A/N: Ye gods, Friday's almost over! It's not even Friday anymore in some parts of the world! ... Is anyone reading this from the parts of the world where it's not Friday anymore? Oh, well, by the time most of you see this it'll probably be Saturday where I am, too, so that's irrelevant. Anyway, I'm sorry this is a bit later than my updates have usually been. I've got an arseload of exams over the next week, and studying is taking up an inordinate amount of time. 'Tis ridiculous. But luckily I'm still ahead in writing this (I'm working on chapter 23 right now), so there shouldn't be too much trouble there.

Anyways. Do enjoy this chapter, and please remember to review!

xxxxx

In Short Supply

Help Wanted

xxx

From Dib's notes, Thurs. Jan. 1: Oh man, I got NO sleep last night! I was going to just stay up to midnight, but then I got to see the battle between Father Time and Baby New Year. See, Baby New Year was trying to overthrow his father so that the next year could get started. This New Year was kinda wimpy, so Father Time almost had him beat. They were shooting lasers at each other and all sorts of crazy stuff until three AM. If I hadn't used Tak's ship to get in close and steal Father Time's scythe, the new year might not have even started! Man, that was twice as exciting as the Santa attack.

Okay, so here are my resolutions:

1) Make sure everyone knows that if it wasn't for me, we'd still be in last year.

2) Convince Gaz that she's nearsighted and take her to get glasses. Maybe if I tell her it'll let her see video games on TV screens instead of just handheld games, I can get her to do it with only a few injuries. All that squinting can't be good for her.

3) If Zim really is not taking over the Earth, find out how I can visit one of his worlds. From the ones I've managed to find out about, I'm gonna try for Judgmentia. Those Control Brain thingies sound cool.

4) Find out why the school district thinks we should go to school the day after New Year's Eve. The students are asleep and the teachers have hangovers. What's the point?

More big news: in homeroom today, we found out that Zita's pregnant. We were pretty shocked. Okay, I was shocked. No one else seemed to care. (I've got to switch to another school.) Apparently she got too close to that crazy mailman last summer. Yeah, THAT crazy mailman. I heard someone say Zita's still in therapy for it.

She's a little over five months along, based on when the mailman incident happened, so she's been hiding it all this time. That's why she always wore such baggy clothes last semester, I guess. But she's not wearing baggy clothes anymore, and she's trying to act like she doesn't care that everyone knows now. Okay, so she's always treated me like a freak with everyone else, but I still feel kinda bad for her. Now she's the one being treated like a freak.

Zim's getting bigger again, by the way. I bet it's another molt thing. And I just noticed something funny. Zim looks kinda like Zita. Zim, pregnant. Now THAT would be hilarious.

xxx

Dib wasn't an idiot.

A week ago, Zita had come to school quite obviously pregnant. Since then, her looks hadn't changed very much. Zim's had. He was definitely gaining weight—or something—and it was obvious enough that Dib almost imagined he could see a size difference every school day. Whatever was happening now was definitely the same thing that had happened just before Zim had suddenly gotten tall.

However, there were several differences now. For one thing, Zim wasn't as small as last time, so all the weight he was gaining wasn't turning him into a beach ball. For another, he wasn't gaining quite as much weight this time around. Now, it didn't look anything like fat. The weight he was gaining was concentrated in a specific area, right around his stomach, and wasn't blobby like fat; it was solid and round.

With growing alarm, Dib began to compare Zim and Zita every time they were near each other. The only conclusion he could draw was as obvious as it was disturbing.

There was no other possibility. Zim had to be...

Eugh. Dib shuddered at the thought. Zim was a very creepy creature, and presumably had very creepy biology. That didn't mean Dib wanted to think about it.

But still, he had to know for sure.

He'd brought lunch from home, as always, but hadn't eaten it. He was watching Zim in the cafeteria; Zim was once again stuffing his face with junk food. This time, there were a few normal Earth snacks mixed in with his alien ones. Perhaps odd food cravings?

He had to find out what was really going on with Zim. With a sigh, Dib reluctantly stood up, trudged over to Zim's table, sat down across from him, and bluntly said, "You're pregnant."

