~Robert House POV~
The elevator ride to the top floor of the CIT administration building was silent except for the soft mechanical hum and the occasional creak of old cables. Professor Gorllewin stood beside him, both men with their hands clasped behind their backs, neither speaking a word.
House had already known, much of it thanks to Victor's observations and earlier reports, that the Dean's official office listed on the university map was nothing more than a facade. A mid-level room with a single secretary at the front desk booking appointments for off campus meetings or handling calls the Dean had no time for. The room was rarely, if ever, used by Dean Cadwell himself, either designed to mislead tourists or serve as a false front for important donors and the such. The real office of Dean Oswald Cadwell was here, at the very top of the administration building.
When the elevator doors finally opened, they revealed a short, windowless corridor that ended at a single set of heavy reinforced doors. The security measures began immediately.
No cameras were visible. Nothing in this corridor that Victor could infiltrate, at least, nothing that House's maxed out perception could pick up on. Instead, the hallway was lined with a series of checkpoints that felt less like university security and more like the entrance to a high-security vault. High-end metal detectors hummed softly. Smooth, arch-shaped scanners, clearly designed to detect non-metallic threats, stood ready. Two campus security officers waited like silent sentinels.
One was Officer LeBron, the tall, dark-skinned man built like a linebacker who had traded football pads for a badge. Up close, his posture and focus made him look far more like the head of security for a secret black-site than a campus cop. The second officer was shorter and stockier, with a round, almost comical face that reminded House of a Humpty Dumpty figure who had decided to trade nursery rhymes for breaking bones. His belly strained slightly against the uniform, but there was nothing soft about the way he carried himself. The man's eyes were cold and flat, the kind that had seen and done things that made LeBron's professionalism look almost gentle by comparison.
Both wore light body armor beneath their uniforms. Their sidearms were not the standard 9mm pistols issued to most campus security. Instead, they carried heavily modified and extraordinarily illegal weapons that looked like cut-down rifles reshaped into the form of a pistol, both fully capable of chambering and firing off rifle rounds. The barrels were shortened, the stocks removed, and the grips redesigned for one-handed use, but the receivers and magazines left no doubt, these were not pistols, but lethality in the hands of men. House guessed these 5.56mm pistols were compact, high-powered death machines capable of punching through armor at close range with rifle-level lethality. As Robert pondered the tools of the guards, officer LeBron stepped forward first, voice flat and professional.
"Arms out. Remove all metal objects, electronics, and anything from your pockets. You will both be scanned." House complied without complaint, his watch was taken and placed in a small plastic tray. Professor Gorllewin surrendered a pen and a thin metal cigarette case that neither House nor Victor had ever seen him use. House did not bring any earpiece, small camera, nor hidden receiver on him, and he was thankful for going with that decision as it would not breath life into the Secretary of Energies claims, but protected House from being asked difficult questions by people who handle difficult problems. Victor and I had planned for this. Through House's maxed Perception he was able to caught every detail of the two men's actions. These two officers moved with military precision, their expressions making it clear they answered to only one man, and if House caused trouble, he would quickly learn exactly how seriously they took their job.
The metal detector beeped harmlessly as House passed through, not picking up any threats that might get the men to do their jobs. The second arch-shaped scanner hummed, bathing him in a faint blue light that House could only theorize about from his position, willing to pay good money to know what was being displayed on the screen the two security officers were using to command the arches. The Humpty Dumpty officer watched House with unblinking eyes, his hand resting near the grip of his weapon. The man's fingers never strayed far from the trigger guard, a quiet promise that any sudden movement would be met with overwhelming force. After passing all the scanners, and going through a thorough pat-down and then followed up by two additional scans, LeBron finally nodded.
"Clear." The stocky officer gave House one last cold stare before stepping aside. His round face and bulging midsection might have looked almost comical in any other setting, had it not been for the fact that he moved like a who relied on brute strength and intimidation as much as training. The weapon in his holster also served as a brutal reminder that officer Humpty was more than capable of delivering brutal response.
The heavy doors at the end of the corridor had no apparent doorknob or any physical means of opening them that did not involve brute force. Instead, there was only a sleek, recessed panel containing an advanced retinal scanner and a palm-print reader glowing with a faint blue light.
