You know what tragedy is? Tragedy is to constantly hope, despite the odds, and be denied every time. I think a better description of Dib's ordeal is that it is tragic.
He still HOPES things will get better. Despite being the only one left.
Still, things are getting interesting, at least, I think so. In any case, enjoy, I hope. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated... as the more reflective ones have done much to improve this story, or any story I write. Tell me what you like, tell me what you hate, but please, tell me.
One last note before we begin, does anybody actually pay attention to the song qoutes at the beginning of every chapter? Just curious. I keep putting 'em in there, because they are relevant, and I don't often get comments on them. If they are really annoying, I suppose I could remove them, but it's become something of a tradition for me, to be honest.
Lemme know what you think.
Now, without further delay, on with the show.
"You and I, we are pressed into these solitudes. Color and culture, language and race. Just variations on a theme. Islands in a much larger stream. For you and me--Race is not a competition. For you and me--Race is not a definition. For you and me--We agree. Reaching for the alien shore. You and I, we reject these narrow attitudes. We add to each other, like a coral reef. Building bridges on the ocean floor. Reaching for the alien shore. For you and me--We hold these truths to be self-evident. For you and me--We'd elect each other president. For you and me--We might agree. But that's just us. Reaching for the alien shore." -Rush, The Alien Shore
What do you do when you've stood on the brink for too long? Staring out into the void yawning in front of you, exhausted, beaten... do you start to wonder just how bad it would be to take that first step? There is no easier thing in the world than falling. All you have to do is give up. Anything would be better than this, right?
Fuck no.
I'll tell you why.
The human condition is an interesting one. Deal with something often enough, you get used to it, no matter how terrible or irrational it might be. Pain, loneliness, grief, rage, guilt... after a time, these things form a pattern. Humanity likes patterns, don't think for a second we don't. Patterns are safe, patterns are predictable. How many beaten wives, or abused children dealt with a situation they could have walked away from at any time for years and years without complaint, in spite of the misery? Did they do it because they couldn't see any options? No. It's because when forced to choose between safety or sanity, sanity loses every time. Change brings one into the forever frightening world of the unknown, my imaginary friends... and let me tell you, while change can be for the better, it can also be for the worse.
Things can always get worse. I've learned that lesson pretty damn well.
Of course, sometimes, you DON'T have a choice.
Sometimes instead of stepping off the edge, you get pushed.
Vic... that poor, miserable, confused Irken... she was that final push.
Oh she wasn't the main reason I fell. There were half a hundred reasons more vital, more relevant. Lets tick off a few, shall we?
I'm dying.
I'm the last human being alive (I imagine you're getting tired of that one).
My plan several years in the making had netted me the grand total gain of one Irken prisoner, who couldn't pilot or fix my one way off this rock.
I'm tired.
Then she said it. The WRONG thing at the WRONG time. How could I possibly know what it's like to be alone? To be cut off?
In that instant, I didn't see my prisoner, a scared, tiny miserable thing. I saw the enemy. I saw ZIM.
That callous, "I'm the only thing in this universe that matters" mindset...
I wanted to squeeze her goddamn neck until her head popped off.
It felt GOOD to wrap my hands around her little neck and SQUEEZE...
You know, I'm quite convinced I'm not right in the head... I mean, one doesn't have to look very far to find the evidence, you know? I was ok with that, because even if I WAS somewhat insane, I was still rational. There was still that little voice in my head pointing out the pros and cons of every action.
It's not like I'm going to be punished for almost killing her.
Who's going to judge me? Society? God? Dead on the first count, and if the other was ever around, He certainly doesn't pay much attention to what goes on in His little universe.
Either that, or humanity was never really as important as it seemed to think it was. Either way, I doubt He's paying much attention to poor mad little Dib.
I was going to do it. I was going to kill her, and all she'd done was say the wrong thing.
That's not self defense, that's not defense at all. That's cold blooded, cold hearted murder.