Zim's physical reaction was all it took to confirm Dib's suspicions; his eyes were wide with fear and shock. At Dib's accusation, he had jerked his knees up and curled his back forward, crossing his arms protectively; he was almost instinctively defending whatever was growing inside him. "How... N-no! No, of course not! That's utterly ridiculous!" "You should know as well as I that such a thing is impossible."

"Come on, Zim. It might be impossible for human males to have babies, but that doesn't mean you can't."

"For your information, no Irken is born with any of the icky organs needed to make offspring," Zim muttered stiffly. "And they're not called bay-bees. They're smeets."

"Okay... 'Smeets.' Whatever." Dib wondered if Zim was just trying to demonstrate how ignorant Dib was about Irkens, or if he was indirectly confirming Dib's theory. "So, what, you gave up your mission to take over Earth to start a family instead?" He realized as the words were coming out of his mouth how preposterous the suggestion was. He almost laughed at himself simply for saying something so dumb.

Instead he watched Zim, waiting for his reaction. Zim didn't say anything. He still looked scared; that same paranoia he always demonstrated when someone was moving too close to his grand alien secrets for his comfort. Now his jaw was clenched in anger as well, and he was glaring at the cafeteria table. He finally hissed, "It's none of your business, Dib-shit."

Dib-shit. Okay, that was a new one. Scowling, Dib stood up to leave. "Well excuse me for asking a question. Jeez, I was just curious." Not that curiosity had ever been a good enough excuse for Dib to pry into Zim's business before, but at least he wasn't threatening to send photographs to Mysterious Mysteries this time around. He began to head back to his seat where he'd left his lunch and backpack.

That, as usual, had been a worthless conversation. Now that Dib knew Zim really was going to have a baby—er, a smeet—Dib had even more questions. Maybe he could sneak into Zim's base again, find something else out that way. Maybe if he bothered Zim later, Dib could get him to slip up and reveal something. There had to be a reason for all this, a better reason than "It's an alien thing." Dib suspected he wouldn't be getting much sleep until he found out what it was...

"This is all I get in exchange for my mission."

Dib pivoted around to face Zim. "Come again?"

Something in Zim's eyes had shifted, like a glass sculpture melted down and remade, slightly different; the anger remained, the fear remained, but Zim was looking at Dib differently and the hostility had dissolved into nothing. "My leader informed me that I'm not to take over Earth. Instead, I have to do this." Zim glanced down at his stomach, eyes narrowed in anger. "Don't think I did this gladly, Earth-boy. I'm merely performing my duty to the empire."

And suddenly, Dib was no longer Zim's enemy but his confidante. He realized how alone Zim really was; on this entire world, the only ones who knew that he was an alien were Gir, Gaz, and Dib. Even so, he'd never done anything like this before. Zim hadn't exactly come to Dib to complain whenever one of his evil plans failed.

However, Zim did like to complain whenever something he didn't like happened. He supposed that previously Zim had contacted his own people to rant whenever there was a hitch in his mission, probably his leaders. But if they were the ones that had told Zim he had to start reproducing (for whatever insane reason), then Zim couldn't rant to them anymore.

"Er... That's... not good, I guess," Dib said awkwardly, sitting down again. What was he supposed to do, comfort Zim? His not-currently-but-all-the-rest-of-the-time enemy?

"Of course it isn't," Zim said bitterly. "I almost died once, I had to get two surgeries, and I had to let Tak strap me down to a metal table!"

"Wait, Tak did what?" Dib feared that he'd just gotten a horrifying glimpse into Irken reproductive rituals.

Zim ignored him and went on with his rant. "And I've got to get a stupid Earth food preparation job, and Keef has started calling me in the middle of the night, and I can't even contact the Massive anymore without getting my transmissions blocked!" Zim let out a frustrated growl. "Zim is no filthy primitive layer! I'm a highly trained Irken Elite Invader. I hate this mission!"

"Um. Wow. Sorry?" Dib wondered how he should be reacting to this. Taking notes might be a good idea, in case Zim said something important. But Zim might attack Dib if he did something like that, given his mood.

The bell rang, startling them both. Wordlessly, Zim stood, scooped up his uneaten snacks and put them in his back pod thingy, and headed towards the exit.

