A/N: wow... I wasn't expecting such an overwhelmingly positive response to what is really more of an experiment in speed writing (at least for me). To be perfectly honest, as a fanfic reader, I prefer long chapters, but shorter chapters do make it easier to post quickly... less editing time, less writing time... eh, I guess if I keep up this relatively quick update schedule I should be ok, right?
Though I am deeply gratified to receive ANY criticism at ALL, I am especially happy to see Raina1 in my review section. I just wanted you to know your comments are greatly appreciated and respected. Everyone, if you haven't read Raina's fics, you are cheating yourself. She has given me an insight into the different characters that makes them easier to write, and if you think THIS fic is good, read some of her stuff, and you'll see what a REAL IZ fic is.
To answer some commentary, I DO write original fiction, but the only Sci Fi fic I wrote that's posted on Fictionpress.com is in dreadful need of editing, as I wrote it when I was only 18 (Hard to believe that was almost 7 years ago...) still, I DO write original stuff, and most of the semi-realized stuff is on fictionpress.com under the same handle as here.
I believe the most important thing in fanfiction (and this is gonna ruffle some feathers, but I think it is true) is to remain IN CHARACTER. Fanfiction is just that, fan-fiction. People read it to see further adventures of their favorite characters, and Dib or Zim acting in a manner that is not consistant with Dib or Zim is just a character with the name and face Dib pasted over them. This is not to say that characters can't CHANGE, just that it has to be justified in the story.
I find no inconsistancy with Dib being highly logical, maybe a bit more so than he was in the series. The series seldom focused on Dib's thought processes, but they do show him conducting research and probing Zim's defenses, this one smart friggin' kid.
I always saw Dib as being highly intelligent... almost too much so for his own good. He looks around his world and sees inconsistancies everywhere, and the other inhabitants of his world either don't care, or are too stupid to care. This is a common theme with Jhonen Vasquez's work, for anyone familiar with Johnny The Homicidal Maniac, that 90% of the world's population is too stupid to see the world around them. For me, Invader Zim is really more about Dib. In the series he's about what... 12? He's apparently still in Elementary Skool, since we see no evidence of any other teacherS (maybe Ms. Bitters ate them, who knows?) I would assume 6th grade. In this fic he's about 14, he has learned to be a bit more cautious about his views, and has (as evidenced by the 1st chapter) developed a bit of a marytr complex. In his head, it's ok for him to be ostracized by society and ridiculed because one day he'll "show them all the light". His love/hate relationship with society has started.
Ok, this is entirely too long an author's note, so I'm gonna cut this short and get to the fic. Sorry about the rant guys.
"Who, who do you serve? For who's empire and for who's whim? Is your honor judged by men? Will you lie? Will you lie if they say it's their will, will you die and continue to kill, until the generals, all have their fill? Craven cowards, armchair warriors, you will serve them well..." -Fishbone, Servitude
In stories, when the hero of the story wakes up in an unfamiliar place, there is often a moment of complete confusion in which the character, thinking he is at home, startles himself with the realization that he is, in fact, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.
Either those are complete bullshit, or I'm no hero, because as consciousness seeped into me, I was fully aware of just where I was, and just WHO I was.
It took physical effort to start moving around.
The sun had begun its inevitable hike upwards in the sky, bringing with it harsh, filth filtered light, coincidentally the very light that had hit me in the face and disturbed my sleep. I was sore from sleeping in an unnatural position on a cold steel floor, but fortunately youth and necessity were on my side... I filed it away as a minor annoyance and began the process of figuring out what to do next.
The dry, sandpapery feeling of my tongue moving about my mouth brought urgency to my thoughts.
Water. Right.
I sat up, and levered myself into a standing position with my trusty metal-pipe-with-a-flared-end. As I'd assumed before, I was in some sort of airlock. It wouldn't surprise me if the inner door wouldn't mechanically open if the outer door was, this being... pretty much the point of an airlock.
