I had another chapter in mind, but the current pandemic of the world has made that chapter too… topical. So instead, we're doing something else!

Enjoy!

Part 45: Recruitment

Dib tossed another sketch into the trash. Zim glanced at it, peeking up at Dib while he pretended to work on the micro-bots. Dib was moving into the dorms in just over a month; so, Zim was having him over more and more as the time came upon them. Dib wasn't interested in packing just yet, so he'd been filling his time with building the bots and designing a better leeway station for alien ships. Better designed, anyway. Zim had liked a few of his previous attempts. Dib had kept some aspects and details, but he'd yet to find a design that could satisfy him.

He'd been at it for days, leaving his sketch book at Zim's base just so he wouldn't try improving on the design into the late morning before he finally decided to sleep. Zim had to bribe him to sleep somewhat on a regular schedule already, so failing to do so would have been a bad idea. He wasn't looking forward to the summer ending, as far away as it still was. But, at the same time, he couldn't wait. It was a confusing feeling to be sure.

"Zim, what are you going to do about your base when we move into the dorms?" Dib asked, pausing to look over a sketch.

"Hm? The base will remain. It's my primary station, after all." Zim says, tweaking something in the hardware sat before him. Dib have a dissatisfied hum. Zim set his instruments down.

"That doesn't please you," Zim says, sliding his chair over to Dib. Dib grumbled again.

"You don't think it's going to get broken into? Or confiscated?"

"You're worried about the government agents from the woods."

"How can I not be?" Dib asks, shoving his sketch book away. He tapped his fingers on the table and looked back up.

"Payment for college and registration—"

"Has been handled," Zim says. "Truly, making everything doable online has made it so easy sometimes."

"…Made what easy?" Dib asks cautiously. Zim smirked evilly at him.

"So many things."

Dib stared at Zim for a long moment before Zim broke and started to laugh. "I'm kidding. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Electronic currency, for instance!"

"MOSTLY?"

"It's fake money, I just have to hack whatever number I want into the accounts," Zim said, pointedly ignoring Dib. "Enrollment was easy as well. Crafting fake Identification is apparently a pastime for some humans. Irken technology has functions specifically for this, of course."

Dib paused. He felt like an idiot. "Because invading. Of course."

"You worry over nothing," Zim says teasingly. "I'm versed in this at this point. They do not allow for 'good enough' at the Academies. There is a certain level of perfection they strive for."

Dib sighed, resting his head on his hand. He leaned on the table, watching Zim work for a moment. He could leave the 'mostly' for another conversation. More, he was concerned about the illegal identity Zim had crafted. Though, he couldn't really think of a better way, either. Wasn't like Zim could really be held to the same level of law-abiding citizenship when he hadn't even formally moved in. In a way. In another way he had. Besides, Zim would have had to craft one eventually, he was sure. Though, his comment did tug at a nerve on Dib's mind that he'd been refraining from asking.

"…Zim, why did you choose your disguise to be just a wig and contacts when Tak's was a hologram?" Dib asks. Rather pointedly. More bluntly than he'd intended. Zim's antennae twitched curiously a moment. He set his instruments back down and hummed.

"I liked it."

Dib blinked at him. "That's it?" he asked. Zim looked at him.

"It worked, either way."

"And if it hadn't?"

"…Zim had… measures. To try again." Zim says. Dib didn't appreciate the ominous nature of that sentence. He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. He could have sworn Zim began to sweat.

"Like?" Dib pressed. Zim cleared his throat, an action Dib would bet actual money he had picked up from either TV or Dib himself, as it wasn't something Zim had done before. It was an odd nervous tick for Zim to pick up on. "LIKE?"

"Well, there are gas pipes in the school—" Dib smacked him upside the head, hard. "OW!"

"You'd've blown the school up?! Seriously!" Dib shouted. Zim held the back of his head. That had legitimately hurt. HE was both surprised and proud. Zim glowered at him a little, but no real malice was behind it.

"That was BEFORE we were friends," Zim pointed out. "I could have just tried again elsewhere."

"…How do I know you didn't!?"

