The Discount Smeet by Dib07
Summary
It all started when Dib went to an alien market to buy supplies. He didn't realize he'd be coming home with a smeet. Only, the young smeet becomes Dib's whole world, and the human space explorer soon has to defend Zim against all those who want defectives dead.
Warnings
Sci-fi adventure. Light swearing. Peril. AU.
Declaimer
I do not own Invader Zim. However this idea and story is mine.
This gorgeous DAMNRIGHT GORGEOUS story picture I am using is not mine, it has been lovingly made by Alicartin! Please do not use without her permission. Thanks for reading!
A/N:
This little chapter is dedicated to everyone who's reviewed - and its also dedicated to Piratemonkies64, Nekogirl52 and RandomDragon2-0. RandomDragin2-0, thank you THANK YOU for the beautiful little Discount Christmas gift fan art!
Sorry for my absence as of late. Things have got really stressful for me, and I've struggled to write anything. But this update was happening no matter what! Thank you for the reviews. They've really motivated me like nothing else. If it wasn't for you guys, I wouldn't have kept this going.
Thank you so much tiedwithribbons for the Homecoming Blues chapter title! I love it!
Broski
Omg thank you so much! You have me all giddy!
NervousNumbat
I hoped Dib and Zim would have more time together too. They got separated too early – especially for Zim who was just starting to show a little bit more confidence, especially after that PAK incident that gave them both a lot of think about.
''I wonder if Rath knows his own loneliness, fears, and biases are pushing him towards these rash decisions. Probably not, since most Irkens are raised with about as much emotional awareness and depth as a kiddie pool. Secretly I wanted him to join Dib in the effort of raising Zim, like some sort of space war Yoda grandpa, but given his character direction it wasn't likely. I anxiously wait for your next chapter! :)''
That, I think, if the best question I've ever received regarding Rath. Rath may, or even may not be aware, but regardless, he will suppress these unsavoury aspects of himself, believing in his own justice, and that of Zim's, in this black and white perspective. Perhaps doing this helps push back the loneliness, the disappoints in his own life, but trying to control another's. And yes, Irkens do not understand their own emotions or depth, and do not listen to their conscience or morals. And ahhh, wouldn't that be something, if he helped Dib with raising Zim?
I hear ya about the parenting skills, and how crude Dib sometimes was, and his approaches. He had the barest skills and knowledge, and he kinda bumbled around for the most part, learning through his mistakes and successes. Especially when he's the type that's just not bothered with child upbringing. He certainly plunged into the deep end, and made some mistakes I personally winced at. And yes, despite the species difference, he so would dive into a parent help book!
''Who's bright idea was it to send a one manned ship on a deep space mission? The risks, responsibilities, and isolation would wear away at even the hardiest of psyches!''
Hahaha! I can point the finger! It was Dib's idea! Like his father, he wants to be the first pioneer, the first one in history, and he's naturally inclined to find and bask in loneliness I guess. Yes it is stupid to pilot a one-manned ship. Glory simply isn't enough to explain that kind of single-mindedness.
Ahh that's an idea! A robot companion! Even I shiver at the thought of being all on my own in a ship, no matter how large or small it is.
''The transitions between chapters sometimes feel off, like they don't connect or that there's been a bit of a time jump between them. It makes the story feel less streamline but no less enjoyable an experience.''
Admittedly, there are massive time skips in real life when I get round to writing them. I don't re-read my work, and I know that's stupid. I usually avoid reading what I've written in case I end up hating it. I hope in time, I'll get to smooth things out, and connect the chapters better. I hate inconsistencies as well and I hope that in time, I can fix them.
Your compliments! I just eat them up! I wish I'd written more from Zim's POV. And Rath, don't worry, he'll get his moment! And honestly, I love Zim's eyes. It's a perfect way to try and describe his mysteriousness, his alien beauty, his unknowable depths. Thank you so much for your critique and honesty and praises! It means a lot to me!
Plainlygamer
You star! Thank you for the reviews! They helped me immensely! I tried to reply but you have your PMs turned off, which is absolutely fine, so I thought I'd reply to you here to show you my appreciation! You remembered this story, loved it, re-read it, and so I worked extra hard getting chapter 13 just right, because I know how much you've been looking forward to it! I only hope that it's okay, and that it can withstand the hype! I'm so nervous! This used to be such a casual story for me! Ahhh but I still love writing it! And heck...I love Membrane too much not to include him in this! You're on point!
Anonymous Dork
Due to all the lovely reviews, your one got me really motivated to get this update out. I'd spent too long on it, wasn't really putting my energies into it: so much to do over the Christmas period, and I realized that this update kept getting pushed to one side. When your review popped into my inbox, I FOUGHT to get this out. So thank you for spending the time to write your review. It was the final push I needed!
Your words! Your compliments! I'm melting! Gosh what a sly creature Rath was, turning the power off like that. I really hope you enjoy this update! You helped me get it done and I praise you to the moon and stars! And yes, I've written a science fiction novel, bless ya and thanks for asking! I need to try and get it published this year!
