The Resistance by Gemma Malley
‘She’s a Surplus now?’ she asked quietly.
Maria nodded. ‘The thing is,’ she said, her voice catching slightly, ‘at first, when she was taken, I was fine. I had a career, a life to live. I was grateful that I’d avoided a prison sentence; convinced myself it had been a close shave, a lucky break. But as the years went by, I found myself thinking about her. Found myself missing her, desperately, which is silly, because I hardly knew her – just a few weeks, that’s all. I found myself seeking out children’s things, rummaging through flea markets for vintage items like toys or small blankets. I’d knit little coats for her, sing little nursery rhymes in my head. Even though by that time she’d have been fifty. She’d probably look older than me now. Perhaps she isn’t even alive . . .’
Anna saw a tear in Maria’s eye as her voice trailed off. She looked back at the photograph and thought of all the Surpluses back at Grange Hall, all the Surpluses around the country.
‘Not like you,’ Maria continued, appearing to shake herself. ‘I suppose you’re free to take Longevity now, aren’t you?’
Anna shook her head, emboldened by Maria’s revelation. ‘I’m not . . . I mean, we’re not . . . We’re going to Opt Out,’ she said forcefully. ‘We don’t want to live for ever.’
Maria nodded, her eyes filled with admiration. ‘Of course. You see, I knew that you were courageous. I could see it the first time I saw your photograph in the newspaper. Not like me, Anna. I wasn’t courageous; I was weak. I let my daughter down.’
Anna took a sip of tea. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said. It was a line she repeated often, the line she always used when guilty or desperate women accosted her in the street. ‘It’s not your fault.’ ‘I’m sure your child was/is happy.’ ‘I’m sure you’d be a great mother, too.’
‘You’re kind, Anna, but I’m afraid it is my fault – both the act itself and my inability to get over it. But we find our own ways through times of difficulty, and I’ve found mine.’
She looked back at the mantelpiece, and Anna followed her gaze, taking in each of the photographs before her.
‘Who . . .’ she said. ‘Who are the other ones?’
‘Children like mine,’ Maria said simply. ‘Babies, toddlers, young children torn away from their mothers. It’s too late to track my daughter down. But I try to help others to find their lost children. Talking to anyone who might know something. I thought . . . I thought you might recognise one or two of them. Anything you might be able to do to help . . .’
‘They’re all Surpluses?’ Anna gasped. ‘Where did they come from? The photographs, I mean.’
‘From their mothers, their fathers, from people who love them,’ Maria said softly.
Wedging Ben between two cushions, Anna stood up, steadying herself on the side of the chair as the blood rushed to her head. She walked cautiously towards the mantelpiece, starting at the right end and working her way to the left. To her shock and surprise, she recognised some of them.
‘Surplus Sarah,’ she said, pulling out a pewter frame cradling a black and white photograph of a young girl. ‘She left three years ago. She’ll be a housekeeper now. And this one . . .’ She pulled out another frame, this one a larger, black frame with a young boy beaming out of it. ‘That’s Surplus Patrick. He . . .’ Anna felt her eyes well up again with anger and indignation as she remembered Surplus Patrick and his constant questions, his insistence that he wasn’t a Surplus, that his parents would be coming to find him any day. ‘Patrick was sent to a Detention Centre,’ she managed to say. ‘He didn’t fit in very well. He refused to accept that he was a Surplus.’
Maria stood up and took the frame from Anna. ‘And you did?’
‘I was a Surplus,’ Anna said flatly. ‘There wasn’t anything to accept.’
She returned to the mantelpiece. Face after face, staring out at her hopefully. And then she felt her chest constrict. Right at the far end, was a wooden frame, with a photograph of a toddler. A little girl with faint, red hair and vivid blue eyes.
‘Is there another photograph of this girl?’ she asked, her heart thudding in her chest. ‘One of her a bit older?’
Maria shook her head. ‘The parents took it a few years before she was taken away. They didn’t take another – taking photographs is a dangerous business, I’m afraid. They count as evidence. Why? You think you know Sheila?’
