High Guard or something like that. Whatever term Irkens used.

The warden surveyed him coldly, then said, "Come on," and turned and headed down the hall. Sevince Vensvin had to hurry to keep up. The warden's voice was much higher than he'd expected.

"What am I going to be doing, sir?" he asked. "Something on the Massive?"

"No. Have you ever worked on a Spittle Runner before?"

Sevince Vensvin gulped. "No, but I'm familiar with them."

The warden scowled. "Fine," he grumbled. "And I bet you don't know how to get across the galaxy in less than a day, either?"

"Less than a day? That'd take a wormhole drive!" Sevince Vensvin said. "I've got blueprints for one of those."

The warden turned to look at him. "Really? I thought there weren't any working ones."

"This one works." Or so he'd been told.

"Hmm."

They reached a security door, with two Guards standing on each side. Most of the time whenever someone tried to get through, they blocked the door until they scanned the Pak of the person going by, even a fellow Irken. However, they simply saluted the Irken leading Sevince Vensvin, and one even pushed the button to open the door for him. Somehow, Sevince Vensvin doubted even a warden would get that kind of treatment. Maybe a Taller Advisor, then?

Outside, the weather was hot and muggy. Sevince Vensvin sucked in deep, grateful breaths of fresh air; he hadn't been warm in ages, and the Irkens kept the air in the prison facilities so dry. It was amazing to be outside again, in the heat and the humidity, after so long.

But the Irken didn't allow him any time to enjoy it. "Hurry up," he snapped, pointing. "My Runner's over there." Indeed, there was a Spittle Runner, black and indigo and sparkling, sitting near the building. It looked out of place next to the dusty prisoner transportation vehicles, their paint faded to grey and light brown in the sunlight.

"Your Runner?" Sevince Vensvin said, confused. "I thought I was supposed to do something for the Tallest."

The Irken shot him a dirty look. "I am a Tallest."

"Oh!" Sevince Vensvin looked at the Irken's feet; he was clearly hovering off the ground. How hadn't he noticed that? "Sorry! I mean, my apologies, Almighty Tallest, sir. I didn't recognize... I mean... we can't really watch the news in prison, see—"

"Shut up," the Tallest said. Sevince Vensvin shut up.

The Tallest unlocked his Spittle Runner, opened the cover of the engine, and said, "Get to work."

"But—"

"I said shut up!"

"Sorry! But I don't have any tools!"

"Oh." The Tallest gave both him and the engine a miffed look, then said, "Wait here," and got in the Runner.

The current Irken Tallest, Sevince Vensvin thought, wasn't very bright. He could easily run off while the Tallest was in the Runner...

Sevince Vensvin turned to do just that, when the door they'd just exited opened and two Guards came outside. He quickly hurried back to where he was standing. Crap. So much for that idea.

The Tallest came back out with a large toolbox. "Here." He dropped it beside Sevince Vensvin. "Is that enough?"

Sevince Vensvin opened the toolbox, scanned over the contents, then looked at the engine and went over the blueprints for the wormhole drive in his mind; he had them memorized perfectly. "Yes, that'll be enough."

"Good." The Tallest moved to the side and watched as he worked.

xxx

If nothing else, the Vortians did work quickly. Only five degrees had been wasted before Prisoner 777 told Purple that he'd finished working on the engine. Purple just hoped it wasn't five degrees too many.

"It should function just fine," 777 said, stepping back. "I've never actually built one of these, but I got the blueprints from someone who has..."

"And this'll take me through a wormhole without any problems?"

"Yeah, theoretically. Like I said, I've never actually made one before."

"Good enough," Purple muttered. He picked up his toolbox (all Spittle Runners came with one, not that Purple had any idea what to do with it himself), put it back in the Runner, and turned again to 777. "If this 'wormhole drive' can really do all that, why aren't they installed in more Irken ships?"

"Er... well, that'd be because the prototype was built by Invader Zim." 777 laughed nervously at Purple's expression, who was sure his eyes were a few sizes bigger than usual. "I know his reputation, Tallest sir, but really, he got this one right. It actually works. He told me he built one into a school bus." 777 paused. "I don't know what a school bus is, but..."

