A/N: And with less than fifteen minutes left in Friday, I update! Oh, glorious day! Unfortunately, I have at last reached the point where I have absolutely NO stuff written for the future. What you see is what you get. I've got some scenes from future chapters, but no finished chapters.

In other news, ART CONTEST STUFF. I've got a grand total of ONE entry so far, even though I've heard from quite a few of you that you'd like to draw something. Don't worry about how good you are, seriously, everyone is better than they think. Just do something, okay? I'm officially extending the deadline until October just... because. Yeah. So do something. Please? And send me the link, the actual file, whatever... Just so there's, y'know, something in the contest? I've seen some of your dA pages, you're better than you think.

Anyway, here's chapter 28. Hope you enjoy, and please remember to review. Thanks!

xxxxx

In Short Supply

Paranormal Investigator

xxx

From Dib's notes, Sat. Mar. 14, the day after he snuck into Zim's base: Got out of Zim's base alive. Not too much trouble. Got a neat gun. Mission to find out about Project Watermelon was successful. Got some other pictures.

No amount of therapy will ever make this okay.

xxx

Vermin didn't consider himself a very good Mech Tech, even if everyone else thought he was good enough to become a Control Brain Technician. He really wasn't qualified for the job. Really. In fact, Vermin could think of seven or eight jobs off the top of his head he'd be much better at; once, he'd even come up with a list and gotten up to a couple dozen before he gave up in frustration, because he knew he couldn't take any of those jobs.

If he had a choice, though... if he had a choice, he wanted to be a Pilot. Preferably a Pilot in the Irken Empire's big spaceship gang. The only Tech skills he'd need would be the ones that kept his ship going, and then he could zoom around, make lots of stuff explode, make his empire proud of him, maybe even hunt down the Resisty and blow them up too, become a hero... He wouldn't have to think on his own anymore, all he'd have to do would be follow orders and go where he was instructed and then be brilliant in battle. He knew he could be great at it. If given half a chance, he could gain his Tallest's admiration...

But it wouldn't happen. Vermin couldn't become a Pilot, and couldn't bring glory to his empire, and he knew why.

He was a Vortian.

Never mind that he'd declared his loyalty to the Irken Empire when he was only three years old and been loyal to his Tallest ever since. Never mind that he had mourned with the rest of the Irken Empire when Tallest Miyuki had died, unlike the Vortians who had celebrated her death and the end of her plans to bring Vort into the empire. Never mind that he had cheered louder than anyone else when he'd heard that finally, finally, Vort had fallen to an Invader. He'd thought then that, at last, Vortians could be considered official citizens of the empire.

But no. No, he was still just an alien, butting in on Irken society. And if he wanted to work, he was either a Technician or a Dancer. Didn't matter if he wasn't good at either of the jobs; they were almost the only jobs Vortians could take. So Vermin was a CoBra Tech.

Well, if he wanted to be an Irken citizen, then at least this job gave him a good start. After all, if the Control Brains trusted him enough to let him work on them, then surely the rest of the empire would come to trust him.

Of course, it helped that he wasn't working on just any old Control Brains. As it so happened, he was the personal favorite Tech of the Control Brain Triumvirate.

Even if he really wasn't qualified for the job.

Vermin pushed open the door to the Triumvirate's audience chamber. "You asked for me?" he said, executing a wobbly bow. Vortians weren't really physically built to bow, but he'd shoot himself before he'd admit that there was anything an Irken could do that he couldn't. (Except work on the Control Brains, he'd be more than happy to admit he couldn't do that.)

"Alien Control Brain Technician Vermin. We offer our greetings," the Triumvirate said, first the right Brain speaking, then the left. Then the central Brain: "Your services are requested for a special assignment."

"Okay..." Vermin let the door fall shut behind him and walked towards the Control Brains. "Who's doing the requesting? Tallest Purple?"

Tallest Purple had hired him to be a CoBra Tech to begin with. Vermin had actually contacted the Massive and asked to be given special permission to become a Pilot, since he didn't have a job; a few weeks later Tallest Purple called back, asked if he still didn't have a job, and then hired him—despite his protests—as a Technician. The Tallest thought there was "something wrong" in the Control Brains' programming and thus had a swarm of Techs checking all of them out, going over every line of code for errors or viruses. Frankly, Vermin thought Tallest Purple was a bit of a ditz, especially if he thought there was something wrong with the Control Brains, but who was he to question his Tallest's orders? He was no one, that was what. He was the most loyal Irken the empire had ever seen.