Chapter Thirteen:
"Excuse me! So sorry. Need to get through!" He didn't see their faces, or if they were patients, or staff. They were just a blur in the background: or an impediment if they were in his path. He had never shoved aside anyone in his life. As the corridors seemed to narrow, with people congregating with no purpose in mind that he could see, he was forced for the first time in his life to push them out of his path. He was profuse with excuses nonetheless as fear and anger coloured his otherwise pallid cheeks, and the ignominy of his indecorous actions cut him up, but nothing could stop the pace of his boots or his urgency as he hurried down passageways at a run, or slowed just long enough to do a stomping walk that was usually enough for people to get the message and move aside. He wasn't a small man by any means, and his presence alone was enough for people to give him space. "So sorry! I do apologize! Step aside!"
His thoughts were as fast and as chaotic as a runaway train. The top layer of his consciousness, which usually dealt with equations, when he'd last eaten, or if Timothy had used the right concoction, had vanished entirely. He was not seeing what he was seeing. Everything else had paled away, leaving a void of terror and panic.
He had been hunched over a Petri-dish that was popping with liquids when the phone call had come in. They had not told him what had happened, only that his son was in a critical condition.
Locked in an anaesthetized state as if he was in the body of someone else, he raced to the hospital, convinced it was decompression sickness. He KNEW he should have put his son in a docking unit just to make sure everything was fine. But he hadn't. He'd got indolent. So had his son. That boy wanted to do everything himself! And, after a series of space voyages, Dib had simply stopped going to medical, and his father had not chased him up on it.
He nearly threw himself into the reception desk. The nurse looked up from her computer. Her vacant expression told him that she had no idea who he was.
"Dib Membrane! My son! He got admitted less than an hour ago. Tell me where I can find him!" Even his voice was not his own. It came out in an authoritatively aggressive choke that would have had his staff running for the doors.
Her eyes fell down to the computer screen. Her mascara and makeup looked absurd and out of place where the sick and the dying were admitted. She looked more like a shop display mannequin than a human being.
"He's in the ICU ward. Top floor. But you're not allowed..." But when she looked up, he had gone.
-x-
He took the stairs. He would not have been able to stand and wait in a confined space while the elevator took him there. Like his son, he preferred to keep busy, as if the very motion of his body was enough to keep his mind above the surface while panic and grief oscillated underneath.
He was sweating. People still kept getting in his way. "Sorry! Pardon me. I'm in a bit of a hurry!"
He took the stairs two at a time, tackling each level with angrier determination. Inside he felt like he was coming apart. The smells were tragically different to his lab, and the ambience of the place deeply aggravated the anxiety. Such surprises like this – out of the blue - were a punch to his midsection. He did not know what to expect, what to find, and it anguished him beyond words. They would not even tell him on the phone what had happened.
With exalted energy, he rushed up the last stairwell and towards another reception desk that was situated just outside the ICU corridor. The walls were a calming pastel blue, but it did nothing to stave off the panic that he was barely keeping under control. A young man was there this time in a light blue uniform that absurdly matched the colour of the walls.
"Dib Membrane! My son!" This came out in a winded rush, his hands planted on the desk to steady himself. His long scythe of hair was swaying wildly. He still couldn't believe he was saying these words, in this building, at this moment.
The young man's eyes flashed with recognition, however faint. "Y-yes sir. Give me a moment."
"Hurry, please!" Though he was trying to catch his breath.
A call behind him. "Dad?"
He turned round, stunned to see his daughter sitting on one of the plastic waiting room chairs. He had been so blinded by grief that he hadn't even seen her as he barrelled through.
"Dear daughter!" Though he wanted to throw his arms around her, he was anchored to the desk until he had an update from the receptionist. "What has happened?"
"I... I don't know!" Her eyes were wider than he had ever seen them, and they were unusually bright and glassy. Her cheeks were red. A bundle of tissues were being squeezed in both hands on her lap. Her hair, usually neat and straight was unkempt. "They won't tell me anything! They won't even let me see him!"
"Urm, sir?" He snapped back to the receptionist. That self-control enveloped him again like a second skin. "Your son is still in surgery. His condition is critical. You'll have to wait for word from the doctor. I'm sorry. For now you can wait here, or come back later."
"Does it look like I want to come back later?" He slammed his gloved fist down on the desk, regretting the action a second later.
"I'm s-sorry!" Mumbled the now-startled receptionist. His name tag read: Harry.
The professor took a moment to breathe in. "Can you at least tell me what has happened to my boy?"
"I can't! I don't know! Patients get admitted, and I just manage the system!"
He scrunched his fists together, feeling that torturous anger rise to the brink. He took another breath: felt something steady inside. But the grief and heartache only grew to disproportionate levels he could barely endure.
Staggering like an old man, he lurched over to the plastic chairs where Gaz sat. He fell into it, and clasped his face in his hands.
