The Resistance Read online

  When in the course of scientific development and progress it became clear that the function and roles of humans had changed fundamentally, that the basic tenets of procreation for survival had been challenged and found wanting, it became compelling for humankind to respond to this development and progress.

  Man has for many thousands of years relied on Nature to increase their numbers and has, at the same time, been in thrall to Nature and Her whims, including disease, pestilence, famine and other plagues that have culled great numbers of humans.

  The cycle of birth, life and death has resulted in other burdens, reducing humankind to the enslaved position of animals, with no control over their future. Indeed, so used to slavery was Man that he created masters to worship and follow, gods who imposed rules and laws that contradict and contravene Man’s true nature.

  It is in science that Man has finally surpassed Nature; through science, Man has developed Longevity™, the most significant discovery of Man’s time on earth. Longevity™ enables humankind to live as gods, to live freely, unencumbered by the ravages that Nature imposes on them. Longevity™, through the process of Renewal™, has brought about a New Age for Man, an age of comfort, joy, prosperity and learning. An Age of Freedom.

  Freedom, however, brings with it responsibilities: responsibilities to the planet, to our fellow man, and to Nature Herself. Therefore, as a responsible citizen of the United Kingdom, under the governance of the Authorities of the United Kingdom, I, the undersigned, do solemnly Declare, that I will take every measure and precaution to ensure that I will never be responsible for the creation of new human life (forthwith to be referred to as Surplus), accepting any method deemed appropriate by the Authorities and allowing their appointed doctors to insert implants or other methods as appropriate, and that if I should break this Declaration either through intent or by error, or discover that a fellow subject has broken the Declaration on my behalf, that I will contact the appropriate Authorities forthwith and submit myself and any other parties to the action determined by these Authorities, in the full knowledge that the balance of Nature must be maintained, that A Life for a Life is enshrined in law and in everything that is moral and right.

  Accepting this, and confirming that I gratefully accept the indefinite life that Longevity™ will provide me, I do hereby solemnly swear.

  Signed: Witness: Date:

  He put it down. A light veil of sweat coated his forehead; his hands were shaking slightly.

  ‘They don’t even mention the Opt Out clause,’ he said. He had intended his voice to appear light, confident, as though receiving his Declaration didn’t faze him in the slightest, but his throat caught, making him sound strangled, tense. ‘So are you going to open yours?’

  Anna shook her head, her lips pursed together. ‘Why should I?’ she said. ‘I’m not interested in the Declaration.’

  Peter frowned. ‘You’re not even curious?’

  ‘No. I’m not signing, so why should I even look at it?’

  ‘Just because I want to read my Declaration doesn’t mean I’m thinking about signing it.’ The words left Peter’s mouth before he’d had time to consider them, to realise how defensive, how aggressive they sounded.

  Anna looked at him incredulously. ‘Of course I know that. Why would you even say that?’

  ‘Pip thinks I might.’ He hadn’t realised how much Pip’s doubt had got to him, how much it had unsettled him.

  ‘He can’t do. Why would he?’ Anna’s eyebrows were raised, a look of utter disbelief on her face. She trusted him completely, Peter realised. It wouldn’t cross her mind that he might be tempted to sign.

  He shrugged. ‘How should I know? Maybe he’s worried about the Pincent blood in my veins. Maybe he thinks I’m too young to know what I want.’

  Anna moved towards him, put her arms around his neck. ‘Don’t listen to him. You’d never sign the Declaration,’ she whispered forcefully. ‘I know you wouldn’t.’

  Peter turned his head and looked at her for a moment, remembering how convinced she’d been when he first met her that Surpluses were a Burden on Mother Nature, that it was their duty to work hard, to serve Legal people, to pay for their Sin of existence. He pulled her head down and kissed the top of it. ‘Of course I wouldn’t,’ he mouthed, stroking her hair. ‘We’ll grow old and wrinkly and have children. And we’ll put an end to Longevity too, I promise.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Jude lay in bed, frown lines etched into his forehead. The Underground hadn’t contacted him again, and it was eating at him. He’d convinced himself that their little visit had been part of an initiation process, that he’d simply had to prove himself, that any day now they’d contact him again, tell him how he could help. So he’d waited for them, staring at his computer screen willing it to show a message from them, taken his mini-com with him everywhere just in case he was out when they got in touch. But it was all for nothing. There were no signals, no suggestion that he had made any impact on them at all. Peter Pincent they helped; Peter Pincent they cared about enough to get out of Grange Hall. Jude, on the other hand – who had real skills that might be useful to them – they weren’t interested in. No wonder his dad had said the Underground were a bunch of losers.

