Joe had miscalculated, and not just a little bit, but severely miscalculated. He had assumed that the job would take no more than a few hours. He’d budgeted for longer just in case, but even his longest estimates hadn’t accounted for multiple injured, and a limb instillation. Joe wasn't technically a doctor… yet. For now, he was just somebody with a lot of knowledge, a medical education, and an uncanny ability to put theory to practice. Usually, he was a stopgap—more of an alibi for the gang. His job was to treat non-life-threatening injuries, or to get people patched up enough to not be completely suspicious when actual medical professionals saw them. Joe made sure that there was reasonable doubt if somebody was taken to a hospital, or plausible deniability for an off-the-books professional.

He was not called to do surgery. He was never called to deliver babies, and prior to that night, his longest job for ARMS had only taken 4 hours, and even that was because of a very messy blood-loss situation. So, could anyone really blame him for losing track of time?

Dawn would be on the horizon soon, and with it a new day. It would’ve been fine if only Joe could’ve made it to his bed, where he was supposed to be. Where his mother had left him, and where she insisted he be at this time. He thought about calling Emily for an alibi, then dismissed the idea. She would absolutely refuse to wake up. Emily was a notoriously deep sleeper, and would happily let him be bulldozed before she gave up her beauty rest.

Sleep was a commodity in Joe’s line of work, but Emily was used to long nights of sleep, and would absolutely hold a grudge about being woken up for ‘non-life-threatening’ matters. Joe would disagree with her assessment of his mother’s wrath as ‘non-life-threatening,’ but he could only do what he could.

His mother was supposed to be asleep, considering her alarm wouldn’t go off for a while yet, but if that delivery sent her a notification too... Well, Joe wasn’t one to trust assumptions, so he had looked at the in-house cameras. They didn’t show the sanitary chamber, or his mother’s sleeping pod, because Joe wasn't a pervert, but everywhere else was visible. As far as he could see, all was quiet. As he stored his bike in the semi-secure racks outside, he was reasonably confident in his plan to sneak in, get clean, get in bed, and start his homework like he hadn’t been out the entire night doing technically criminal activities with actual criminals. Even if that activity was saving lives.

Joe cursed over-restrictive medical regulations, and psycho’s who attacked pregnant ladies. Looking at the clock, sleep wouldn’t be on the schedule at all if he wanted to keep his routine.

Joe pushed through his exhaustion as he mentally prepared himself to start his school day, and begin the next level of Overclock. He had to assume that the delivery alert was the ARMS courier delivering his Veil Drive, but they hadn’t given him a more specific ETA than ‘morning,’ so he wouldn’t know until he checked. It wasn’t like his mother never got deliveries either. So, he’d get his work done in the meantime. If all went well, these would be the fastest lectures he’d ever attended. With no sign of his mother having woken up, Joe entered the apartment.

The cameras didn't just avoid his mother's pod, they also obscured the front of it. This was in case she had decided to change with it open while he was gone, or if she did the unthinkable and brought someone home while he was out. Joe had forgotten this little fact. A foolish oversight he’d never have made if he'd had all his wits about him, and maybe more than five hours of sleep in the last two days. But he was tired, his body fatigued, and his wits were wherever wits buggered off to when people most needed them. That was why, when he opened the door, it was his same brown eyes mirrored in his mother's lovely face that glared at him. In her hands, a cellophane-wrapped, holographic box with an iridescent sheen, and a silver New Horizon logo embossed in what looked to be actual metal on the top and front.

The courier had come, the delivery was for him, and his mother had been woken up. Apparently, she’d not gone back to sleep. Instead, she’d waited until he’d reached the door to exit her pod and ambush him. He thought about saying he’d just gone to Emily’s. The excuse was at the forefront of his mind, (as unreliable as she was, he could still drag her down with him), when his mother raised an eyebrow, and pointed at his clothes. The same clothes he'd had on the day before.

“So,” his mother said.

“So,” Joe replied.

His mother smiled. It was not a kind smile.

Joe stepped into the tiny apartment. His mother did not step back, and he was forced to uncomfortably edge his way around her. She berated him as he slipped past, then lectured him as he got into the sanitation area. The chamber had the option to be soundproofed, potentially granting him a brief reprieve, but tuning her out would only get him into even more trouble. So, as he was scoured from head to toe in the cramped, hyper-sterile chamber, he listened to his mother continue to lay into him.

There wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. She didn't like him helping out those ‘criminals’ and she wasn’t comfortable with him working with ‘that gang.’ She knew there was something different about this particular job, and she didn't know what could possibly be worth it to him to jeopardize his safety like that. Especially not for a shiny box, or one of his friend’s new video game obsessions.

"If Emily wanted you to play with her, she should’ve gotten the game for you, hardware and all. God knows that family can afford it.” It wouldn’t have helped to explain to his mother about the limited Veil Drives, the lottery system, or the features and benefits of the implant, especially as it related to his research. “You can't trust criminals, Joe," she insisted. "You're putting yourself in a potentially bad situation.” He’d heard it all before, more than once. “What if you got a scholarship and they found out? You could have your chance at higher education taken away from you."

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That one, that one was a new one. Joe paused as he pulled his hoodie over his head, now clean and back in his own little pod facing his mother.

"You think I could get a scholarship?" he said. It was the first time he'd spoken since he walked in the door.

"We never did get a chance to talk yesterday," she said, her tirade petering out. She sounded more defeated than angry.

"Thought you forgot," Joe said.

