A/N: Oh, wow. Last chapter got a ton of reviews. Thank you so much! I really appreciate it! Glad to know I'm not losing my audience, heh...
By the way, for those of you who'll be wondering how on Earth "Fhtagn" is pronounced, I'm fairly sure it's one of those words not meant to be spoken by anything resembling a human. Regardless, I pronounce it "fih-TAG-un".
Enjoy the chapter, and please remember to review! Thanks!
xxxxx
In Short Supply
Epileprosy Virus
xxx
From Dib's notes, Tues. Dec. 22: Just today and tomorrow and then we're off for Christmas Break! Finally. I read somewhere that people used to get more than Dec 24 to Dec 31 off, but they changed that. I wonder why?
Zim's being confusing. Even though he's gone through that molt to make him taller, he's not using his height for anything so far other than gloating over shorter kids. (Which includes me. I hate Zim.) But the point is he's not doing evil stuff yet.
Maybe he was telling the truth? Maybe he really isn't trying to take over Earth anymore? That'd be amazing. If Zim's no longer a conqueror, perhaps he could be like an ambassador or something. This could open up the possibility of peaceful human/Irken communications. And I could help make that happen! That would be AWESOME. I can see the headlines now: "Dib, first paranormal investigator to get the Nobel Peace Prize."
Then again, I'm talking about Zim. Probably not going to happen. The first thing I'll need to do is figure out why he's not trying to take over Earth anymore.
Here's some more alarming news: he's starting to get sorta fat again. It's not really obvious since he's taller now, but when I look at him from the side I can definitely tell. What if this is another molt? What if he ends up gigantic?
This could be bad.
xxx
Life on the Massive did not go back to normal quite as quickly as Purple would have liked.
Irkens who previously had respectfully saluted or bowed to Tallest Purple when he passed and then gone back to their regular business now stopped whatever they were doing to look him over and ask how he was doing. It got to be so infuriating that on his fourth day back, Purple made the Bothersome Law:
The Bothersome Law: (enacted in 29837/9/24.7 by Tallest Purple): Any Irken, alien, or other visitor or worker on the Massive who bothers Tallest Purple to inquire about how he is doing shall be thrown out the nearest air lock as soon as reasonably possible.
It wasn't exactly effective, but Purple did get to throw a lot of Irkens out air locks.
Red was even worse. He had yet to actually say anything, but Purple could feel that Red was treating him differently. He was just a little bit more careful with his questions, a little bit more suspicious of Purple's answers. Purple suspected that Red suspected he hadn't really been on Foodcourtia, but he couldn't accuse Red of suspecting that Purple was lying unless Red accused Purple of lying, or else he'd reveal that he had been lying.
The whole thing was very confusing.
Purple tried to ignore the new tension on the Massive by thinking about other problems. He'd contacted the swarm of Royal Mechanical Technicians he had working on the Control Brains, and so far the Mech Techs reported that they'd found nothing flawed in the Brains' programming. Certainly nothing that would cause them to mistakenly mess up the random genetic mixes in the birthing facilities. Which meant, for the time being, Purple had to continue his mission with Zim.
Which brought up another problem...
"Approaching the Conveyor Belt Planet!" a Nav Tech declared.
"Huh?" Purple looked around. Red wasn't in the bridge, so he figured it was up to him to decide whether they stopped here or not. "Er... keep going on past it."
"As you wish, my Tallest," the Tech said.
With that distraction out of the way, Purple returned to his earlier train of thought. He needed to figure out a way to make sure the smeets would be safe until he could take them to Irk. The computer could hopefully handle getting the eggs away from Zim and into the SLP chamber's tubes, to protect them until they hatched and the smeets molted into adults. But after that, what was protecting them? Purple would have trouble getting out to Earth every thirty days to dance with Zim; he couldn't come back to Earth a few days after each dance to pick up the smeets, too. Somehow, they'd have to be kept safe until he went back to Earth to dance.