  Doing his best to swallow his disappointment, Jude got up and turned on his computer. It was 11 a.m. – time to start the day. He didn’t care about the Underground, he told himself. He didn’t need them. Until recently, he had barely registered their existence. Until recently, he hadn’t even known about Peter, about having a half-brother. And he was happy to forget all about them both. More than happy.

  Without thinking, he sat back low in his chair, hacked into the Pincent Pharma security system and brought up an image of Pincent Pharma on his screen. So much for Peter’s gratitude towards the Underground – now he was working for their sworn enemy, Pincent Pharma. Served them right, Jude thought to himself. They should pick their friends more carefully.

  He stared at the screen and imagined Peter inside, wondered what he was doing. Sometimes he hated him. Poor old unlucky Peter Pincent whose legality had been snatched away from him, who had grown up with nothing, who had been brave and fearless, who newspapers seemed obsessed with. Like he was dangerous or something. Like he had some hidden powers. He was a Surplus, that was all. If he’d been born just a couple of months earlier . . . well, things would have been different. Very different. Legal status wasn’t all it was cracked up to be in Jude’s opinion. Peter should try growing up with a father who resented him and a mother who only had you to get one over her lover’s wife. Then he’d know what ‘unlucky’ really meant.

  Pushing the thought from his mind, he turned back to the screen. Across the front of the building, the words ‘Pincent Pharma’ blazed out, making Jude shift uncomfortably. Pincent. The Pincents. It was a name that carried such weight, that everyone in the world knew. Pincent Pharma, the most powerful company. And now there was Peter Pincent, the Surplus who escaped.

  Curious suddenly, Jude delved further into the security system, looking for more images, surveillance of the inside of the building. Perhaps he’d see Peter walking along a corridor, or working, doing whatever it was he did in there. Jude couldn’t see the appeal of a job like that, working inside a rabbit warren with cameras everywhere. Actually, Jude couldn’t really see the appeal of a job full stop – having to get up every morning and do as someone else told you. The whole point of being grown-up, in Jude’s opinion, was doing what you wanted.

  Quickly, he brought up more images, trying to track Peter down. But it was pointless – there were as many cameras in Pincent Pharma as there were Authorities’ edicts on energy consumption and Jude figured it would take hours to look at them all. Sighing, he decided to give up. But as he moved his mouse to close the window, he frowned. On his screen was the image of a girl. About his age, maybe a bit younger. Jude hadn’t seen an actual girl for . . . well, ever, actually, apart from the odd photograph of a Surplus in the newspaper, or a
little glimpse of a Surplus housekeeper through someone’s window. Jude couldn’t afford a housekeeper himself, although he’d been tempted to make some more money so he could, just to see what it would be like to have someone his own age to talk to.

  He stared at the screen. The girl was red-haired and was lying on a bed, her face pale, her eyes closed. Was she sleeping? Why? And what was she doing at Pincent Pharma? All these questions flashed through Jude’s head at once, but he couldn’t begin to answer them; all he could do was look, in wonder, in amazement, in . . . in hope, he realised. Hope that she might open her eyes. That she might look into the camera, meet his eyes. It was impossible, of course, Jude knew that; she wouldn’t meet his eyes or have any inkling that he even existed. But still, he hoped that she’d wake up.

  His eyes flicked around the screen – at the bottom was the code for her whereabouts: Unit X. Then, suddenly, as his eyes returned to her face, he felt something clenching inside him. Her eyes opened, but they weren’t at peace; they were filled with terror. Of what, Jude couldn’t see, but he felt it; deep down in the pit of his stomach he felt her desperation. Then, suddenly, the picture was replaced by another image, a corridor, along which guards were patrolling.