Professor Gorllewin stepped forward without hesitation. He placed his palm flat against the reader, then leaned in so the retinal scanner could lock onto his eye. A soft chime sounded, followed by a series of deep mechanical clicks and hydraulic hisses. The massive doors began to move, rolling sideways into the reinforced walls like something taken out of the architectural designs straight out of the future Vault-tech security defense play-book. The sound was heavy, deliberate, and unmistakably final. House stepped through the opening, feeling the full weight of the security theater pressing down on him. This wasn't just paranoia. This was Fort Knox with a PhD.
The room beyond the hydraulic door was not an office, nor a waiting room, nor anything House had expected as the walk way ahead was illuminated his path with bright yellow hue. Beyond the vault like door there were segmented rooms, each an active laboratory with see through walls, allowing those walking past to peer into. These labs made every other facility on the university campus look like a high-school chemistry closet. Even crazier than the unimaginable millions spent in creating these eight super labs, were the very familiar white and sterile wall designs that had a faint institutional green accents that would one day define the future Institute's decoration style.
Workstations hummed with equipment far more advanced than anything available in the public CIT labs, with much of it focused on early neural scanners, with the engineers and neural scientists attempting to push beyond existing limits of neural mapping. Passing the neural-labs, House noticed an extraordinary project, one that was his top priority to acquire at any costs. A miniature version of the molecular teleportation test rigs that would be used later on by the post-war Institute, a marvel of physics that a pair of academic students worked religiously upon. The duo attempted to teleport out a simple red apple seven yards away to a distant teleportation pad, the result was as amazing as it was catastrophic, for a pile of greenish glowing gelatinous goo that was nothing more than a mockery of the apples original form reached the slightly distant receiver pad. This early attempt at teleportation worked, but failed to properly rebuild the molecular structure of the apple, with the resulting transfer process being far more dire than the hopeful results the pair worked towards and would one day achieve.
Maintaining the same slow and carefully prepared pace that Professor Gorllewin theatrically led with, House was able to glimpse all of these projects. However, what was contained within the final lab, would be a project that the institute would become infamous for, yet as of now in the year of 2038 still in a state that no one would take seriously. Biomechanical synth prototypes still in their early design phase, there was even a variation of the Leonardo De Vinci Vitruvian Man, but one that showed layers of mechanical parts upon the right half of the design. Five young scientists in lab coats worked in heated debate, discussing the path they would need to take in creating the first ever synthetic man. There seemed to have been a single attempt made so far and displayed openly within the super lab. Yet, it was clear this first proto-type would never even pass off as a generation 0 synth, much less any of the nightmares that will fill the future Boston wasteland.
The two men moved silently through the lab and into a larger chamber dominated by a wall of monitors. Robert recognized this by the description that Victor detailed in his report. Here was the observation room that Professor Gorllewin and Dean Oswald had used to observe the robot fight club tournament, with each screen able to display Liberty XLR's victories from every angle. On top of the setup that even the most fanatical paperview , it enabled the two most dangerous people in CIT to watch all of the parties that came out to observe the tournament. It was thanks to this flaw, with the turtle revealing his head from the metaphorical shell, that Victor was allowed to perform his own observation of the watchers. One of the monitors flickered for the briefest instant, something that Professor Gorllewin missed but House had caught, most likely timed perfectly by his only true companion. A neon cowboy avatar tipped his hat, offering a moment of comfort for House, before the screen returned to an inert state. Victor had either found a crack in the security defense or installed a copy of himself behind, not the full access Robert House desired, but a good enough start. Professor Gorllewin stopped at an emerald-green door at the far end of the chamber. He gave House one last unreadable look, before speaking.
"This will only take a moment, please wait here in the meantime." With a single nod of House's agreement, the scholarship administrator and head biology professor Malvagio Gorllewin entered through the emerald colored doors, and into a domain that Robert House could only theorize about. The literal tension and curiosity had gone beyond annoying House and instead transformed into the only thing that now mattered to Robert almost as much as him acquiring his needed university degrees. Yet, again he had to wait, but House wouldn't waste his precious time or this perfect opportunity. Strategically tapping onto his side, as far as anyone observing it was just a young man impatiently waiting for what was to be a nervous hearing that might result in his expulsion from CIT. However, the truth to House's madness was something else entirely as the tapping carried more than anxiety with it. Two thirds of the message came from the tapping of his index finger, before House stopped and changed tactics, now blinking his eyes in a series of quick motions finishing the last of the morse code.