If Zim was still trying to blend in with the native population, he was too busy to watch the smeets; that "skool" thing he'd described seemed to take up a great deal of time. The computer wouldn't be much use in protecting them if they were outside their tubes, running around free. That left them under the oh so tender guardianship of Gir, the defective SIR Unit. Purple didn't trust anything that had spare change and candy for brains to guard his smeets.
He needed to come up with a plan to make sure the smeets would be safe even if he weren't there. (And considering the smeets had Zim's genes, it would have to be a pretty damn good plan. Purple was surprised Fataz hadn't blown up the Runner on the way to Irk. Fataz had actually behaved perfectly fine, but since he was related to Zim, that was the surprising part.) Maybe another robot? But no, there weren't any robots designed to protect smeets. A SIR wouldn't do any good, they were programmed for espionage and minor defensive combat maneuvers...
The door to the bridge slid open. Several Techs glanced up, saluted, and went back to work. Had to be Red, then. "Hey, where were you?"
Red didn't answer. Purple looked over at him, and was surprised at how serious his expression was. "Red?"
"They sure are making weird snacks on Foodcourtia these days, aren't they?" Red held up an empty bag. It was labeled Doritos: Fiery Habanero.
Purple's eyes widened slightly. "Oh... yeah. Really weird. Really, really weird."
"Yeah..." Red turned the bag over, inspecting the white square on the back with all the statistics and percentages. Purple still wondered what that square was really for. It said Nutrition Facts, but it had information about protein and calcium and stuff. Who cared about that junk? "Are you sure you really got this on Foodcourtia? What language is it in?"
"I dunno," Purple said. "I mean, yeah, of course I got it on Foodcourtia! Where else would I have gotten it? But I dunno what language it's in."
"What restaurant?"
"I dunno." Purple couldn't meet Red's eyes. He was a terrible liar and knew it.
Red didn't give up. "No idea? Don't even know what other stores it was near?"
"Uh..." A realization hit Purple. He looked up at Red again, eyes narrowed. "Hey! Are you going through my trash? What's up with that, huh?"
This time, Red looked away. "Nothing," he said, looking out the Massive's view screen. "Just... looking."
"Hmph."
Red changed the topic. "Did anything happen while I was gone?"
"We passed the Conveyor Belt Planet," Purple said. "I decided we don't need to stop there. Okay?" He hoped Red thought it was okay; he didn't want to look like the stupid one again.
"Your call." Good enough, Purple thought.
Red smirked. "I wonder how the Screw-head Labor Union's doing."
Purple wondered what that had to do with anything. Then he remembered that the Screw-heads were the enslaved Alien Drones on the Conveyor Belt Planet. "Oh, yeah!" He snickered. Their labor union had recently come to the Tallest with their requests for improved working conditions. "They wanted to go from one money every five years and a five degree break every day to one money each year and a ten degree break, right?"
"Yep. What did we give them, a money every ten years and a five degree break every four days?"
Purple thought. "Wasn't it every eight days?"
"No, it was definitely four. But next time they complain, let's make it eight."
Purple was pretty sure it was eight, but didn't say anything. Instead, he said, "That'll teach them to try to peacefully negotiate with us, huh?"
"You bet." They chuckled.
After a moment, Red thoughtfully added, "Didn't we send Bob to the Conveyor Belt Planet?"
"Who?"
"You know. Bob. The Table-Headed Service Drone who we lost a bet... er, who tried to swindle us out of six million monies. When Zim was on Hobo 13. Remember?"
"Oh yeah. That guy. Wasn't he a Slarkist?" Always crying and carrying on and... and crying. Had to be a Slarkist. "Pretty gross, if you ask me. Didn't we send him into a star with Zim?"
"He probably escaped when Zim did," Red said, shrugging. "Anyway, he came up to me about a week after we tried to kill him and started shouting and demanding those monies he thought we owe him. So I told an Advisor to deal with him, and he made Bob an Exile and sent him to the Conveyor Belt Planet."
