*The Little Things*
(A TTBU Companion Story)

Author's Note: This is set slightly before the events
of "The Things Between Us" and overlaps TTBU in later
chapters.


*Prologue: Advisor*

-A week after Operation Impending Doom I-

"What do you have to say for yourself, soldier?" The
Tallest's voice rang out through the chamber, making
the shorter Irken standing before the dais cringe
slightly. He was still a mess, even after a week of
recoup time. One antenna hung limply down the side of
his face, and the many gouges scattered over his body
had begun to heal over, but would obviously leave
scars. He had the general appearance of one who has
been on the wrong end of a weapon of mass destruction.
Were one to inquire about the matter, that would have
been approximately how he would have summed it up.

'A weapon of mass destruction - that description
describes their so called "Invader Zim" perfectly',
the soldier thought, not without some anger.

"Well?" He'd clearly spent too much time thinking
about the matter, the annoyed note in the ruby-eyed
Tallest's voice had grown more pronounced.

Lowering his head, he wiggled his good antenna
placatingly. "I only did as I thought best, my
Tallest." His voice was low, humble, as was proper
when addressing the leaders of the empire.

"Oh, c'mon Red," This was quieter, but piercing
nonetheless. "Just throw him out of an airlock and be
done with it!"

"After the entire Empire has seen his ugly face in the
Broadcastia reports?" Red hissed back impatiently. The
listening Irken thought they probably intended to keep
the conversation between themselves - private - but it
was fairly easy to hear everything, even with one
non-functioning antenna. They weren't exactly subtle,
the Tallest. "It's bad PR, Pur."

"Since when have you cared what anyone else thought?"
The violet-eyed Tallest seemed utterly shocked by the
notion, "I mean after that incident on Devastis..."

"Just shut up! It's a bad idea, got me?"

"...yeah... We're clear." Purple agreed, grudgingly.

"Besides, we still have to do something with him."

"If you can't get rid of him, why not promote him?"
Purple yawned, then immediately winced preemptively as
Red whirled to face him with startling speed. "Wait!
Wait! Bad idea! Forget I said anything!"

"Pur... You. Are. A. Genius!" Red breathed, his
antennae perked and his eyes glittering with scarcely
concealed enthusiasm. "That's perfect!" He turned back
to the Irken still waiting below the dais patiently,
although now wearing the expression of one who is
facing the gallows. "You, what's your name? Stork!"

"Crow." The Irken corrected under his breath. As
expected, he was not heard.

"As a result of your... er... actions, we've decided
to promote you! You're now... um... an advisor! Report
to the control brain for reassigning and you can begin
your new work immediately!" He waved a dismissive hand
at the newly promoted solder - an 'I've done my good
deed for the day, now get out of my sight' sort of
gesture.

The new advisor turned stiffly and began to march
away, half limping the entire distance, but doing his
best not to show it. It wasn't the easiest task, yet
he did a better job of concealing the physical
deformities than he did of keeping the bubbling anger
under wraps.

The last thing he heard before the doors irised shut
was Purple's voice, high and enthusiastic, asking if
Red really meant that about the "genius", followed by
Red's mutter of "lasers", and the expected scream of
pain which was cut-off halfway through.

The door wasn't shut for more than a second or two
before the new advisor started to scream. "Why? Why in
Irk's name? Ugh... What did I do to deserve this!"

A passing service drone hesitated, staring at the
distressed advisor with curiosity gleaming in his red
eyes. "What did you do?"

Crow turned with a snarl, striding up to the service
drone with only the barest hint of a limp and kicking
it across the corridor where it slammed into the metal
wall with a bone-jarring thump. He cursed almost
immediately at the flare of pain that ran through his
gimp leg at the action. The stunned service drone
could only twitch convulsively as the taller Irken
hobbled up to it and bent over.

