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Jake doesn’t make it a habit to snoop.
He’s a private guy, and he understands the value of a person’s own space. That’s fine. That’s really good. He’s cool with that.
However, sometimes privacy needs to be called into question. Like, for example, the privacy of the former emissary of a malevolent, genocidal alien race. That’s a little iffy.
Now Jake knows that Dr. Geiszler (“seriously dude, call me Newt!”) is about as innocent as they come. The poor guy’s been through a lot. Like, “a lot” a lot. And he wants to cut him a break. He really does. God knows Geiszler needs it.
But there’s still that lingering second signal, and Jake is on the alert. A possessed Geiszler is not what anyone needs right now, least of all the man himself. Jake knows a thing or two about trauma, and Geiszler’s got some shit that won’t be going away for ages. So Jake is gonna keep a close eye on him, thank you very much.
But let’s get to the matter at hand.
Jake paced the halls outside Geiszler’s cell, keeping a good distance away from the door. He chewed on his bottom lip until it bled, trying to stave off the boredom creeping in. From a little ways down the hall, he could hear the soft voices of Geiszler and Gottlieb conversing. Nerd stuff, more than likely. Either that, or some species of romantically sappy mush that he really didn’t want to hear.
The voices picked up minutely, and Jake stiffened. He took a few steps towards the door.
Then, the shouting started.
It was muffled within the hallway, but Jake ran the last few feet to the door and fingered the gun at his belt. For a few precious seconds, he listened carefully.
And then stopped cold in his tracks.
The shouting was unmistakably Geiszler, and certainly angry, but it didn’t seem to be directed at Gottlieb. Or at least, not specifically.
There was also the subject matter.
“No— see what happened, Hermann, is when I was a student, I paid MIT tuition money,” Geiszler said, his voice possibly reaching pitches only dogs could hear. “Every semester, two semesters a year, for four years, because after I started teaching there, they pretty much paid me in classes.. I don’t remember exactly what it was, but rounding up, back in 1999 dollars, it was about $15,000 a semester, two semesters a year, for four years. So it was about $30,000 a year for four years. So it was about $120,000, okay? So roughly speaking, I gave my college about $120,000. Okay, so you might say that I already gave them $120,000 and now you have the audacity to ask me for more money?!”
“Newton,” Gottlieb cut in, “it’s the principle of the thing. They’re just asking for a donation.”
“Are you kidding me? What kind of a cokehead relative is my college? You spent it already? I gave you more money than the Civil War cost and you fucking spent it already? Where’s my money? I feel like Jimmy Stewart in It’s a Wonderful Life when he’s screaming at his uncle Billy: ‘Where’s the money? Where’s that money, you fat motherfucker? Where’s my money? Stay down on the ground, you motherfucker!’ That’s not the dialogue. But do you remember that scene from It’s a Wonderful Life? Great movie, Frank Capra, 1946. A hundred and twenty thousand dollars!”
“Newton, really,” Hermann said disdainfully, making a sort of shuffling noise inside. “Compared to what you made with Shao, it’s really not that much.”
“No, but like, I had friends I went to college with and they’re like, ‘You should donate and be a good alumnus.’ And they wear shirts that say
‘school’ and it’s like, look… if you’re an adult still giving money to your college, college is a $120,000 hooker and you are an idiot who fell in love with her. She’s not going to do anything else for you. It’s done. In their letter they were like, ‘Hey, it’s been a while since you’ve given us money.’ And I’m like, hey, it’s been a while since you’ve housed and taught me. I thought our transaction was over. I gave you $120,000 and you gave me a weird cinder block room with a Reservoir Dogs poster on it and the first real heartbreak of my life, and probably HPV, and then we called it a day.”
There was a brief silence, before Geiszler realized what he had just said, and amended, “Hermann, you know I don’t actually have—“
“Yes, I know that!” Gottlieb sputtered. From the other side, Jake stifled his laughter.
“And you know what I fucking did? I got six goddamn PhDs! Six! Who needs that many certificates saying you’re a smart person! I was a tiny, insecure thirteen year old! I didn’t need six goddamn PhDs saying my dick was bigger than everybody else’s! And I spent $120,000 on that?!”
“College is important, Newton. Besides, those doctorates were very useful in your work in the first war. You should be proud of them.”
“Don’t fucking support me on this, Hermann, that was the worst decision of my life! I paid all that money to balance a bunch of chemical equations, and solve math problems I had just learned how to do on Khan fucking Academy! How dare you say that was a good idea!”
Jake could almost hear Gottlieb roll his eyes from inside. “I don’t see the problem with it.”
“Oh of course you don’t, you like sitting in a tiny little room doing math all day. That’s what you do for fun! Me? I’ve forgotten every mathematical property that doesn’t pertain to dissecting Kaiju. Addition? Who cares. Division? Fuck it! I don’t know what a proof is, and you can’t make me! Every moment I spend doing math is a moment wasted!”
“Well that’s simply not true.”
“Oh I’m sorry, are you upset? Well I’m pretty upset, Hermann! I haven’t gone to college in twenty years, and somehow, even through the whole ‘whoops I tried to destroy the world’ thing, they still found the time and energy to send me a goddamn letter asking for more money! And they expect me to give it to them! How did they even know that I’m alive! Are they just sending letters to random people at this point?”
“I’m sure they’re taking into account recent events, Newton. Honestly.”
“Fuck! Them! I hate the Precursors with a burning passion, but nothing, and I mean nothing fucking compares to a college that taught me twenty goddamn years ago, and then turns around and asks me for more money!”
Jake moved away from the door, holding back peals of laughter. Apparently Geiszler was pretty passionate about this sort of thing. And actually really, really funny.
When he had first met the man, Jake had assumed he was a sleazebag capitalist businessman with no real morals or style. After Gottlieb had broken the Precursors’ control, Jake had wondered who the real Geiszler even was.
Now he knew. And he was looking forward to learning more.