Then she... apologized.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
There are certain offenses that once you commit them, they will always be between you and the one who you've hurt. Have you ever done that? Betrayed someone's trust so badly that every time you see them after that, you remember what you did to them, and even if they never know, or worse, if they do know and they forgive you... it sits between you, like a stain. Like you're betrayal has stained them somehow, and it'll always be there... and only you can see it.
I raise my head and look down at her.
She's out of focus, blurry. My glasses are covered with moisture, probably from me blubbering on them for... who knows how long. I take them off and rub them furiously against my shirt.
I put them back on. She's staring at me, not breathing hard, or shaking. She looks calm. I can see the dark green bruises... imprints of my hands staining the skin of her neck.
I take a deep shaky breath.
I hold out my hands in front of her.
She winces away for a moment, then returns to normal.
I look away.
"I'm..."
She cocks her head.
I spot the laser rifle, not too far away, leaning against the rock where we had sat for a moment.
I pick it up. Stare at it for a moment.
I come to a decision. Don't tell me I'm crazy. Don't tell me I'm irrational.
I've got nothing at all to lose.
I turn it around and put it on her chest.
Then I step back... stagger back actually, and rest my back against the rock.
I close my eyes.
I relax.
It was so easy...
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The laser rifle is a cold weight on my chest, almost exactly where the impossibly hot weight of his cheek had been resting earlier.
This is some sort of trick.
It has to be.
I am afraid to move... afraid to even breathe. I am so afraid... I...
I do not understand any of this. I was sure I was going to die... I could FEEL myself die, by inches... and yet... there was a moment there, right at the end, when I was not afraid anymore.
I had crossed some sort of barrier... I was not fighting for life.
I have not known this alien, this human for very long. I do not always understand why he does the things he does.
He has always struck me as a rational being. I do not know if I would be as rational as he is, if I had been in his position.
No... I KNOW I would not be as rational as he is, if I were in his position.
I do not always understand this being, but I understood his motive when he grabbed my throat. The moment I spoke those words, I wanted to take them back. It was...
It was...
I do not have the words...
What do you call... regret, for saying something you know would hurt someone? Even out of ignorance, or unintentionally?
There are many words that the humans use that I have no frame of reference for. Their language is a labyrinth of confusing contexts and contradictions. It is a wonder they manage to communicate anything, considering how jumbled up their heads must be with these... disturbing concepts.
He stopped.
Now here I am, with a lethal weapon within my grasp, and he put it there.
How am I supposed to understand this? If he were Irken, I would say he was mentally deficient.
Then again, if he were Irken, I'd be dead.
I sit up cautiously, and take the laser rifle in my hands. He is barely five feet away, and even though I don't know how to use this thing, I do know what direction it needs to be pointed in to do its work.
I point it in the right direction.
He does not move. His eyes are closed.
There is no fear in his face, no tension in his frame at all.
"D-do not move, human." I sputter. I am very confused.
"I wasn't planning on it." His voice is tired, but calm. Strangely calm.
It is the voice of defeat.
I stare.
He does not move.
I have never... felt this before. If I pull this trigger, he dies. Right now, it is my decision alone, whether or not this human lives or dies.
I have never had this power before. Never had this choice before.
I... I have never had any CHOICES before.
And yet, it was his decision to give me this power.
He... has given me a choice.
"Why?" I blurt out, suddenly.
"I'm not a violent man by nature, Vic. At least, I don't think so." He frowned. "I have discovered a... disturbing tendancy in myself to enjoy kicking ass, recently, but I don't think that makes me a violent sort of guy. I don't immediately choose violence as the solution to any problem... so I guess what I'm saying is, that I'm normally a pretty rational individual."
"What I just did... it wasn't rational at all. I'm fucking losing it, Vic. All I have left is my morals..."
"Morals?" Again... confusing words. My Pak doesn't even TRY to assign it a context.
"I don't expect you to understand, Vic. I'll try to explain... but I'm really friggin' tired right now, so you probably aren't going to get much out of my explanation. Morals are... things that you do, or things that you don't do, because when it comes right down to it, some things are right, and some things are wrong. You make a mistake, you cross that line once or twice in your lifetime, you regret it. People make mistakes. You do it too many times... and you aren't human anymore."