-x-
Circular eyes bled into his vision like blood moons as the robot stood, unmoving and staring, its limbs at ease at its sides, but he knew better. Around him came the shivers of engines as a strange and alien environment thrummed with suppressed energy. He recognised the movement as that of a ship and he jerked forward, finding his tiny claws unnaturally clung together by a metallic binding. Blinking, he looked down to see his hands locked in a metal bracelet. He lifted it up and shook the wrists imprisoned within, still blinking. He pulled and pulled his hands apart, hoping he could snap them free.
An Irken with white skin sat at a command chair several yards away, his back to him. His attention was forward as he focused on a huge screen filled with spinning visuals and reaming data. The smooth staff that curled at its peak stood perfectly on its base by the chair without ever leaning one way or another as if a greater weight held it vertical.
Around him were great towering bulkheads, sterile shelves and cold plain metal cubicles among stationary machinery and computer terminals blinking and pulsing in pinks and comely purples. It wasn't the comforting, warm environment he had become so familiar with.
He curled closer into the corner he had found himself in, trying to find a way into his PAK like he had done before - like his father had encouraged - but nothing came back but a black, confusing emptiness. His head hurt, and some of his thoughts rolled around like loose barrels seesawing upon the water's surface. Things were fuzzy and psychedelic: with colours brighter in his eyes than they should be, and the noises were tinny, and echoed incessantly.
He was wearing something different – and not his usual soft clothing. It was a plain pink shirt that was baggy on his littleness, with plain pink pants. His feet were unadorned. He looked for his old clothes in desperation. They were a part of his life on Earth! His father had given them to him!
The robot before him continued to stare in that deadened way as if it had been frozen perfectly in place.
"Awake are we? I wondered when you would come around." The white creature at the chair neither turned around nor looked his way.
The robot's countenance remained motionless. All Zim could see in that metal dome was his startled pale reflection. He found his feet, shaky as they were, and got up. Taking but a step jerked him to an unnatural standstill. He shakily looked around to see an umbilicus in the centre mantle of his PAK. It was connected to a machine that was both bigger and taller than he was.
"D-Dib..." The fight had left him so drained that he remembered little else but the need to protect. And from it came only the empty cataclysms of failure. It made his chest grow tight with something that he would later know as fury.
"...Is gone." The slender creature answered, again without looking. One set of claws lifted to sit beneath his bony chin, the other rubbing absentmindedly at his hip. "It was an unfortunate state of affairs, one that I – Rath - was responsible for putting you in."
He remained on shaky feet, the cord running taut from his PAK's mantle. His claws tested the manacles that held them. The robot's frozen red stare did not change, but he could sense it analyzing his every move.
"Dib!" His squawk of anger elicited the same stony silence. The stranger made a smooth, curving motion on the control's touch panels as if he were trying to draw something out of it, and the floor beneath his toes vibrated with a sudden power surge. The robot rattled a little, but it kept to its stationary vigilance, if it was even alive at all.
Many things stirred around in the pit of Zim's mind and spooch, all of it heavily seasoned with fear. Within the binds of the bracelet, his claws clenched.
Some strange talisman or symbol danced over the dash from the ceiling. Many of these same red or oftentimes black symbols decorated the wall or terminals. He'd seen the symbols before, he recognised them, but he could not place where.
With no other incentive, the creature finally turned round in his seat to set red eyes upon him. Zim shrivelled back towards the corner, miniature antennae drawing back in fear. "What has that human done to you?" The creature spoke in softer tones: but tones that carried a darker element that Zim could not ascertain. He moved differently, spoke differently, and smelled altogether alien. The fact that he conversed in their natural native tongue did not help Zim feel any more welcome or comforted. "Surely you remember me? That 'Dib' wanted to give you up. He wanted me to take you in."
Such graceless memories had no conjunction with how he felt now, and why he was here. The stranger's eyes were blood-filled, and he looked at him with a certain hunger, as the pig had looked at him behind the glass wall of his prison. "You will be reinstated into the military. Due to your... absence, you will have a lot of catching up to do, if you ever do catch up." One eye peculiarly lowered in something almost condescending. "There will be questions. You were kidnapped, understand? By a hostile alien that stole you from Flaxier 19. That planet he took you to is to lethal our kind. If it wasn't for me, you'd be imprisoned there forever without truly knowing who or what you are."
There was a long silence as the robot stared, and the stranger's eyes hungrily watched. The computers pulsed, and the toiling engines droned down below. They might be going at incredible speeds for all Zim knew.
"Dib!" He said, which made the white creature roll his eyes and throw up his claws.
"That foolish mortal has poisoned you! Made you weak and sickly! Do you not know any other word? No. How could you, when you worship the enemy so?" He gave one final look before turning back to his screens. Zim twisted and pulled against the umbilicus. "Struggle all you want, little smeet. You're not going anywhere."
Like he would listen. He pulled again and again, tugging like a dog on a leash.
