The Resistance by Gemma Malley
‘Don’t you ever mention Anna again,’ he said, his voice low, leaning down so that his face was close to the woman’s. ‘That’s her name. Anna. And if you ever, ever bring her up in conversation again, I will not be responsible for my actions.’
The woman looked at him and feigned thin laughter. ‘I think you’re making my point for me, Peter,’ she said, shaking her head, and raising her eyebrows at the man next to her. ‘Youth is ignorance. It’s all take, take, take. Aggression instead of discussion. Perhaps you’ll learn in time, but I imagine in your case it really will take a long time. Once a Surplus . . .’
She shook her head, a look of pity in her eye. Peter’s heart, meanwhile, was pounding in his chest and every instinct made him want to throw himself at the woman, to make her understand what it felt like to be labelled Surplus, to be subjugated, beaten down, humiliated, until all you knew was the desire to serve, to pay your debt to society, to beg forgiveness over and over again simply for existing – to feel like Anna had for most of her life.
Instead, he forced himself to stand up straight, to look away.
‘There, you see. He doesn’t have anything to say now,’ the woman said triumphantly, picking up her fork and delicately swirling some spaghetti round it.
Dr Edwards moved to guide Peter away. ‘I imagine Peter has plenty to say,’ he interjected, smiling drily, ‘but now is probably not the time, wouldn’t you agree?’ Carefully, he steered Peter away from the table and towards another on the other side of the hall.
They sat down and started eating in silence. When their meal was almost finished, finally trusting himself to speak, Peter looked up at Dr Edwards.
‘What did she mean about your views on Surpluses?’ he asked. ‘You don’t think Surpluses have a debt to pay society?’
Dr Edwards put down his knife and fork and looked around hesitantly, then leant in closer towards Peter. ‘No, Peter, I don’t believe that Surpluses have a debt to pay. I think, on the contrary, that we probably owe a debt to them.’ His voice was low and soft, inaudible to anyone but Peter.
Peter eyed him cautiously. ‘You do? So why don’t they?’
Dr Edwards took a mouthful of food and chewed it silently, then put down his fork. ‘Peter,’ he said, his voice a little louder than before, ‘try to understand that the way people respond to you isn’t personal. People have always been fearful of youth. Children and young people are threatening – they challenge things, they reject the status quo. Even before Longevity was invented, teenagers were being demonised by society. They were being issued with civil behaviour orders limiting their movements, they were being blamed for crime, for society’s ills. As people started to have fewer children, so the fear of young people grew. The further away from something we are, the more we tend to mistrust it, Peter. We dislike the unknown, we reject anything alien to us: people with views that contradict ours, societies that are run along very different lines. And children are very different. Young people always contradict their elders – it’s in their nature.’
‘You’re saying they’re scared of me?’ Peter’s tone was sarcastic, dismissive.
‘I’m saying that you unsettle them. I’m saying that if you want to make friends, you will have to be patient with them. Prove to them that they have no reason to fear you.’
‘You don’t fear me.’
‘No, Peter, I don’t,’ Dr Edwards said, a little twinkle in his eye. ‘I rather enjoy being contradicted. It forces me to think harder.’
Peter digested this for a few seconds, then shrugged. ‘I don’t need friends. I’ve never had friends.’
‘I doubt that, Peter. And remember you’re fighting over a hundred years of doctrine, of public relations, of the almost total absence of youth,’ Dr Edwards said, looking up at him seriously. ‘You can’t expect people to understand staight away.’
‘I don’t expect people to understand at all,’ Peter said angrily. ‘I just want them to leave us alone. I want everyone to just leave us alone.’
Chapter Six
Jude felt a trickle of sweat roll down towards his eye and he shook it off. He had often imagined what it would feel like to be captured, to be imprisoned and tortured for information – he’d imagined the adrenaline rush, the feeling of emergency that he knew it would entail. He’d quizzed his father on torture techniques employed by the Authorities; hadn’t really believed him when his father had said that torture wasn’t part of the protocol.