Dib couldn't let Zim leave now, not when he'd gotten on his good side—sorta—for the first time ever. He had to keep the lines of communication open, so maybe he could use them to learn more about Zim's species later. "Er—wait! Zim!" He vaulted on one hand over the table and jogged to catch up with Zim. "Listen! Since you're not trying to take over my planet any more, if you, er, need any help or something... lemme know, okay? With the, the smeets. I mean," Dib added before his common sense kicked in, "I've never seen a baby alien before." He bit his lip. Oh, that was brilliant. Now he sounded like some paranormal-obsessed geek. Which he was, but that didn't mean he wanted to come across that way.

Zim didn't answer for a moment. Then he stopped walking and mumbled something.

"What was that?" Dib stopped in front of Zim, peering up at him (up, now that was an unwelcome change). "Something about pain?"

Only slightly louder, Zim said, "Do you have... anything to... stop the pain? When I lay the eggs?"

Dib made another mental note: Irkens come from eggs. And yet they still have long pregnancy stages. Irkens had to be weird, didn't they? "What, like painkillers? You mean your mighty Irken race hasn't even invented pain killers yet?"

Zim glared at Dib. "Of course we have! But painkillers are typically only issued to Irkens on missions where they'd be at risk for torture. I can't risk contacting my leader to ask for some."

"Huh..." Dib wondered if human painkillers would even work on Irkens. Since many of them were liquid-based, that could be a problem... Then again, it'd be good research to just hand over a bunch to Zim and find out which ones worked and which ones didn't. That could uncover all sorts of stuff about Irken anatomy. "Sure, yeah. There are some in my dad's lab. I could get some."

"Good." Without so much as a thank-you, Zim pushed past Dib as if he weren't there, and left the cafeteria.

Dib had figured Zim wouldn't show any gratitude, anyway. Well, fine. Dib wasn't being nice because he liked Zim, he was just doing his duty as a paranormal investigator. The same way Zim was doing his as a... breeder-thing.

Dib grimaced and resolved not to think about a pregnant Zim anymore. As a member of the Swollen Eyeball Network he was pretty open-minded, but there are some concepts that very few normal junior high boys can think about without getting squeamish. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Dib was more normal than one might think.

xxx

"How do I get a job?"

Dib groaned, rubbing his eyes and squinting into the kitchen; he couldn't see the clock from the living room without his glasses, but he expected it would be somewhere between two and four AM, since that was the only time he was almost always asleep each night. Gaz had yelled at him until he'd woken up and gone downstairs to answer the phone. He hadn't checked the caller ID before picking it up; now he wished he had. "Zim? Is that you? What the hell?"

"Who else would it be, Dib-stink?"

"At this hour, it's either you or that Brazilian vacuum cleaner telemarketer," Dib muttered, letting his eyes slide shut into a myopic squint.

"Oh yeah, him. Hoo boy, he's annoying. Anyway. I need a job. How do I get one? Tell Zim."

"You called me in the middle of the night for job-hunting advice? Do you have any idea what time it is?!"

"By your pitiful measurements of time, it's 2:38 AM." This didn't seem to concern Zim at all. "Now, about that job..."

"C'mon, this is stupid! I was asleep!" Dib groaned again. "I dunno. Try looking for 'help wanted' signs or something."

For a moment the line was silent. "Hunh?"

"What, you don't know what a 'help wanted' sign is?"

"Of course I do!"

Yeah. Sure he did. "Restaurants and stuff put signs that say 'help wanted' in their windows. It means they need more employees. If you want a job so bad, go to one of those, okay?"

"Hmm..." There was a click on the phone line. Had Zim just hung up?

"Hello?" No response. Grumbling in annoyance, Dib hung up the phone and headed back upstairs, eyes still squinted at his blurry surroundings. He was really starting to regret offering to help Zim with "anything."

xxx

Over the next week or so, Zim continued to ask Dib for random help, although Dib eventually convinced him that humans are incapable of giving useful advice between the hours of 11 PM and 5 AM. Apparently, instead of concluding that Dib was now a benevolent helper (which, really, he wasn't), Zim had decided that Dib was his personal information slave (which he also wasn't). Dib was about ready to tell Zim to just start minding his own business again when, without warning, Zim was absent on a Thursday midway through January.