"You'll keep your mouth shut," He hissed low, his eyes
gleaming with frightening intensity as he towered over
the drone. The tiny Irken nodded frantically, trying
to convey approval, but it could see the spider legs
emerging from Crow's pack, rising and spreading in a
mockery of dark wings - the stripped and exposed wires
still sputtering and releasing little showers of
electric sparks. "You won't ask me that again, will
you?" His voice had dropped to a low purr, almost a
secretive tone.

The drone nodded again, swallowing nervously.

"Good boy." Crow patted it on the head and watched it
relax marginally, thinking itself safe. Then, without
any further warning, he plunged the ragged tip of one
of his spider legs clean through it, impaling it on
the bent and twisted metal. It squealed like a dying
rat as the leg bit deeper - hit the thinner metal of
the pak and sheared through.

It was over as soon as the Pak was speared, the
insides gutted beyond repair. Quick... but the frozen
expression of terror and pain on the drone's face
belied any notion that the swiftness of the drone's
demise had made it an easy one. He stared a moment
longer, a smile lingering on his face, then slowly
withdrew the limb, folding it and pulling it into his
pak.

"I'm so glad we see, eye to eye." He told the corpse
with a faint smile before glancing back at the closed
door. He laid his good antennae back for a moment,
sharply, before raising it again and wiggling it in a
mockery of the traditional salute.

"Long live my Tallest..."

He continued down the corridor heedlessly, listening
to the frantic scuttling of more drones rushing over,
trying to clean up the mess before the Tallest emerged
from their audience chamber.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

*Book One: Trainee*

~01~

-Devastis-

"Awright, you maggots! Listen up!" At these harsh,
barking words, the assembled trainees immediately
straightened up and did their best to appear
attentive. For some this was a task far easier said
than done, however. New trainees weren't as rare a
commodity now as they had been before the Vort
alliance - borrowed technology made it possible to
disband much of the Irken scientist caste and reassign
them - generally to the military. Grob was not one of
those reassignees - in fact, he'd worked as a drill
instructor on Devastis for over two centuries.

Truth be told, Grob had little faith in the ability of
the average science drone to adapt to the harsher
lifestyle of a soldier unit. They simply didn't have
the necessary reflexes and - as most of them had been
working their fields almost as long as he'd been in
his - they were not likely to change easily. 'Damn it
all... the best use for most of this lot is cannon
fodder'. He marched slowly up and down the line,
wondering if he'd get any use out of them at all.
Weapons designers, spaceship engineers, bio-mechanics
- even a sanitation drone or two that had been left
jobless when the research facilities were shut down.
Great... Just great. Of the actually new trainees -
there were about eight out of the sixty-something that
had arrived - only one looked particularly promising.

"Trainee Tenn!" Grob barked again, pegging out what he
regarded as the best potential soldier in the lot. A
moderately-sized female, Tenn still had an unruffled
air that seemed to command a measure of respect. She
drew herself up to her full advantage and saluted
crisply.

"Sir!"

"You'll be the team leader for 'A' Squadron." It was
traditional for the recruits to be divided into
groups, to be headed by squadron leaders. Supposedly
it was to increase the functionality and orderliness
of the training process, but that was completely
bogus. Grob knew from experience that it only made
things more complicated. The real advantage was that
it allowed him to divide his troops up by their
abilities , as well as using the squadrons as a
testing ground for leadership potential trainees. For
that purpose, the division worked well.

Grob quickly did the mental calculations. Five teams
would be sufficient for him to cull out the worst of
the lot and arrange the would-be soldiers by likely
success rates. "For the others... Spleen!" The one he
addressed was a former scientist, to be sure, but what
bothered the military instructor the most was that
spleen was a fourth of an inch taller than himself -
technically his superior if not for the overhaul. He
wasn't eager to deal too closely with the scientist,
but the taller Irken's eyes had a shrewd glint,
intelligent glint to them. "You'll be heading off 'B'
Squadron."