Then it hit me.
Light.
If there were no internal lights working, then this place was gonna be pitch black. With the outer door closed, how was I gonna be able to see inside?
Fuck.
A wave of despair struck me and I sat back down again. What the hell was the point anyway? Even if I found water and a means to produce more... hell, even if I found a viable food source, I was still the last member of my species, trapped on some forgotten shitpile of a planet for the rest of my life, which, due to the unavailability of medical treatment, would likely be very short. Why even bother...
Why...
Zim. I clenched the pipe fiercly. In my mind I conjured up that hated image... the mocking grin... the jewel-like, alien eyes.
I won't let you beat me, Zim. Not this easily. Get up Dib, you waste of space. Get up. A year from now, two years, you can start thinking about giving up. The second day on Dirt? Start moving you candy ass! This is WAR! I was not a violent person by nature, but my very soul vibrated with the need to resist... this planet... Zim... the Irkens... RESIST! Like it or not you've been drafted, your duty is to survive!
I levered myself up again and stepped outside of the fallen dreadnought. I'd spent most of the morning asleep, having only been awakened when the sun had climbed high enough to shine into my hidey-hole. The humid, rancid heat of this place combined with the smell to assault my very being. I slid down the ships rusty bulkhead and used the pipe to polevault my way across a small gap. I wasn't defeated by my lack of light, I just had a new priority. I needed water. If I was going to have water, I needed clean containers. I wasn't going to find a non-filthy container out here and I had no means to CLEAN said containers without water. The seal on the ship I'd spent the night in was probably intact, in any case, the inside was definately sheltered from the outside, so my chances of finding a clean container inside were more likely then picking through all the garbage out here.
So I needed light. Which meant I was going to need fire, and a means to carry it.
I had an idea.
It really doesn't take much to start a fire. There were hundreds of them probably burning on this very world, as evidenced by the drifting clouds of filth I could see in the air. I could see plumes of black smoke rising in the distance, and it seemed safe to assume that it was probably industrial chemicals burning, because organic materials create white smoke. It takes carbon to create black smoke, and that implies some form of fossil fuel.
I was not disappointed.
I don't know how it started. Perhaps some shiny piece of glass created a focusing lens that allowed the suns rays to strike some pool of crud, perhaps two chemicals mixed together and created enough heat, but the result was a towering lake of fire trapped in a natural dam created by two massive piles of rusted and blackened metal. In any case, I certainly wasn't in a position to argue its existence, I simply thanked whatever god of scavengers was watching over me (the idea of spending an entire day trying to light something with my glasses had me cringing in fear). The heat forced me back several times, and the fumes made me dizzy, so I tore off a bit of the lining to my coat and tied it around my nose and mouth. Then I tore a bit more, wrapped it around the end of a large stick looking thing (though I doubted the material was wood, since it was slightly spongey and bright orange) and used a bit of rusty wire to carefully tie it into a crude, but remarkably sturdy torch.
Next I picked my way around the inferno until I was able to find a place where the chemical was slowly leaking out of the imperfect barrier created by the rusted scraps. I held the torch end under the viscous yellowish fluid until it was coated but not soaked, since I'd never made a torch before, but I figured burning liquid dribbling on my hands would not be productive in any way, shape or fashion.
Now all I had to do was light it.
Easier said then done.
Having created the damn thing, you'd think that lighting it would be a relatively easy task. Well it wasn't. I don't know why it would be so damn hard, but try and put yourself in my position. Every time I got within a few feet of the fire, the heat would drive me back. If it was just the fire, I could have handled it, but the problem was it was being contained by a metal barrier of sorts, and that metal barrier was fucking HOT. I tried to brave it, but ran back quickly when I began to realize that rubber was melting off the bottoms of my boots. It was like trying to run across the damn surface of a frying pan... it wasn't friggin' happening. Plus, despite my precautions, the heat and fumes were making me dizzy, and undoubtedly causing me to lose even MORE precious moisture.