Draconian security checkpoints. stop. Heavily fortified Labs. stop. Advance R and D. stop. Will meet with Dean soon. End of Message. That was all House was able to pass off to either Victor, or the copy of him stored within the TV monitor. House had made sure his message was displayed within the clear view of the inert TV screen, now he looked for a sign of some sort that the message was recieved. The red power button of the monitor shifted into a green color as if House had just turned the monitor on, but nothing was displayed on the monitor set, remaining a blank and inert TV screen. If House was walking into a trap, to be killed off or used as a guinea pig in some sort of highly dangerous and illegal experiment, at least there would be some form of trail that Victor could use to rescue him, or in the worst case, avenge Robert House. A minute later the emerald door opened again, as Gorllewin emerged, and directed House to come inside.
Entering into the Dean's true office was less of a technical workspace or lab, but more of a private sanctum of time, a historian's workshop hidden at the top of the ivory tower. The entire space carried the faint scent of old paper, polished wood, and ozone from active equipment. Soft lighting from hidden fixtures gave the room a warm, almost golden glow like stepping into the private study of a wizard who had collected the greatest secrets of mankind across centuries. Tall bookshelves lined nearly every wall, rising two stories high and packed with leather-bound tomes, ancient scrolls in protective cases, and rows of meticulously labeled journals. A full human skeleton, crafted from some bone-like composite that gleamed like polished ivory, stood in a glass case near the entrance. Next to it hung a segmented, life-like model of the human brain, each lobe labeled in elegant script. On the opposite wall was a framed Turkish medical diagram depicting the first documented case of variolation, and beside that, a fragment of a Soviet satellite, its scorched metal still bearing faded red stars.
A large oak desk sat near the center, with a Nippon brand electronic terminal sitting upon the desk, but it was pushed to the side as if secondary to the real purpose of the room. On a long display table rested wonders take from time, such as the Rosetta Stone rubbings, followed by replica of a 1610 Dutch Spyglass inspired by the famous Galilean telescope, and there was a small case containing what looked like the original notes of Jenner's smallpox vaccine trials. On the end of the table was an ancient record player that softly turned, filling the sanctum with the delicate, haunting notes of Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune. The gentle piano melody drifted through the room like moonlight on still water, elegant and melancholic, as House took in the wonders of Dean Oswald Cadwell's true office.
Art pieces dotted the last portion of walls not yet claimed by the book shelves. There House saw a work of Galileo bound, bent and broken before the Inquisition and Pope Urban the 8th as his heresy trial was under way. Next came the haunting painting of Lysenko, the smiling agricultural overseer directing starving workers of the Soviet Union as they were forced to work horrible conditions in the Siberian cold. Finally came a stark black-and-white photograph of Oppenheimer at Trinity, eyes hollow with regret as he became the father of the worst tool of genocide ever conceived by mankind.
All the while Robert House observed the Dean's study, Dean Oswald Cadwell sat at a small, elegantly set breakfast table, more focused on House with an amused and intrigued look of contemplation. The old man was having his breakfast near a wide window overlooking the storm-lashed campus. The worst storm in Commonwealth's recorded history still going on since Secretary Walter's arrival, even flooding parts of Boston, yet it was nothing for either Robert or Dean Oswald to worry about. From what Robert observed of the Dean he looked to be of an old Englishman noble pedigree, thin but straight-backed, with silver hair combed neatly and eyes that look deeply, seeing much, yet desiring to learn more. He wore a simple but impeccably tailored suit, perfectly kept, never stained even though a spread of wonders was held before him on silver trays. Cucumber sandwiches, poached eggs, crisp stacks of bacon, toast with jam, sausage, and two pots of tea, the first being a black English breakfast variant and the latter being some form of spiced eastern green. The two pots of tea were accompanied with a small ceramic pitcher of milk, cream, sugar and a plate of Fancy Lads Shortbread Tea Biscuits.
"Robert Edwin House," the Dean said, voice calm and cultured, with the faintest trace of weariness. "Please, join me. Breakfast is the most civilized meal of the day, and I find it helps focus the mind for difficult conversations. Thank you for bringing the boy Malvagio, you may return to your lab work, I will not delay you and your team any further."
As House went to sit across from the Dean, all while Professor Gorllewin gave Oswald a slight respectful nod, leaving through the emerald doors that clicked shut behind him. Dean Cadwell poured tea for both himself and Robert without asking House for his preference, then gesturing to the spread. "Help yourself Mr. House. We have much to discuss, and I would rather do so as civilized men than as hungry adversaries."