Now, though, as he sat on his chair with his hands tied behind his back, he didn’t feel an adrenaline rush. He felt fear, desperation. But he was determined not to show it. He was a fighter. He wouldn’t let them get to him that easily.
‘Interesting system you’ve got here.’ The man talking was tall, medium build. Behind him was another man. He was unshaven, his hair tousled, his clothes nondescript, but Jude immediately recognised him. It was his eyes that gave him away; the bright blue colour, the intensity of them that was both terrifying and reassuring at once. He’d seen them on pictures, had heard people talk about them, about the man they belonged to. Pip, the most wanted man in Britain. Pip, the man who in some tales had secret powers, who conspiracy theorists claimed was working for the Authorities to help flush out any dissidents. The man who had evaded capture for years.
‘You came?’ he asked, his voice constricting as he spoke, forcing him to clear his throat several times.
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that,’ Pip said. ‘Weren’t you expecting us?’
Jude gulped. ‘Not you,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen your face. I mean, you’re just here, in my room . . .’
The other man chuckled. ‘He’s right. He’s seen our faces. I guess that means we’ll have to kill him.’
Jude’s face went white, then he shook himself. ‘Look, I’m on your side. I’m not the enemy.’
‘And what side’s that, Jude?’ It was Pip talking. His voice was low, soft, almost hypnotic.
Jude cleared his throat again nervously. He’d never wanted to fit in anywhere before but now, in front of Pip, he wanted acceptance, and it scared him. ‘You’re the Underground,’ he said. ‘You’re the resistance.’
‘Freedom fighters, eh? And what are we fighting for, exactly?’ Pip was smiling slightly, and it unsettled Jude.
‘You’re against Longevity, aren’t you? Against old people.’ His voice was shaking a little.
‘Against old people.’ The smile deepened. ‘That’s interesting. And why do you want to join us?’
Jude looked at him uncertainly. ‘I thought you’d be grateful for my help.’
‘How old are you?’ Pip leant in close; Jude could feel his breath on his ear.
‘Old enough.’ It was all he could do not to whimper pathetically.
Pip moved away suddenly, and the other man spoke. ‘And who taught you how to hack into systems?’
Jude felt himself relax slightly. They were on more comfortable ground now. He could talk about hacking for hours. ‘I taught myself. I got a computer when I was really young and I used to –’
‘Nice house, this,’ the man interrupted, throwing Jude off his stride. ‘Big for just one person.’
‘It was my mum’s. She –’
‘And you’re Legal,’ the man interrupted again.
‘You don’t think the neighbours might have reported me if I wasn’t?’
The man, who had noticed the sarcasm in his voice, regarded him coolly, then moved around to face Jude so their noses were almost touching. ‘You may think that you’re very clever, but we do not appreciate people hacking into our systems, leaving trails for others to find. Do you understand?’
‘I didn’t leave a trail,’ Jude protested. ‘I never do.’
‘And yet we found you,’ Pip said gently. ‘We always leave a trail, Jude, whether we wish to or not.’
Jude reddened. He must have messed up his diversion code. A stupid mistake.
‘You didn’t go to South America. Why?’
‘When your mother went. You could have gone too.’
‘How did you know . . .’ Jude started to say then stopped. ‘So you know who I am. Why bother asking any questions then?’
Pip smiled. ‘It’s nice to hear it first-hand, I suppose.’
Jude sighed. ‘Like I was going to move halfway across the world,’ he said dismissively. ‘Anyway, I wasn’t that wild on her new husband.’ As he spoke, an image of his mother crept into his head and he forced it out again. He didn’t care about her. Didn’t care that she’d followed that creep to South America after his father died. He could take care of himself anyway.
‘So this is your life now? Hacking into systems, blackmailing companies?’ It was the other man talking again. Jude bristled.
‘It’s not blackmail. I offer a service. I only hack in to show them their systems are open to threats.’
‘Threats like you?’
Jude didn’t say anything. This wasn’t turning out at all as he’d planned it.
‘Show me the tapes,’ the man said briskly. ‘Now.’
Jude opened up his DVD rewriter and handed the man a disk.
‘This the only copy?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘If we find out there are more, you’ll regret it.’
