Chapter 3: Screening Room
"Dexter?"
"Mmm?" he grunted, intent on the projected screen before him as he typed. After a moment he absently added, "What is it, Computress?"
"Commander Tennyson is requesting another two hundred applications."
Dexter paused, processing. "That's the third time he's asked for more."
"Fourth," corrected the super computer.
"How many applications has he distributed?"
"Since he updated the form, 362 . . . 365 . . ."
Dexter's jaw dropped. 365 applications handed out on top of the initial hundred and Ben wanted more? It took a moment for him to recover, and to buy himself time he said,
"He updated it? Show me."
Computress projected the form in the air before him. Dexter was amused to see Ben had replaced the line about using blue ink. He had also added a few more questions to refine the process. They were clumsy, blunt, and effective. In short, very Ben.
What are you? Please name your species.
Do you even know who Number One is?
Are you available this Friday night?
Please list any other relevant facts we should know about you.
"Where is Ben now?"
"The corporate cafeteria."
"Raise him for me, Computress," he said, abandoning his chair and moving over to stand on the holoprojector, the better to give his boyfriend a talking to.
"Commander Tennyson," announced Computress, projecting Ben's image before Dexter. In his hands was a slim stack of paper and even as he came into focus, Ben was handing out applications. The scientist couldn't help but be pleased to see Ben looked somewhat frazzled. It was a look he usually wore when beset by fangirls.
"Hey, Dex," he said as a foot-high image of Dexter was projected just before him, right at eye level so that he couldn't miss it.
"Benjamin, are you trying to bury me in paperwork?"
"Uh . . . am I?" asked Ben, not sure of what he was up against yet.
"How many applications have you distributed?"
"Uh . . . lots," he said, cluing in on the source of Dexter's annoyance.
"419," provided Computress. "422."
Ben looked impressed. "What can I say? Nigel's a popular guy."
"Stop," ordered Dexter.
"But-"
"Benjamin, we still need to collect, read, and process all those forms by Friday! I thought a hundred was a lot!"
"Really?"
"Obviously you've never been on the business end of the hiring process. Has it occurred to you that perhaps this immediate campaign is too successful?"
"Is that possible?"
"Yes. Stop."
"But-"
"Now."
Ben opened his mouth to speak. In his moment of distraction, someone reached out and snatched the rest of the applications out of his hand. A few fell to the ground at his feet and Dexter could hear the sounds of girls arguing over the papers.
"449," said Computress as Ben leaned over and picked up the one remaining application, only to have a squealing girl snatch it away. "450."
"I suggest you recruit a few assistants, Commander," said Dexter loftily. "Send me the applications via Dexbot as they're returned. We have a lot of work ahead of us. Dexter out."
()()()()()()()()()()
Ben glowered a bit as the hologram of Dexter vanished. Maybe it was payback for those four pieces of garlic bread he'd eaten last night, but Dexter was clearly in a sour mood. Ben wasn't too concerned. Dexter's anger burned out quickly, like a firecracker, and he knew that by dinner time his boyfriend would be his usual cute and cranky self. Even if he was still angry, Ben knew exactly where on Dexter's neck to nibble in order to make him giggle, and once he did something so undignified he couldn't hold on to a bad mood.
"Tennyson, are you out of your pea brain? What are you thinking?"
He stopped just past the cafeteria doors and turned to see Abby Lincoln, more commonly known as Number Five, standing behind him. Her hands were on her hips and everything about her stance told him he was in trouble even if he wasn't sure why. He'd seen that body language on his mom too often to mistake it for anything less.
"I'm thinking I should have had the pizza for lunch, not the cheese steak."
Even if her eyes weren't visible under the brim of her hat, he knew she was glaring. He could feel the burn. In a sharp gesture she raised her hand to display one of the applications.
"What is this?"
He took it from her. "An application."
"Number Five sees that. What are you up to?"
"Nigel doesn't have time to find someone to go out with, so I told him I'd find him a date."
"You? You'll find Number One a date?"
He raised both hands in frustration. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
"You ain't exactly got a reputation in the dating circuit."
"That's a good thing," he replied glibly. He closed his hand on the paper, crushing it. "What, I can save the universe time and again but I can't be relied upon to find a date for my friend?"
"Pretty much." She scowled. "Don't you think this is a bit soon? Nigel's got enough on his plate."