With House's maxed out endurance he was sure that he could survive most types of poisons right away, but House decided to play it safe and not to take any unnecessary risks. As such Robert only took items the Dean had already eaten or drunk from. A nibble at a cucumber sandwiches here, half a portion of poached egg there, a single slice of toast with butter, and occasionally sipping from the spiced eastern tea. In neither of his two lives, had the individual sitting before the Dean tasted tea, much less green tea, a shame since House had just developed a fascination to it. The moment the hot beverage hit House's taste buds, he had come to enjoy the taste of saffron and other spices that enhanced the earthy flavor of the green tea. Outside of that, nothing else was touched by the 17 year old college student. Dean Oz noticed immediately. He set his teacup down and offered a small, tired smile. "I would never bring harm to a man during breakfast, Mr. House. Much less a student. And I certainly would not ruin a meal I paid good money for by poisoning it."
"Given the way CIT has been treating me these past weeks, suspicion is more than justified. Professor Gorllewin spent months giving me death glares, especially right before Secretary Walters arrival. He looked ready to strangle me that day, convinced I was in league with the visitors from Washington." House met the Dean's gaze, looking, half expecting the old man to lie, and say it was all within House's own mind, that the boy was half mad from his 10 simultaneous courses at CIT. What Robert got was a sigh from Dean Oz, the sound heavy with age and genuine regret. Oz reached across the table and deliberately took one of everything, a cucumber sandwich, egg, bacon, biscuit, sausage, and anything else within reach. The old man began the long process of eating all the items, slowly, gracefully, but making his sincerity plain. After consuming a rather tasty slice of apple, the Dean spoke his words in an even tone.
"I apologize for Professor Gorllewin's demeanor," he said quietly, voice steady yet a bit of that honorable British aristocracy bleeding into his words. "Malvagio did what he did out of loyalty, respect, and an honest belief in what CIT stands for. It made him overly passionate, zealous even, and that came out as hostility to someone he thought endangered all that CIT is trying to accomplish. These are dark days, Mr. House, I only hope that they do not become a dark age."
Robert Edwin House looked upon the Dean, suspicion and surprise battling it out inside the genius's mind. House's poker face still remained intact as the old man spoke further. "The United States is dealing with something far worse than an energy crisis. Even if the oil fields in Texas were not drying up to the point the Government is sanctioning greater and greater drilling efforts, the underlying cancer is still present at the heart of this great country. If anything the energy crisis has irritated that evil into revealing itself. You saw how the representatives from ADI and the Garviel administration behaved, both sides most likely colluding, seeking out the same prize with a single minded focus that is as stubborn as it is twisted. The threat of government and corporations overstepping is a real danger that is only snowballing, and I am sad to say it has reached a point of no return. If we are not careful it will soon collapse on top of our heads and smother us in a heap of bureaucracy and bullshit. And that is only the pleasant part, there is much more horror that such tyranny can do even to a center of learning that keeps this nation functioning."
House listened, not interrupting as Dean Cadwell continued on. "Secretary Walters was but the first uncomfortable icy response to be launched at us. That man is completely out of touch to anything that is not dedicated to the game of power and money that is playing out on a daily basis within Washington DC as we speak. Men like Walters would knock down on the doors of America's best and brightest, only to rain down ruin upon them as if they are pieces on a regicide board. It is not a proper behavior that any decent human being should act with, and I am happy to hear that you saw through his patriotic sales pitch. The way you responded with your ludicrous demand for billions of dollars, simply awe inspiring if not brilliant."
House wanted to correct the man, as the joke was far more serious for House than it must have sounded for Dean Oswald, but the man continued on speaking. "Humor aside, this institutional threat was the reason that Malvagio showed such disrespect to you. Gorllewin's suspicions were not entirely unfounded young Robert, only directed at the wrong end, and I am sincerely sorry he did that. The world is changing, and not for the better. My only hope is that my people do not worsen an already terrible situation to an earlier breaking point."
Does he know that the world is going to end in nuclear fire! Before House could press Oz on whether he had somehow foreseen the end of the world coming through some scientific or mathematical means, the Dean shifted the conversation.
"It saddens me to hear what happened to Liberty XLR, a freak accident as far as our reports have stated. Something you have already suffered twice now." House was confused for a moment, until Dean Oswald spoke his next words, in a somber tone. "I still remember the news report about the tragedy that your father and mother went through when their gyrocopter crashed. It is simply unfortunate to lose such great people so quickly, more so if they leave behind an orphan. You have my sympathy Robert, and my respect for how far you have come, Mr. House."