Er, Vortian. Most loyal Vortian. Close enough.

"Negative," the three Brains chorused. "Our assignment for you has nothing to do with the orders of Almighty Tallest Purple. You shall do this in your spare time, when you are not working on his assignment."

"Uh... okay, sure." Vermin hated having his spare time cut into (which he usually spent at the nearest spacecraft dealership, ogling at the Spittle Runners), but he couldn't very well complain. Someday he hoped to convince the Brains to convince the Tallest to let him be a full-fledged Irken citizen, so he'd better stay on their collective good side. "What's the assignment?"

A screen rolled down from the ceiling, the same screen the Triumvirate usually used during trials to display the contents of an Irken's Pak. This time, the screen only had hundreds of lines of rapidly scrolling code: an error report from a Control Brain.

"Recently, the content of Irk Control Brain 2 was hacked by an unknown agent. The only files accessed were the records of all Irkens under one era of age, and no known damage was done. We are diverting several resources on both Judgmentia and Irk, including yourself, to the purpose of locating and identifying this agent," the Triumvirate said, speaking one at a time. Then together: "As a Vortian, your methods of accessing computer systems are dissimilar to those of Irkens and Control Brains, and thus you shall pursue this agent your own way."

"Track down hacker. Got it," Vermin said, instinctively memorizing the error report and already thinking up ways to track down the hacker before his conscious self could remind himself that he wasn't qualified to do this. By the time his Irken-loyal identity caught up, his Vortian instincts had already won out. Calculations and codes danced in his mind, arranging and re-arranging, snapping into place, showing him the path to this mysterious hacker before he could even access a computer.

He shook his head, forcing the calculations to his unconscious mind. "So, do I get to hunt him down when I find him?" he asked the Triumvirate.

Moved by a precarious mess of pistons and levers, the central Brain leaned forward quizzically. "Elaborate."

"You know. Get in a Runner, fly out to wherever he's hiding, shoot him up, drag him back in." Vermin grinned. "How 'bout it?"

"Negative. It is not your function."

He stopped grinning. "Oh, come one! You said I'm doing this mission in my spare time. Can't I fly around in my spare time and happen to catch the guy?"

"We own your spare time. You are a Vortian and thus a subservient to the will of the Irken Empire."

"But... it could save us so much time. I'm qualified to pilot a Runner. Look! I've got... somewhere..." He dug in his pockets for his piloting license; every alien had to have one. "Er... oh, shoot! It's gotta be somewhere. But I'm qualified. Really. I've been flying for years!"

"But you are not a Pilot!" the Triumvirate boomed. "If you ask again, we will forbid you from ever piloting a Runner again."

"Wh—?!" Vermin's jaw dropped. "Forbid me? On what grounds!"

"On the grounds of we-find-your-persistence-annoying," one said. "This is final. Stop bothering us."

Vermin realized he was snarling at the Brains, teeth bared. He forced himself to stop. That was such Vortian behavior—they had the sharp teeth, so they could use it to be threatening. Perhaps Vermin was physically a carnivore, but he wasn't about to treat his Irken superiors—including the Control Brains—like his prey. Keeping his jaw clenched, he stiffly said, "Thank you for your assignment, Control Brain Triumvirate." The Brains liked being addressed by their full title.

"You are welcome, Alien Control Brain Technician Vermin," a Brain responded. "You are dismissed."

Vermin bowed, almost lost his balance, and quickly left the audience chamber. The error report from Irk Control Brain 2 was a good starting point, but he'd have to contact that Brain himself for more info. Luckily, anyone with Rank Trio clearance could get that info—sometimes being CoBra Tech for the Triumvirate had its perks—so Vermin could get to work immediately.

A hacker who could get into the Control Brains' systems. That was pretty impressive. It would take quite a while for Vermin to track down someone who could do that. (Perhaps not as long as he thought, if he would just admit to himself that he thought like a Vortian and thus could pull off the astounding technological feats of a Vortian—which, of course, he wouldn't admit.) Still, he hoped he could find the hacker by tomorrow.

It would give him something to brag about when Tallest Red showed up for his appointment with the Triumvirate.

xxx

"What's the matter with you?!"

As the elevator door slid the rest of the way open, Dib's first confused thought was to wonder why Zim thought something was wrong with him. His next thought was to wonder how Zim even knew he was here. His final thought—and the most reasonable by far—was that Zim probably wasn't even talking to him, and he should find a hiding place before he was noticed.