Dib spent the whole day paranoid, wondering what had happened, although he tried not to immediately suspect that Zim was off doing something evil. Maybe Zim had skipped school to go looking for a job again. Or maybe this had to do with the pregnancy. How long was an Irken gestation period, anyway?

He found out what was really going on after school. As soon as he and Gaz got home, the phone started ringing.

Gaz marched past it and into the kitchen without so much as glancing at the caller ID. "It's for you."

"How do you know that?"

She snorted derisively. "Because it's not for me."

She had a point. Dib went to the phone, checked the number—yep, Zim again (number: "BLOCKED," caller name: "NORMAL HUMAN")—and answered. "What is it this time, Zim? And where were you today?"

"Silence! Zim demands names!"

For a moment, Dib didn't understand. "What? Why? What kind of names?"

"Preferably good ones but considering the average intelligence of your species, I'll take what I can get." Zim sounded annoyed. "All I can think of are pitiful vampire names. I refuse to allow one of my offspring to be named Gwenhwyfar!"

Gwenhwyfar. What had ever happened to nice, simple vampire names, like Vlad or Bane? "Why should I come up with a name for you? I've got better things to do with my afternoon."

"Shut up!" Zim shouted. Dib jerked the phone away from his head, wincing. "You should be honored, Dib-stink!"

Dib was about to retort, but stopped, reconsidering. Here he had the opportunity to name an alien. Forget if it was Zim's offspring or not, the bigger point here was that whatever name Dib chose now would be the name of an extraterrestrial being for the rest of its life. Dib might be the first human ever to name an alien.

"Okay! Sure, great, names. Uh... boy or girl?"

"Eh? I dunno. Hey, COMPUTER!" (Dib had to jerk the phone away again. Zim hadn't lowered his phone before shouting.) "What gender are my offspring?" Pause. "Wow! Neat. They're all three genders."

"Three?" What was up with Irkens?!

"Yeah. XX, XY, and YY. That makes three!"

Dib was pretty sure YY wasn't an option. "Uh... Don't you need at least one X chromosome to survive?"

Zim paused. "Nonsense! Zim's glorious offspring need no pitiful X! They shall be fine!"

Somehow, Dib doubted that.

A lecture his dad had given him in fifth grade came back to him. (When Professor Membrane educated his kids about the birds and the bees, he didn't stop at sex. He went all the way from genetics to the physiological reactions behind lust. Dib hadn't been able to look at a girl for weeks.) If Zim was male, then he had XY chromosomes. For him to even make a baby—egg, smeet, whatever—with YY chromosomes, his genes would have to be mixed with the genes of another male...

Horrified, Dib said, "You're gay?"

"Don't be silly, Earth-boy. Zim is not THAT happy over his offspring's genders."

"No, no, I mean, you're... er, homosexual?"

Gaz leaned into the living room from the kitchen, holding a frozen slice of pizza, eyebrow cocked curiously.

Zim laughed. "Of course not! As if any sane Irken could be homosexual," he said derisively. "Too limiting!"

Gaz snickered. Dib wondered if she was hearing the conversation. It was possible. "Never mind," he said, trying not to think about what Zim meant. "You said you need names, right?"

"Yes, yes I do!"

"Okay..." Dib bit his lip. Now that he had the chance to name something, he was drawing a blank. The only name he could think of was Gwenwy-something. "Uh... gimme a sec." Dib lowered the phone and hissed, "Gaz! Do you have any baby names?"

She widened her eyes slightly to glare at Dib. "What do you think I am, some kind of future housewife?"

Dib gulped. "No, never! I just thought... er... you... might have a list of names to... name your video game characters."

Gaz's eyes squinted closed again, and Dib sighed in relief. "I've been saving the name Vio," she said, shrugging.

"Okay!" Dib lifted the phone again. "Hey Zim, what about—"

"I don't think you heard me," Gaz said menacingly. "I'm saving that name."

"Um... never mind." He lowered the phone again. "Now what?"

"I don't care!" Gaz rethought her answer, and then said, "Bella."

Dib lifted the phone. "Bella!" He mouthed at Gaz, "Our mom?!"

Gaz shrugged. "We don't know that for sure." Uncle Denny said their mother's name was Bella, although their dad never addressed the topic. He'd never officially confirmed that Uncle Denny was their Uncle, either. Well, Dib believed Uncle Denny. He'd shown Dib a picture of Bella once; she sure looked like she was related to him and Gaz.