Something about how Dean Oswald spoke those words, it cut through House's psyche, through the Byzantine layers of madness that served to defend the boy's mind from 15 years of repressed emotions. For a moment, a single undeniable instant, the mask dropped, and Robert Edwin House would have cried, he would have wept a sad pathetic noise that was long overdue, but he held firm, the mask went back on. House did not shed any tears, especially not in front of a man he did not know if he was friend or foe. All Robert House could say at this moment was that Dean Oswald Cadwell came prepared with knowledge and struck at House's achilles heel. Immediately House went on the offensive, to test and observe Dean Cadwell like a predator sizing up a trapped prey, looking for any shred of deceit. Ready to answer with violence, to gut the man if he made up some sort of soppy lie in order to manipulate House. Robert spoke his question directly with a cold bite to it. "Did you know them?"
"I will not say that I am a dear long time friend of Alexander House, nor could I say that I was anything more than an acquaintance that passed him by in a convention in your home city of Las Vegas." Dean Oswald looked up to the ceiling, mentally counting back the years until he remembered. "It was 2016, I believe, at the Ultra-Lux Casino during the International Technology and Engineering Expo. Your father was one of the keynote speakers. He gave a rather impressive demonstration of an early variant of the H&H Tool Gun, a stable, beautifully maintained prototype. The entire room was mesmerized. He spoke about how proper engineering could turn even the most unstable and poorly designed hazard into a stable structure that would not only serve as a house, but a home that you could entrust your children to live in without harm. From that speech I knew that your Father enjoyed making instruments of creation rather than destruction."
Oz's gaze returned to House, his expression thoughtful. "I spoke with him briefly at the reception afterward. He was intense, confident, and pushed everything like it was a sales pitch. The man was perhaps even a little arrogant in that brilliant way brilliant men often are. I also met his first wife Jane House who accompanied him that evening, the mother of Anthony House. A sharp woman with a sharp nose, and sharper nails than even what the tool gun shot out. I exchanged pleasantries with her as well. I unfortunately never had the chance to meet your biological mother. Though I am told Elisabeth House was more of a flower, a breath of fresh air after the poisonous cloud of perfume that followed Jane House."
The Dean paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Your father and I disagreed on several philosophical points regarding the future of advanced technology. He believed the private sector, driven by competition and profit, would ultimately produce safer and more innovative results. We parted on civil but firm terms. Still… I respected his intellect greatly, what Alexander House demonstrated that day was genuinely ahead of its time. Though the way his successor has been running your father's company makes me think the wrong House is in charge. The H&H Tool Gun that Anthony has built is better suited to a war zone than building homes like you father envisioned."
House felt a strange, unwelcome flicker of something he did not truly feel, a form of begrudging gratitude. It was rare for House to even hear any stories of his father, even rarer was the small pointed jab at Anthony. The quiet confirmation that someone else saw his half-brother as what he truly was, not the image of excellence that Anthony always displayed himself as, but an aberration, an insult to all that came before him. For the briefest moment, House allowed himself to view Dean Oswald in a slightly better light, enough so his tone would take on a more respectful tone, yet gratitude did not mean trust. Keeping people at arms length sharpened by years of survival and calculation, kept Robert a safe distance away from danger and betrayal. House studied the old man across the table with cool detachment, still unsure whether Cadwell was a potential ally or merely a more sophisticated predator. "Sympathy for something that happened fifteen years ago, and condolences for the loss of Liberty XLR? Is that truly all you wished to discuss with me today, Dean Cadwell?"
"Unfortunately, tea while talking of old sad news is not the main reason I brought you to me, Mr. House. No, we must discuss more recent events, the good and the bad. Matters regarding the settlement our lawyers reached with ADI's legal team. It has had many interesting developments, mostly good results and gains for the university." The way that Dean Oswald put it, CIT now retained control over most of the intellectual properties they were developing with ADI software and forced significant concessions on licensing and future claims from the computer company. Then there was ADI backing down regarding pressing charges in regard to the numerous injured members of their team that were near the blast radius of Liberty XLR, something the morons at ADI rightfully deserved for trying to pry into the doors of an experimental research facility. Finally, came a large sum of settlement money paid to the Commonwealth Institute of Technology on behalf of ADI. The way that Dean Oz put it the payment was both a donation and a means of squeezing money out of ADI, as their earlier actions could be considered as corporate espionage. A civil court case of that level would be a long, drawn out, and expensive process that even ADI's lawyers were not certain they could win in Massachusetts court system. As such the money payout to resolve said matters had been very profitable for CIT, though Dean never stated the exact number said payout offered.