This division pulled out the best of the lot, the most
likely to succeed (or at least survive) at the
training - and Grob divided them up nearly equally
between the two squadron leaders before getting back
to the business at hand. "Grundy - Squadron 'C' is
yours." The Irken in question was known for his big
mouth, but he could also think quickly. That would
likely prove a useful trait in a leader. "And you,
Larb, Squadron 'D'." The lanky newcomer had an easy
stance that Grob approved of. It was probably more
cocksure than real, but D was going to lose trainees -
it was inevitable. C Squadron probably would too, but
the odds there were a little better there, so of
course they got all of the remaining "good"
candidates.

Separating D from E was a trickier task... and for the
fiftieth time, Grob cursed the new reassigning for
making his job harder than it needed to be. At last,
he just pointed out the ones he figured were as good
as Blorch food. They were probably going to die
anyway, so no harm done there. The rest of them went
to D Squad.

All he needed now was a team leader for the "cannon
fodder" squadron. Not that it was a task that required
much deep thought or imagination. After all, any
pathetic loser would do.

"You, um... Skoodge. You'll lead Squadron 'E'." He
pointed at the painfully short and ugly Irken near the
end of the line. The Irken trainee in question shot
him a strange look, antennae twitching in a
near-convulsive manner, but he didn't argue. He just
saluted, rather unsteadily.

With that out of the way, Grob could get down to the
real work. "Form up in your Squadrons! Leaders in
front! The rest of you maggots better form up in
straight lines behind your commanders! I see any
hands, legs or antennae poking out of line and they'll
be makin' friends with my blaster." The trainees
jumped into action instantly, scrambling into lines
with their squadron leaders at their head. Guts were
sucked in, antennae pressed tightly back and limbs
pulled firmly against their bodies. Grob could barely
hide a smirk - Scientists! How stupid could they be?

He marched towards them, making a slow circle. The
trainees tensed visibly when he approached them, a
good sign as far as the experienced soldier was
concerned. A little fear would serve to keep them in
line until they forgot all about thinking for
themselves and started obeying orders without feeling
a need to question. That was the real fear - that
these scientist-types would actually dare to have
ideas. No use for that here - or ever again, if they
were truly going to be soldiers. Soldiers didn't need
to think!

As he passed by the tail end of E Squadron, he was
about ready to pick out someone as a scapegoat. It
wouldn't particularly matter if they were actually
doing anything wrong or not - what counted was that
these pathetic would-be soldiers needed to have the
point driven home in some way they would remember. The
one he pegged for this necessary demonstration was an
Irken of medium height with a long narrow head and a
jittery air. "You! What's your name soldier?"

"Scientist Jeeg - Navigation Systems Designer, first
class, Sir." The shorter Irken replied with only a
moment of hesitation. Grob frowned, noticing that he'd
even remembered to add the "Sir" there at the end,
making it more difficult to find a reason to punish
this unfortunate trainee. The response had been pure
protocol, except for... The drill instructor's eyes
narrowed, a smile crossing his lips that boded none
too well for Jeeg.

"Yes, Jeeg..." His voice dropped to a pleasant purr,
"State that again, Trainee. Word for word, if you
please." But despite his phrasing, it was obvious to
everyone that his words were a command, not a request.

Jeeg had certainly caught his mistake, if the
expression on his face was any indication. His
antennae twitched ever so slightly, and he blinked,
but he did as Grob commanded without any telltale
hesitation, "Scientist Jeeg - Navigation Systems
Designer, first class, Sir."

Grob rounded on him then, his tone scathing, "You
think pretty well of yourself, don't you, Trainee?
Tell me 'Scientist Jeeg', just where and when do you
propose to work on designing navigation systems while
we're engaging in hand to hand combat with the
adversary?" Jeeg flinched a little, but didn't
actually back down or collapse - a minor point, but
Grob was a bit impressed despite himself. Perhaps
these scientists weren't all the weakling pushovers
they appeared to be. He dismissed the idea fairly
quickly - in all likelihood, he'd just pegged someone
too stupid to realize the trouble he was getting
himself into.