"That human creature you care about?" Rath was arranging data on one of the screens, his antennae bobbing to Zim's every noisy struggle. "You are just an interesting curiosity to him. Something novel, something...exotic. If you'd stayed with him just a little longer, he would have started to see what you truly were, and he would have begun to fear you. Humans are... curious creatures. And they are cowardly at heart. They usually pull out when things gets tough, and they're weak when it comes to commitment. That's why we'll always win, and they'll always lose."
Zim stopped, and looked at him. It was as if he was talking from experience. Then he frowned, and continued to pull at the tether.
Why was his PAK not responding?
He had to go back!
But his struggles got him nowhere. He only wore himself out. And as the hours passed, he grew more miserable. He could almost feel the impossible distances growing between him and Earth.
Why was this happening? What did this creature want from him?
He looked to the robot in silent appeal, but its cheerless, dead stare only served to terrify him.
Finally Rath left his command chair, scratching at that hip. "Computer. Some food is in order." A platter appeared through a slot in the wall, steaming with smoke as if it had been boiled in less than two seconds. On it was a mixture of foul-smelling gruel. Rath removed the platter from the serving shelf and brought it over. "Your claws should reach to put food in your mouth. Try it."
He lowered it to the floor as if he was serving food to a dog.
Zim looked down at it, showing a distressed look.
"It's food. It's not the most luxurious of offerings, but it's nutritional."
The smeet shook his head.
Rath frowned, both eyes narrowing into that dark, empty glare. "Playing the silent act again? I'd like to see how far that gets you once you're reinstated. That's if you get reinstated. I'm risking a lot for you."
Zim stared back.
Rath smiled, almost enjoying the baby's defiance.
"You are an Irken, little smeet. One day you will understand what that means."
The interior of the ship rattled a moment, but Rath barely noticed. He stood up, and left the cabin to some other room next door. Zim watched him go, and then his eyes slowly went back to the staring Fletcher. He poked his tongue out at the robot, hoping to entice a response, but the robot did not rise to the bait.
Rath returned a little later, back in his robes again. The clothing made him appear older, and frailer, and Zim wondered why he did this. He had been in uniform. Why change out of it?
Then the albino came plodding over, and Zim recoiled against the corner, snarling as much as a baby Irken could snarl. "I need you to hold still. This chip should disguise any aberrant coding in your PAK. If they discover your imperfections, they'll cast you out, and most likely kill you. Prove them wrong every step of the way. Be a worthy asset. Be the loose cannon when you're strong enough, but forever watch your back and trust no one. Not even me."
His little antennae rose, eyes sparkling in confusion. He did not understand. Did not wish to understand.
"Home! Want to go home!"
"We are." Rath said with another sly smile. He jerked Zim forwards, a claw braced on his PAK. He was about to fight in any way he could even though his situation looked helpless, but as Rath drew closer, a deadening weight hit his mind and body alike, and he dropped to the floor, fully awake but with no way to control his limbs.
He cried out.
"It's just a temporary numbness. If you behave once I unbind you, I will not have to do this."
He felt something slide in: deep within the integral layers of the machine in his back. It did not hurt, but he could feel it in there, like a piece of food between teeth. He wanted it gone – removed. But even if he was not bound he wasn't sure if he could.
"Just be lucky this isn't the first time I've tried this." Rath continued above him. There was a distinct whirring sound as his PAK closed up. How had he opened it so easily? "All done. We should be approaching Irk soon. Interstellar travel costs me dearly. Usually this journey would usually take months."
Rath got up and left for the command chair, leaving Zim to lie helplessly on his side – powerless to move or even squirm. He squeaked for attention, for help, for any kind of comfort, but the albino ignored every little sound he made.
The gruel on the platter was not far from his head and he could smell it. Fletcher was looking at it too. It was the first time he had broken his stare.
His eyes looked to the floating staff that was never far from Rath's side.
A tear collected in his right eye. He squeezed it shut, and the tear ran down his cheek to his lip. "Want... w-want Dib..."
Rath sat himself down before his colourful and demanding consoles, antennae flattening in anger. "I liked you better when you were quiet."
-x-
He pressed two metal blocks together. They weren't exactly toys, but they were all he had to play with.
His wrist-binds did not permit him much flexibility or movement, so he usually banged them together, eyelids low and slanted as he stared at these little blocks. What else was there to do?
His hands dropped in exhaustion, and one of the blocks fell free and bounced across the floor. He went to grab it too late as it scuttled out of reach. Rath must have seen the whole thing. He gave him an icy look from icy red eyes, shook his head, and then turned back to his consoles.
That was when he really did cry. The tears came, unbidden, and then they came thick and hard. His sobs elicited no response, no comfort, no nothing. He brought his manacled hands to his face to hide the tears away.
"Shut up." Rath growled through his teeth, again not looking, his attention on the screens.
Zim pressed himself into the corner, trying to stop the tears, and not doing a very good job at it.
There was a poke on his shoulder, followed by another hard poke when he ignored it the first time. Zim shyly looked over his bound claws and saw Fletcher through a screen of tears. In his metallic hand was the little metal block.