Come on Dib, think!
The solution was so friggin' simple I almost cried. The metal was friggin' hot, the stuff on the end of my "torch" obviously burned pretty well, so solution, lay the fucking soaked end of the torch on the metal until the heat lit it. With that taken care of, I carefully picked up my torch and surpressed a dance of glee. It was working!
It was also hot as a bastard, but It was the best I could do.
I made my way back to the hulk, rummaged inside, and just for kicks, decided to try the inner door without closing the outer one. A similar device had been used to contain the mechanism for this door, but this one was in understandably better shape. It took me an hour to wedge the cover off, and the torch was heating up the inside of the airlock like a bastard. Sure enough, manuevering the key I'd made proved impossible until I'd completely shut the inside of the lock, which meant ANOTHER hour wasted getting the inner cover on the outer door loose. I looked worriedly at my torch, but it seemed to be fine... the lining from my jacket looked hardly touched. I concluded it was still burning on the fumes of that chemical. Satisfied, I shut the outer door and worked by torchlight on the inner door.
This was a mistake, and nearly a fatal one. Fucking stupid, but I just never thought of it at the time.
I deserved to die like the idiot I was, but I got lucky. I'll explain why in a second.
As I worked on the inner door, spots appeared before my eyes. I ignored them at first, thinking it was just my eyes playing tricks on me, but it got hotter, and my movements got slower... and... I hadn't even managed to crack the inner door...
What the hell?
I woozily stood up, then fell on my ass and blinked. The torch... burning... fumes... from the torch, filling... enclosed space... no AIR...
I panicked and tried wedging open the outer door.
No dice.
I couldn't get the key out of the inner doors lock either... fuck! I darted around like a rat in a trap, hyperventilating and wasting even more oxygen. I forced myself to calm down and think.
I had one chance.
I twisted and scrabbled at the key, heaving with all my might on it to try and twist it... fucking... not... going to die... because of a goddamnrustedpieceofshitdoorfuckIamsogoingtodieI...
I must have blacked out, because I don't remember much of the next... hell, I don't even know how long I lie there... could have been an hour, a moment, who knows. All I know is I came to, and the torch was still burning (admittedly lower then before, but still burning, thank god) and the inner door was open. I was slumped halfway through the crack of the door.
The inside of the ship stunk to high heaven, but it was a good smell... even though it was foul...
I could smell it, and that meant I was ALIVE.
I was also very very lucky. What if there hadn't been any oxygen inside the hulk? I'd have just sealed myself inside my own damn tomb. As I look back on it, it still amazes me that I was able to keep such a positive attitude. I mean, this was it, this was the rest of my life. I guess the instinct for survival is a strong one, and everything just felt... ok. Earth's destruction, Dad and Gaz, no water... no food... it was all ok, because Dib was still alive.
Of course, it might have been the chemical fumes playing with my brain, but it was a euphoric feeling.
Too bad it didn't last.
Picking up the torch, I made my way, quiet as a mouse, into the depths of the alien ship.
I learned one very interesting fact right away.
Irkens don't decompose like we do. Well, I assume that's true anyway. Maybe it was just the sheltered nature of the hulk, maybe it was the fact that Irkens probably have no water in their make up, I don't know. In any case, judging from the inside of the wreck, this ship HAD crashlanded, probably a long time ago.
I determined this because of the body I found upon entering the ship.
The mummified remains of some nameless son of Irk (I assume it was a son anyway... I'm no expert on the dangly or not so dangly bits of Irkens, and I sure as hell wasn't going to go exploring some dead things trousers to find out) lie in a pitifully small heap at the end of the slanted corridor I was at, one side of its head crumpled in. A black smear on the wall marked how this unfortunate monster had met its demise. Fun fact for you, the eyes of Irkens don't rot away, they harden... they turn into almost pretty fragile little jewels...
"What's up?"I asked, shuffling my feet. My voice surprised me a bit. It was hoarse, ill-used.