"Because Zim is perfect in his disguises! Of course it would succeed!" Zim boasted.

Dib wouldn't necessarily call it 'perfect'—by a long shot. But; it sadly had still worked. Somehow. Against all logic. Dib didn't know how. Then again, the Swollen Eyeball hadn't believed Dib, so who else really would have? Dib had to drag his guidance counselor out to the woods and see an alien with a ship—all the nines—just to believe him. Really, it wasn't that hard to believe after all these years. Dib let it lie, spinning in his chair instead.

His pocket buzzed. He flicked out his phone and frowned. He scoffed, flipping his phone off. Zim glanced at him, the phone, then him again.

"Something wrong?"

"Just my dad."

"…he contacted you?" Zim asks. Dib scoffed again.

"Yeah, says something that you're surprised," Dib says, sitting up and returning to his sketch book. "He says he has some 'associates' who want to meet me. Probably just another internship interview he's trying to rope me into."

"Has he been doing that a lot?"

"Since we entered high school. He never really, really gave up on getting me into, ahem, "real" sciences," Dib says, forming the quotations with his fingers. The disdain was real. Zim's antenna perked in confusion.

"Is what you are pursuing… not.. considered a real science?"

"No, it is. I just don't want to intern while I'm still starting school fresh. The first year and the last year are the hardest ones. I want to get into the swing of things first." Dib explains. "It'd be too much."

"You've expressed this before."

"Of course I have. Not that Dad listens." Dib sighs. He returned to his sketchbook, letting himself get lost in it, only taking his attention away from it when Zim was showing him the new and improved functions of the microbot. It had been quite a while later that the computer interrupted them. First with an alerting tone and then its own voice.

"There's a human at the door." It droned.

"Who?" Zim asked.

"The one called Gaz."

Dib felt strange hearing something say Gaz's name without a hint of fear. Then again, she couldn't really bring Hell and torment down on a computer. Dib looked up the same time as Zim.

"Why?" they both asked. Dib out of confusion. Zim out of annoyance. Very blatant annoyance.

"You're still salty she beat you at—"

"I WOULD HAVE WON!" Zim snapped.

"It's a game."

"It's PRINCIPLE."

"What do I do with her?" the computer asks. Gaz's image flashed on the screen at the table. She was glaring into the camera.

"Turn on the speaker feed," Zim groaned. He looked at the screen. "What do you want?"

"Is my brother in there?" Gaz asks, crossing her arms. "Open the damned door, you sore loser."

"I WOULD HAVE WON THAT MATCH!" Zim screamed. Gaz was smirking.

"I bet you can't if we played it again." She said. Zim stood up and Gaz kicked at the door. "Let me in. Dad wants to see him."

"Why does Dad want me home?" Dib asks. Gaz relaxed a little. Likely because his voice meant she didn't have to go on an actual hunt for him. "If it's for another internship interview I'm not interested."

"Oh, come on, they're not that bad. Stop whining. It'll be done in like thirty minutes. You can come back to your boyfriend's house later." Gaz says.

"Get your stupid meat stumps off my base!" Zim shouted. Gaz stuck her tongue out at him instead. The door opened and she looked down. Gir, dressed in his dog costume, waddled out and shut it behind him. He waved at Gaz on his way by. Gaz watched him go as Zim shouted profanity at her. Gir was still walking on both hind legs. Somehow, it hadn't gotten him caught yet. Somehow. Gaz gave up trying o figure that out. She looked up to the speaker, stopping short when she saw Dib at the door.

"I'll be back, stop shouting," Dib said into the speaker.

"FINE." Zim said, still shouting. "WE'RE GETTING MILKSHAKES AGAIN!"

"Yeah, yeah," Dib says. Gaz followed him down the sidewalk. Gir was marching along down the street in front of them.

"You bribed him with milkshakes, didn't you?" she asks.

"How else?"

"Smart boy. So, question. He just lets Gir leave whenever?" Gaz asks, pointing at the offending robot. Dib watched him a moment before shrugging.

"I don't think he minds the quiet sometimes. Besides," he checked his watch. "It's almost seven. The clubs are probably open by now."