‘Sheila?’ Anna gasped, clutching the mantelpiece as a feeling of nausea welled up inside her. ‘Sheila was my friend. I left her behind in Grange Hall. I left her behind . . .’
Maria caught her as she fell; she found herself a few moments later back on the sofa, lying down with Maria bending over her, concern in her eyes.
‘I . . . I don’t know what happened,’ she said uneasily. ‘I’m sorry. I . . .’
‘You fainted,’ Maria said gently. ‘Are you OK, Anna?’
Anna nodded. ‘I’m fine,’ she said staunchly. She’d learnt at Grange Hall never to show weakness.
‘I’m sure you are. But you must be careful, Anna. Without Longevity your health is weaker than the rest of us. And that little boy is depending on you.’
Anna looked at Ben worriedly, then pulled herself up. ‘You’ve been very kind. But I must go now.’
‘Can we see each other again?’ Maria asked.
Anna bit her lip, imagining what Peter might say. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said quietly. Then, her eyes fell back on the photograph of Sheila. ‘I mean, maybe,’ she corrected herself. ‘If I can help.’
Chapter Nine
Peter nearly didn’t get to the meeting with Pip on time. Dr Edwards had him studying something called Synthetic PirB all morning and filing the results of a major study in the afternoon, and it had been 5.15 p.m. before he’d been able to get away, and a further twenty minutes before he felt absolutely confident that he wasn’t being followed – a regular paranoia that was getting worse lately. As always when meeting Pip, the address wasn’t straightforward to find. Number 87 wasn’t actually on Grays Inn Road, but round the corner, an old building nestled behind an office block. From the outside it appeared derelict; inside a porter was sitting behind a desk looking half asleep, but he still insisted that Peter sign in before entering. Noticing that he didn’t request his identi-card, Peter scribbled the current Underground password; the guard nodded and Peter headed for the stairs.
He needn’t have rushed, in the event; Pip was ten minutes late. The room was small, grey, with a meeting table in the middle and a haphazard arrangement of cheap metal chairs around it. Peter pulled one out and sat on it, then looked around. There was little to hold his attention; the walls were covered in peeling, colourless wallpaper, and a whiteboard hung listlessly from one wall. There were no blinds at the window, but none were necessary because of the accumulated grease and dirt which prevented anyone from seeing in – or out.
‘This place is being turned into flats next month,’ Peter heard Pip’s familiar voice say, and he turned round quickly. Pip never announced his presence; he always seemed to appear from nowhere, skulking into rooms unnoticed, his blue eyes twinkling at people’s surprise.
‘Flats are more energy efficient,’ Peter replied.
The answer appeared to satisfy Pip. ‘So, how’s Pincent Pharma?’
Peter shrugged. ‘Fine. I’m kind of getting the hang of it. So haven’t you found a new headquarters yet?’
Pip didn’t appear to notice the question. ‘And your grandfather. Have you seen much of him?’
Peter bristled as he thought of their conversation the day before. ‘A bit. He keeps telling me how great Longevity is. Trying to convince me not to Opt Out.’
‘You told him you were Opting Out?’ Pip’s voice was incredulous. ‘You just told him?’
Peter faltered slightly. ‘You said to be as honest as possible. And I only said I hadn’t decided yet.’
‘I said not to tell too many lies because you’d get confused. I also told you to tell him you were planning to sign . . . Oh, Peter.’
‘It just came out,’ he said. ‘But it’s OK, honestly. Don’t you trust me?’
‘Of course I trust you,’ Pip said, but his eyes were still worried. They made Peter feel guilty; the guilt made him irritable.
‘No, you don’t. You think I’m just a kid. You think I don’t know anything. But I do. I know what I’m doing.’
Pip nodded, then looked at the grimy window. ‘I know you do, Peter. But you don’t know how persuasive your grandfather can be. I do.’
‘He’s not persuasive,’ Peter said, his defences rising further. ‘I think he talks total rubbish. He thinks young people are a waste of space.’
‘And a threat to him.’ Pip allowed himself a little smile. ‘You know, Peter, a few hundred years ago, many countries in the world considered slavery to be a perfectly sound way to run businesses and households. A bit like the attitude to Surpluses now. Most people didn’t have the vote and women were considered the property of their husbands.’
