Emergency funding measures

As Dr Keto left the room started shoveling folders off his
desk. "You're Frank Harris, right? Faces may escape me, but I never
forget a two foot thick psych-profile. Don't bother asking, I'll
reverse the bill since no one around here seems to care about
scientific advancement. If you need a meeting for counselling and/or
psychiatric assisstance, see the Appendix and I'll put you down for
the next block of appointments."
Now that both Dr Keto and Frank Haris had squashed his ability to
purchase new equipment until a psychiatric budget was set up, there
was only one thing left to do. He would, like he had done in his
civilian practice, make his own equipment, call it research so he
could get government research grants and use the grant money to buy
the materials for the aforementioned equipment.
He shoveled files off of his desk until he found his subspace
communications telephone, grabbed it and punched in his lawyer's
number, not caring whether Harris was still in the office or not.
"Hey, Bill, it's Cerebrum. I need you to get me a research grant from
the government aga-. Yes, I'm well aware of what we both went through
after they found out about my experiments last time, but I'm in deep
space right now and the chances are virtually zero that they'll find
out. No, they haven't bugged my room, now you're just being paranoid.
Yes, I know I haven't paid you in five years. Look, I'll let you keep
ten percent of the grants, call it a down payment and pay the rest
off once JMC starts paying my salary again. Just get me a research
grant under an alias since there's no way in hell they'll give me the
grant if they know who I actually am; that's all I ask. I'll call you
later."
He then hung up the phone, or rather, pushed the deactivation button
since you couldn't just hang up subspace communication phones.