Jude’s usual insouciance seemed to have deserted him. ‘So can I join?’ he asked, his voice hoarse, nervous. ‘Did I pass the test?’ He looked at Pip hopefully; Pip laughed.
‘Test?’ he said, walking towards the door. ‘The only tests worth passing are the ones we set ourselves,’ he said, turning briefly. ‘You will choose your path, or perhaps it will choose you. Either way, I expect that we will meet again. Until then, be careful Jude. You know about Icarus?’
Jude nodded quickly, as though showing his knowledge might impress Pip, might change his mind. ‘Sure. Flew too close to the sun.’
Pip nodded and, to Jude’s immense disappointment, turned and made his way out of the room. ‘And singed his wings, Jude,’ he said as he walked. ‘And singed his wings.’
Dr Edwards didn’t mention the lunchtime incident again. Once back at the lab, Peter went back to learning about enzymes and their role in the body; Dr Edwards went back to his research. They worked silently, the only words exchanged ones of necessity.
But later that afternoon, Dr Edwards called him over.
‘Peter, come and look at this.’ Dr Edwards lifted his head from the large microscope in front of him and moved out of the way, motioning for Peter to take his place and peer through the lens. Slowly, Peter wandered over and did as Dr Edwards bid.
‘What do you see?’
Peter shrugged. ‘I dunno,’ he said casually. He was still feeling resentful, had found nowhere to direct his anger except at whatever was in front of him.
‘Look carefully,’ Dr Edwards instructed him. ‘You might need to focus it a little to really see clearly.’
Peter reluctantly moved closer to the microscope and rested his head on it, allowing his eyes to adjust to the magnification.
‘Do you see the cell?’ Dr Edwards asked. ‘You should be able to pick out its nucleus.’
Peter studied the almost transparent blob, magnified several thousand times. Then he squinted and realised that the blob was in fact two blobs. One small blob on the left with a clear, dark centre, and a larger mass on the right. He nodded.
‘Describe it to me.’
‘Transparent. Uh . . .’ Peter stared at the blob on the left, trying to work out what he should be seeing.
‘Shape? Edges?’
‘Round. No, slightly oblong. Edges are . . . a bit ragged.’
‘Good. Now, back to the colour. Any tinges of colour?’
Peter frowned. ‘Yellowish,’ he said. ‘A tinge of yellow, anyway. Dark yellow.’
‘Does it look healthy?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t learnt . . .’
‘Forget learning. Does it look healthy to you? Gut reaction.’
‘No. No, it doesn’t. It looks . . . tired.’
‘Good,’ Dr Edwards encouraged him. ‘Tired just about sums it up. Now, watch what happens when I do this.’
Peter watched as a long, thin glass instrument appeared in his view. The instrument deposited a drop of liquid on the small, sickly-looking blob, then disappeared out of view. Immediately, Peter saw the blob change. From a pasty-looking off-yellow colour, the blob became a brighter white colour, almost shining in its translucence. Its edges began to smooth, and in the centre, a core became visible, like an egg yolk but white, even whiter than the rest. The entire process took just a few seconds.
‘That,’ breathed Dr Edwards, ‘is Renewal.’
‘Renewal,’ Peter said flatly.
‘Yes, Peter. Cells Renewed, reborn. The power of Longevity, you see, is not to make the old last longer, but to make it young again. That is the miracle, Peter, that all of this is about, unfolding right before your eyes. Cells being reborn, returning to their initial state, in just a few seconds. Pretty impressive, huh?’
‘I thought you were on the side of Surpluses. I thought you liked young people?’ Peter muttered.
Dr Edwards looked at him for a moment, then lowered his voice. ‘Peter, there is a difference between a thing and its implementation. Longevity drugs, the Renewal process, are the most exciting scientific development the world has ever seen. It’s beautiful, perfect in its simplicity. Surpluses are one of the Authorities’ policies. The two are not entwined.’
‘Except they are, aren’t they?’ Peter said. He met Dr Edwards’ eyes, saw them flinch slightly, then he turned back to the microscope. ‘So it works with all cells? Why do people still have wrinkles?’