"N...nowhere, Sir." The former scientist's voice was a
little shaky, a little faint, but still very much
audible. The other trainees were squirming a little, a
few of them were twitching their own antennae in
discomfort. Not sympathy - that would have been
unexpected and unwelcome in a soldier - they were just
afraid that they would find themselves singled out
next. Grob knew what they must be thinking - better
him than them. Yeah, they'd make passable soldiers.

"That's right, you miserable little worm," Grob
actually sneered this time. "Nowhere! You know why
that is?" The trainee looked like he was about to
answer the question and Grob cut him off, "I didn't
tell you to SPEAK, did I, Trainee?"

Jeeg definitely flinched there, and the instructor
smiled to himself upon seeing it. Things were finally
proceeding according to plan. Of course he was likely
to be nervous - he'd just been posed with a situation
where there was nothing he could do that wouldn't be a
punishable offense. He'd been forbidden to speak, and
not answering a direct question would have been a
violation of protocol. Grob wondered which of the two
options the former scientist would pick. He couldn't
help a little smirk as the scientist drew himself up
with an air of resignation, "No, you didn't, Sir."

"And the maggot speaks again! Apparently he thinks we
still haven't heard enough of his mewling!" Grob's
voice dropped to a facsimile of a reasonable tone,
"Well, Trainee, it seems that you have managed to try
even my infinite patience. Perhaps a few weeks on KP
duty will teach you a bit more respect for the chain
of command around here." The scientist drooped a
little at this, and Grob marched back towards the
front of the line. He noticed the rest of the lot
straightening up as he passed them, probably afraid to
be singled out next. Good.

As soon as he'd resumed his previous position at the
head of the lines, Grob addressed the entire group.
"You've had it easy so far, but don't think for even a
moment that this is going to be a cakewalk. A
soldier's life is a hard life, so you'd better get
used to the idea. No more easy job sitting in front of
a computer screen or doodling schematics - this is
actual work!" As he'd suspected, although a couple of
the Irkens in line got distasteful looks on their
faces, not a one of them dared say that science wasn't
a cushy job.

"Time for you lot to see your new... accommodations."
He reached back over his shoulder and his pak opened
obligingly. From it, he drew an electrical prod. "Fall
in and follow me. A Squadron in front, and E in the
rear." He tapped the prod against his palm and sparks
of blue electricity emerged from its tip. The recruits
carefully settled into a new line, with surprisingly
less trouble than than he'd anticipated. He caught a
few of the trainees glancing at the prod in his grasp
with vary expressions of wariness and fear. He doubted
there was a one of them who would deliberately make
trouble while he had the item in his hand and ready
for use on any miscreant daring to step out of line.

He was smirking a little and not doing a thing to
disguise it as they marched towards the "A Squadron"
barracks. Years of experience had provided the Irken
instructors with a tried and true formula for training
would-be soldiers. Although once they had kept all of
their squadrons in the same large barracks, it had
proven to be a method that was more trouble than help.
The better trainees would associate with those who
were worthless, and it would affect their performance.
Some of them did react as expected - taking the
opportunity to show up their weaker peers, but others
had slacked off - probably thinking (and rightly so)
that anything they did was going to be better than
what the lesser squadrons could manage anyway. A few
of them had even - Irk forbid - felt sorry for the
cannon fodder. It was a weakness that didn't have to
exist, as long as the groups were kept apart.

So A Squadron was put in the best barracks available
on Devastis. Of course, this was purely a matter of
parallels. The barracks were undoubtedly in horrendous
condition compared to what the former scientists were
accustomed to. Grob snorted, they could just get used
to it. He wasn't training scientists, by the goddess,
he was training soldiers! Soldiers could deal with
unsanitary conditions without whining!