"Fine!" Purple didn't know what a school bus was either. "As long as it works."

"It will! I think."

"It'd better." Purple shut the cover over the engine, turned towards the Guards hanging out by the door into the prison, and said, "Hey, you two! Get over here and put 777 back in his cell."

"H-hey!" Prisoner 777 looked at Purple with shock, his tiny eyes wide. "But I—"

"What? Did you think I was going to take you along?" Purple asked. He didn't wait for an answer; he got in the Runner, shut the door, started up the engine, and took off. He never glanced down as 777 was dragged back into prison.

This wormhole drive had been designed by Zim, huh? Well, if it was approved by a Vortian, Purple figured it was good enough for him. True, it had been "installed" by a prisoner fooling around with the engine, re-arranging it so that it supposedly functioned both as an engine and as a wormhole drive... But, it was too late to worry about that now.

Besides, a certain amount of bravery was considered admirable among Irkens. Even if their interpretation of bravery was seen by the rest of the universe as reckless stupidity. Irkens admired reckless stupidity, too. It weeded out the idiots.

Purple turned on the wormhole drive and entered the coordinates for Earth. The Runner immediately gave him the coordinates of the nearest wormhole; it didn't end directly at Earth, but at a nearby planet, the one Zim had called V-something. Venice? Yeah, Venice sounded about right.

"All right," Purple muttered. He wasn't much of a pilot—that would be Red's forte—but he did know how to point the ship in the right direction and stick it in autopilot. "Zim, this stupid drive of yours had better work. If it kills me, you're dying too, you know." Why was he talking to someone who wasn't even there? He wasn't that crazy. Yet. Purple took a deep breath. "Well, let's get going."

He pulled out a couple more Sintillate candies (if ever there was a day when Purple needed them, this was it) and turned on the autopilot to let it take him through the wormhole.

The last thing he felt was the start of the sugar rush, before a great blue-violet spiral of light opened up before him, and sucked him through and out of reality.

xxx

If Gir was conscious of the gristly scene just down the hall, he certainly didn't show it. After all, he was content stacking all the broken pieces.

Pieces of what, he wasn't quite sure; they were darkish pink, stained with deeper red spots, but felt smooth, almost slick and glassy. When Gir held them up to the light, he could just barely see through them. They might've been pieces of a bowl or a plate, except they were a bit too round. They were fun to stack, though. Gir had made twelve stacks of them so far.

Humming to himself, Gir wiped another piece clean of the green liquid on it—Master was leaking a lot, Gir remembered, but the computer said he was taking care of it and told Gir to go away—and started on his thirteenth stack. Then, quietly, he started singing as he worked, a single word: "Doom, doom, de-doom doomy doom..."

It had been literally years since Gir had sung the song, but he still considered it his magnum opus. Well, he would if he had any idea what "magnum opus" meant. He actually associated the phrase with penguins.

Gir didn't know why he'd decided to sing it again today. Perhaps because, somehow, the Doom Song was oddly appropriate now.

Gir was momentarily distracted from his singing when a chicken ran into the room. "Hi Millie!" Gir squealed. Millie bawked in fear and fled from the room again. But seeing the chicken reminded Gir of something. "Oh yeah." He looked down at the piece in his hands. "Issa egg shell."

Behind Gir was a pile of eggs taller than him, and nearly as tall as his master, all coated in dark green blood. Gir had been sifting, slowly, very very slowly, through the pile for about half an hour now. He'd found many broken egg shells, and many... innards of the eggs that Gir didn't dare to touch. Some things were too revolting even for his questionable tastes.

So far, in the entire pile, he'd yet to find a single healthy, unbroken egg.

Cheerfully oblivious to the emergency operation going on down the hallway (it was easy for Gir to forget about it, now that his master had fallen silent), Gir continued to entertain himself by taking pieces of Irken egg shells and stacking them, in neat little piles.

"Doo-de-doomy-doo... doom."

xxxxx