The heap was still. It stared up at me. The tightening of the flesh around its mouth had drawn the lips back into a malevolent, needle toothed smile.
"Yeah, I'm kinda glad to see you too. It's kinda lonely here, Ed."
Ed grinned up at me silently.
"Well, I'm just gonna take a look around, see if there is anything I can use here. Do you mind, Ed?"
I took Ed's silence and his grin as one of approval.
I started to walk past the corpse when I noticed something.
That metal backpack. Hmm..
Might be useful... don't know anything about it but maybe.
I had a hunch, call it a gut feeling, but as a junior investigator I'd come to believe in my hunches.
"Sorry Ed. Gonna have to confiscate that thing on your back." I flipped Ed over, and Ed stuck to the floor. Bits of Ed came loose, namely his sticklike arms and legs, and I pulled Ed's torso free from the scablike mess that stuck him to the floor.
Ewwwww.
I made another discovery... those metal packs they put on Irkens are highly invasive... I literally had to shred poor Ed apart to get it out of him. Silvery wires with bits of Ed (Ed flakes... fortunately Ed had a dry sense of humor) stuck to them dangled from it. It had been bolted to Ed, and my guess was the wires were connected to Ed's nervous system at one point in time.
It was such a pitifully small thing, and even through it was light, I wondered at the burden Ed must have carried his whole life, that the entire Irken race must carry.
What was it, exactly?
I shrugged and put it in my trenchcoat-bag.
I won't go into detail about my explorations of the long corridors of the Alien battleship. Suffice to say that apparently none of the Irkens on it survived, because I found hundreds of them, all perfect little mummified corpses. The wall panels, dials, switches.... none of them did ANYTHING. This place was dead, dead and silent. I did find some various odds and ends that looked useful, 3 empty bottles, a sharp, scalpel like thingy, some clean fabric strips... strangely no weapons. Apparently the leaders of the Irkens didn't issue weapons to their servants. On reflection this didn't really surprise me. It's alot easier to control a populous if you hold all the guns. Either that, or their weapons were integrated with their paks or held in an armory that I just couldn't find. In any case I'd just about finished my exploration, my torch having run dangerously low, when I noticed a strange marking on the ground, a red line, like a color code of some sort. Curious, I followed this red line to its terminous at another airlock.
I stared. Why an airlock INSIDE the ship?
My heart began to beat furiously.
You put an airlock in a ship if you want to keep what ever is INSIDE from contaminating whatever is OUTSIDE. I had NO reason to go picking around inside lord knows what. Even worse, if this was an airlock, I would run into the lack of air problem again, and I had no REASON to tempt fate.
But my curiousity had been peaked, and I have always been a slave to my curiosity.
As I neared the door something jerked my bag and I stopped, swing around with my pipe and torch to stare behind me, visions of Irken ghosts or zombies... robotic security robots, dancing in my head.
Nothing.
I noticed a faint glow throwing my shadow on the floor.
It wasn't coming from my torch.
I turned around. The wall panel had lit up, flickering faintly. I touched it, hesitantly.
It OPENED.
Alright Dib, this is a BAD IDEA. If you have ever had a BAD IDEA before, this is one of them.
I stepped inside.
The door closed behind me and hissed.
I jumped, but a second later, like ancient fluorescent lights, the inside lit up.
I touched the inner wall panel.
That opened too.
I stared inside.
Row upon row upon row of tubes greeted the extent of my torch light.
My jaw dropped.
What the... hell, was this?
I stepped into the cavernous room, noting the strange robotic machinery suspended from the ceiling. The airlock closed behind me but I paid it no mind, stuck on the image in front of me.
I should have guessed what this was. I mean, all the signs were there in front of me, but I never guessed. I suppose I just never attributed the fact that the Tallest... hell, the Irkens, could be so callous, so unfeeling, so fucking INHUMAN, as to do what they'd done here.
I stepped close to one of the tubes.