"Oh. Okay." A fitting punishment. Bob would have it even worse on the Conveyor Belt Planet than he had as a Service Drone. Irken Drones were worked to exhaustion, but at least they were allowed the time they needed to recharge, and time to dance once in a while, since they couldn't afford snacks. But Alien Drones were literally worked to death. Compared to the Screw-heads' work, being a Service Drone was practically Frylord.
"Hey." Red grinned wickedly. "Three hundred monies say the Screw-heads tear Exile Bob apart for food."
Purple grinned back. "Three hundred say he'll go Virtuous Slarkist before then." That was one of the few acceptable ways to reference the S-word taboo. It was common knowledge (which, of course, meant it wasn't really true) that all Virtuous Slarkists eventually went suicidal.
"You're on."
This, Purple thought, would be interesting. Perhaps they should get some of the Techs to join in.
Now, who was going to bet on Bob surviving...?
xxx
"Today," Mr. Nub droned, "We'll be learning how to protect your computers from viruses. Since this is the last day before you get off for Christmas break," he pointed at the whiteboard, which read Tuesday, December 23, "and since we were supposed to be much further along than emails, this will count as your final. If you can protect your computer from a virus, then you'll pass. If not, you fail—yes, Mr. Zim?"
Zim lowered his hand. "What nonsense is this?" he demanded irritably. "Computers are inorganic structures! They are not vulnerable to your filthy viruses. Do you know nothing about the biology of germs?!"
Mr. Nub gave Zim a slow, pitying stare. "Computer viruses, Mr. Zim. Digitally transferred viruses, also known as malware, or malicious software."
"Oh. Malware." Zim nodded. "You should have called it that."
"If you would please not tell me how to teach my class, Mr. Zim."
Zim shrugged noncommittally. As far as he was concerned, he could treat this fleshbag however he wanted. Besides being a human, Mr. Nub was now shorter than Zim.
Mr. Nub cleared his throat. "Now then. Class, each one of you has received five emails in your school-approved email accounts. Each email has an attachment. Does anyone need a reminder of how to open attachments? Don't be shy." He paused, glancing expectantly about. "Good! One of these attachments has the Epileprosy virus. You have to isolate which one contains the virus without infecting the computer. Anyone who infects the computer fails—yes, Mr. Zim?"
Zim lowered his hand again. "Why's it called Epileprosy?"
"Because it combines the effects of epilepsy and leprosy," Mr. Nub said with gritted teeth. "Your computer has seizures, and then it falls apart. Any other questions?" He waited. "Good. Now get to work—WHAT, Zim?"
"How are we to identify this Epileprosy?"
Mr. Nub stared at Zim a moment, then looked down at the papers on his desk. "The federally distributed Intro Tech class guide doesn't explain that part," he said, and shrugged. "Good luck, children."
The class collectively gulped.
Zim, however, was unconcerned. Malware, feh. Zim knew all about malware. He'd created half of the malware programs currently circulating through the computer systems in the Irken Empire. (Not that he'd admit it.) Isolating and annihilating this Epileprosy would be smeet's play.
Zim logged into his email account (a pitifully inferior method of communication, he thought), as across the room a female human let out a shriek. He turned to look. Her computer was trembling dangerously, its screen flashing like a strobe light show, and then, suddenly, it crumbled to pieces and collapsed upon itself. The female was left staring at a pile of smoldering plastic and circuitry.
Mr. Nub smiled tersely. "A failing grade for you, Jessica."
Zim snickered and turned back to his own computer. His grin slowly faded as he read the subject lines of his emails:
"time for You to buy a Diploma?"
"Pleas validate mi insane ramblings"
"Did You Ever Consider Adult"
"i am a wealthy n!ger!an relative, recently dec34sed. How strange 1s that?"
"Asian chick gets her fortune cookie penetrated"
Any one of these could be the insidious carrier of malware. Zim bit his lip nervously.
Behind him, there was another screech as a second student's computer fell prey to Epileprosy. This time, Zim didn't laugh.