‘It works best with organs,’ Dr Edwards said after a pause. ‘We can Renew other cells, but only on Petri dishes, not whilst they are . . . in situ. Skin is one of the more difficult areas for us. But organs are the most important. They are what keep us alive.’
Peter stared for a few more seconds, then looked up.
‘And my cells. They’re like the white one, are they?’
Dr Edwards nodded. ‘That’s right. Young, dynamic and healthy.’
‘So nature creates new cells too. Only it does it by creating new people, not by renewing old ones.’
Dr Edwards’ mouth attempted a smile. ‘I suppose so, but what you’re seeing here is nature’s strength being harvested.’
‘You think that’s a good thing?’ Peter asked, turning back to the microscope, his eyes flickering up to watch Dr Edwards’ expression. ‘You never wanted children.’ It was a statement, not a question, but Dr Edwards moved back slightly, his eyes moving involuntarily towards the cameras on the ceiling.
‘Me? Have children? No, no I didn’t. I couldn’t. Science has always been my child. It required all my energy. All my time.’
‘Science?’ Peter sounded more incredulous than he’d intended, more dismissive.
Dr Edwards shrugged. ‘Many years ago people used to talk about the miracle of childbirth, the miracle of new life. But I see that miracle every day – the miracle of Renewal, of rebirth. And it’s a safer choice, I think, than creating life. Children are more demanding than science. They enslave you; they take away your freedom.’
Peter looked away. Children were demanding. Ben absorbed far more of Anna’s time than Peter had anticipated, made her exhausted all the time, took all her attention. But that wasn’t a reason not to have them. Children were the future. They had to be.
‘What I’m trying to explain to you, Peter,’ Dr Edwards continued gently, ‘is that nature and Longevity are not mutually exclusive. Humans are able to adapt very well to new situations.’
Peter thought for a moment. He’d never thought of Longevity as beautiful, as a miracle. And he’d thought that Pincent Pharma would be full of people like the woman at lunch, not thoughtful and kind like Dr Edwards. Then he shook himself. He was here to do a job, and he was going to do it.
‘More questions. You know that curiosity killed the cat?’ Peter started slightly and swung round to find his grandfather standing a few feet behind him.
‘Curiosity also makes a great student,’ Dr Edwards said.
Richard Pincent shrugged. ‘There’s plenty of time for studying, though,’ he said easily. ‘One thing we all have is plenty of time, isn’t that right, Peter?’
Peter nodded awkwardly.
‘If you sign the Declaration, I mean,’ his grandfather continued, his eyes boring into Peter’s. ‘You are signing, aren’t you?’
Peter cleared his throat. Pip’s notes had briefed him on this question; they’d told him to say he was signing. But now, standing in front of his grandfather, he found couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it.
‘I wasn’t planning to, no,’ he said.
‘I see.’ His grandfather nodded, his eyes darkening. ‘In that case, perhaps you’d like to come with me?’
Chapter Seven
Peter followed his grandfather down the corridor in silence, trying to ignore his heart thudding loudly in his chest. They took the lift up to the third floor, which was empty but for patrolling guards, luxurious but for the heavy locks on heavy-looking doors.
‘And this is my office,’ his grandfather said, eventually, keying in a code which opened a large door. ‘Changes every day, this code,’ his grandfather said, noticing Peter’s staring eyes. ‘Best security system in the whole world.’
Peter nodded silently, and only just stopped himself from gasping as he looked around. The room was opulent in a way that Peter had never seen before: polished floorboards covered with heavy rugs, ceilings high enough for three men to stand on each other’s shoulders, lights everywhere – embedded in the ceiling, standard lamps, side lights, lights in cupboards, lights on the floor. It was warm, too – a fire crackled under a huge mantelpiece and he immediately imagined Anna curled up comfortably in front of it, reading. She’d love it, he thought to himself bitterly. But the thing that drew Peter’s eyes, the thing that made this room bigger, better, more incredible than any other room he’d been in, was the view – of the river, of London. The window behind his grandfather’s desk was enormous and – incredibly – it could be opened, something his grandfather appeared to take great delight in demonstrating.