"Bella..." Zim said, slightly distastefully. "What kind of a name is 'Bella'?"

"A female one. A good female one," Dib said defensively. He wasn't going to let Zim make fun of his supposed mother's name.

"Hmm... Feh. It'll do," Zim said. "But I don't think I'll be requiring your assistance for any more names." Click. Zim had hung up.

Dib set the phone down, sighing. "I guess that went okay," he muttered. So, one of Zim's male pregnancy offspring was named after Dib's mother. Could be worse...

"I think it went very well," Gaz said, just barely smirking.

Dib looked at her suspiciously. "Why?"

She turned away to return to the kitchen, but not quick enough to hide a full-blown evil grin. "Because I'm now the first human to ever name an alien baby."

"What are you talking about? I'm—" Dib stared speechlessly at his sister's back. "You... DAMMIT!"

"That's for trying to make me get glasses!"

Dib groaned. He always had to choose the hardest New Year's resolutions.

xxx

For once, Zim had gotten Purple's instructions right.

He hadn't contacted the bridge of the Massive. He'd contacted Purple's quarters at about 174 degrees, well within Purple's instructions of 160 to 180 degrees. Best of all, Zim hadn't wasted Purple's time with some random Earth-babble nonsense about a mission he didn't have.

Purple wondered if it was sad he was impressed that Zim had managed to contact the Massive correctly.

Zim saluted smartly. "The eggs have been laid and put in the SLP chamber successfully, my Tallest!" he said. "Another victory for Zim!"

"No mess-ups?" Purple asked. "Computer?"

Before Zim could answer, his computer interrupted. "Nope. They're all safe."

"Good. How many are there?"

"Four, my Tallest!" Zim said proudly. "Every one of them healthy!"

"Actually, two of them don't have any X chromosomes, Master. They're gonna die before they hatch."

"Silence!"

"So, two good ones?" Purple sighed. He'd expected more... "Well, it's a start."

"Indeed it is. And an excellent start!" Zim said.

"I'll be on Earth in five or so degrees," Purple said. "I guess we've got to start on the next bunch."

"Oh." A bit of the enthusiasm drained out of Zim's eyes. "Yeah."

Purple gave him a suspicious look. "What? You don't want to dance with me?" Zim had been all excited the first time. And what kind of Irken wouldn't want to dance with a Tallest? Purple didn't think he was being conceited, but it was just a fact that everyone wanted to do the Tallest.

"No, that's not it!" Zim said quickly, waving his hands as if to banish the thought. "I merely... I... uh..."

"Master doesn't want any more eggs."

Zim scowled towards the source of his computer's voice. "Hey! Whose transmission is this, anyway?"

"Is that true, Zim?" Purple asked sharply.

"Eh..." Zim crossed his arms and looked down. "The empire before the Irken, my Tallest."

Which meant it was true but Zim didn't want to say so. "I see." The last time Zim had quoted Miyuki, it had been when he'd said that he would do this mission even if he weren't an Invader anymore. Purple had briefly considered respecting Zim, then. Now he felt slight twists of unease in his squeedilyspooch—not the kind that meant his mood was about to take a turn for the worse unless he got some sugar into his system, but still something close. Very close.

No. Purple refused to feel guilty. If Zim was suffering because of this mission, then good! Purple was suffering too! And he was risking everything to do this. If anyone found out about what Purple was doing, his reputation would be destroyed. Even though he was the Tallest, that would be the end of any admiration he'd garnered. Not even Red would ever respect him again. What was Zim risking, huh?

Well, besides his physical well-being, and thus his life. Besides his ability to blend in with the natives of Earth, and thus his security among enemies, and thus his life again. Besides that, he was risking nothing, wasn't he?

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Purple said grudgingly. The apology tasted bitter. "But we don't have a choice. The mission has to be done. I mean, I don't want to do this either—"

"What?" Zim said indignantly. "You don't want to dance with Zim?"

Purple stared at Zim in disbelief. "You know what? Never mind. Apology withdrawn. You're stupid. I fear for the intelligence of our offspring. But I'm gonna be on Earth in about five degrees to make more of them, so be prepared."