It was an impossible task. Opening each email one at a time to test for the malware would be like that what-you-call-it game. Russian relay? This was insane. Stupid primitive technology...
But, wait. Why did Zim have to limit himself to Earthen technology? Especially when he had the most advanced technology in the known universe at his disposal. He glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, then snaked out a wire from his Pak and plugged it into one of the computer's USB ports. He could download each email into his Pak, open the attachments, find the malware, and identify which email was contaminated. The pitiful school computer wouldn't be affected at all! Instead, the Epileprosy would be in Zim's Pak.
Truly, a much more intelligent plan.
Zim downloaded the attachments into his Pak, then opened them. His Pak scanned the data in each, looking for anything suspicious. He frowned. He couldn't find any sign of a computer virus in any of these...
A student aide came into the classroom with a note, crumpled it into a paper ball, and threw it at Zim's head. Zim jerked up, looking around wildly. "Eh?! Who what—oh." He picked up the paper and flattened it. It was a pass to go down to the counselor's office.
A summons? But what could the counselor want with Zim? What was the counselor for, anyway? Zim turned to the student beside him and poked his arm. "Hey you. What is the function of the counselor-person?"
The student blinked dumbly a few times. "Uh... I think she... talks with... um, troubly kids."
"Troubly?!" Zim scowled. "Zim is not troubly!"
The student stared at Zim. "Umm... she talks with... failing kids and depressed kids and... uh... pregnant kids. Mmhmm."
Zim's eyes widened with fear. He clutched his stomach protectively—it was just starting to expand with the newest batch of eggs. "Pregnant? But, how do they know?"
The student grunted. "I think there's... uh... a test for that. Mmyeah..."
Test? Curses! Zim had taken an Earth history test this morning! He'd thought the questions over Napoleon were deceptively simple. What a fool he'd been to assume all the documentaries he'd been watching were the cause for his ease, and not that it was all a trap.
"I have received a summons!" Zim said, waving his pass at the student's face in panic. "What must Zim to do be protected from this counselor?"
"Uh... hmm..." The student's face was starting to turn slightly red with the effort of sustained thought. "You gotta... um... go to the... counselor's office."
"Yes! Brilliant! I can convince her that her test was mistaken! All hope is not lost!" Zim leaped out of his chair, then bent over the student to hiss, "For your assistance, when the end of your world comes, I will ensure that your body is incinerated with full honors before being added to the mass grave of humanity." He sprinted out of the class, waving his pass at Mr. Nub as he left.
"Um... okay." The student scratched his head. His computer suddenly went into wild tremblings, and he clapped gleefully as it fell apart.
Zim never remembered that he still had the Epileprosy virus in his Pak.
xxx
Zim marched boldly into the counselor's office. "Do you know what I just love?" he asked. "Not reproducing!" He hopped into the chair in front of the counselor's desk. "How ya doin'?"
The counselor stared at Zim, frozen with a cup of coffee halfway to her lips. She quickly set it down. "I'm sorry, I can't answer that question. We're here to talk about you, not me." She politely chuckled as if she'd made a good joke, then held out a hand to shake. "Hi, you must be Zim. I'm Miss Fhtagn, the Joonier Hi Skool counselor."
"Uh-huh. Wonderful." Zim leaned away from the hand. "Anyway as you can see I am a perfectly normal child without any eggs growing in me—not that as a human I can grow eggs of course—so I think this meeting is over bye!" Zim got out of his chair.
"Don't you dare leave," Miss Fhtagn growled.
A shiver went up Zim's back. "Yes, sir," he said meekly, and sat back down. This human, he noted, had shark teeth.
As soon as he was seated, the counselor was all smiles again. "We're here to help you, Zim. We can't do that if you leave," she said sweetly.
Zim nodded dumbly.
Miss Fhtagn flipped open a folder. "Let's talk about your absences," she said. "You missed over two weeks of school."