I frown. "I am not human."
He opens his eyes. "I told you it wouldn't make any sense. Just like killing that crazy fucker who was trying to rape you earlier probably doesn't make sense to you. Just like handing you that weapon doesn't make any sense to you. Irkens just don't do that. I don't want to kill you, Vic. What you said back there... it really pissed me off. I snapped. I almost did kill you, even though you didn't do anything to deserve it, really. Just being an Irken... just being my prisoner, it isn't enough."
He sighs.
"In fact, since you were my prisoner, that makes me responsible for your welfare. You save someones life, you grant them mercy, and you become responsible for them. Life's... too goddamn hard, Vic. I've just proven that I'm not responsible enough to keep you safe from myself... worse, I abused you. So the only thing I have left is to put you on even ground."
He pauses, and for a moment, I do not think he is going to continue. Then he breaks the silence again.
"But... that's not entirely possible, because how do you give someone the freedom to choose ANYTHING when they've never known freedom? What could I do to regain whatever trust I might have built with you? The only thing I can think of is to give you power over ME."
He closes his eyes again. "Besides. It's not like I have anything to lose at this point. But I can't... I won't live like this. I'm just not cut out to be a jailor, Vic. It's just... too much like being a bully."
That, I understood.
He sighed. "You've probably been told what to do, what to be, your whole life. I certainly haven't been treating you any differently up to this point. I damn near killed you for nothing, how can I make up for that? How can I apologize for that?"
"I give you a choice."
"So here it is, Vic. Pull that trigger, and take care of what your people should have taken care of all those years ago. Who knows? If they find you here, and you tell them what happened, they might just promote you, or something."
My face hardens. Am I trembling? Why am I trembling? I understand now... I am angry. It takes me a moment to figure out why. That cold, medical part of me is speaking again. The part that makes me do things that surprise me. I think SHE has figured out something about this human.
This is not about giving me a choice. This is about giving up. I have seen it happen, some times. A soldier who is badly injured and in pain loses his will to survive, and despite my best efforts, dies before my eyes. Despite their bullying and ill treatment, every soldier who died in my care was a failure on my part. ALL I HAVE, is my job. It is the only worthy thing I am capable of, and every failure is a stinging reminder of just how fallable and worthless I am.
Now this human, this... creature, wants me to assist him in giving up?
The fierceness of my reaction against that shocks me, and I take a backseat to the medical drone me.
"Your logic is flawed. You are not giving me a choice. You tell me to kill you, that is not a choice. That sounds like an order."
I narrow my eyes. "Filthy aliens do not give Irkens orders. Not even medical drones."
He opens his eyes. He is staring at me now.
I reverse the laser rifle, step forward, then jab the stock hard into that fleshy protubence in the middle of his face.
I hear a crunch.
"OWWWWWSHHHHIIT SON OF A-" He grabs it as red fluid poors down his face and patters onto his shirt.
I toss the rifle aside.
"Now we are even, human. You attacked me without provocation, I attack you without provocation."
He scrunches up, clutching his face. "You doke my nobz?!"
I blink. "What?"
"YOU BROKE MY NOBZ!" He shouts, pointing at his face.
The old me snaps back at his loud noise.
"S-sorry?" I meekly point out.
He blinks.
He starts to snort.
It takes me a moment to realize that he is laughing.
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Man, I cannot believe how much pain this is causing me. I involuntarily grabbed my nose with both hands, and my arm shrieked at me... then she apologized and I started laughing, and let me tell you... laughing through a broken nose is no picnic.
"HA HA HA OW HA OW HA GOBD DABBIT OW HA..."
Vic blinks at me, her antennae flat against her skull.
I sit down again and look at her, holding my head back to stem the flow.
Things are... well they certainly aren't normal, but the moment has passed. I feel... stable again. I have no IDEA what she's thinking, but then, she's looking at me like I'm crazier than a shithouse rat so I suppose the feeling is mutual.
I guess... that was a test of sorts.