He dove behind the nearest big thing that looked like it could cover him—as it turned out, a wide bundle of cables up against the wall. This wasn't the main level of the base, was it? He'd gotten in the elevator and told the base computer to take him to the top level. Obviously the computer had gotten it wrong. Unless...

Was this the top level?

Dib pushed the cables apart enough to peer through them at the rest of the chamber. He glimpsed part of what looked like an Irken spaceship, and his heart started pounding somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, doubling its pace in terrified excitement. Over the years, he'd seen the roof of Zim's base fold back to let his ship take off, and open to let it return. Even after getting Tak's ship, every time Dib snuck into this base, he'd been on the lookout for Zim's ship. To his thinking, an alien wasn't much of an alien without its spaceship; he'd always associated Zim with his vehicle, as though they were part of the same being. To find Zim's ship was to find the heart of his base.

And now Dib was at the very top of the base, above even the main level, staring at Zim's personal ship. The paranormal investigator in him wanted to rush out and jump inside and start messing with all the controls. The world defender in him suggested a more aggressive route. He went with the latter approach, pushed the cables aside a bit more, and shoved the multiple muzzles of the laser he'd traded one of his water guns for. That laser was the best trade of his life. Well, technically, second best. The very best was a trade he'd made with Gaz in third grade, the red and black crayons out of his crayon box in exchange for a guarantee that he would survive to see his next birthday. Other than that, though.

He aimed the lasers at Zim's ship, made sure his finger wasn't over the self-destruct trigger, and prepared to shoot. Then he heard voices again, and his internal paranormal investigator and world defender were promptly usurped by the internal survival instinct. He backed behind the cables again—no way he was letting Zim see him here. Instead, he listened:

"Come on, Pur! This is what you're here for, isn't it?! The mission? Right?"

Purr? Who was Purr? Another one of Zim's Irken allies?

"Yeah, well... I don't wanna," said a freakishly high voice. Dib concluded this must be a female. So, Purr was female. Whoever she was.

"Why not? Are you sick or something?"

"No! It's just..."

"What?"

"You know..."

"What?"

"I'm kinda..."

"What?"

There was a prolonged silence. Dib waited, breathing through his mouth to keep as quiet as possible. After a long silence, Purr spoke: "Because it's gross, that's why!"

"Gross?!" Zim sounded indignant. "Since when is dancing gross? I mean, we've already done it..." He paused. "Eh... How many times?"

"Four. And that doesn't matter, anyway!" Man, Purr had a shrill voice. Definitely a female. Carefully, he set down his gun and started moving aside wires, trying to get a better view of Zim and the other alien.

"Why not?" Zim demanded.

"Because it wasn't gross then! I mean... well, it was, 'cause it was with you."

"Hey!"

"No offense."

"Oh. Okay."

"But that was before I saw you... You know!"

Before she'd seen Zim what? Dib was hopelessly lost. At last, he managed to push aside the right wires to get a very narrow glimpse at Zim. Thankfully, he looked as confused as Dib felt. "Saw me what?"

"Saw you... with the... having those... thingy eggs! Laying them! That's gross. That was horrible. I don't even think that... thingy in your stomach is supposed to do that."

Thingy in Zim's stomach? It was at that moment that Dib (finally) realized that Zim was stark naked. Dib's internal teenage boy and his internal paranormal investigator briefly battled over what Dib's reaction to this would be, the investigator won out, and a delighted smile spread across Dib's face. Okay, so under normal circumstances seeing a fellow classmate naked would be disturbing beyond words, but this was a lesson in alien anatomy. He pulled out one of his cameras (the one that made the quietist click when it took a picture), turned off the flash, and started taking photos. He remembered to remove the lens cap by the fifth shot.

"It's not gross!" Zim insisted. "And it's supposed to work like that! How did you think the eggs got out?"

"I was trying not to," Purr replied.

Irken anatomy was clearly not related to mammals at all, although Dib had figured that out from the lack-of-nose-and-ears thing already. Zim had no anatomical features that even vaguely resembled human genitalia—in fact, all he had was an odd slit on his torso.

Dib zoomed in and took several pictures of it, to compare later to Earth-based beings and see if there were any similarities. It ran about from where Zim should have had a diaphragm down almost to his crotch. The skin was slightly peeled back, like gums over teeth, to reveal two hard plates that looked like the closed wing covers of a beetle. Dib wondered how the slit thing worked. The teen boy in him vehemently insisted that he did NOT want to think about it.

"Who cares, anyway?" Zim said. "This has nothing to do with dancing!"