The robot cocked its head when the smeet looked on. Finally Zim reached out, fearing that the robot would pull away just to tease him, but the robot did not move until the smeet had retrieved it.
Fletcher nodded, humming a tinny sound before retaking his post.
If Rath had seen this, he did not remark on it.
-x-
"Zim. Look. This is home. Behold. Irk."
Rath flourished his claws at a screen that had folded out, larger than most. In its centre was a swirling purple planet girdled by a massive metal ring that pulsed and flashed with light. These pulses seemed to slash down on the planet, and hovering around the purple sphere were millions and millions of warships.
"A prison to some." Rath continued, unabashed. "Yet it is where we all come from, and where the Empire resides."
Zim watched the planet fill the screen. It was not as beautiful as Earth. Where were the blues, the greens, the floating diaphanous clouds and the crude formation of land? There were just purple clouds, purple skies, and purple lands. Closer the ship drew towards the planet, and Zim began to see the cities beneath the scudding clouds, like secretive archipelagos sometimes revealed. They glittered, dark and promising, some as yellow as honey, others a deep-seated pink or purple that winked back through the purple gloom of clouds.
Rath stiffly stood, taking the staff in a bony claw. He was watching the purple planet draw closer in the screen as well, but his eyes narrowed at it with distain. When he glared at Zim, there was a angry sharpness in his eyes, and the smeet drew deeper into the corner. "You will do as I say. Irk is no playground for whelps and weaklings."
"I w-ant D-Dib!"
"Shut UP!" He slammed the butt of his staff on the floor, and a flourish of green bruised his salt white cheeks. "I'm doing what's best for you! You weren't born to be a human curiosity! A pet! You are a soldier, and a soldier you shall be!"
Zim covered his head with his manacled arms. Fletcher was watching his master more than he was the smeet.
"Prepare for landing." Rath grimaced, dipping his head in regret, shame, or grief. Zim could not understand the way of his eyes, only the way of his antennae, and sometimes they contradicted themselves. And every time he drew close, Zim squeaked fearfully, expecting pain, paralysis. Instead the albino untethered his PAK, and his cuffs.
-x-
"Proceed." Boomed the voice of a thousand.
Zim did not move. Rath took a step, realized his protégé was not obeying, and nicked the back of his skull with his staff. Bowing with pain, Zim shuffled forwards, and walked into a veil of pink from the ghoulish apparitions above. They seemed to float as if they were not tethered to the consoles, with devices at their rear. Like seated deities bedecked with supports they loomed, pulsing and thinking and surveying.
"State your business." Many said, speaking as one. Zim looked up, his eyes filling with their vastness. There was no face to look upon, no singular set of eyes. It was a confusing, pulsing mass of oval eyes with branching tubes at either side. Towering computers banked the walls: and these computers recorded every word spoken, with every movement scrutinised.
Rath paused, his skin soaking up the pink glow. Not a shade of white remained. Zim watched him raise a hand in salute before planting a fist on his breast. "Control Brains. I thank you for honouring me with an audience. I hereby represent Zim. He is not fully registered into the system, and has yet to be encoded."
"Why is this?" The mass of blinking and pulsing mass of eyes – if they were eyes - hummed in unison. The entity was always thinking, always processing, like an organism - or a machine. "Why was he not encoded as soon as he left the birthing hatch?" There was no emotion in this question, but there was no mistaking the demand behind it.
"There must have been a breach in the hatchery. Smeets were taken past security, and abducted by enemies. I do not know what enemy. I was alerted to the activity, but I could only retrieve the one. I found him on a planet called Earth, in a confused and disorderly state."
The pulsating mass of eyes was silent, and Rath looked on, his antennae dipping low to reveal his nervousness. Zim blinked in disbelief. There had been no such security breach. The hatchery itself had deemed him impure, inadequate, and they had dumped him down a chute, and into a pit. All he had was a name that had come up from seemingly nowhere. No one had taught him it. No one had spoken it. And as he'd sat on a seat after being born, and after the PAK had been rammed into his spine, he knew it. Then the little incubator room had filled with red, and the seat had opened up, and he'd tumbled down a hole, falling seemingly forever. So when he looked up at the Control Brains, it was hard to keep the hate from showing in his eyes.
Rath put his claws on Zim's tiny shoulder, digging them in until it hurt.
"This abduction of an Irken was not reported." Quipped the many voices.
"I'm reporting it now. I flew here as fast as I could."
Another beat of icy silence. For a moment the menacing pink seemed to sharpen into a violent red. In a blink everything was pink again. "Zim. Take a step forward." Echoed the command of the many voices.
He looked up at Rath, who narrowed crimson eyes at him in turn with a snarl.
The humming of the Brains above was as encompassing as it was oppressive. The hand of subservience couldn't have felt any heavier.
