The rest of the day passed in blissful relief. Peter drifted through classes with his head in the clouds, taking in nothing. The ride home was uneventful and home itself was pleasantly quiet. Peter’s mother was in the lounge working on a project via her implant, but when he looked in she took a moment to welcome him home.

“Hey honey, how was school?” she asked, swiping something invisible to the side.

Shrugging, which made his backpack slide off his shoulders, Peter replied, “Same old, same old. Ouch,” he added when the bag hit his ankle.

“Careful,” his mum warned, unhelpfully in Peter’s unvoiced opinion, “you’ll hurt yourself. Now, off you pop. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of studying to do, exams are next week.”

I guess that means ‘go away I’m busy’, Peter thought. “I sure do. I’ll, uh, be in my room.” He

started to leave then stuck his head back around the doorway. “Hey mum, d’you think I could try taking martial arts lessons? One of my teachers says it helps with self-discipline,” he lied.

Distracted, his mother barely suppressed the flash of annoyance at the interruption. “Ask your father,” she said without minimising her work this time.

“Kay, thanks!” Peter shouted over his shoulder as he ducked down the hall.

“Inside voice!” the shouted admonishment followed.

Mum should do kung fu, he thought, she already knows the secret of the Iron Knee.

Sitting as his desk, Peter tried to catch up on the schoolwork he had missed. He really tried. The problem was, it was so incredibly boring. He had no way to relate to the subject matter. Maths was just a bundle of disconnected problems. He was never going to be a personal trainer, so learning the muscle groups meant nothing to him. Despite Peter’s love of English, Shakespearean plays were all about people doing stupid stuff for irrational reasons. The Shop A and B texts he could at least somewhat understand, if only because he might be able to make use of them in TAOS&S.

Worst of all of them was Science. This term was biology and they’d had to dissect a cow’s heart, draw a diagram and label the parts. It was just ick. To make matters worse, one of the idiots in the back of the class had tried performing CPR on theirs and made it squirt blood on a girl. She had promptly screamed and passed out, cracking her head on the desk on the way down and adding her own blood to the mess. It made Peter’s stomach churn just remembering it.

At least the game censors that grossness. I do not need to see that.

To take his mind off it, Peter looked up martial arts instructional videos on the web. Particularly those using the bo staff. It’s not the same as the scythe, but it’s close. One site even offered a free augmented reality app that promised to teach the basics of staff combat. Well, ‘free’ for ten lessons, then they charge the earth. But ten lessons is ten more than I’ve had so far. He downloaded the app for later.

“That doesn’t look like homework,” Peter’s mother whispered, leaning over his shoulder. “In fact, it kinda looks like you’re surfing the web instead of studying.”

Peter totally did not scream like a little girl and close every window he had open. Completely. No idea where anyone could get that idea. “Muuum! Don’t do that!” As he calmed down he realised that she had no idea what he had open and had no way of knowing without checking the logs. “Besides, I was on the net but looking up something for school. I wasn’t just randomly wikisurfing or anything.”

His mother began kneading his shoulders in that ‘mother is about to impart life lessons’ way that seems to be passed on more through genetic memory than culture. “I don’t know if weeky surfing is any different to regular surfing, but I know your face when you’re trying to do your homework, and that wasn’t it. If you’re not going to put in the time on your own, I might have to rescind network privileges until after exams.”

Aghast at the idea that his only solace in this world could be taken away, Peter stammered, “sorry Mum, I’ll finish the rest of this before dinner.”

“No, you won’t” she countered, “because dinner is already on the table.”

“But what about Dad, I didn’t hear him come home?”

His mother grimaced. “A herd of elephants could have held a ticker-tape parade through here and you wouldn’t have noticed. But no, your Dad isn’t home yet. At least he texted to let me know he would be an hour late tonight. Now, come eat so you can get back to your homework.”

Dinner was a suppressed affair, and after eating it Peter honestly couldn’t have said what it had been. Something red, and something… green? Maybe? He was doing his best to sort through a particularly complex equation but the method refused to stick in his head. He rocked back on his chair and listened to the argument going on in the kitchen. I guess Dad’s home, he thought. I wonder if he’s in trouble because he’s late, or because he bought dinner instead of eating what Mum cooked. Or, maybe something new?

The fight reached its usual crescendo and stopped like a switch turned off. Peter footsteps down the hall and then a knock on his door. “Hey champ, can I come in?”

Peter turned to where his Dad was standing in the open doorway, breathing heavily and slightly flushed. “Sure Dad, come in. Are you okay?”

His Dad came in and took a seat on Peter’s bed. “I’m alright. Your mother is just a bit upset that I had dinner at work. One of the guys bought pizza for the office because he won some money from the lotto, you know what? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you mentioned getting karate lessons today? Yes?”

Peter swallowed hard. “Yeah, well, tae kwon do or something would be better actually. If that’s ok?”

Chuckling half-heartedly, his Dad just shrugged. “It’s all Mitsubishi to me champ. So, you’re really into it? I know I told you to stand up to the bully, what’s ‘is name, but this might be too far? You’ve already hurt yourself once.”

Consternation warred with obedience inside Peter. It rankled when people used the wrong word for things, but correcting his father would benefit no-one and he would lose any goodwill he’d gained towards his goal. “It’s not just about fighting, Dad. I would be getting out of the house, learning self discipline and,” Peter pinched his stomach fat, “getting fit like you always wanted. Besides, I might make some new friends.”

Peter’s Dad considered this for a bit. “Maybe give it a week? Wait until exams are done and we’ll talk.” His eyes flicked up and to the right, where a text notification would normally pop up.

“Fair enough. It’s not like I have anything else to do, though. Mum says that she’s going to turn off my net access until after exams cos I’m not studying enough. I won’t even be able to read my books or stream video. Just me and my tablet.” Peter knew he was laying it on thick, but his Dad looked distracted by something. He had managed to slip a few things by his Dad over the years by capitalising on work distractions.

“Uh, sure,’ his Dad replied, patting his pockets whilst trying to compose a text message and appear like he was paying full attention. “If the ogre pulls the plug, use this.”

A small granite-like slab with rounded edges was placed in Peter’s hand. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a remote access VPN module. Press your thumb to the top until the side flashes blue and it will remote all your implant data through my office’s server.” His Dad returned to reality, laying a paternal hand on his son’s arm. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you with this. No naughty sites. Only use it if you need to. Now, I have to get back to the office, the client has changed their minds for the third time today and I have to go run damage control. You understand, don’t you champ?”

“Yeah, Dad. I get it,” Peter heaved a sigh. He really didn’t want to be left alone with his Mum when she was on the warpath and denied a target. But money’s money and the sooner we pay off the bills, maybe it will go back to the way things were before my surgery. “Dad?”

“Yeah, champ?”

“Come home soon, please?”

“Soon as I’m done. I promise.”