"Due to AIDS," Zim said. "And not due to my being pregnant. Because I wasn't!"
"Of course you weren't," Miss Fhtagn said. "And, speaking of AIDS, that's another issue I wanted to discuss with you. At your age, you really shouldn't be, if you'll excuse my slang, 'getting laid.'"
Zim blinked. There was that phrase again. "You know you're the first person so far to tell me not to get laid?"
She nodded sympathetically. "I know how tough peer pressure can be, Zim. Feel free to come talk to me if you ever feel like you're being forced to do something you're not comfortable with."
"Uh... okay." Yeah, right. Like he would ever be coming back to this creepy shark-tooth human.
"But we're really here to talk about your absences," Miss Fhtagn said. "Did you know the school district has a five-absence policy?"
"Oh, sure!" Zim said. "Heard all about it."
The teeth were back. This time, Zim also noticed Miss Fhtagn's eyes went black. "Do not lie to me, mortal."
Zim squeaked. "I never heard of it before! I have no idea what you're talking about!"
"Good." Miss Fhtagn beamed at Zim. "The five-absence policy states that a student can only miss five full days of school per school year. Any more than that, and he fails."
"Oh. Okay." Zim filed the information appropriately in his Pak: Category: Earth and Humans, Subcategory: Useless Trivia.
Miss Fhtagn tried again. "That means you could be expelled."
Zim nodded placidly.
"Which means you'll never graduate."
Zim shrugged.
"And you won't be able to get a job."
Zim leaped out of his chair so fast it fell over. "What?! Zim, jobless? But I won't be able to seize control of the corporate world and gain power over all humanity without a job!"
"Oh, I know, we all have dreams like that," Miss Fhtagn said. "But you've already missed well over five days of school, Zim."
"How can I make up for it?" Zim demanded. "A time machine?"
"Don't be silly!" The counselor laughed. "Ah, if I had a soul for every student that tried to use a time machine to make up for absences..." She licked her lips. "However, Zim, there is another way."
"Yes?"
"If you get an after-school job and can work twenty-five hours a week for the rest of the school year, we'll believe that you're a responsible student and excuse your absences."
"Ha!" Zim raised a fist in triumph. "Victory for Zim!"
"Just one more question," Miss Fhtagn said. "Did you take the POS 2000 test in sixth grade?"
"Eh? Sure."
"Well, you'll have to get your after-school job in the career track specified on your test. The school district's rules."
"Huh?!" Zim quickly dropped his victory pose. He had to get a job in fast food preparation? "But they fired me!"
"That's too bad. You'll just have to find another employer."
"But I—"
"Good. You have until February to find a job." Miss Fhtagn smiled and closed her folder. "You can go back to class now."
"But—"
"Get out."
Zim got out.
xxx
Mr. Nub's room was a giant wasteland of melted, smoking computers. The class stood at the front of the room, looking ashamed, while Mr. Nub surveyed the scene with pursed lips.
"I hope you're very proud of yourselves, children," he said. He pointed to a single undamaged computer; it was situated against the wall so that the rest of the classroom would be on the left side of the computer's user. "As you can see, one student didn't download the virus. That is why Zim is the only student among you who passes."
"But he didn't even do the assignment!" one student complained.
"Yeah!" another said. "He left at the start of class and never came back!"
"Which is why he passes," Mr. Nub said. "Remember, children, the best way to avoid computer viruses is to abstain from emailing. Always, always practice safe surfing."
Detecting several keywords found usually in seventh-grade health class lectures, half the class promptly zoned out.
Mr. Nub realized he'd lost his class's attention, and sighed. "Class dismissed. Happy holidays," he said. "And remember to finish opening your presents and head to your basements before Santa attacks."
xxx
This could be ruinous to Zim's (currently on hold but far from cancelled) mission. Without an Earth-job he'd never be able to obtain any sort of authority on this world without resorting to violence. Not that he had anything against violence, but it was always good for an Invader to have a backup plan.