He stepped forwards, and when he'd barely come to a stop, a tube exploded from the dark tangled mass and docked itself into Zim's PAK: a port happily opening to meet the invasive ceremony. There was no longer a feeling of self, as if his mind and thoughts were in the hands of something else. Something cold and calculated groped through his system: as furious and as unpleasant as a virus. The smallest part that still retained his individuality was suddenly and absolutely drowning beneath another's control. He stood limply like a puppet while his eyes went dark as the lights went out. He didn't know what to fight against, where to even to fight it. It was in him, everywhere.
Rath could only watch at an obedient distance, his red eyes trained on Zim and the tube feeding into the topmost port of the PAK. He wondered what would happen should the Control Brains discover the chip. He'd witnessed a few executions here and there during his lifetime. Each one remained like an ink stain in his memory: forever haunting his waking hours. Some in the audience had laughed, as if the executions were a form of entertainment, and not capital punishment.
His face hardened. He did not care for this smeet. Could not afford to care for it. Out of principle for those broken, he'd gone this far. And if his trickery could work, even for a little while, he would be satisfied of having done his duty. The rest was up to the smeet. For now, he could only swallow down his anguish. This treachery would catch up to him sooner, than later.
Perhaps an immediate death now would be kinder.
Then the tube popped out – making the smeet stagger.
The voices boomed above: "Registration and encoding complete. Zim. Welcome to the Irken Empire. At 0600 hours you are to be escorted to the Academy for assessment and training."
Rath could not help but pull in a breath and let it out again in unmistakable relief.
Zim rubbed his head, staring innocuously around a moment before enmity filled his eyes again.
"You are dismissed." Came the cold command.
Rath purchased his claws around Zim's shoulder again and guided him back down the walkway. Every now and then Zim would defiantly glance over his shoulder at the huddle of Control Brain – or Brains - behind them. "Don't look back. An Irken never looks back." Rath harshly whispered. He did not speak to him again until they had walked out from the chasm of the chamber, through the massive black doors, through the atrium and back out into the main populace of the city.
Zim could not mask his disappointment when he saw Fletcher waiting for them. He was standing by a wall that was brimming with light crystals, nosily drinking down a soda. Maybe he could get his own robot if he asked for one? And he would use it to attack Rath so that he could escape.
"Do you feel any different?" The albino asked.
He barely heard his question. Zim stopped, wishing to get no closer to Fletcher. But soon he was engrossed with a flashing parade of colour as Irkens passed them by, most of them dressed in soft or hard armours. Some had trailing capes. Others carried glowing purple swords, or big and heavy guns. They were either in a scabbard, strung below their PAKs, or honourably held in their gauntleted claws. Most had tattoos in the middle of their foreheads. It gave them an added element of danger, and all of a sudden he wanted to be one, so that he could gain respect, gain power, and do what he wanted. Then there would be no stopping him and his mission to find his father.
"Smeet!" A clap of pain hit his head, and he went down, hitting the metallic flooring. Rath's shadow fell over him completely. "You answer me when I address you!"
Resentment overloaded him in two seconds flat, and a band of pain started in his head. It was a similar hurt he had felt when he'd tested the mettle of his PAK beyond what he was capable of: stretching his cognitive potency to the absolute breaking point.
"Get up! I command you to get up!"
He gathered his elbows from under him, but instead chose to watch the other Irkens walk on by in their orderly gait. Their stride was no different to when he had watched them behind glass. The other smeets had bumbled over each other, calling out for help. But the adults had barely looked their way or missed a step.
"I said get up!" Rath reached down and grabbed his left antenna. It was a momentary tug, but it was enough to draw Zim to his feet, eyes closed tight in pain. He rubbed the middle feeler gently. "Training and strict routine will smack that insolence out of you." Rath was saying, his arms folded, the staff floating weightlessly by his side. "At this rate you'll probably be assigned as a table drone, a Food Service lackey, or maybe just fodder for the real soldiers."
Tears came, suddenly, out of nowhere, and Zim struggled to suppress them. But Rath saw. His right antenna lifted, and an eye opened wider. "Crying again, are we? Irkens don't cry. Emotion is for the weak, the frail. The cowardly! Don't you ever show your tears in public, do you understand me?"
Zim angrily rubbed a claw under one eye, but the tears did not stop. "D-Dib..."
Rath rolled his eyes. "Not this bleating again! Dib DIB DIIIB! I do not want to hear that name out of your mouth again!"
A soda cup was suddenly thrust in his face. Zim, blinking through the tears, looked up at it. Fletcher stood before him, offering the drink. His eyes were still hard and red, and there was no gentleness to be seen, no smile to accompany the offer, but Zim could almost sense a general benevolence from the robot.
He reached to take the soda, but the floating staff came between them and knocked it out of the android's hand.
"No treats. Only when you've proven yourself worthy do you get treats." Rath hadn't even needed to take a step. Even Fletcher looked to his master in what could have been bewilderment.
The tears came again. He wanted to go home. He needed the arms of his father around him, with Dib telling him it would be okay, that this was all just a dream.
An Irken wearing black gear came over. His eyes were an alluring fuchsia – but he bore no weaponry of any kind. If anything his clothing looked shabby and sodden with ash and dirt from starship fuel. He was rather small, barely coming to Rath's shoulder.
