The Resistance

by Gemma Malley

  Sitting back on his chair, Richard turned to face the window rather than his desk. The sun was throwing vibrant colours into the sky as it made its descent – as he watched it, Richard felt the delicious glow of triumph wash over him. The new House Matron of Grange Hall was proving very amenable. She asked no questions, delivered the goods, and was pretty to boot. Richard couldn’t ask for a better business partner. Meanwhile, he was sure now that he could convince Peter to do what was required of him at the conference; afterwards, if he caused problems, Richard would deal with him. Him, the Surplus girl, and that vile little brother of hers.

  He closed his eyes, allowing the soft leather of the seat beneath him to soothe his aching muscles, to cocoon him for just a few minutes; a moment of peace before Hillary arrived, before he carried out potentially the most important sales pitch of this half of the century.

  But as he opened his eyes, an unfamiliar sight greeted him. Darkness. Low, emergency lighting along the floor.

  Immediately he jumped up. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he shouted, charging into the corridor like a bull into the ring. ‘Where are the lights? Why are these doors open? What’s going on?’

  A guard approached, his face white and shaken.

  ‘It’s a problem with the Energy Centre, sir,’ he said nervously.

  ‘Problem? I’ve got a visitor from the Authorities arriving any minute,’ Richard snapped, taking out his phone and dialling a number. He could feel his face getting red, could feel his heart pounding in his chest. ‘Samuels? What the hell is going on?’

  ‘It’s the energy system,’ Samuels said, the tension audible in his voice. ‘It’s being rebooted.’

  ‘Rebooted?’ Richard asked, his eyes flashing with anger. ‘Now is not the time to reboot the system. Stop it. Stop it now.’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t. Seems there’s a glitch in the system. A faulty connection. Rebooting it should solve the problem.’

  ‘A glitch?’ Richard barked angrily. ‘This is Pincent Pharma. We don’t have faulty connections. We don’t have faulty anything. What is this glitch?’

  ‘I’m afraid I . . . The precise details are currently . . . It’s not entirely clear why . . .’

  ‘You don’t know?’ Richard thundered.

  ‘No, Mr Pincent. But I’ve got men working on it. Please be reassured that the energy will be restored immediately.’

  ‘If it isn’t, you will be sorry,’ Richard threatened darkly. ‘You and every other person I come across. You will be more sorry than you ever thought possible . . .’

  He stopped, staring ahead, wide-eyed. Then he shut off his phone and put it in his pocket.

  ‘Hillary. You’re early. You’re . . . here.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said smoothly, dismissing the guard who had brought her up, with one flick of her hand. ‘And no one seemed to mind me waltzing through the lobby and up to your office. Would you like to tell me exactly what’s going on?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Peter hadn’t been able to get home to see Anna; the blackout had resulted in emergency security measures being imposed and no one was allowed to leave the building. Nor could he reach Anna on the phone; he tried and tried but no one answered. Instead, he and Dr Edwards were left in their lab, twiddling their thumbs, waiting for energy to be restored: all nonessential activity had been shut down, the identi-card system had stopped working, and emergency lighting was on, emitting a low light throughout the building that made each room and corridor feel strange and alien.

  ‘You want to see the drugs being made?’ Dr Edwards asked. ‘The real hub of production?’

  Peter looked up, still preoccupied with thoughts of Anna. ‘I thought it was out of bounds,’ he said vaguely, remembering his first tour of Pincent Pharma, the peek at the ‘finishing area’ he was allowed, but no more. ‘I thought it took months to secure a pass for the production area.’

  Dr Edwards shrugged, his eyes twinkling. ‘It does, usually. But the security system is down, isn’t it? Seems like quite a good time to me, bearing in mind your news. And nothing else in the building is working, so there isn’t much else to do.’

  ‘OK. Sure. Let me just try Anna one more time.’ He dialled the number but no one picked up; a few minutes later, Peter reluctantly followed Dr Edwards out of the lab.

  They made their way to the production side of the building, passing through door after door that swung open disconcertingly instead of remaining solidly shut as they usually did. Guards were patrolling the corridors, their expressions grim, but without the identi-card system they didn’t know who was meant to be where; whilst Dr Edwards and Peter were stopped several times, they were, each time, allowed to pass freely.