  ‘No!’ Jude shouted, immediately bringing up the camera control function, jabbing at his keyboard to get the girl back. But he couldn’t find her. Frustratedly, he searched the security system, flicked from camera to camera, but to no avail. It was as though he’d imagined her. As though she didn’t exist. Except he knew she did. And he also knew that he couldn’t leave her there, not like that, not with agony etched into her eyes.

  He thought for a minute, then, carefully navigated out of the security system and brought up a new page, scrolling down it until he had the information he needed. Then, he picked up his phone and dialled a number.

  ‘Welcome to Pincent Pharma. Please press 1 to be put through to our twenty-four hour helpline, 2 for our latest product information, 3 for dosage information, 4 for advice on ageing . . .’

  Jude pressed the hash key, followed by 349.

  ‘This is Richard Pincent. Please leave a message.’

  Feeling his heart quicken, Jude cleared his throat. ‘This message concerns Pincent Pharma security and information regarding the recent Underground attacks. I am a friend; I can help. If you’re interested, please leave me a message at www.LogBook.290.’ Then, ignoring his shaking hands and the feeling of trepidation in his stomach, he turned off his computer and went downstairs to make some coffee.

  Peter only found the note in his coat pocket as he arrived at work; he didn’t know whether it had been put there the night before or that morning on his way to work. It didn’t matter either way; what mattered was that he had his first proper mission. Printed in small, neat lettering, in the familiar Underground typography and layout, were the words ‘We need file 23b from RP’s office. Pls secure. Destroy this note.’

  Peter memorised the file number and thrust the note back in his pocket, burning it as soon as he got to the lab. It was more direct than anything he’d ever received from the Underground, he realised as he watched it being eaten by the hungry flame. Perhaps Pip was beginning to really trust him. Maybe he was finally seeing him as a man, not a boy.

  ‘Peter. A word?’

  It was his grandfather. Peter started, blew the ash in front of him off the counter, hardly dared to think what would have happened if he’d appeared seconds earlier. ‘Sure,’ he said casually, as he felt the muscles on the back of his neck tighten.

  They walked down the corridor towards the lift, then travelled in silence, as before, to Richard’s large office. Several guards were positioned outside, their beady eyes sweeping the corridor for anyone who shouldn’t be there. To the side of the door was a keypad into which his grandfather entered an eight-digit number; Peter watched carefully, whilst appearing to check his watch for the time. Once inside, Peter was ushered into a comfortable chair opposite his grandfather’s desk.

  ‘So,’ his grandfather said, sitting down behind his desk and offering him a cup of coffee. ‘I just wondered how your deliberations were going.’

  ‘Deliberations?’

  ‘To sign, or not to sign.’ Peter noticed his grandfather’s left hand tapping nervously, the slight twitch in his right eye, the colour of his face – more grey than it had been the week before.

  Peter looked around the room, scanning it for files. ‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ he said cautiously, taking a gulp of coffee.

  His grandfather put his cup down. The motion was heavy, causing a clank as the porcelain hit the table. Then he pushed back his chair, picking up a file in front of him and flicking through it idly; Peter could tell from the way his eyes were moving that they weren’t focusing on it. He wondered which file it was. Wondered how easy the filing system was to work out.

  The phone rang, and his grandfather picked it up. ‘I see,’ he said, after several seconds. ‘Very well.’ He put the phone down, then lifted it again and pressed a button. ‘Yes, I’d like to order a car . . . This evening, 5 p.m. To the West End. Thank you.’ He put the receiver down, then his eyes fell on Peter, as though surprised to find him still there. ‘Ah, Peter,’ he said vaguely. ‘I’m sorry about that. Where were we?’

  Peter looked at him archly. ‘You were asking me if I’d decided to sign the Declaration.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He continued to look at Peter, his expression unreadable. Peter was tempted to get up and walk out, but he didn’t.

  ‘That’s it?’ he asked instead. ‘That’s all you wanted to say?’