I peered inside.
A nightmarish jewel-eyed face slid through the murk and bumped the glass in front of me, a bubble slowly making its way out of the mouth.
I screamed.
***
Though I am deeply gratified to receive ANY criticism at ALL, I am especially happy to see Raina1 in my review section. I just wanted you to know your comments are greatly appreciated and respected. Everyone, if you haven't read Raina's fics, you are cheating yourself. She has given me an insight into the different characters that makes them easier to write, and if you think THIS fic is good, read some of her stuff, and you'll see what a REAL IZ fic is.
To answer some commentary, I DO write original fiction, but the only Sci Fi fic I wrote that's posted on Fictionpress.com is in dreadful need of editing, as I wrote it when I was only 18 (Hard to believe that was almost 7 years ago...) still, I DO write original stuff, and most of the semi-realized stuff is on fictionpress.com under the same handle as here.
I believe the most important thing in fanfiction (and this is gonna ruffle some feathers, but I think it is true) is to remain IN CHARACTER. Fanfiction is just that, fan-fiction. People read it to see further adventures of their favorite characters, and Dib or Zim acting in a manner that is not consistant with Dib or Zim is just a character with the name and face Dib pasted over them. This is not to say that characters can't CHANGE, just that it has to be justified in the story.
I find no inconsistancy with Dib being highly logical, maybe a bit more so than he was in the series. The series seldom focused on Dib's thought processes, but they do show him conducting research and probing Zim's defenses, this one smart friggin' kid.
I always saw Dib as being highly intelligent... almost too much so for his own good. He looks around his world and sees inconsistancies everywhere, and the other inhabitants of his world either don't care, or are too stupid to care. This is a common theme with Jhonen Vasquez's work, for anyone familiar with Johnny The Homicidal Maniac, that 90% of the world's population is too stupid to see the world around them. For me, Invader Zim is really more about Dib. In the series he's about what... 12? He's apparently still in Elementary Skool, since we see no evidence of any other teacherS (maybe Ms. Bitters ate them, who knows?) I would assume 6th grade. In this fic he's about 14, he has learned to be a bit more cautious about his views, and has (as evidenced by the 1st chapter) developed a bit of a marytr complex. In his head, it's ok for him to be ostracized by society and ridiculed because one day he'll "show them all the light". His love/hate relationship with society has started.
Ok, this is entirely too long an author's note, so I'm gonna cut this short and get to the fic. Sorry about the rant guys.
"Who, who do you serve? For who's empire and for who's whim? Is your honor judged by men? Will you lie? Will you lie if they say it's their will, will you die and continue to kill, until the generals, all have their fill? Craven cowards, armchair warriors, you will serve them well..." -Fishbone, Servitude
In stories, when the hero of the story wakes up in an unfamiliar place, there is often a moment of complete confusion in which the character, thinking he is at home, startles himself with the realization that he is, in fact, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.
Either those are complete bullshit, or I'm no hero, because as consciousness seeped into me, I was fully aware of just where I was, and just WHO I was.
It took physical effort to start moving around.
The sun had begun its inevitable hike upwards in the sky, bringing with it harsh, filth filtered light, coincidentally the very light that had hit me in the face and disturbed my sleep. I was sore from sleeping in an unnatural position on a cold steel floor, but fortunately youth and necessity were on my side... I filed it away as a minor annoyance and began the process of figuring out what to do next.
The dry, sandpapery feeling of my tongue moving about my mouth brought urgency to my thoughts.
Water. Right.
I sat up, and levered myself into a standing position with my trusty metal-pipe-with-a-flared-end. As I'd assumed before, I was in some sort of airlock. It wouldn't surprise me if the inner door wouldn't mechanically open if the outer door was, this being... pretty much the point of an airlock.
Then it hit me.
Light.
If there were no internal lights working, then this place was gonna be pitch black. With the outer door closed, how was I gonna be able to see inside?
Fuck.