  Eventually, they reached the viewing gallery on the fourth floor, the area behind a large glass wall through which Peter could see the small white pills shooting out of funnels. Dr Edwards walked past the window, through a door to his right. ‘There,’ he said, pointing down the corridor to another glass window. They walked towards it, then Peter gasped. Hundreds of vats sat next to each other, machines hovering over them; into some, powder was being poured, in others, mechanical arms were stirring, large metal lids clamping down over them and lasers beaming down. In front of them large sheets of white lay like undisturbed snow, waiting to be fed into pressing machines, ready for the finishing room. The operation was so much bigger than Peter had expected, so industrial. Those machines, those slabs of white, they were the stuff of eternal life. He shook his head in amazement.

  Dr Edwards looked equally entranced. ‘Just think, Peter,’ he breathed. ‘Just think what is contained within those sheets. The perfection of mankind.’

  Peter stared at them, wondering how many little spherical pills each would produce. Their pure whiteness made them appear so innocent; their promise of eternal life so irresistible.

  ‘And that’s it?’ he murmured quietly, transfixed as he watched the pills being born out of large machines. ‘You just mix and press? I thought there would be more to it, somehow.’

  ‘There is,’ Dr Edwards breathed. ‘So much more.’ Then his eyes went misty as they stared into the middle distance. ‘Sweet Longevity, make me immortal with a kiss,’ he whispered.

  Peter frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, nothing.’ Dr Edwards reddened slightly. ‘I was just remembering something . . . another time, another place. You know, it was Albert Fern who got me excited about science in the first place. He was a great scholar. A great lover of human endeavour.’

  ‘Albert Fern?’

  ‘The creator of Longevity. Yes. Your great-grandfather, Peter. He wanted to cure disease, to end suffering. He made me realise what was possible if you never gave up. If you opened your mind to possibility . . .’

  ‘But he died, didn’t he? Bit ironic, don’t you think?’

  Dr Edwards hesitated, then he nodded. ‘But the rest of us live, Peter. And he lives on in every tablet, in every human kept alive by them.’

  They stood silently, watching the tablets for a few minutes. Then Dr Edwards took off his lab coat. ‘Peter, while I’m here I think I might pop upstairs to see the research team. We rarely have the time to discuss our research together these days; I think now might be rather a good opportunity. Can you find your own way back, or do you want me to walk back some of the way?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘No, I’ll be fine. You go.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be long,’ Dr Edwards said. ‘But I’m not sure I’d hang around here if I were you. It is a restricted area.’

  He walked down the corridor; Peter barely noticed him go. He was unable to take his eyes away from the Longevity pills, imagining what he could do with the years that stretched out in front of him. He could do anything, go anywhere. The choice was almost paralysing, the decisions endless.

  Jude’s heart was thudding in his chest and his face was covered in hot, grimy dust. He was back almost where he started – almost but not quite. Below him was the Security Centre, the hub of Pincent
Pharma, the source of all information, all the power. He could hear someone swearing beneath him; could hear walkie-talkies going off every few minutes and frantic conversations. Carefully, silently, Jude opened up the box in front of him, the mainframe to the security camera system. His hands were moist with sweat and as he explored the innards of the system the various wires slipped out of his fingers several times, but eventually he found what he was looking for. Silently, he took out his knife and cut two of them, before fusing them together and connecting them to his own mini-com. Its small screen, just six centimetres by ten, flickered into life. Jude held his breath, listening for a sound that might indicate that he’d made a mistake, that the system below him was also was flashing into life, but he was met by silence. Sighing with relief, he moved his fingers to the keypad to the left of the screen and began to search.

  ‘You’re sure that Longevity production hasn’t been compromised?’

  Peter jumped back abruptly at the sound of a high, anxious voice and pressed himself against the wall. Walking towards him, he could see the unmistakable form of his grandfather. A fearsome-looking woman with rigid hair was striding down the corridor next to him.

  ‘Production?’ His grandfather’s voice sounded incredulous, but Peter could hear the stress in it. ‘Of course it isn’t compromised. Non-essential functions are shut down in case of power failure, but never Longevity production. Longevity production and Unit X both have independent back-up energy systems, Hillary. Longevity production never ceases. Really, there’s nothing to worry about.’