However, he wouldn't have a back up plan if he failed, was expelled, couldn't graduate, and thus didn't get a job on Earth.
But where could he work?
Zim needed to inform his Tallest of this dilemma.
He figured if the school district were already prepared to fail him for missing school, it wouldn't care if he missed a little more, so he headed back to his base. The moment he opened the door he shouted, "Computer! Contact the Massive! I need to speak to the Tallest!" He took off his wig and contacts while heading into the kitchen.
"Uh, is that a good idea, Master? Tallest Purple said—"
"Silence! You do not question me! This is an emergency!" Zim leaped down the trash can chute and slid into the subterranean levels of his base. "Contact! Now!"
"If you say so..."
Zim stood in front of the nearest fairly large screen, and it turned on for him as the computer sent a transmission to the Massive.
xxx
"Incoming transmission from planet Earth!"
Purple didn't have to ask of he'd heard the Comm Tech correctly, because the bridge was suddenly filled with tense mutterings. This was the first message from Earth the Massive had received since the day Purple had disappeared.
"Earth? Zim's still alive?" Red asked, antennae perking up in interest.
"Let's pretend he's not. Don't answer it," Purple said. By Slark, what could Zim have possibly done wrong this time?
Red glared at Purple. "Come on, not this again. Didn't you make a big enough fuss about answering Zim last time?"
Purple was about to remind Red that he'd had the right idea, but then realized that if they hadn't seen that transmission, Purple wouldn't have gone to Earth and Zim would have bled to death. Maybe this was important. Reluctantly, he said, "Fine. Answer it."
"Yes, my Tallest." The Comm Tech was greatly relieved that this time, both Tallest were giving him the same order. He was further relieved when he answered the transmission and saw that there were no bloody scalpels anywhere.
To Purple's dismay, Zim looked perfectly healthy. "My Tallest, I have urgent—" His gaze fell on Tallest Red. "Oops. Eh, never mind! Wrong number!" He frantically tapped on his keyboard, turned the screen pink, and on the second try actually managed to end the transmission.
The Techs looked at the screen and then towards the Tallest, baffled. Red turned to Purple. "Um, what was that?"
"Zim being a moron, obviously," Purple said nervously. The statement was truer than Red would know.
"Did he look kinda funny to you?"
Funny like a little bit wider and a lot taller? "He always looks kinda funny to me."
Red chuckled. "That's true... Hey, where are you going?"
Purple had to contact Zim. He doubted whatever Zim had been about to say was really so "urgent," but he wasn't taking any risks with this mission. "I'm just going to my quarters to get some snacks. I'll bring you some."
"O... kay. Thanks?" Red sounded slightly puzzled, but Purple couldn't explain and couldn't stand around to come up with a more elaborate excuse. He'd have to come back with some really good snacks to make up for this.
And Zim had better have a really good reason to call in the first place.
xxx
"That was kinda stupid," the computer said.
"Shut up. I didn't hear you telling me not to contact the Tallest!"
"But I was telling you."
"Don't lie to your master!"
"I'm not..." The computer paused. "Incoming transmission from the Massive."
"Huh?!" Zim ducked out of sight of the screen. "Don't answer it! It could endanger the mission!"
"It's just Tallest Purple."
"Oh. Okay. Go ahead."
When the screen turned on, Purple was indeed alone, and he didn't look very happy. "Zim, WHAT do you think you were DOING?! Red almost—" He caught sight of Zim, still crouched down so only the top half of his face showed. "Almost... er..." He bit his lip to keep from giggling. "Never mind. Just... get up already," he muttered, then added, "Idiot," but Zim couldn't hear any annoyance in it. A good sign.
Zim straightened up and saluted. "My Tallest, I apologize for contacting you and then having to cut off so quickly. I'm sure you are quite concerned for me." (Purple went "Hah!" Zim ignored it.) "I've run into some difficulties—"
"Are the eggs in danger?" Purple interrupted.
"Eh? No."