A wave of despair struck me and I sat back down again. What the hell was the point anyway? Even if I found water and a means to produce more... hell, even if I found a viable food source, I was still the last member of my species, trapped on some forgotten shitpile of a planet for the rest of my life, which, due to the unavailability of medical treatment, would likely be very short. Why even bother...
Why...
Zim. I clenched the pipe fiercly. In my mind I conjured up that hated image... the mocking grin... the jewel-like, alien eyes.
I won't let you beat me, Zim. Not this easily. Get up Dib, you waste of space. Get up. A year from now, two years, you can start thinking about giving up. The second day on Dirt? Start moving you candy ass! This is WAR! I was not a violent person by nature, but my very soul vibrated with the need to resist... this planet... Zim... the Irkens... RESIST! Like it or not you've been drafted, your duty is to survive!
I levered myself up again and stepped outside of the fallen dreadnought. I'd spent most of the morning asleep, having only been awakened when the sun had climbed high enough to shine into my hidey-hole. The humid, rancid heat of this place combined with the smell to assault my very being. I slid down the ships rusty bulkhead and used the pipe to polevault my way across a small gap. I wasn't defeated by my lack of light, I just had a new priority. I needed water. If I was going to have water, I needed clean containers. I wasn't going to find a non-filthy container out here and I had no means to CLEAN said containers without water. The seal on the ship I'd spent the night in was probably intact, in any case, the inside was definately sheltered from the outside, so my chances of finding a clean container inside were more likely then picking through all the garbage out here.
So I needed light. Which meant I was going to need fire, and a means to carry it.
I had an idea.
It really doesn't take much to start a fire. There were hundreds of them probably burning on this very world, as evidenced by the drifting clouds of filth I could see in the air. I could see plumes of black smoke rising in the distance, and it seemed safe to assume that it was probably industrial chemicals burning, because organic materials create white smoke. It takes carbon to create black smoke, and that implies some form of fossil fuel.
I was not disappointed.
I don't know how it started. Perhaps some shiny piece of glass created a focusing lens that allowed the suns rays to strike some pool of crud, perhaps two chemicals mixed together and created enough heat, but the result was a towering lake of fire trapped in a natural dam created by two massive piles of rusted and blackened metal. In any case, I certainly wasn't in a position to argue its existence, I simply thanked whatever god of scavengers was watching over me (the idea of spending an entire day trying to light something with my glasses had me cringing in fear). The heat forced me back several times, and the fumes made me dizzy, so I tore off a bit of the lining to my coat and tied it around my nose and mouth. Then I tore a bit more, wrapped it around the end of a large stick looking thing (though I doubted the material was wood, since it was slightly spongey and bright orange) and used a bit of rusty wire to carefully tie it into a crude, but remarkably sturdy torch.
Next I picked my way around the inferno until I was able to find a place where the chemical was slowly leaking out of the imperfect barrier created by the rusted scraps. I held the torch end under the viscous yellowish fluid until it was coated but not soaked, since I'd never made a torch before, but I figured burning liquid dribbling on my hands would not be productive in any way, shape or fashion.
Now all I had to do was light it.
Easier said then done.
Having created the damn thing, you'd think that lighting it would be a relatively easy task. Well it wasn't. I don't know why it would be so damn hard, but try and put yourself in my position. Every time I got within a few feet of the fire, the heat would drive me back. If it was just the fire, I could have handled it, but the problem was it was being contained by a metal barrier of sorts, and that metal barrier was fucking HOT. I tried to brave it, but ran back quickly when I began to realize that rubber was melting off the bottoms of my boots. It was like trying to run across the damn surface of a frying pan... it wasn't friggin' happening. Plus, despite my precautions, the heat and fumes were making me dizzy, and undoubtedly causing me to lose even MORE precious moisture.
Come on Dib, think!