"Yeah it does! I mean, I gotta go in that... thingy, don't I?

"The thingy is called a vajayjay" the base computer said.

"Whatever! I don't want to touch it!"

Dib messed with the wires in front of him some more, trying to get a look at Zim's partner. When he did, he almost dropped his camera. There was a giant sitting beside Zim. If that was Purr, she had to be twice Zim's height when she stood. She had a huge Pak, a pronounced slouch, and violet eyes. Dib snapped a couple dozen pictures. Tak had violet eyes, too—well, more like indigo, but still. Maybe eye color among Irkens was a sex-linked trait? Males had red and females had purple?

"Why wouldn't you want to touch the amazing Zim?!"

Purr gave Zim a disbelieving look. "I'm not going to answer that."

"Why not?"

"No answer."

"Come on!"

"Nope."

"What about the mission?"

Purr opened her mouth, then shut it. She gave Zim an annoyed look. "It's always about the mission with you, isn't it?"

The mission? Did that mean Zim's mission to take over the world? What did... whatever they were talking about (Dib knew full well what they were talking about) have to do with taking over Earth?

"Of course. Everything is about the mission," Zim said.

Everything... Did he really mean that? Could even the offspring have to do with Zim's mission?

Purr grimaced. "Yeah, fine. I'll just... get it over with, I guess..." As she spoke, she took off her shirt. Zim tried and failed to not look overjoyed. "But I never want to watch you lay eggs again."

"Of course, my Tallest."

Dib didn't have the opportunity to process what Zim had just said, because he was immediately distracted by Purr's anatomy. He tried to come up with an appropriate way to describe the organ on Purr's torso, in approximately the same position as the slit on Zim. A... a fin? Half a plate? A bat wing?

And then he saw what Purr did with the thing, and his higher brain functions unceremoniously shut down.

A tiny part of his psyche made a comment on the valuable educational experience of witnessing Irken mating habits, and convinced him to take a few pictures. The rest of him, however, unanimously voted to get the hell out of there. As soon as he was sure that Zim and Purr were sufficiently distracted (it didn't take long), he made a dash from his hiding place to the lift, got out on the main level of Zim's base, and ran like crazy all the way home.

If Dib kept having experiences like this around Zim, he'd probably end up too traumatized over sex to ever lose his virginity.

xxx

"Tallest Red! It's an honor," High Control Brain Technician Fry said, saluting as Red and two Guards entered the Spike of Judgment. "We weren't expecting you to visit, my Tallest," he added, stepping aside to let Red pass.

The wording sounded odd. "Why? Were you expecting someone else?"

"Actually, yes," Fry admitted. "We've been waiting for Tallest Purple for several weeks now, and so we thought he would be coming when we heard a Tallest had made an appointment with the Control Brain Triumvirate. We haven't found anything yet, but, it would make sense if he were coming to check on our progress."

"Your... progress?" Red squinted at the CoBra Tech. "What are you talking about?" He'd never heard about Purple doing anything with the Triumvirate.

"You don't know, sir?" Fry gestured to the lifts. "Please, allow me to show you, sir. You wished to see the Triumvirate, yes?"

"Duh."

Fry stepped aside to let Red and his Guards on the lift, then got on himself and pushed the button for the level with the Triumvirate. "I'm surprised Tallest Purple hasn't told you yet."

"Told me what?"

The lift doors opened; fry stepped out first, then followed Red to the Brains' chamber.

"That he's ordered twenty-four CoBra Techs to thoroughly check the Control Brain Triumvirate for malfunctions, malware, and defects," Fry said. "He's having many other Control Brains checked too, from what I've heard. At least ten other Brains on Judgmentia, every one on Irk, and I don't know how many others."

"Oh. Right. Of course, that thing." What?! Why hadn't Red heard about any of this? Checking the Control Brains for defects—that was a really, really big deal. How could Purple possibly keep something that huge from him? And, if he was willing to hide that, how much else hadn't he told Red?

But he couldn't let it show that he hadn't known, much less that this information disturbed him so much. What would the empire think, if it found out that its two leaders were this far apart from each other?

What in the Firmament was Purple scheming behind Red's back?

Fry walked up to an enormous set of double doors, made of smooth black metal and kept shut with five huge outer locks and probably quite a few hidden ones. Fry typed a long code on a panel beside he door, then stepped in front of it to let it scan his eyes. There was an enormous echoing sound that could have been ten huge locks clicking apart in sequence, or a hundred snapping open together. "After you, sir," Fry said, standing aside as the doors slid open.