"Fine." Purple sat on a couch, slouched down, and put on a bored expression. "Then hurry up already."
For a while, Zim attempted to explain everything; the five-day policy, the after-school job, the POS 2000 test, McMeaties—
"Whoa whoa wait. Enough Earth jargon, okay?" Purple said irritably. "Look, does any of this have anything to do with the egg mission?"
"Er... It has to do with a mission..." Zim said carefully.
"But not the egg one?" Purple rolled his eyes. (It's rather difficult to actually tell when an Irken rolls his eyes; it's just in the way light shines through them. Enough Irkens had rolled their eyes at Zim that he could easily recognize the expression.) "What other mission do you have?"
"You know. The mission I'll be going back to when this one's over. The... planetary conquesty one." Zim smiled hopefully.
Purple glared at Zim. "Come on! You're not an Invader anymore, okay? For now you're an Exile. Get used to it."
Zim latched on to only one phrase. Antennae perked up, he repeated, "'For now'?"
"Uh..." Purple looked away from Zim. "I didn't mean that. I meant you're an Exile. Just an Exile. Understood?"
"Understood," Zim said. "For now."
"Zim, look. I don't care about the stupid job rules they have on Earth. I don't know why you care, either."
"But the mission—"
"The only mission you have is to make eggs," Purple said firmly. "If you want to do anything else, I don't care! It's YOUR problem."
"But—"
"No! If you even THINK about asking me for help on ANYTHING except our mission, I'm blocking your transmissions! The only way you'll be able to contact the Massive is if the Massive contacts you first."
Zim shut his mouth and glared resentfully at Purple. This was the kind of thanks he got for taking on a mission that was supposed to save the Irken Empire?
"Just stick to your real mission, Zim. Don't contact me again unless there's an emergency." Purple almost ended the transmission, but paused and looked at Zim again. "Your uniform's too short, isn't it?" he said. "I'll send some more."
The screen went blank.
"That went well," the computer said.
"Are you insane?!" Zim said. "That was horrible!"
"Yeah... but the Almighty Tallest is sending you some new clothes."
"Feh." Zim walked to the toilet lift. "Where's Gir?"
"In the SLP chamber."
"What, again? Tell him to meet me in the living room." What was Gir doing, spending so much time in the SLP chamber these days?
Zim reached the SLP chamber just before Gir, who leaped into the room through the couch cushion. He landed in front of Zim, saluted with optics red, and said, "Prepared for duty, sir!"
Zim looked at the ripped cushion and sighed. "You're going to have to fix that later."
Gir's optics went back to normal. "Okie-dokie!"
Putting on his wig and contacts, Zim said, "Gir, put on your disguise. We are going to find..." he paused for dramatic effect, "a fast-food job!" Gir squealed in delight. "And if you're good, maybe I'll let you go to Krazy Taco and get some fajitas or something."
Humming, Gir wiggled into his costume. "I don't wanna get those! They got beef!"
"Huh?" Zim stared at Gir. "But you like beef." He still vividly remembered coming home to discover Gir had buried the living room floor under a layer of beef enchiladas.
Gir responded, quite solemnly, "I was young and foolish once."
Zim stared at Gir. Now that was something he'd never expected to hear out of his henchman.
"Now I'mma king of the mini-tires! No more beef!"
"O... kay? What's a mini... never mind. I don't want to know." He took a dog leash out of his Pak and attached it to Gir. "Now! Let us show these pitiful human job-dispensers just how superior Irken food preparation is. I shall have a job by nightfall!" Zim marched out of his base with a triumphant laugh, dragging Gir along with him.
As it turned out, Zim did not have a job by nightfall. In fact, he'd not only been rejected by 23 fast food joints, but he'd also gotten himself banned from ever setting foot in a Krazy Taco for the rest of his life. (It wasn't his fault his perfectly normal dog had spilled their vat of nacho cheese over the club meeting of Lactose Intolerants Anonymous, but did the manager believe him?)
But all in all, Zim thought, a good start.
xxxxx