The solution was so friggin' simple I almost cried. The metal was friggin' hot, the stuff on the end of my "torch" obviously burned pretty well, so solution, lay the fucking soaked end of the torch on the metal until the heat lit it. With that taken care of, I carefully picked up my torch and surpressed a dance of glee. It was working!
It was also hot as a bastard, but It was the best I could do.
I made my way back to the hulk, rummaged inside, and just for kicks, decided to try the inner door without closing the outer one. A similar device had been used to contain the mechanism for this door, but this one was in understandably better shape. It took me an hour to wedge the cover off, and the torch was heating up the inside of the airlock like a bastard. Sure enough, manuevering the key I'd made proved impossible until I'd completely shut the inside of the lock, which meant ANOTHER hour wasted getting the inner cover on the outer door loose. I looked worriedly at my torch, but it seemed to be fine... the lining from my jacket looked hardly touched. I concluded it was still burning on the fumes of that chemical. Satisfied, I shut the outer door and worked by torchlight on the inner door.
This was a mistake, and nearly a fatal one. Fucking stupid, but I just never thought of it at the time.
I deserved to die like the idiot I was, but I got lucky. I'll explain why in a second.
As I worked on the inner door, spots appeared before my eyes. I ignored them at first, thinking it was just my eyes playing tricks on me, but it got hotter, and my movements got slower... and... I hadn't even managed to crack the inner door...
What the hell?
I woozily stood up, then fell on my ass and blinked. The torch... burning... fumes... from the torch, filling... enclosed space... no AIR...
I panicked and tried wedging open the outer door.
No dice.
I couldn't get the key out of the inner doors lock either... fuck! I darted around like a rat in a trap, hyperventilating and wasting even more oxygen. I forced myself to calm down and think.
I had one chance.
I twisted and scrabbled at the key, heaving with all my might on it to try and twist it... fucking... not... going to die... because of a goddamnrustedpieceofshitdoorfuckIamsogoingtodieI...
I must have blacked out, because I don't remember much of the next... hell, I don't even know how long I lie there... could have been an hour, a moment, who knows. All I know is I came to, and the torch was still burning (admittedly lower then before, but still burning, thank god) and the inner door was open. I was slumped halfway through the crack of the door.
The inside of the ship stunk to high heaven, but it was a good smell... even though it was foul...
I could smell it, and that meant I was ALIVE.
I was also very very lucky. What if there hadn't been any oxygen inside the hulk? I'd have just sealed myself inside my own damn tomb. As I look back on it, it still amazes me that I was able to keep such a positive attitude. I mean, this was it, this was the rest of my life. I guess the instinct for survival is a strong one, and everything just felt... ok. Earth's destruction, Dad and Gaz, no water... no food... it was all ok, because Dib was still alive.
Of course, it might have been the chemical fumes playing with my brain, but it was a euphoric feeling.
Too bad it didn't last.
Picking up the torch, I made my way, quiet as a mouse, into the depths of the alien ship.
I learned one very interesting fact right away.
Irkens don't decompose like we do. Well, I assume that's true anyway. Maybe it was just the sheltered nature of the hulk, maybe it was the fact that Irkens probably have no water in their make up, I don't know. In any case, judging from the inside of the wreck, this ship HAD crashlanded, probably a long time ago.
I determined this because of the body I found upon entering the ship.
The mummified remains of some nameless son of Irk (I assume it was a son anyway... I'm no expert on the dangly or not so dangly bits of Irkens, and I sure as hell wasn't going to go exploring some dead things trousers to find out) lie in a pitifully small heap at the end of the slanted corridor I was at, one side of its head crumpled in. A black smear on the wall marked how this unfortunate monster had met its demise. Fun fact for you, the eyes of Irkens don't rot away, they harden... they turn into almost pretty fragile little jewels...
"What's up?"I asked, shuffling my feet. My voice surprised me a bit. It was hoarse, ill-used.
The heap was still. It stared up at me. The tightening of the flesh around its mouth had drawn the lips back into a malevolent, needle toothed smile.