  Peter’s eyes widened at the mention of Unit X. It was the place Pip had wanted to know more about, although that seemed almost a lifetime ago now.

  ‘Your security is still down, Richard, which is alarming enough. I thought Pincent Pharma had the most sophisticated systems in the world.’

  ‘It does,’ he said grimly. ‘And now we know to put it on a grid of its own too. Hillary, people will be fired over this, I can assure you, but it is no reason to be worried. No reason to . . .’ He stopped dead as he saw his grandson and stared at him suspiciously. ‘Peter! What on earth are you doing here?’

  Peter reddened. ‘We were . . . me and Dr Edwards, I mean . . . we were looking at the Operations Plant,’ he mumbled. ‘Dr Edwards had to go and talk to the research team. I was just on my way back.’

  His grandfather’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know that this is a restricted area?’

  Peter nodded. ‘Dr Edwards said . . .’

  ‘Dr Edwards, I’m sure, knew what he was doing,’ his grandfather said tightly, his eyes flickering over to the woman. ‘But perhaps you should return to your workstation, Peter. As quickly as possible.’

  ‘So this is Peter Pincent. How very interesting.’ The woman was staring at Peter curiously.

  Peter said nothing. He wanted to ask about Unit X, wanted to reassure himself that it was just another unit, that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation to quash the doubts now nagging at him.

  ‘Yes, yes it is,’ his grandfather said, his eyes still trained on Peter suspiciously. ‘Hillary, this is Peter. Peter, Hillary Wright is the Deputy Secretary General at the Authorities.’

  Peter surveyed the woman quickly. Her eyes were narrow, her posture upright.

  ‘So, I hear you are a convert to Longevity.’

  ‘I . . .’ Peter dug his nails into his palms. ‘I think Longevity is an incredible thing,’ he said carefully.

  ‘And you’ll be signing the Declaration at the press conference this afternoon?’ Hillary continued, her eyes fixed on him beadily.

  Peter balked slightly. ‘Press conference? I’m not very good with press –’ he said.

  ‘They are a necessary evil, I’m afraid,’ Hillary said sharply. ‘People will be curious, Peter. You’re rather famous, you know.’

  ‘I thought I was more infamous,’ Peter said.

  ‘Fame, infamy, they’re of the same family,’ Hillary said, smiling thinly. ‘I think it would be a good idea.’

  She shot a look at Peter’s grandfather, whose expression was unreadable. ‘I’m sure Peter will agree,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Signing the Declaration is something to celebrate, after all.’

  Peter looked back uncomfortably. He might be signing the Declaration, but that didn’t make him a puppet for the Authorities, for Pincent Pharma.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I don’t think I . . .’ Then he hesitated. Perhaps a press conference might not be such a bad idea. It would serve the Underground right, after all. It would show Pip once and for all that Peter was his own man. It would show that he couldn’t be manipulated any more, couldn’t be used.

  ‘Actually, why not?’ he said eventually.

  ‘Good,’ Hillary said. ‘I know that Richard will ensure that you’re briefed.’

  ‘Of course,’ his grandfather said cautiously. ‘6 p.m., Peter. Now, I think you’d better go back to your lab.’

  Peter made his way to the other end of the corridor where he turned left. They thought they were using him, but they weren’t; he was using them, he thought to himself, swaggering slightly. No one used Peter. Not any more. But then he stopped. Something was gnawing at his stomach. Something wasn’t right. Maybe he’d been a little hasty. He hadn’t even spoken to Anna yet. Her signed Declaration was burning a hole in his pocket and he needed to know more than anything why she’d changed her mind.

  Quickly, he turned and he started to retrace his steps. He would tell his grandfather that he needed more time. He would insist that when he chose to sign the Declaration was his own business. But as he turned the corner, he stopped abruptly. His grandfather had disappeared. He ran ahead to the end of the corridor, but when he looked left and right there was no sign of them.

