ZADR The Natural Way of Things Ch.4

Later, deep within the base, the results for several tests and bioscans scrolled across the screens in front of Zim. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him. Nothing at all to account for his bizarre reaction to the mate-y noises first period. So Zim did what Zim did best--he chalked it up to the inferior Earth atmosphere and pretended it never happened.

With a quiet huff the alien cleared the results from his screens--to find himself suddenly face-to-face with a moon-sized freckled white face. "Heya buddy!"

Zim's startled shriek could have been heard at ground level, if the only being there had been paying any attention. "KEEF?!"

"Ya!" The face pulled out a bit from the camera, so two big blue eyes could be seen as well. "The Spooky Dukes are having a special concert on the park green tonight and I was going to see if you'd come with me again. It'll be fun!"

Red eyes narrowed. "Keef," the alien managed in a more normal voice. "Don't you have other hyumans to annoy?"

The cheerful grin dropped a bit. "Erm yeah, but they're not nice like you. They pick on me." The face brightened again. "Besides, I  like you more! So whaddaya say? Please come with me? Pleeeease? I'll do anything!"

Zim had been on the verge of calling GIR and commanding him to throw the annoying hyuman off his doorstep, when the worm baby's last sentence had his antennae perking in interest. "Anything, you say?" The oblivious younger boy nodded happily.

"Very well. I will go to another filthy concert with you. But you have to agree to be my human slave."

Keef beamed. "Okay! See you at 7!"

Zim smiled as the boy skipped happily away. His first hyuman slave. Not the one he had in mind, but that would come soon enough. Besides, another concert meant more opportunity to observe, and make potentially friendly contact with, the Dib. It was, as the hyumans would call it, a win-win situation.

The park was a better venue than the first one--less hot, less crowded feeling, with the added bonus of a nearly completely unobstructed view of the night sky--but they had to sit on the icky, dirty, germ-infested ground. Zim fidgeted, rubbing his arms and occasionally slapping to get rid of the invisible menaces, becoming more and more convinced as time passed that no hyuman slave was worth this, especially one as annoying as Keef.

The alien was just giving some serious consideration to leaving, when the lights on the impromptu stone stage a few steps ahead of them dimmed. They were sitting close enough for Zim to see three shadows move across the stage--the Dib's fellow noise-makers. But where was the Dib?

Zim's head swiveled this way and that, searching for the familiar skinny frame, noting out of the corner of his eye the subtle brightening of the lights onstage as the music started. Then the lights flared to full brightness with the drums, activating a spotlight, which immediately lit up the Dib, who was standing in the shadow of a tree a few feet from where Zim and Keef sat.

"I am an arms dealer, fittin' you with weapons in the form of words. And,"

"I don't really care, which side wins."

Dib pushed away from the tree. "Long as the room keeps singin' that's just the business I'm in, yeah!"

The boy started toward the stage, steps rolling, jaunty like the music, tattered end of his trench coat flowing behind him. "This ain't a scene, it's a God! Damn! Arms! Race!"

"This ain't a scene, it's a God! Damn! Arms! Race!"

"This ain't a scene, it's a God! Damn! Arms! Race!" By this point Dib was onstage, in front of an empty mike stand. He brushed a black clad shoulder. "I'm not a shoulder to cry on," He held up a finger. "But I digress."

The music swelled outwards, taking the Dib's voice with it. "I'm a leading man, and the lies I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricate. I'm a leading man, and the lies I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricate."

Dib brought his hands together in front of him as if to pray, amber eyes glinting and fiery, voice going low. "I wrote the gospel on givin' up."

"You look pretty sinkin'!"

"But the real bombshells have already sung..."

"Prima donnas of the gutter!"

"At night we're paintin' your trash gold, while you sleep," Dib smirked, grabbing and wiggling his own hips as he sang: "crashin' not like hips or cars, no! More like p-p-p-parties."

Zim watched the display, puzzled. Onstage, the Dib was nothing like he was at Skool. It was as if two different Dibs shared the same body. One was quiet, did his work and hardly made a fuss in class (aside from the incident with the Stacey-female this morning) while this other wiggled and gyrated, singing and winking at his audience, impudent and playful at the same time. It made Zim's head hurt to try to make sense of it, so he just gave up and watched.

"This ain't a scene, it's a God! Damn! Arms! Race!"

"This ain't a scene, it's a God! Damn! Arms! Race!"

"This ain't a scene, it's a God! Damn! Arms! Race!" Dib smirked, winking at the cheering audience. "Bandwagon's full, please catch another.

"I'm a leading man, and the lies I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricate. I'm a leading man, and the lies I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricate. Yeah. Whoooa. Woo!"

The music swelled into a drumroll. "All the boys who the dance floor didn't love, and the girls whose lips couldn't move fast enough, sing! Until your lungs give out!"