"…what?"

"Oh, he goes to raves," Dib says, waving Gir off as they split down different streets.

"Bye, Mary!"

Dib sighed, rubbing his temple. "He can't ever get my name right…"

Gaz hummed beside him. "Want to know what this interview is for this time?"

"What's the warning?"

"He was in a pretty spiffy suit. And sunglasses. And had a badge."

Dib felt sweat on his brow. He looked up in disdain. "He's… government?"

"Yep. Dad won't let him in the labs, though. So, you're fine. Besides, you scrapped that half-built ship already, didn't you?" she asks.

"How did you know about that?"

"Dib, you had it in the GARAGE."

"… That's fair.

Gaz kicked their door open, sauntering right past the two men on the couch. Dib shut the door, a little flushed at her bruteness, and joined them. His father was in another chair. Dib stood awkwardly to the side. His father caught sight of him as he came up and stood.

"Son! You're here! Excellent! These colleagues of mine would like to speak with you."

"Hi, Dad. Hello, sirs."

The taller of the two stood and shook Dib's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, lad. Your father is a very valuable asset and a good friend."

"Acquaintance, really," Membrane corrected. Dib made a note to at least tell his father his bedside manner could be improved. The agent's smile was a little more strained now. Membrane went right along, oblivious. "Science leaves no time to make friendships! Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I really must be going!"

Dib stood there as his father left. Talk about awkward. He spotted Gaz sitting rather tactfully in the kitchen, facing the living room. She cocked an eyebrow at him. She wasn't going to save him just yet. Dib resigned to his fate, reminding himself it wasn't going to be long, and he could go back to Zim's. he sat down in his father's now vacant chair.

"What can I do for you?"

"Your father recommended you for an internship. Focus is on space studies." The man said. "I'm Agent Mulder. This is Agent Scully."

Dib blinked at them a moment. The shorter of the two laughed. He extended his hand. "He's kidding, those aren't our real names. I'm Rutherford. This is Marx."

"Aha… good one. I'm Dib."

Dib shook his hand. He could feel Gaz's wrathful gaze from the kitchen. It was far from the first time jokes like that had been made at Dib's expense. He was used to it.

"We're here to discuss that position because you seem to have quite the avid curiosity in the subject. As well as… possible planetary exploration. And everything that comes with that." Rutherford says.

"All my life," Dib confirmed. "I want to build my own ship and go to space one day. One that can go past our solar system!"

"And find what? Other life?" Marx asks. Dib felt himself sweating a little.

"Of course! The universe is theoretically infinitely large. It'd be stupid to think there aren't other planets in the livable belt of another star. I want to find them. And whatever might be one them." Dib says. It was what he always said. It turned applicant scouts off. This time, he didn't see the look of someone politely ignoring the proclamation.

"That's what I like to hear!" Rutherford said.

What?

"You interested? The internship puts you in the local research branch for the first three terms of school. It's paid. Flexible hours. You'd be doing a lot of grunt work, though." Marx explains.

…What?

Dib blinked. Then, he laughed. "Well, that's… an amazing opportunity, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I already told my dad that I wasn't going to intern until at least my second year."

The genuine look of disappointment wasn't something Dib was expecting to see. Marx nodded, standing. Rutherford took a moment to follow suit. Marx handed Dib a card. Dib took it, more out of politeness than actual interest.

"In case you change your mind." Marx says. "We have a branch for… interesting research sciences."

Dib nodded, showing them out. "Thanks. Have a good day."

When he shut the door, he crushed the card in his hand. Gaz clicked her tongue.

"That was suspicious as hell at the end there," she says. "Like they didn't feel right."

"Like they weren't telling me everything? Yeah, I got that, too," Dib says. He looks at the card. It looked normal. Save for a small eye symbol in the corner. He frowned. "Swollen Eyeball…"

"That stupid club you were a part of? Dad would never have let them in," Gaz says.

"If he knew." Dib tossed the card onto the table. He heard the engine of a car start and leave. "I'm going back to Zim's."

"I'll be here."