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"Doh now what?" The human is difficult to understand with his injury.
I am beginning to wish I had hit him somewhere else. He is taking my assault rather well. I'm not entirely sure why I did it...
It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. It seemed to have broken some undescribable depression in him, in addition to his nose. I do not understand his "morals", but... I appear to have intuited the right course of action.
I feel the warmth of pride. I am a medical drone, and though I am a failure as an Irken, this fact remains.
"Bic?"
I blink at him. "I-I... am not sure, Dib." I frown. "What... did you mean earlier?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Eh?"
"About it not mattering anyway."
He looks down, as though reminded of something unpleasant. "Well... your buddy with the laser rifle bight not have got me then, bud he did kill me, in a way. It's just gonna dake a while."
I blink.
He pulls off his makeshift upper garment and starts to unwrap several greenish strips of cloth from his arm. I try not to get distracted at the startling pallor of his skin... so utterly alien... white. It is a strange color. It is not something I see often. Irken architecture is invariably dark or metallic...
I wonder what this says about us?
In any case, when the bandage is removed I frown in appraisal. The wound is badly infected, with red lines radiating from it. On an Irken these lines would be dark green, but their presence is a bad sign.
The human is correct, he does not have long to live.
Under normal circumstances.
However, I have already committed the sin of sparing an alien threat's life once... though for what reason, I am not entirely sure, despite my conviction earlier. Our relationship has changed drastically in a short time, I know this... but only time will tell in what way. Prisoner and captor, we are no longer, I can sense that. Still... it is easier to focus on what I know for now, and I frown at him.
"I will have to operate."
He blinks. "Like hell."
I stare at him intently. "You want to die, then?"
He looks away, his face coloring oddly. He frowns at me.
I wait.
After a time he seems to collapse in on himself. "No drugs."
I sigh. "Certainly no anesthetic. I am... unsure how it would react to your system. However, I will need to excise the necrotic tissue, and apply a disinfectant. The disinfectant shouldn't affect your system, as it is a neutral substance designed to erradicate bacteria.
I pause.
"However, the process will be... painful."
He sighs. Looks skyward for a moment, muttering under his breath. I catch the word "Gaz" in his mutterings, but I am unable to find a connotation.
Some sort of personal eccentricity?
He appears to reach some sort of decision.
"Alright."
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She finds a relatively flat, dry pitted metal surface which rests about a foot off the ground under a mound of old copper tubing of some sort and kicks off what little debris is present. One of her little spider legs extends from her pack and a wide angle bluish beam emmits from it, she passes this over the surface several times, frowning in concentration.
I watch, fascinated despite myself.
She sighs. "It will have to do." She turns to me.
"I have sterilized this as best I can. Lie down, here." She orders. The change in her voice makes me blink.
No hesitation at all.
I obey.
She has a much different pack than Zim did, I realize upon closer inspection. Her pack is bulkier somehow, and the legs have a wider end. Each leg appears to have a different purpose, multiple ones, actually, like four swiss army... legs.
It's so interesting, I almost don't feel the pain.
Almost.
Ok, that's a bald faced lie. It hurts like a son of a bitch.
She runs one of her spiderlimbs close to the wound, then around my body at key points. I stiffen when it gets a little too close to... well... a sensative location and she cocks her head, frowning.
Embarassed, I scowl. "What?"
"Your blood is a highly caustic substance, Dib. 90 of it is acidic."
"Water."
She frowns. "I shall have put on my environmental suit helmet and recalibrate my equipment. Standby."
"Dake your dime, by schedule's free."
She cocks her head slightly. "Er... what?"
"Ib was a joke... eh, nebermind."
She disappears for what seems like entirely too long, and I find myself wondering if perhaps I'd made a fatal error in judgement. Still, logically, if she'd wanted to kill me, she had an opportunity to do so earlier, with the rifle.
Why didn't she do it? That's a good question. Wish I had an answer for you. She's not human, and it would be a mistake to assume she has a human motive for not doing so.