And the audience, (including Keef) obediently cried: "This ain't a scene, it's a God! Damn! Arms! Race! This ain't a scene, it's a God! Damn! Arms! Race!"

Dib pointed right at Zim, smirk turning challenging. "Now you!" Zim glared back out of habit as Keef shrilly cried out the lyrics in answer.

Then the rest of the band joined in with the familiar riff, and Dib sang, his gaze and smirk never leaving Zim's face. "I'm the leading man, and the lies I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricate. I'm the leading man, and the lie I weave are oh so intricate, oh so intricate!"

The music ended, again to antennae-bursting applause. Some (like Keef) even stood up. Zim stayed where he was, antennae flattened in pain to his scalp, watching Dib, and Dib watching him. Then the Dib did something that threw Zim completely off guard: he smiled at the smaller alien and crooked a black gloved finger slowly at him, a gesture even Zim knew as a 'come here' motion. Then the teen hopped off the side of the stage (unnoticed in all the chaos) and walked off into the dark, obviously expecting Zim to follow.

Contrary to the belief of some (like Tak), Zim was not stupid, by any means. He could actually be quite clever when he wanted something. He just had the tendency to grossly underestimate the abilities of others and to vastly overestimate his own, a tendency that even war could not break him of. This was one of those many times.

While Keef cheered obliviously beside him, the alien silently rose to follow, smirking triumphantly to himself.

Irken vision during the day was excellent, far better than that of a human; but at night, especially an Earth-night as dark as this one, Zim's vision was as bad as, if not worse than, a human's. Somewhere deep inside, his PAK registered this, and sent a nervous shiver down his spine in warning. Zim's grin faltered, but he shook it off. He was a trained Irken soldier! He survived a war; by the Tallest, he could handle one measly hyuman dirt-monkey, dark or no dark. Besides, his antennae could more than make up for what his eyes couldn't see! To prove it to himself, he yanked off the black and red wig. His antennae perked up, obediently scenting the air.

He could sense the hyuman, could smell the sharp scent of his sweat, and something else, something more subtle, muskier, that made his antennae and back shiver in that strange way again...Zim's near-useless eyes fell half closed, and he stopped walking. The scent wasn't in front of him, though...it was...His back stiffened. Behind. The Dib-scent was behind him.

Before he could turn around, the warmth of the human's body was there, solid and looming. He felt a light gust of air on the back of his head, near the base of one antenna. "Hi Zim."

"....Dib-stink?" Zim squeaked, caught somewhere between smeet-like intimidation and something else, something the alien didn't even want to think about.

Then, snick. Something cold and metallic closed tightly around one of Zim's wrists. Zim immediately snapped out of whatever bizarre spell the dirt-monkey managed to put on him, but as he spun around, rearing back to strike the hyuman, a peculiar, unnatural lethargy swept over him, making him stagger drunkenly instead. Another cold circle surrounded and pulled tight on Zim's other wrist. A burst of alarm went through the alien's body from his PAK, but it was too late; his legs gave way, and his eyelids slid shut, abandoning him to the full dark of unconsciousness...

Dib carefully scooped up the alien--he was pretty small, being roughly the size of an eleven-year-old boy (he had grown a little in the year he had spent on Earth before) and fairly light, despite the dense metal PAK. His head lolled limply on a boneless neck, coming to rest against Dib's shoulder. The boy wrinkled his nose, hoping the sleeping alien wouldn't drool...

At the back of the large, long, circular stage, was a small, hollowed-out cubby of sorts, hidden by a hanging spray of ivy, where Dib used to play when he was really little. It was just large enough to stash the sleeping Zim until the end of the show...

Dib nudged the ivy aside with a shoulder, carefully placing the Irken inside. He was just about to pull away, when the smaller alien's gloved hands shot out, gripping the front of Dib's shirt. He froze, fearing the sleep cuffs had somehow stopped working--but then Zim made a small, squeaky, whimper-like noise, head nuzzling forward, against Dib's chest.

Dib breathed a silent sigh of relief, reaching up to carefully pry the gloved fists off his shirt, and pushing the alien gently into a lying position inside the little cubby. Zim whimpered, but didn't grab Dib again. Dib rearranged the ivy to cover the cubby and its new occupant, hoping and praying the small alien would stay quiet and unnoticed...

As Dib hurried back to rejoin his bandmates, he passed close by a worried-looking Keef. "Hey Dib. Have you seen Zim? He was here a minute ago..."

"Uh yeah. He was going home. Said something about hating concerts." Dib lied quickly, looking away quickly to cover up the blatant fib. He felt bad for the kid, he really did, but as he climbed back onstage, he assured himself that it was for his own good--for everyone's own good--that Zim never be found again.