Peter looked down. ‘Do I have “please give me a history lesson” written on my forehead?’ he muttered. ‘Because you’re the second person to give me one in as many days.’
Pip raised an eyebrow. ‘Many people lost their lives fighting for these rights – to vote, to be free, to work, to be able to get on the same bus as someone considered their superior. And it was the next generations who embedded these changes, who came to view women as equals to men, who came to understand that skin colour is of no relevance. Young people are the future. Without them, the world stands still.’
‘I know that,’ Peter said, a little too quickly.
‘Good,’ Pip said seriously. ‘Because people like your grandfather don’t see it like that. They think that youth can be dispensed with, that the world won’t suffer.’
‘I know.’ Peter looked down, trying to push the image of Anna dying, in need of Longevity drugs, from his head. ‘I know Longevity is wrong. Unlike Dr Edwards. He thinks it’s beautiful.’
‘Dr Edwards?’
Peter nodded. ‘He’s the one who’s been teaching me. I work in his lab.’
‘You’re in Dr Edwards’ lab?’ Pip, for once, looked slightly shaken.
‘Do you know him? He’s Head of ReTraining.’
‘ReTraining.’ Pip frowned, then nodded. ‘You know, Dr Edwards used to be one of Pincent’s most powerful scientists. Be very careful, Peter. Dr Edwards is dangerous.’
‘Dangerous? Dr Edwards? He couldn’t scare a crow,’ Peter said incredulously.
‘Danger manifests itself in many ways, Peter. Brilliance of mind can be as dangerous as a loaded weapon.’
‘Well, you’re wrong,’ Peter said. ‘Dr Edwards isn’t dangerous. He’s all right, actually. He’s just a science geek. And he said he likes young people because he likes being contradicted.’
Pip didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Peter found himself reddening slightly – he’d never told Pip he was wrong about anything before. He looked up tentatively, to see Pip’s reaction.
‘A science geek,’ Pip said, his tone more insistent than before. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. But you see, Peter, the trouble with science geeks, as you call them, is that they put discovery before anything else. It was a science geek who discovered the atom bomb. He didn’t intend to cause mass murder, but he did nonetheless. Believe me when I say that you can’t trust Dr Edwards. You can’t trust anyone.’
‘Except you, you mean?’ Peter asked, raising his eyebrows. Then he shrugged, shot Pip a sheepish smile. ‘Look, I am careful. And honestly, I can handle Dr Edwards. He’s OK.’
‘OK?’ Pip’s voice was still insistent. ‘Peter, Dr Edwards is not on our side. Those not for us are against us, are a danger to us.’
Peter felt himself getting impatient. ‘You always say that. But it isn’t true,’ he said, irritation creeping into his voice. ‘Just because someone isn’t in the Underground, doesn’t make them evil. Things aren’t always black and white, you know.’ His flush deepened as he realised he was repeating his grandfather’s words, and he crossed his arms defensively.
Pip didn’t say anything. Then he nodded, his eyes full of concern, and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. ‘If I’m overprotective, Peter, it’s because you are so important to us. You and Anna represent the new beginning, our hope for the future.’ He looked intently at Peter; Peter found he couldn’t see anything but Pip’s eyes boring into his. ‘You represent so much to the Underground, Peter,’ he said softly. ‘And so much to me personally. I have seen you grow from a child; soon you will be a man. I only wish to guide you, to point out the dangers. That’s all.’
Peter’s eyes moved downwards. ‘I know. Look, I’ll be careful,’ he said quietly.
‘I know you will. I’ll make contact soon,’ Pip said, walking towards the door, and then he was gone.
Chapter Ten
Anna was at the stove when Peter got back that evening, and when he saw her earnest expression, the lines of concentration etched into her forehead, it reminded him of the first time he’d seen her, staring up at a Grange Hall instructor, desperate to please, to Get Things Right. She turned when she heard him come in, her face immediately easing into a smile, and Peter rushed over to pick her up in his arms, before lifting up Ben and holding him aloft. Ben’s skin was impossibly soft and he immediately broke out in giggles as Peter nuzzled his tummy with his nose. He wished Dr Edwards could see this; to see why really being young was so much better than Renewal. No drugs or synthetic proteins could create the youthful excitement and abandonment that came so naturally to Ben.