"I did, and I didn't," she sighed. Then she stood, shuffled the few feet to the food fabricator, raised her eyebrows, and motioned to where it had been almost entirely refilled. She gave Joe a side eye he couldn't really interpret, then gave a half smile before she fabricated a full breakfast service, the first one they'd had in a while. She made no comment about how the food got there or where it came from. They both knew it was Emily. This was her way of saying sorry for pushing him to take the ARMS job, and also the reason his mother had gotten a notification, as it had been delivered along with the drive.

Joe and Emily’s relationship was strange enough that he didn't even comment when she gave their little family food. Besides, it’s not like it really cost her anything. ‘Servants' fare,’ she'd once called it, just the leftovers they were going to throw out because there was a new trend, or food synthesizer upgrade, or things her parents were going to toss because the packages had been opened.

Just the idea of throwing out good food made him nearly apoplectic the first time he’d heard it. Instead of exploding in rage, he’d asked her what she thought most people ate every day. Then they’d had a discussion about food waste and the difference between good food, available food, and the food she had access to. Then, they’d gone on with their day. That had been years ago. Now, she made it a point to drop off whatever it is their family was carting off, for no other reason than they could. She couldn’t always get her hands on it, but particularly good offerings always arrived when she felt bad about something.

"I do think you'll get a scholarship," his mother finally said, bringing Joe out of his reminiscing. He focused back in as his mother spoke, trying to tune out the distracting smells of the truly delicious meal in front of him. He didn't say anything, but she could read it in his body language. "You really could, Joseph. You are painfully intelligent. Sometimes too much for your own good," she said, and it sounded like she wanted to cry. Her oculars prevented tears from easily falling, but they couldn’t prevent the wateriness.

"You're so smart Joe. So smart. We both know that being kind, diligent, or intelligent, rarely counts for anything. The world gives to who has and takes from who doesn't." His mother’s eyes bore into him. "But sometimes, Joe, someone is just so special that they force the world to make room for them. Force the world to acknowledge them, to move to their tempo, or create a new damned beat. Some things are so big they drag the unwilling into their own orbit, kicking and screaming. Like gravity, Joe.

"I did some research, looked up what you're doing and tried to understand. Correct me if I'm wrong, because I feel crazy saying it, but you’ve found a way to give yourself more time? What did you and little Em call it? ‘Overclock?’ You are rewiring your brain to give you more time. You've increased your cognitive speed to the point where you’re thinking so much faster that you can do… more. Do you know how insane that is, Joseph?

“But it's also so, so dangerous. You've seen the people at the center. You know what a damaged mind looks like. You know. I feel like you're not taking the consequences seriously. I understand you're young, and you feel invincible, and even when something happens, you bounce back fast. But brain damage is no joke, and getting arrested? Joe. Think about your future. You don’t need to take such risks. If you got a scholarship, a research grant. With the help of one of those university programs-” she broke off, looking at him.

Joe sat stunned. Part of him refused to believe a word she said. Scholarships were like the mythical golden ticket from that old fairytale his mother had read to him. People, especially the poor, didn't get them. Sure, they said it was charity, but the reality was that to even qualify for entry into one of the illustrious United Conglomerate Universities – the only type that provided the uplink and net access he required – you had to be in the top 5% of all students in the world. To get into the 5% you had to be able to take the specialized tests and courses. Those required uplink access, a suitable place to connect, a device that could support whatever subdermal UI you could afford, and sufficient time to spend plugged in completing classes, and doing the associated assignments. That didn’t even cover being able to excel in those classes. To compete at scholarship level you needed extra credits, personal projects in whatever field you were looking into, references, and of course, excellent grades across the board.

A part of Joe, the bigger and more rational part of him, recognized that his mother was not the type of person who put much stock in hard work and miracles. For all she loved him, she was a realist. So, for her to believe in him, to believe in his work…

The ambient sound of life waking up around them, and the food fabricator self-cleaning, pulled him from his thoughts, rapid-fire as they’d been. His mother took his biodegradable plate to the compost and began to get ready for the day.

"You can do so much. Could change the world, Joseph," she said. He and his mother never really spoke like this. Both of them gave notions like ‘hopes and dreams’ the same amount of weight they gave ‘thoughts and prayers.’ Vague concepts like that simply weren’t worth banking on, especially with their meager income. The Kobis were practical people, they believed in one foot in front of the other. They didn’t stop to savour the journey or the destination but worked on surviving long enough to get to wherever it was they needed to go.

The conversation had unbalanced Joe. Shame and elation warred within him as his mother got ready to go to work, the Veil Drive was left conspicuously in the middle of his bed, unmoved from where his mother had placed it during the lecture.

A scholarship would be life-altering. It would mean that not only would he continue to get free access to the web, but he would also have an expanded reference library, experts in the fields of brain science, and a small stipend that would leave him able to focus on his work while earning his accreditation for it. Free of charge. It would let him slow down and take fewer of the risks his mother was so uncomfortable with while still allowing him greater freedom to maximize every second, to get all he could from every moment. Sometimes he felt more scavenger than scholar, scrounging for every bit of knowledge, hoarding it like he'd never get any more, because he may not.

Joe looked at the box. The Veil Drive looked like it was glowing in the dimmed light of their now vacant apartment as he made his way out the door, his mother a ways ahead of him. It sat like an omen on his neatly tucked sheets, contrasting against the black of his duvet. That night, Beyond the Veil went live. Joe would be there.

The clock was ticking.