"Yeah, I'm kinda glad to see you too. It's kinda lonely here, Ed."
Ed grinned up at me silently.
"Well, I'm just gonna take a look around, see if there is anything I can use here. Do you mind, Ed?"
I took Ed's silence and his grin as one of approval.
I started to walk past the corpse when I noticed something.
That metal backpack. Hmm..
Might be useful... don't know anything about it but maybe.
I had a hunch, call it a gut feeling, but as a junior investigator I'd come to believe in my hunches.
"Sorry Ed. Gonna have to confiscate that thing on your back." I flipped Ed over, and Ed stuck to the floor. Bits of Ed came loose, namely his sticklike arms and legs, and I pulled Ed's torso free from the scablike mess that stuck him to the floor.
Ewwwww.
I made another discovery... those metal packs they put on Irkens are highly invasive... I literally had to shred poor Ed apart to get it out of him. Silvery wires with bits of Ed (Ed flakes... fortunately Ed had a dry sense of humor) stuck to them dangled from it. It had been bolted to Ed, and my guess was the wires were connected to Ed's nervous system at one point in time.
It was such a pitifully small thing, and even through it was light, I wondered at the burden Ed must have carried his whole life, that the entire Irken race must carry.
What was it, exactly?
I shrugged and put it in my trenchcoat-bag.
I won't go into detail about my explorations of the long corridors of the Alien battleship. Suffice to say that apparently none of the Irkens on it survived, because I found hundreds of them, all perfect little mummified corpses. The wall panels, dials, switches.... none of them did ANYTHING. This place was dead, dead and silent. I did find some various odds and ends that looked useful, 3 empty bottles, a sharp, scalpel like thingy, some clean fabric strips... strangely no weapons. Apparently the leaders of the Irkens didn't issue weapons to their servants. On reflection this didn't really surprise me. It's alot easier to control a populous if you hold all the guns. Either that, or their weapons were integrated with their paks or held in an armory that I just couldn't find. In any case I'd just about finished my exploration, my torch having run dangerously low, when I noticed a strange marking on the ground, a red line, like a color code of some sort. Curious, I followed this red line to its terminous at another airlock.
I stared. Why an airlock INSIDE the ship?
My heart began to beat furiously.
You put an airlock in a ship if you want to keep what ever is INSIDE from contaminating whatever is OUTSIDE. I had NO reason to go picking around inside lord knows what. Even worse, if this was an airlock, I would run into the lack of air problem again, and I had no REASON to tempt fate.
But my curiousity had been peaked, and I have always been a slave to my curiosity.
As I neared the door something jerked my bag and I stopped, swing around with my pipe and torch to stare behind me, visions of Irken ghosts or zombies... robotic security robots, dancing in my head.
Nothing.
I noticed a faint glow throwing my shadow on the floor.
It wasn't coming from my torch.
I turned around. The wall panel had lit up, flickering faintly. I touched it, hesitantly.
It OPENED.
Alright Dib, this is a BAD IDEA. If you have ever had a BAD IDEA before, this is one of them.
I stepped inside.
The door closed behind me and hissed.
I jumped, but a second later, like ancient fluorescent lights, the inside lit up.
I touched the inner wall panel.
That opened too.
I stared inside.
Row upon row upon row of tubes greeted the extent of my torch light.
My jaw dropped.
What the... hell, was this?
I stepped into the cavernous room, noting the strange robotic machinery suspended from the ceiling. The airlock closed behind me but I paid it no mind, stuck on the image in front of me.
I should have guessed what this was. I mean, all the signs were there in front of me, but I never guessed. I suppose I just never attributed the fact that the Tallest... hell, the Irkens, could be so callous, so unfeeling, so fucking INHUMAN, as to do what they'd done here.
I stepped close to one of the tubes.
I peered inside.
A nightmarish jewel-eyed face slid through the murk and bumped the glass in front of me, a bubble slowly making its way out of the mouth.
I screamed.
***