‘So how was your day?’ Anna asked, stirring what looked like soup.
Peter shrugged and put Ben down. ‘It was good,’ he said noncommittally.
‘You saw Pip?’ Anna mouthed the words and Peter nodded.
‘And?’
‘Nothing,’ he mouthed back. ‘Nothing new.’
Anna nodded. ‘No, come here. Oh, you naughty boy.’ Ben was crawling towards the kitchen door and Anna left the stove to chase after him, scooping him up. ‘He needs more space to move around,’ she sighed, as she returned to her cooking. ‘I wish we had a bigger garden.’
Peter grinned. ‘Say it a bit louder and they might hear you,’ he said mischievously, then leant down so his head was nearer hers. He breathed in the smell of her hair, felt the thrill that always shot through him when he was close to her.
Ben cried and Anna pulled away to pick him up. He had crawled under a chair, knocking it over in the process and was now trapped with the chair on its side.
‘Oh, Ben, oh little man. Oh, come here. It’s OK. It’s OK,’ she soothed. ‘He’s been grizzly all day. I think maybe he’s tired.’
‘You think you should put him down to sleep?’ Peter asked.
Anna shook her head. ‘If he goes down now, he’ll be awake at the crack of dawn. I’d rather wait. And he hasn’t eaten yet.’
Peter picked up the chair and sat down on it heavily, his eyes resting on the gnarled wood of the kitchen table in front of him, the marks and knots that had appeared as the tree it was made from had grown. The table was old, inherited from Anna’s parents. It was made from oak, a solid thing. Oak trees lived for hundreds of years, he found himself thinking. That wasn’t wrong. It was natural. Were there different rules for different species?
‘I think maybe Ben’s hungry. I might give him a little snack before we eat. Can you turn off the stove?’
Peter stood up and flicked the switch absently.
‘There we go. Lovely yogurt,’ he heard Anna say. Then she lowered her voice. ‘So what did Pip say?’
Peter shrugged, trying not to resent the fact that he never seemed to get her full attention these days. ‘Oh, nothing really,’ he mouthed dismissively. ‘Don’t worry about it. So, any post today?’
Anna pointed to a pile on the table; a pile she’d left untouched, her mind preoccupied with other things, with Maria, wi
‘We got these today?’ he asked, picking out two large envelopes with the distinctive logo of the Authorities stamped across them. Anna’s eyes widened; she hadn’t even noticed them.
Peter took his and turned it over in his hands. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
Anna said nothing, but the look in her eyes suggested that she was. Slowly, Peter slipped his thumb under the flap, ripped the envelope open and pulled out the letter.
‘Dear Peter,
As you are approaching your sixteenth birthday, I am delighted to enclose the Declaration for you to sign. As you will know, signing the Declaration entitles you to take Longevity™, prolonging your life indefinitely.
The Declaration is an important document, and I hope you will take the time to read it carefully. Longevity™ has changed the world for humans, allowing us the freedom of limitless time and limitless health. It is a truly wondrous thing, but there is a cost to be born . . .’
Peter felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. This was it. This was the letter.
He scanned it quickly, taking in only snatches. ‘. . . by signing the Declaration, and thereby benefiting from a prolonged, healthful life, you agree to take all necessary precautions to ensure that you do not bring any Surplus life into the world . . . Should you discover your responsibility only when a Surplus life is born into the world, it is imperative that you contact the Authorities . . . cooperation will reduce any sentence imposed . . .’
It was signed by the Secretary General of the Authorities. But the letter was of less interest to Peter than the document with it. He handed the letter to Anna, who read it, her eyes widening as she did so before she handed it back to him. Then, slowly, deliberately, Peter turned to the document itself. Across the top was written: The Declaration. He’d heard so much about the Declaration, blamed it for so much that was wrong with the world. And now, his own was in his hands. Feeling his heart quicken, Peter began to read.