  Annoyed, Peter continued to look around, trying to listen out for the sound of their footsteps, but eventually he had to accept defeat. They had, it seemed, disappeared into thin air.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Anna watched the guard silently, her eyes wide with dread and fear. She’d been dragged out of Maria’s apartment and thrown in the back of a van; thankfully she’d got Ben back and had been able to persuade the men to take her handcuffs off so that she could cradle him in her arms and shield him from the walls of the van as it careered down the road. Now she was in a darkened room; she didn’t know where it was. The van had pulled up outside a door; the door had led to a corridor; the corridor had led to this room.

  ‘If you don’t shut that thing up, I will,’ snapped the guard.

  She pulled Ben towards her and tried to soothe him; he’d been crying since they arrived.

  ‘He’s hungry,’ she said quietly. ‘He needs some milk.’

  ‘He needs some milk,’ the guard mocked. ‘Just shut him up, or he’ll get more than milk.’

  Anna felt her stomach clench with fear and she quickly put Ben’s thumb in his mouth, which he sucked violently. The lights in the room were dim, disorienting.

  ‘Where’s Maria?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Is she here too?’

  The guard grinned. ‘Maria?’ he asked. ‘Coming here? I doubt it. Maria’s a Catcher.’

  Anna went white. ‘No,’ she said desperately. ‘She can’t . . . She said . . .’

  ‘I’m afraid you can’t trust everthing that people say,’ a voice said as the door opened and another man walked into the room. He was thin-faced, wearing a suit; an air of menace surrounded him.

  ‘Anna Covey?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘My name is Mr Samuels. I’m Head of Security here at Pincent Pharma. And I’m afraid, Anna, that you’ve got yourself into a spot of bother. We have everything on film, you see.’

  Anna could barely breathe. ‘Everything?’

  ‘Everything.’ Mr Samuels smiled nastily. ‘You were heard plotting to free Surpluses, Anna. Do you know what sentence that crime carries?’

  Anna shook her head.

  ‘I just wanted to help the children,’ she said, tears pricking at her
eyes. ‘I thought she wanted to help, too. I thought . . .’

  ‘Enough!’ Mr Samuels barked. ‘You think we’re going to stand by and allow some upstart Surplus to plot against our society, to threaten science and civilisation? We have to protect the rest of society from people like you, Anna. You and that disgusting baby brother of yours don’t deserve to live on the Outside, do you?’

  ‘Not Ben,’ Anna said, her voice quivering. ‘This has nothing to do with him. He’s Legal. He’s innocent.’

  ‘Innocent? Who’s going to look after him if you’re in prison, Anna? Didn’t think of that, did you? Too busy thinking about those dirty Surpluses.’

  Anna felt the blood drain from her face, the dreadful realisation of what she’d done thudding in her head like an avalanche of pain. A buzzing sound emanated from Mr Samuel’s pocket and he pulled out a walkie-talkie.

  ‘I do not want to be disturbed. Do you understand?’ he said, his voice low and irritable. ‘I want two units guarding the main entrance and I want the blackout fixed and unless the four horsemen of the Apocalypse are seen approaching the building, I don’t want any further interruptions, do you understand? Good.’

  He put the device in his pocket and smiled thinly at Anna. ‘Now we’ll just wait for the doctor, shall we?’ he said. ‘Got to give you a medical. See how Useful you’re going to be.’

  ‘Useful?’ Anna’s voice was thin, barely audible. ‘What’s going to happen to me? Where am I going?’

  But Mr Samuels didn’t let her finish; instead, Ben was snatched from her by a guard and Anna was thrust on to the bed before Ben was handed back to her. He was screaming now, his hands drawn into tiny fists, tears cascading down his red, swollen cheeks and it was all Anna could do not to join him.

  The world came into focus slowly. White ceiling. White pillow. Red blanket. Greyish sheets. Surplus Sheila lay silently, looking around her cautiously as she gradually remembered where she was. Not in Grange Hall – that much she knew. But not a house, either. It was an interim place, she’d decided, for her medical. Sheila knew better than to ask questions, though; she’d learnt in her years at Grange Hall all about keeping her eyes cast downwards, asking no questions, obeying orders, even if she’d fought against it. This was probably just another test, she told herself, just to check that she was fit and ready to be a housekeeper. If she passed, she would soon be out in the real world, in a real house. And once she was in a house, she’d go about finding her parents.