Time was a powerful vessel.

I'd learned that the hard way. It never waited, never slowed, never cared. And my mother's time was running out.

I stared at the mouse in it's transparent cage. It was barely moving, barely squeaking. It lay in a corner as if embodying my mother in her hospice.

I brought my gloved finger inside the cage to stroke it between the ears, "You didn't ask for this either, did you?" I asked the motionless mouse, "But you're not begging, you don't understand money or power." I took in a sharp breath, "I'll fix you and Ma," I promised the rodent, "you'll see."

I withdrew my finger from the cage and returned to my chair with the half-dead, caged mouse. It attempted a weak chitter which was reciprocated by a wall of caged mice, just adjacent to where I sat.

My lab was small, but it had everything I needed: a generous supply of mice dying of neurodegenerative diseases, a computer tuned to my very needs, a small refrigerative unit and a long slab with my equipment. Nothing fancy, a few syringes, test tubes, beakers and a bunsen burner.

Most of the lab was white: the walls, ceiling and the furniture. But every now and again, something yellow and black would pop up, a painting on the wall, my mouse pad, I even had a small bumble bee sticker on my monitor. My mother loved bumble bees,

Loves, I corrected myself, and she would keep loving them for another forty years if I could help it. And I could. I would.

I brought the computer to life with a few strokes of the keyboard. Everything was still running as I had left it, so I tapped on the video recorder, "Doctor Theodore Gilbert commencing experiment 356," I began, "test subject from cage number ..." I craned my neck to get a better look, "106, subject is experiencing end-of-life symptoms." I adjusted the camera a little so the cage would be more visible, "The time is 01:32 a.m. and it is the third of October."

I didn't even have to hold the mouse down, it barely moved as I brought a syringe into its cage through the air holes. It shuddered when the syringe went in, its tiny body shrinking as best as it could. "I'm sorry, buddy," I said, stroking the mouse once again. It wasn't fair for the poor thing to go through all this pain.

I put a small piece of bread on the other end of the cage and watched the mouse. A minute passed, and then two. But nothing. The rodent didn't get up, it didn't even wriggle its nose. I declared the experiment a failure with a defeated sigh and went to grab another cage.

Failure didn't mean you gave up. Not during scientific research. The first experiment might have been a failure but if the subsequent ninety-nine were a success, it was an experiment with a ninety-nine per cent success rate.

I placed the next cage beside the first, almost ignoring the chittering mouse until I saw it.

I gasped, completely discarding the new cage and knelt to get a better look. The first glass box still had a sleeping mouse, but the bread was gone. There weren't even crumbs left.

"106, wake up!" I tapped on the cage gently, but the mouse continued snoring, its tiny white belly rising and falling. I gave a frustrated sigh and went to the computer instead. The video camera was on, it should have recorded everything.

I popped Mouse 106 as close to me as I could, while 107 was pushed further away. Even if this was a success, there was still so much I had to verify. But even as I told myself that, it took everything to not run outside and hug the first person I saw. It was too soon to celebrate, I reminded myself.

Far too soon.

So I watched the video. I watched as the mouse's nose twitched at first, and then it took one wobbly step after another until it scuttled across the cage to ravish the piece of bread. I watched its mouth. Good chewing, no choking. And the mouse moved back to the other side of the box and went to sleep. Almost immediately.

That was ... weird. Perhaps a side effect? I would have to constantly monitor them now. I let my head rest on the table for a few minutes, letting the coolness of the table dissipate the sudden bout of heat emanating from my forehead. I might have just been tired ... in need of sleep. It had been over thirty hours since I last slept anyway.

"Theo! Sleeping on the job?"

My jaw clenched at the sound. I knew exactly who that wheezy voice belonged to. A man who knew full well that that I preferred to be called Dr Gilbert at work. Theo was something only my friends and family were allowed to use, something he was not.

I raised my pounding head, plastering a fake smile at the man. Alhough I'm sure my sleep-deprived eyes had an entirely different story to tell. "Dr Verne," I greeted, "how can I help?"

There was a time I had begged the university for help once. When I was just as vulnerable, outstretching my own arms like the very people I despised. The University—and more specifically this man had said that my attempt to find a cure was a waste of time. They had called it fantasy. But I knew the truth. Verne and the board of directors only cared about the 'future' of the University. Saving my mother's life was obviously not profitable enough to be deemed as such.