"What is the meaning of this?" His voice was a roughened bark.
Rath looked at him with a grimace, spending a moment too long looking at his unkempt uniform. "Mind your own business, shoveller."
The thin Irken narrowed his eyes, a twisted scowl appearing on his ashen smeared face. No one else was taking any notice, and Zim wondered why this particular Irken had taken an interest.
The stranger looked down at him, eyes unreadable, lips set in a firm line. For a moment he looked ready to say something.
"Well?" The albino pushed his claws into the smaller Irken's chest, causing him to stumble. It seemed enough of an incentive to encourage the black-uniformed Irken to leave. But the hierarchy was confusing to the smeet. The ashen Irken was smaller. What did military rank mean, and did it really get you anywhere?
Though the smaller Irken had moved away, Zim noticed him staring back at them through the crowd.
"No more interruptions. I'm showing you the Academy. Then it's to the bunker where you'll bed down with all the rest of the new recruits."
As if knowing that Zim was going to be unreliable, he grabbed the smeet's hand and dragged him forwards: Fletcher walking abreast of them.
There was activity everywhere, and the walkways and streets were dotted and oftentimes crowded with so many hubs, buildings, headquarters and domiciles, all gelded and smooth and furnished with a cold military touch that was always bright with various uniform pinks. There were groups around taller Irkens. They walked with a higher poise, and usually wore a cloak or cape symbolizing royalty. He was drawn towards them like every other Irken, smitten by their height and finesse of body and attire. He hoped to be as tall as them one day, if not taller.
Rath noticed the smeet ogling at everything in sight, and followed the direction of his gaze.
"Don't let it all go to your head. They'll have privileges you'll never even get to touch. Just keep your head down, stick to the mission in front of you, and hope to do well."
The Academy was an imposing glass dome of pink that gradually changed to purple during the course of the day. High walls encircled its lower and middle sections, with massive elevators in see-through tunnels shooting up or down from the many levels. Coated on every wall, every panel, and every bit of space were black flags boasting the red symbol of the Empire with its nefarious eye in the centre of its insectoid head.
Rath stopped before the massive walkway that led to the dome's main chamber. The walkway was actually a conveyor belt where Irkens would stand to be carted inside. "This is the Academy where grunts walk in, and soldiers walk out. Mind you, not all of them make it. If you can't keep up with the lessons, or the practical tests, you'll end up where you were before. Or worse."
Zim looked up at the glass dome that lurched to impossible heights. Ships and other starship vessels hovered over its rim or apex, some coming and going, others stationed around it.
What went on in there? What kind of tests did they put Irkens through? He felt slightly excited at the prospect, desperate to prove himself, but he also recoiled against the idea. He didn't belong here. He didn't want to dig his claws any deeper into these duties. Earth was where he belonged, with Dib.
Rath seemed to read his frustrations, whether he could read them on his antennae, his eyes, or how his legs shook. "You want to get stronger, don't you?" He growled, looking at him in that same dirty way others had looked at him since. "This is your first stepping stone. If you do well, you can get a career you may even get to choose. Only the Elites get to pick. Only the Elites are considered worthy. Those with the tattoos on their heads you have seen? That's them."
He let Zim look at the dome and its imposing structure a little longer, as if he was trying emphasis the seriousness of Irken life. But Zim was captivated by the ships as they sped in and out. A ship encapsulated freedom. And he meant to take one, no matter what.
Rath however could not seem to stand the sight of the Academy. His face was all snarls and scowls, his eyes so narrowed they may as well be closed. Zim could feel him trembling through the grip he had around his wrist.
"Let's go." He was dragged off again, through the metropolis where slim and sleek buildings rose like swords. Everything was religiously organised and clean, unlike the buildings on Earth that had looked primitive and shambolic.
After a time they arrived at a high-rise building that looked more like a human office block. It was ugly, without the sleek corners and soft curves. It was all hard edges and straight lines.
Without stopping to explain it, Rath dragged Zim along towards the opening doors. Within, the air felt cold, and the floor was metal. It made the soles of his feet hurt.
An Irken with mottled green skin was at the counter, skimming through files on his datapad. He barely lifted his eyes, but when he noticed the colour of Rath's skin, he stared.
"A new recruit, recently registered by the Control Brains. Do you have a room?"
The registrar had to peer over the counter to see this 'new' recruit. "That's a recruit? But he's so...small."
"Do you have a room or not?"
The registrar tapped a few times on his datapad, giving Rath curious looks every now and then. "You're that leper? Aren't you? I hear you're in charge of killing rogues or something. Yet I hear rumours that you've taken up illegal selling of Irken material."
"I'm a merchant."
"I self-anointed merchant." He said in a surly manner.
"It's a guise, you fool! An assassin can't look like an assassin if you're out to clock somebody!"
Zim gave Rath a look. Rath sneered back.
"Okay, a room... a room. Ah yes, I have one left. It's in the basement. There's a leak. It hasn't been fixed yet."