"Malvagio wants us to switch our entire campus wide network system over to a Japanese company for licensing regarding computer based support." Dean Oswald's tone carried the careful weight of a man who had just traded one problem for another. "Nippon Electronics Corp is one of the few world competitors to stand against ADI, their operating systems and licensing deals are far more flexible for creators and programming. Unfortunately for us here in the United States, ADI is an American company, and not buying American is a bit of a… social taboo. Bad for the university, especially when we now have a federal administration who might be vilified enough to look for a reason to deny government grants to CIT. I think it is best to give them no reason to deny us, Professor Gorllewin will not be pleased, but Axiom Dynamics Incorporated will remain within CIT."
It's always about the money. House himself knew the importance of revenue streams, his situation in Nevada had been complicated enough where losing even a single source of income could be dire for his survival. The Commonwealth Institute of Technology was large enough to be protected against one or more losses to their source of money, but such trimming of the hedges usually involved cut-backs, and as a scholarship-student in need of said revenue, Robert did not blame the Dean for his forced Made in American stance. It was not the most innovative, but he understood the reason for it. House knew that something had to give for CIT to gain so much concessions from ADI, yet Robert House could tell that whatever CIT gave up it would involve him. "I see, and how does this affect me, outside of learning a Japanese operating system or sticking with the same old ADI system?"
"Yes, there was a single caveat that CIT had to agree to, one that ADI was nearly dead set on enforcing… unfortunately that was you Robert. They wanted us to cut any and all scholarship funding that would help you out with your academic time here in CIT." Robert House had thought of his half-brother Anthony as the only one on the list of people he would one day repay for the disservice that was inflicted upon Robert House. Now ADI had earned a special place on that list right underneath Anthony House. Robert House thought he might need to add a third name to that list but after hearing Dean Oswald's next words, House would have to settle with only two targets. "We of course refused this petty demand, in good conscience we could not allow such an extreme action for an over achieving student such as yourself. It would be a waste not only to CIT, but the world itself, not to mention unjust and cruel. Secretary Tim Walters may believe that you had some hand in sabotaging Liberty XLR, but the camera recordings from the robotics workshop made it clear that was not the case. The automaton simply self-imploded, no pre-planned conspiracy of you sending someone to detonate an explosive device upon your own group project. The proof was clear cut, and as such there was no justification to level a harsh sentence upon you Mr. House. And luckily with a bit of negotiation on the part of Professor Gorllewin, ADI had come to a far more reasonable agreement that closed this matter cleanly."
A sharp spike of annoyance shot through Robert's expression, pondering whether he needed to reconsider adding a third name to his shit-list. Cutting through the bullshit, and the long posturing of the old man, House spoke directly. "So what exactly did you agree to on my behalf? What is the cost that grants your university all of the benefits ADI agreed to? Please, be direct with me, Dean Cadwell?"
It took a moment for the old educated British man to speak the words, but when he did Dean Oz delivered the words like a death sentence. "As of the agreement we stipulated with ADI, you, Robert Edwin House, are now permanently banned from the CIT's Robotic Combat Association. You are forbidden from producing, building, offering advice of any kind in regards to building any sort of robotics based creation for the rest of your time here at CIT. What happens after you leave the university is up to you, but as of now the Commonwealth Institute of Technology has agreed to not fund any of your mechanical creations on our facility."
I should apologize to Simon the next time I see him. His joke about ADI should stand for All Dickheads Included is far more accurate. As House pondered the unfunny joke his colleague had told him several months earlier, Robert looked upon the Englishman and spoke in a calm tone. "I see, so beg my pardon Dean Oswald, but I doubt a nice breakfast with you is all that your offering to make up for my removal from a rather profitable club. So, please tell me, what else am I getting in order to help you achieve your deal with ADI?"
Somehow the perceptive 68 year old Dean recognized something that sent a shiver down his spine. For the great and mighty Oz noticed a hungry look better suited to a shark that tasted blood in the water than the face of a first year student. Nearly reconsidering his plan to recruit the boy into his Continuum project, Dean Oswald had to mull over the pros and cons, before finally coming to a decision. "I offer no bribes, only an opportunity... but first Mr. House what do you know about science and its history with society?"