Red glided in, and was surprised to see the room wasn't empty.

As always, there were the three Control Brains, the Triumvirate that ran the entire empire—large, menacing, and shining bright in silver-green metal. The room around them was a mess of girders and panels, shields and powered-down lighting structures; everything was black and emerald and almost glowing in the dark.

However, in the shadows surrounding the Brains were bright flashes of crimson clothing. Irkens. CoBra Techs. There were so many. What could Purple possibly want them to find?

"Yik! Sushi!" Fry shouted. "Replace the Left and Right Brains' outer panels. Vermin! Seal the panels, finish up that anti-malware scan on the Left Brain, and get out."

"The scan's gonna take another six degrees," one of the Techs protested.

Fry scowled. "Useless little treacherous..." he muttered to himself. "Fine! Cancel out, start over later."

"But—"

"Move it! The Tallest needs to speak to the Brains."

That got them moving. The CoBra Techs all hurried to finish up their work and get out. Several metal plates were missing on the two outer brains, exposing their inner workings. Red tried to figure out what all the buttons and switches and plugs meant—he liked to think he was pretty good with some mechanical stuff, although he didn't think very highly of his skill with computers—but he couldn't make sense of anything before the plates covered everything up and were locked back in place.

"Almighty Tallest Red. We have been anticipating your arrival. We are pleased to see you arrived without incident," the Control Brains said, each in turn, unperturbed by the work being done on their bodies. Then, their six red optics flashing, they spoke in unison: "We have much to discuss."

"Uh-huh." Red watched the CoBra Techs working. He wasn't going to talk while they were still in here. Wait—was that one a Vortian? Purple had hired a Vortian to work on the Brains? Whatever he was trying to find, he was certainly trying hard.

"We'll leave you to your business, my Tallest," Fry said. "When you see Tallest Purple again, please let him know that we haven't found any problem in the Control Brains' programming yet."

"Er, okay. I'll tell him."

The Techs and Red's Guards quickly left the room; the Tallest always conferred with the Control Brains alone. The last one to leave was the Vortian in a Technician's uniform, shooting Red a look like he wanted to say something, before he sighed and left. What was that all about? Hells, Red hoped he hadn't met that Vortian before. If he had, he'd probably hit on him. That could be awkward.

"Greetings, Almighty Tallest Red," the Brains boomed. "We are eager to begin. We assume you wish to discuss your co-ruler, Almighty Tallest Purple?"

"Oh yeah. You have no idea," Red said.

"You will find that we understand very well why you are concerned," a Brain said. "Within the past degree, you learned about Almighty Tallest Purple's betrayal of your trust, regarding his secret decisions in regards to ourselves. Is this correct?"

Red nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. That's... that's just... crazy! And it's not just this. He's been doing crazy stuff for... I don't know how long. I don't know what's he's up to. It's... scary, that's what." It was such a relief to be able to say all this. The Control Brain Triumvirate was the heart of the Irken machine. It would know what to do.

"We agree with your judgment. Based on everything you know, you are right to be suspicious of Almighty Tallest Purple. However, you are aware of very little that your co-ruler has been doing," the Brains said. "Almighty Tallest Red, your day is about to get worse."

xxx

The Swollen Eyeball logon on Dib's computer screen flickered, and was replaced by a silhouette with glowing eyes. "Howdy—Mothman, isn't it?" the silhouette asked, then yawned. It was around two in the morning. "Call me Gourdy. How can I help ya?" Gourdy hesitated. "I'm a woman, by the way. I reckon y'can't tell, what with the Deep Throat trick the Eyeball does on our voices. Now ya know."

"Uh, thanks," Dib said. "I'm calling on business, Agent Gourdy. I've got two important things to talk to the Eyeball about. Er... could I be connected to Agent Darkbooty, please?"

"No can do, kiddo," Gourdy said. "I got direct orders not to letcha talk with the higher-ups unless you can prove ya got somethin' good. I hear you had an embarrassing episode with waffles, couple o' years back."

Dib scowled. One botched attempt to get video evidence of alien activity and no one ever forgives you. "I've got pictures," he said. "Evidence of alien life! Really, this time." He held up the flash memory card from his digital camera, even though Gourdy probably couldn't see what it was from his silhouette.

"I'll be th' judge of that, Mothy. Pictures first."

"Okay." Dib plugged the card into his computer, attached all the images to an email, and sent it to gourdy(a)swolleneye(.)net. "Got them?"