Still... I recognize some things inside her... things maybe she isn't even aware of. Her posture is meek and hesitant, like she's used to being pushed around or hit alot. Completely unlike Zim, who strutted around like he was God. She apologizes constantly, and yet, get her on a roll with what she's good at, and it's like she's a completely different person.
Sound familiar? Maybe... maybe we aren't as different as I thought.
She returns, suited up. It's an ingenious thing, really. I forgot to mention this earlier, when I carried her. It's got something like a locking mechanism that seals with the base of her pack, so that it's outside the suit but integrity is maintained. It's flat black and somewhat bulky, but it seems to do it's job.
I remember Zim had some sort of forcefield helmeted spacesuit, but maybe they don't issue stuff like that to the normal grunts.
Or maybe Zim was the Irken equivalent of an idiot savant or something.
One of her spiderlimbs extends a monocle-like lens that she looks through as she examines my nose.
"Umm... my armb's that way."
"I know. This is easier to fix."
She grabs my nose and snaps it suddenly back into place, then shoves one of her spiderlimbs up my nostril and zaps it with something extremely hot and... tingly.
"CHRIBST!" I hiss.
"Don't jerk around, human. This is difficult enough with your alien physiology."
"Bell excuse be! Next dime I ged injured I'll bake sure I was born Irken first."
She blinks. "That is both logically unsound and physically impossible."
"Eberybodies' a cridic."
She removes the probe thingy from my nose and turns to my arm. I sniff experimentally.
It's clear. It still stings a bit, but even that's fading. I reach up with my good arm and feel it experimentally.
"Wow."
Is it my imagination, or does a small smile of satisfaction grace her lips?
"So do you do this often?"
"Operate on deserted alien worlds on insufficiently documented alien species? No."
"No, smartass, I mean operate, period."
She glances aside for a moment. "It is my duty to do so. I am afraid that I am not good for very much else."
I frown. "What do you mean?"
She sighs. "I am not a soldier. I do not even know how to operate the weapons they gave me."
I blink. "Wait, let me get this straight. They gave you a pistol, and stuck you in a combat unit, but they didn't teach you how it works? That's... that's really... dumb."
"I know how it works..." She says, a tad defensively. "I am a medical drone after all. I can fix it."
Ok, now I'm confused. "What?"
"I said I am a medical drone-"
"I heard that, what does that have to do with using a pistol, let alone fixing it?"
She considers me blankly. "What sort of medical drone would I be if I could not maintain Irken equipment?"
"What does equipment have to do with..." I stop. I look at her pack. The pack that all of the Irken's have. I suppose even those things malfunction or break. "Oh."
I change the subject. "Still, if you can fix it, why can't you figure out how it works?"
"I have not been allowed the necessary skill download and training." She says matter-of-factly. She begins probing my injury gingerly. It still stings like a bitch.
"Why not learn it on your own?" I wince when she hits a tender spot.
She looks at me blankly. "I do not understand."
"You know, you..." I pause. "You really DON'T know, do you?"
She shakes her head.
I consider this. I already suspected the packs were important, that they regulated and controlled many of the Irken's vital functions. I mean, they are so pervasive in the system... it makes sense. I didn't realize just HOW important they were.
"So you guys download skills and stuff into your brain?"
"The pak is capable of instantaneous utilization of stored knowledge and allows access to the Irken Control Brain network, which houses all of the available knowledge that the Irken species has gathered to date. Irken smeets are indoctrinated into their suitable skill set immediately after Pak installation, and after a brief acclimation period, assume their duties in Irken society."
He shakes his head. "So you're not even given a choice as to what you are going to be?"
She appears confused. "We are Irken. We cannot choose what batch we are born into."
I stare. "So you always wanted to be a medical drone?"
She sighs. "No one WANTS to be a medical drone. They are considered non-vital personnel... inferior. It is just how it is."
"Bullshit." I say flatly. "I may not know everything about Irken society, but I do know stuff breaks and people get injured. What would happen if every single medical drone dropped dead right now?"
She thinks about it for a moment. "They would incubate the next several batches of Irken smeets into medical drones and replace us."