"It'll do."
"That'll be six hundred monies for the one night."
Rath baulked a moment, his eyes searching. Then a wire came out of his PAK and slid into an adjacent slot in the datapad. As the transaction went through, Rath bent down to Zim's level. "I'm paying this once. After this, you'll have to cough up yourself. The Academy will compensate your accommodations after today, and they'll issue you with enough credit to live on, but only when you're a soldier do you actually get a decent wage."
"Wow. A recruit without a first-day debt for once." Remarked the registrar. "You going soft in your old age, leper?"
Rath jerked out the wire a little too forcefully. "His key card!" He demanded. The registrar handed it over. Rath swiped it out of his claws. Then he gave it to Zim. "Don't lose it."
The door number to Zim's room was 00. Rath opened it, revealing a room with the bare essentials. A counter to eat at. A fridge. A junk. And a cot to lie in. It had but one purple blanket that looked threadbare.
Rath stood in the midst of this shambolic room holding Zim's tiny wrist, and sighed. When he next gazed down at the smeet, he did so with softer eyes.
"Here is where you'll spend your recreational time between training. Irkens don't usually bed down or sleep, but the training will tire you and your PAK. Sleep as often as you can, no matter what the instructors say."
Zim tottered forwards, Rath's grip loosening so that he could go where he pleased. He held an arm to his chest from the cold, or nervousness. Fletcher did not follow them in, and chose to stay outside.
Rath could hear the dripping. Something was leaking through the back wall, most likely from a burst pipe. Behind these walls he could hear the growl of the heating elements that warmed up the flooring. There was only one piece of advice left to impart. He'd done his bit. Now it was time to leave. Maybe one day he would visit, to see how Zim was getting on. He'd been tempted to help with his training, but now he realized his mistake in getting any more involved.
Zim was giving him that swollen look, eyes wet and terrified. He'd given him resentment all the way, but now he was looking to him for...what? Comfort? A fucking hug?
He'd dealt with soldiers for too long. Smeets were too much to handle.
"They'll issue you with a new uniform when you go to the front clerk. You'll just have to stay in the clothes I gave you for tonight." He said in way of apology. "If you're hungry, I'm sure this... place...has food."
He needed to leave. He'd delivered the smeet, and got off clean without immediate repercussions. There was no use hanging around.
Rath turned to the open doorway.
Zim was still giving him that crestfallen look. He couldn't stand it. Maybe some praise from earlier would do as a farewell of sorts.
He stood in the doorway, eyes as hard as red hail. "Using your brain in conjunction with the PAK is a complex mental process you are not ready for. The Academy will show you how. If you have the aptitude for it. And you've already proven to me that you have what it takes, but I see sparks like you every day. You burn bright, but only for so long before the Empire snuffs it out." At that, he stepped out, and closed the door on that downtrodden look.
Fletcher cocked his head at him when he looked his way.
Rath shrugged. "Don't look at me like that. You know how it works. Now let's get out of here."
But the robot was persistent. He grabbed at a sheaf of robe, his eyes pulsing from red to white and back again.
"Is it the smeet you're concerned about, or that cursed human?" He ripped the robe from Fletcher's grasp. "An Irken must do what an Irken must! And if you ever doubt me again, I'll turn you into scrap!" He grabbed his staff and went down the corridor, Fletcher closely following. But guilt followed – and was in every step he made. "It was just a wound. He should be up and about, same as always." He slowed his step, looked at Fletcher. "I cannot go back. Imagine what the Control Brains will think when I'm going to and from Earth without jurisdiction. Besides, he knew the risks. Didn't he?"
The SIR unit shook his head.
"He's just a HUMAN!" Rath roared, swatting the android back with a sweep of his staff. "A lowly enemy! A piece of dirt! He is nothing to me! NOTHING!" He tried to hurry away, and he planted a hand on his hip as he went, growling at the sudden pain he had not felt since his last assignment.
He would not look back. An Irken never looked back.
-x-
Zim stood staring at the closed door for a very long time. He was not sure he had the courage to look around at the hovel he had been left in. The floor was icy under his feet, and the walls made strange noises. He could hear the chatter of other Irkens above him, and their measured footfalls. He felt like a stranger: an alien amongst his own kin.
Dib would find him, wouldn't he? Surely he was on his way right now? Blue Thunder had the instruments – it had the utilities. This hell would last only a little while, and then he would be in his arms again.
Just a little longer and everything would be all right.
With this in mind, he found the courage to look around. The walls were stained and unadorned with either colour or cheer. There was no food in the fridge and no food in the self-retracting cupboard doors when he reached to open them. He paced for awhile, shivery, lost and tearful. Sometimes he even wished Rath would return. But there was no one to cuddle up to, no one to read him stories. There was no comfort in this place, and no Dib.
He climbed onto a creaky cot that was enormous and equally as cold as the floor. A tiny blanket sat in the middle in a sat little pile. He picked it up and lay down, hugging it to him and pretending – just for a moment – that it was Dib.