"If only. That's exactly why I'm doing this, Abby." He moved closer, lowering his voice. "Lizzie wasn't a prize by any stretch, but she did get him to eat and kick back now and then. With Sector V split up like it is now, he needs someone to look after him. Someone he'll listen to because he wants to. Someone that gets him like Lizzie didn't!"
Number Five drew back, clasping her hands behind her back as she thought. The lack of immediate comeback told Ben his words had hit home. Suddenly her look grew sly. "He listens to you."
"I'm not an option."
"Too bad." She drew a deep breath. "Number Five will reserve judgment for now, but I'm watching you, Tennyson."
"A smoothie says you'll be impressed."
"If Number Five is impressed, it'll be a smoothie and chili fries for a week."
"You're on."
She pointed two fingers at her eyes, then swiveled them around to point at Ben in the universal I've got my eye on you sign as she strode away, back into the cafeteria. Ben grinned, in no way daunted. Abby was a good friend and a good operative. Too bad she had to get back to her station or he would have recruited her to help sort through these applications . . . or fill one out.
"Commander Tennyson?"
He turned around at the quietly spoken words and found himself facing a young man about his own age. A bit taller than Ben, he was rather strikingly handsome, blond, and had the look of an athlete about him.
"Yeah. Hi."
Blondie smiled. "Word has it that you're taking applications to get a date for Nigel Uno," he said, and Ben was struck at the confidence in his voice and manner. The only other person under the age of thirty that Ben had met with such absolute assurance was Dexter. After dealing with rabid fangirls and a few equally rabid fanboys, it was a refreshing change.
"Yeah," he repeated, feeling safe enough to confide, "I think I might've bitten off more than I can chew."
"I doubt it," was the smooth reply. "I was wondering if I could get an application."
"Are you with the KND?"
"Sorta."
"You know Nigel?"
With a nod and a fond smile, Blondie said, "I do. We go back a long way."
That was interesting. Ben knew full well he'd never seen this guy before, but the calm demeanor and mature approach scored some major points after the female feeding frenzy he'd endured all morning. Without hesitation he held out the application he'd taken form Abby.
"Here. Last one. Sorry it's a bit mangled."
"That's fine," Blondie said, eagerly taking the crumpled form. Carefully smoothing it out, he glanced at it, then looked at Ben. "How should I get it back to you?"
"If you see me, I'll take it. If I'm not around, you can give it to any of the Dexbots buzzing around here. Dexter programmed them to get all the applications right back to him."
"Thank you. I'll get it back as soon as possible."
Ben smiled, finding the other teen's confidence rather infectious. "Cool," he said, then added, "Good luck."
Blondie returned the smile, appreciating the sentiment, but when Ben left, it was with the impression that luck was the last thing this particular young man needed.
()()()()()()()()()()
Though he was technically at DexLabs on R&R, Ben got shanghaied by Mandy and spent a good chunk of the afternoon in a planning meeting with a few of the field commanders. He didn't mind too much since Dexter was engrossed with smelting all day. Mandy had gotten wind of his plan, and he was able to put another notch on the 'You're going to find a date for Nigel?' stick people kept beating him with. It wasn't until just before dinner time that he finally caught up with Dexter, flying out to the foundry on the far side of the campus a la Big Chill and catching a ride to the main building in the back of an SUV.
"Applications are pouring in," reported Dexter, still a little aloof.
"Have you looked at any of them?" asked Ben, contemplating a number of moves that would get his hand slapped since it was Lee driving them and not Morton.
"Several," he said blandly, then added, "Dozen."
"Anyone look promising?"
"Not even slightly."
"Ouch." Well, he'd started this. He had to see it through regardless of how painful. For the sake of the innocent guard driving them back to the headquarters building, Ben asked, "What were you up to at the foundry?"
"I was training my pet metal-eating termites to eat their way straight through armor plating versus their usual habit of dispersing across the surface of available metal. I have high hopes of them replacing the present cutting process employed on the Megabot production line."
He was almost sorry he'd asked. Ben slid down in his seat, trying to wrap his brain this fantastic statement. Patiently, Dexter waited. After a few moments, Ben found his voice and it was full of disbelief.
"You have pet termites."
"I do."
"That eat metal."
"That is correct."
"Termites."
"Yes."