"I would ask what you're doing here—this early, but it looks like I already have my answer." Dr Verne laughed at his pathetic attempt of a joke, faking a twinkle in his eye to really sell his humour. I know I was expected to respond with a laugh, it was the polite thing to do. But I didn't.

I couldn't.

I hated everything that this man stood for. He was the embodiment of greed. The only reason Verne and his board of directors kept me around was because I was a shiny trophy to them. A scientist with two PhDs before he hit thirty? They would frame me in their offices if they could.

All I really had to do in turn was teach a class or three a few times a week. I wasn't allowed to pursue my research during university time either, which was fine. I preferred to work at night when no one else was around anyway.

So instead I stared at him in absolute silence while he laughed on for perhaps a minute. Then he cleared his throat, "Um ... what are you doing with the mice? Curing ALS?"

"No," I responded curtly, never breaking eye contact as I sat up straighter. My back ached and my head was throbbing worse than a hangover, but this man's lack of knowledge aggravated me more than any of that. I never understood how someone with as little knowledge as him not only had a doctorate but was also the Dean.

A classic example of how this society was rotten to its core.

Dr Verne chuckled again, a tinge of pink appearing on his otherwise round face. The man had perfectly organized himself unlike me. He wore a crisp, navy suit under his lab coat, and his dark hair had been gelled into a perfect side part. His face too was clean-shaved, to the point where you'd think he hadn't hit puberty yet.

And then there was me, haggard, sleep-deprived, with my mousy curls washed and dried by the elements themselves a few hours ago. Plus, I couldn't remember how long it had been since I had shaved my face. I was sure I had more than just a stubble now.

I gave another sigh and massaged my aching neck, "What do you want Dr Verne?" I repeated, straining to keep my voice calm.

Dr Verne cleared his throat with another uncomfortable smile, "Um," he began in a perfect display of his authority, "the board has decided to meet with our sponsor-"

"My sponsor," I corrected, my work wasn't funded by the university. They knew that, they made me work outside office hours for that reason.

"Yes um ..." Dr Verne cleared his throat again, and tugged at his collar, "The sponsor," he insisted, and while I narrowed my eyes, I said nothing this time, "so the board will convene with the sponsor at one in the afternoon today and we would like you there to apprise us on the progress of your work."

"Generous of you to come to me in the middle of the night to tell me that," I said not bothering to mask the sarcasm in my voice. They either wanted to claim my work as their own or shut it down. And the irony of the timing was not lost on me. They wanted a meeting now? When I had finally gotten an actual result? There was no way I was going to let them take this from me. Not until I cured my Ma.

Dr Verne's head tilted to one side as he frowned, "What time do you think it is, Theo?"

I turned to my desktop, "It was 01:32 a minute-" I froze as the time on the computer came up.

Quarter to six.

"No!" The word caught at my throat, "No no no!" I'd fallen asleep? I had shut my eyes for a moment! It didn't even feel like an entire minute!

"Um do you need some time off Theo?"

"No," I snarled, a little more forcefully then I had intended. Regardless, the compassion on this moron's face would not fool me. My work was more important than any of these idiots could fathom.

I stood up, taking silent pleasure as the round Dr Verne took a subconscious step back. I was a little taller than most people in the university—not quite sure how tall though, I'd stopped measuring myself after I had crossed six feet. But I wasn't big by any account. Between my lack of sleep, the experiments and the hospice visits, I had little time to eat. It wasn't some ridiculous teenage desire to have a so-called perfect body, I was skinny—practically bony because I had more important things to worry about than food.

In fact, if we got into a fight right now, I would probably break my knuckles after landing a single punch. I was not an intimidating person. Just cynical of the selfish world and unafraid to stand up for myself.

"No," I repeated a little more gently, I didn't want this idiot to tell the board I wasn't in my right mind either. "No thank you. I'm going to shower before my class Dr Verne. Thank you for informing me."

"Oh," the round man took another uncertain step back. Perhaps he was put off by my behaviour, I wasn't known for my table manners after all. "Well alright then." Dr Verne pulled at his jacket and gave me a reassuring smile. One I did not return.

I turned to the computer instead. I had very little time to prepare for this unexpected meeting. But I would be prepared. No one was going to stop me from curing my Ma.

No one.