Grob drew the line to a halt in front of the unkempt
building. "A Squadron, this will be your barracks.
This is your 'home' for the duration of your stay on
Devastis." He marched to a fifth of the way down the
line, where A Squadron ended and B Squadron began.
"You will be expected to take care of your 'home'
during this time. I will be conducting surprise
inspections to make sure everything is in order." He
turned away from the recruits, "Pak - time!"

His pak beeped, and Grob tilted his head slightly to
one side. "You lot have two hours to get this hole
cleaned up and livable before we begin training. And I
expect you all to be working! If I find out anyone is
slacking, they'll be doing KP duty for the rest of
their training period. After they dig their head out
of their lower pak compartment, that is!" The A
Squadron members winced, but did not move. "What are
you waiting for, maggots? Get your sorry antennae in
gear!"

As A Squadron began moving into their living quarters,
Grob wasted no time in getting the rest of the
trainees moving again. A few of them cast looks back
at the scrambling Irkens and their barracks, but a jab
or two from the prod set them straight with astounding
speed.

>From B through D, this process was repeated - nearly
word for word, in fact. Grob knew the whole spiel like
he knew the inner workings of his pak, and it was the
best way of getting the point across in the least
amount of time. 'Leave them room to question and
they'll start to get ideas' was Grob's philosophy.

Once D Squadron was safely assigned to their new
barracks and cleaning like mad to make up for the fact
that they had half the amount of time that A Squadron
had been afforded, Grob turned to the remaining
Irkens. E Squadron. He wasn't altogether sure what to
do with them, actually. The last time there'd been an
E Squadron on Devastis, it had been completely
obliterated - including the barracks they had been
housed in. He supposed he could have taken them to the
ruins of the E barracks, but it was probably bad
enough that they were all going to die anyway.

Careful. No need to start getting soft - not after all
this time. Grob glowered at the motley group of
Irkens, and they stared back at him with dread
reflecting in their eyes. Not a one of them could meet
his gaze for more than a few seconds without flinching
away. Once they all seemed appropriately cowed,
including the so-called 'squadron commander' that he'd
assigned, Grob ran over the matter in his mind again.
After all, they needed to be put somewhere, and there
was no reason that it had to be somewhere that was in
particularly good shape...

'Wait.' Grob's antennae perked, an action that drew
the attention of the hapless trainees. Their gazes all
turned back to him, their own antennae twitching
hopefully. Grob growled low in his throat and they
immediately went back to staring at the ground.
"You're the sorriest lot of maggots I've ever had the
misfortune to train," he began acerbically, "and I've
trained more soldiers than you could even begin to
count. I don't care how you got by before, you're on
Devastis now, and I won't accept any slacking. Now,
come on." He turned and started to march away, leaving
the stunned trainees to follow him as quickly as they
could manage and still keep in formation.

Devastis had been a military training planet since the
very beginning of the Irken Empire. It was, of course,
divided into sectors - one was for the new trainees,
the other for soldiers requiring advanced training in
their fields. Grob specialized in training the former.
This section of Devastis was the one that was most
like the condition of the planet when they'd arrived.
Uneven, rocky ground giving way to pockets of marshy
flatland, and a few areas that contained clumps of
sparsely distributed trees. Not exactly the most
welcoming of places - but they hadn't exactly had to
fight hard to take the planet either.

E Squadron's new barracks was in one of the areas that
Grob and the other instructors didn't often bother
with anymore. It was based on the far side of a fairly
high ridge, tucked between the side of the incline and
the swampy area just beyond it. It was sticky, humid
and full of numerous vermin. It also hadn't been used
for millenia.

Perfect.

And the unsuspecting cannon fodder - otherwise known
as E Squadron - were unable to do little more than
stare at this so-called barracks while Grob told them
they had half an hour to get the place in order before
the real training began. There was no way on Irk that
they'd manage it. But it wasn't his job to be fair -
just to train soldiers.

It was a lot easier to remember that fact when he'd
left the group behind, and he didn't have to think
about the disbelieving looks on their faces as they
began to clean.


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