Ben opened his mouth but couldn't think of what to say. Recognizing his dumbfounded awe, Dexter provided,
"Timmy and Tammy and generations of their progeny. I engineered them when I was eight."
He went on gaping at nothing. Finally he looked over at the poised and arrogant young man beside him in the purple gloves and white lab coat, and instead of laughing, silently mouthed I love you.
Much of Dexter's coolness melted away in that instant. Dexter smirked and shook his head, trying not to give in too easily but already failing. Ben smiled, knowing he was forgiven any aggravation he'd caused his boyfriend.
Once inside DexLabs HQ, they walked towards the Utonium household, keeping their hands to themselves because of all the security cameras.
"Dad is taking the girls out to dinner tonight," said Dexter. "We can either raid the refrigerator or send to the cafeteria for dinner."
"Whatcha in the mood for?"
"Anodite hybrid."
"I can arrange that."
"Do so after we look at the day's tally of applications."
"I was afraid you were going to say that."
()()()()()()()()()()
"Next time we're making this sort of thing an invitational."
Ben eyed the piles of paper on the dining room table and felt a little pang. Even as they spoke, Dexbots whizzed in and out now and then to bring more applications.
"Nnnnyeah," he agreed. "So . . . how are we doing this?"
"I'm exercising my authority to complete the first round of screening. You can have the second."
"What're these, then?" Ben put his hand on a sizable stack of applications.
"That's the 'no' pile."
"I'm almost afraid to ask, but is there a 'yes' pile?"
Dexter pointed to a scant handful of papers removed from the crowd and placed on the sideboard. He wasn't sure if so few possibilities was good or bad. "That's it?"
"Yes."
"Uh . . . how about a 'maybe' pile?"
"Maybe?" echoed Dexter with a frown.
Ben tried not to squirm. "Yes?"
"No."
"Yes?"
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Maybe?"
"Fine, but they're your problem."
"Okay. We got a 'Pit of Hell' pile?"
"What do we need that for?"
"Anything like Demongo applying."
"Would that include the Kanker sisters?"
"Totally."
Dexter immediately pulled three applications off the top of the 'no' pile and tossed them on the floor for a Dexbot to clear away.
"Pit of Hell it is."
"So . . . what do they have to do to get into the 'yes' pile?"
"Answer the questions in a manner that indicates they read and understood them."
"How hard is that?"
Dexter cleared his throat and picked up a handful of papers, paging through them as he said, "On the question of sex, we have answers that include yes; no thank you; if I have to; if my mom says I can; you mean with Nigel?; often; if I can be the uke; only if he wears his socks and sunglasses; can I bring my boyfriend?"
Ben stared, slowly realizing what he had unleashed. Dexter plowed onwards.
"As for affiliations, we have mostly KND and ECF and all their sub-divisions like the Valkyrie, Team Bravo, and so forth, but we also have a surprising number of Jedi, several Pony Puff Princesses, one Pony Puff Prince, a Sagittarius, some social anxiety, and three people who claim they've either had all their shots or they've gotten over their affiliations."
He felt himself making a face. He hadn't anticipated such levels of stupid.
The scientist pushed his glasses back into place, giving Ben an almost pained look. "It's unfortunate the programmable are out of the question," he said said, pulling out a neatly typed application. "T.O.M. at least used proper punctuation and wrote complete sentences." He tossed the application into the Pit of Hell. "Cow is out of the question, as is her brother, Chicken, not that they stood a chance to begin with, given their spelling skills. For classification purposes, Coco is now an animal." He tossed another paper aside.
"I'll remember that."
"I wanted to run this by you, since it seemed odd, which at this juncture isn't saying much: we have five applicants with the same last name and contact information."
"Who's that?"
"Ashly, Bruce, David, Lenny, and Ogie - is that a name? - Delightful?"
"Burn them!" ordered Ben. "Right now. They're the Delightful Children From Down the Lane. Wouldn't they love to score a date with Number One!"
"I don't know. Would they?"
"Hell yeah. Pit of Hell. Now, Dexter."
"Okay, okay." The Delightful Children joined Cow and T.O.M. and the others on the floor. "See what I mean?"
"Do I even want to know what weird habits they have?"
Dexter snorted. Ben grimaced.
"Should I apologize now?"
"Let's get something to eat, Ben," was the reasonable reply. "Then we'll get to work."