"Keep yer pants on, I'll check. Lessee..." Gourdy muttered to herself as she typed; the taps of her keyboard sounded as deep as a bass drum through the voice converter. "I think I got... no... dag nabbit! The ornery little thing deleted itself! Stupid high-tech pile of—wait a minute." Gourdy was quiet a moment, typing. "Spam? Now what's it doin' in there?"

"I don't know," Dib said wearily. "Just open it."

"All right, all right. Hold yer horses, kiddo. Now, what do we have here..." A brief span of silence while Gourdy looked at the pictures. "These're sure nice, kid, but I ain't convinced just yet. How do I know this little green critter ain't one of your friends wearing body paint?" she asked. "It could be a skin condition, too."

Dib resisted the urge to throttle his computer screen. Skin condition! "Are you out of your mind? You're in the Eyeball! NO nose, NO ears, big BUG eyes, and ANTENNA! This is an alien! What are you, a complete amateur?"

Gourdy's voice went steely. "Hon, do you have the slightest notion who you're talkin' to? I used to be a professional tabloid photographer." She pronounced it FOE-toe-GRAPHer. "I know every trick in the book, an' I could make yer average fourth grader look like this with duct tape, swimmin' trunks, and a bag of ping pong balls."

"Really? Wow. Can you show me sometime?" He'd been trying to come up with a convincing Irken disguise for months. "Uh... but the pictures are real! Look at the alien's stomach. What about that?"

"Ah... hmm. Y'can't do that with stuff from Hobby Lobby," Gourdy admitted. "What's that supposed to be? An alien pussy?"

Dib winced. "Er... Maybe. I'm not entirely sure, though."

"That's more like it," Gourdy said. "When a guy knows all the answers, it's probably 'cause he made 'em up himself. So, y'don't know what it does. Sure likes like alien pussy, though." She clicked through a few more photos, commenting as she went by on Pur ("If the little one's got an alien pussy, then I reckon this here is alien cock. Somehow"), and finally stopping. Her glowing eyes shot open wide. She whistled. "Jesus H. Christopher Robin! Ain't never seen nothin' like that before."

Dib didn't even ask what Gourdy was looking at. He knew. "Sorry about that, by the way," he said. "I kinda caught the two of them by accident during... er... a mating ritual, and I thought it'd be good for research purposes to have pictures but... it's a little... well..."

Even with the silhouette effect, Dib could tell that Gourdy was looking straight in his eyes. "Kid, d'you know what you got here?" she asked. "I told ya I was a tabloid foe-toe-grapher. I can't even begin to count how many times I had to get a couple o' friends to get in scandalous poses fer me t' photograph and say I'd gotten a lead on a celebrity affair."

"Er..."

"But this," Gourdy pointed at her own computer screen, "this ain't nothing like any tabloid photo I've ever seen or taken. Ain't nothing alive could imagine up something that freaky. There's no way you hoaxed this, kiddo."

Dib's mouth dropped open. "So that means..."

"This is the real deal."

"And you..."

"I believe ya, Mothman. Heart an' soul, I believe ya really got pictures of extr'estrial critters."

Dib pumped a fist in the air. "Yes! Finally!"

"I'm sendin' out copies to some of the other members, 'case something happens to yours," Gourdy said. "Reckon we'll be getting in contact with ya again in no time flat."

"Be sure to send them to Agent Darkbooty and Un—uh, Agent Toadstool," Dib said excitedly. Uncle Denny had to see this.

"Toadstool? Tarnation, boy! Why would you want that creep to... Oh, right. You and him are pals, ain't ya? All right, I'll send it on to Toady..." Gourdy shook her head in disbelief. "Hey, didn't ya say earlier you had two things to call the Eyeball about? What's the other one?"

It took Dib to remember what she was talking about. "Could you connect me to the agent in charge of psychiatric care?" he asked. "I think I might have been traumatized today."

"Takin' these pictures? Reckgiven."

"What?"

"I reckon that's a given. Don't you northern folks know nothing?"

"Sorry. Sheesh."

"Ya should be. Ignorance ain't nothing to be proud of. Stay in school," Gourdy said, nodding. "How old are ya really, anyway?"

"That's classified," Dib said, trying to sit up taller.

"That young, huh? Well, for a minor, you done good today, Mothy," Gourdy said. "The Eyeball's gonna be real proud of you, soon as they get a gander of these pictures. Those alien varmint ain't gonna be safe on our planet for long. Gourdy out."

xxxxx