"Yes sir, my Tallest!" Zim saluted. "But seriously, why wouldn't you want to dance with—"

Purple terminated the transmission. In truth, he did want to dance with Zim. Well, not necessarily with Zim—with anyone, really. He wasn't in a picky mood. Irkens don't typically go four weeks at a time without dancing, which was exactly what Purple had to do now unless he wanted someone to find out about his mission.

His mission. That's what Invaders called their job, never anything more specific, just "the mission," "my mission." Purple wondered if he was starting to feel the way an Invader did; he was trying to deceive an entire civilization about what he was up to, trying to convince them that he HAD no mission, that he was perfectly normal, just like any of them. Never mind that the civilization he was deceiving was his own empire. It was just as tiresome, trying to strike that delicate balance between pretending he had nothing to hide, and keeping the ignorant masses from finding out the truth.

Purple wondered if this was how all Invaders felt, struggling between keeping socially close but emotionally distant from the population surrounding them. Purple wondered if this was anything like what Zim was going through on Earth, surrounded by strange aliens who treated dancing like documentaries and animals like food—er, probably not. It wasn't like Purple was among aliens, but still... Purple wondered if this was even beginning to compare to what it must feel like to be completely excommunicated from the Irken Empire.

He forced himself to stop thinking about Zim and to start thinking about his real mission; after all, he consoled himself, Zim deserved to be exiled on Earth, and that was the truth. For now, Purple had to get down there, dance with Zim, and get back to the Massive as soon as possible.

He headed out of his quarters, but before going to the hangar, he stopped by Red's quarters. He wouldn't make the same mistake he'd made last time.

Red irritably answered the door on the third knock. "What do you want and can't it wait a few—Oh, Pur." His irritation vanished, and he grinned. "Hey, nice timing. We were just getting started. Care to dance?"

"'We'?" Purple tried to glance past Red to see who else was in his quarters, but caught himself. "Er... I mean, no. Sorry. I've gotta—"

"Aw, c'mon!" Red lowered his voice, smirking. "She'd be so honored to dance with both Tallest at once, don't you think?"

"'She'?" So Red had a female in there. Purple liked dancing with females. Curly antennae were fun. "Well..."

He imagined the looks on Red and the other Irken's faces if they saw him naked, saw the results of his surgery and figured out what it was. "I... can't. Sorry, Red." Purple couldn't look him in the eye.

"Really? Not even for curly antenna?" Red gave Purple a puzzled look. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, just fine! I just wanted to tell you that I'm making a quick run to..." Purple named the first planet that popped into his head, "to Judgmentia. I, uh, need to see the Control Brains about something. So don't freak out or anything, okay?"

"Can't you just contact the Brains from the Massive?"

"No, it's one of those kind of things you have to actually visit them for. You know."

"Uh-huh..." Red was still looking at Purple oddly.

"So if I'm not back for a while, don't send the whole Armada to look for me." Purple turned to leave, waving over one shoulder, still not quite able to meet Red's gaze.

He was stopped by a hand on one shoulder. "Hey, Purple. Really, you've been acting kinda funny lately. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I feel great. You wouldn't believe how great I feel!"

Purple winced. That didn't exactly sound convincing. But Red let go of his shoulder anyway. "All right. If you say so..."

"I do." Purple headed down the hall, feeling awful. As soon as he'd turned a corner and Red couldn't see him, he dug a bag of Doritos out of his Pak and tore it open. Forget the aftertaste, he needed the chemicals more than the flavor.

Someday, he thought, screwing up his face at the flavor, he and Red would look back on this whole thing and laugh about it. Assuming Purple ever told him what was going on.

Until then, Purple had a mission to do.

He sighed wistfully at the thought of what he was missing in Red's quarters. For some undoubtedly very good reason that Purple had probably ignored the explanation of, the Control Brains maintained a ratio of five fertilizers to each layer, a fact which greatly disappointed Purple. Ensuring the gender ratios was one of the few reasons the Brains would interfere with the random genetic mixes in the smeet facilities. And now, when Red was lucky enough to have found one willing to dance and had invited Purple, he couldn't join. Instead, he had to go to Earth. Woohoo.

Maybe he could pretend Zim had curly antennae.

xxxxx