I look away. "That's so... cold."
She says nothing for a time.
"Prepare yourself." She cautions suddenly.
Then the pain hits. I gasp and my muscles lock. What the hell is she DOING?! It feels like she's trying to saw my arm off!
"OW! FUCK! SON OF A-!"
Then it's just too much to even say that. I make animal noises of agony. It feels like hours.
"Done." She says smartly.
The pain fades slowly away. I whimper.
She stares down at me.
Then she does a strange thing. She places her hand on my chest.
"I... am sorry, for the pain."
I blink.
"There was extensive nerve damage from the shot. I had to graft a section of artificial replacement bundles to restore full functionality. There was no way to avoid the pain. It will remain sore for a while, and you should try not to use it for a few days."
I sit up, and look. A section of my skin where the wound used to be has a light greenish tinge to it. I frown.
"What's this?"
She shrugs. "The replacement dermis I have only comes in one color, I am afraid."
I raise an eyebrow. "How does that work, considering how acidic water is to Irkens?"
She pauses. "I... adapted my equipment significantly." She appears extremely hesitant.
"What's wrong."
She looks back at me. "I am not supposed to do that."
I grin. "Heh. Well if it's all the same to you, I'm glad you did." I stop smiling. "Um. Thanks, Vic."
She appears startled, as though it would never occur to her that I would thank her for doing her job.
"I... y-you are welcome."
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It is strange, this sensation. We have returned to the battered dreadnought. The mood has changed significantly. The tension of earlier has disappeared, as though it never was. There is still an awkwardness, but I suppose that this is unavoidable.
Some things do not change overnight. No matter how much has happened.
Still, as I said, it is strange. I have a sense that both of us have much to think about. We are silent as we consume a meal of stale Irken snacks. The human appears tired, and I suppose that is only natural.
For myself... my throat is sore, and I am dreadfully confused.
I did many things today that the me of only a few days ago would have been appalled at. I have aided an enemy of the Irken race, tampered with Irken equipment, and failed to escape when afforded the opportunity.
Despite that, I feel no sense of shame. I do feel some small amount of guilt, but it is like the lingering phantom of pain after an injury is repaired. Insubstantial and fading.
In it's stead, I have gained confusion.
No one has ever... thanked me before. I must admit a sense of admiration of this human. I am not ashamed of this. I have seen far less admirable responses to pain in Irken soldiers...
Is that wrong? He screamed, yes... but that was unavoidable. He did not move.
He did not lash out.
So strange. I could have killed him today. I think he even wanted me to.
Instead I saved his life. Twice.
I think I understand why. It is a selfish reason, I admit.
I have thought hard about this, and the closest I can come to an explanation is this. All Irkens are tested for suitability to become Invaders. It is the one chance, however slim, for a Medical Drone or a Service Drone, for any Irken, to raise above their station. Invaders are strange, it takes a very different Irken to be one... it cannot be genetically coded into us.
This is for several reasons. Obviously an Invader must be able to adapt to a hostile environment without the benefit of downloadable information, this requires a quick intellect and an unorthodox approach to problem solving, something that is alien to most Irkens.
However, most of all, to be an Invader is to be alone.
Cut off.
I lack this ability. Most Irkens do. This is way the Invaders are so unique. So special.
I have always been surrounded by my brethren. While even the most sympathetic of them are merely indifferent to me, their presence is a reassuring sensation.
A presence that is no longer there.
There will be no rescue attempt. The signal that our patrol craft picked up will take several years to reach the Control Brains on Devastis. More than likely, it will then be dismissed, since the time/date stamp will be so old. Patrol craft disappear all the time, it is a dangerous universe. We will not be missed.
I am stranded.
But with the human here... I am not so alone.
It shocks me, how fiercely I cling to that truth. However fragile this alliance is.
And I feel... in some small way, that it is the same for him.
Human or Irken, I find that the most basic instinct is the same.
The instinct to survive.
The drive to go on.
Where will this strange path lead me? I do not know.
For now...
I only know that it is before me, and that is enough.
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