  His grandfather smiled, then stood up. ‘Not signing would be a huge mistake,’ he said thoughtfully, as he walked around to the front of his desk and leant against it. ‘You know that.’

  ‘To be honest, I haven’t really had time to think properly.’ Peter’s eyes followed his grandfather like a hawk.

  ‘So then there is nothing else to say,’ Richard said smoothly.

  This time, Peter didn’t say anything; he just got up to go.

  ‘You know, you and I are alike, Peter,’ his grandfather continued; reluctantly, Peter sat down again. ‘I can see it in your eyes. We both want to achieve great things, to be someone. Perhaps you think that Opting Out would mark you out from the crowd, make you different, unique. But if you Opt Out, you won’t be making a statement; you’ll be signing your life away, quite literally.’

  ‘We’re not alike.’ The words burst out before Peter could stop himself; immediately his grandfather smiled broadly.

  ‘Oh yes we are. We both enjoy a fight. Both enjoy winning. Both like to have the last word, isn’t that right?’

  Peter’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘Tell me, Peter, how many members of the Underground have Opted Out?’ his grandfather asked, ignoring Peter’s silence. ‘How many of them were prepared to make the sacrifice that you are being asked to?’

  Peter shrugged. ‘How would I know? I don’t know anyone from the Underground.’

  ‘Of course you don’t,’ his grandfather said smoothly. ‘Foolish of me.’ He smiled. ‘You know, in the past terrorists used to convince passionate young men to blow themselves up for some cause or other all the time. Revolutionaries are always keen to find sacrificial lambs. So long as they don’t have to die themselves.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that.’

  ‘No, I’m sure you don’t. Just remember, Peter, that indecisiveness is a very poor quality. People need to know where you stand. I need to know where you stand.’

  Peter stood up again. ‘Look, I can’t rush a decision like this,’ he said, doing his best to give nothing away in his voice.

  His grandfather looked him directly in the eye for a second, then nodded. ‘Of course. Of course you can’t.’

  Peter turned and made his way back to the door.

  ‘Oh, and Peter,’ his grandfather said, as he opened it.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You very nearly got the last word. Well do
ne.’

  Peter opened his mouth to speak, then, irritably, forced it closed and walked out of the door.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Right, I think we’re done for the day. You ready to go home?’

  Peter shook his head distractedly as though embroiled in the experiment Dr Edwards had asked him to complete. ‘Me? No. I wanted to . . . finish up a few things.’

  ‘OK, suit yourself.’

  From his position at the side of the room, Peter waited impatiently as Dr Edwards walked around the lab, turning things off, checking machines, flicking alarms, until finally he waved goodbye and left. Then Peter waited, even more impatiently, for fifteen minutes to pass – just in case Dr Edwards came back, just in case he was right outside the laboratory talking to someone. And then, finally, he put his own coat on, and slipped out of the door into the empty corridor. With his own ears he’d heard his grandfather order a car – right now, he would be speeding towards the West End through empty streets. This was Peter’s best chance to get the file. Possibly his only chance.

  Quickly, he made his way down the brightly lit white corridors, his eyes drawn as he walked to their high ceilings, the bright posters of cells that hung on the walls. Everywhere he looked was bright, white, enticing, like everywhere else within Pincent Pharma’s four walls. It was hard to imagine that anything bad could be created in such a clean and pure environment.

  Finally, Peter arrived at the lifts and, seeing a door to the left, opened it. As he expected, there were stairs leading up and down – a safer option, he decided, bounding up two steps at a time. Checking he was on the right floor, he opened the door ahead of him cautiously. This corridor was empty too, large and bright like all the others, but unlike the corridor outside the training lab, this corridor, Peter knew, was patrolled by guards. Slowly but surely, his eyes and ears alert to the smallest movement, he made his way towards his grandfather’s office, all the way practising in his head his excuse if he were caught: I wanted to talk to my grandfather. I was having doubts about Opting Out. I thought I might have left something behind when I was in the office earlier. He still didn’t know exactly how he would get past the guards, but he had convinced himself that he’d find a way – they would change shifts at one point, they would become distracted, take a coffee break. If he waited long enough, his chance would come. It had to.