The Declaration

Patrick to be worked to death. Nothing like building in the desert heat to give a rebellious Surplus a bit of perspective. Not that the Authorities knew about that, of course. Selling Surpluses as slave labour wasn’t strictly approved of by officials, just as getting involved in black market Longevity drugs wasn’t exactly in her job description. But perhaps they should pay her a better wage if they didn’t want her supplementing her income from time to time. And anyway, no one had missed him. His file had been lost, and no questions had been asked.
    Sometimes the system made mistakes, of course. There had been the situation recently with a Surplus called Sheila who, it turned out, was actually the progeny of two Opt Outs. The fools had gone away for the weekend, leaving the child with its grandparents. Their neighbours had heard the child cry and, assuming it was a Surplus, had called the Catchers to secure their reward. The parents had appealed, of course, but Mrs Pincent had held firm. The grandparents didn’t have a licence; technically the Catchers had been well within the law in confiscating Sheila. Technically, during her stay with her grandparents, Sheila was indeed a Surplus.
    The fact was that you couldn’t start sending children back after every little mistake; there would be no end to it. And if Sheila had been returned to her parents, it would have stirred up the other Surpluses. Given them hope. Hope was the last thing you wanted to encourage in a Surplus. No, she had done the right thing. Five times Sheila’s parents had come to see her – not to Grange Hall, of course, but to the London office; no one was allowed within a mile of any Surplus Hall for security reasons. Five times her mother had broken down, clutching at Mrs Pincent’s ankles and begging for her little girl back – it had been embarrassing, really. Uncomfortable.
    But Mrs Pincent wouldn’t give in. Why should she? Sheila was a good age. She could still be a Valuable Asset, no doubt about it at all. More than a Valuable Asset, if Mrs Pincent had her way. Sheila, like all female Surpluses and, to a lesser extent, male Surpluses, had value that her parents knew nothing about. Young stem cells. Youth in every atom of her body, which laboratories were crying out for all around the world. You couldn’t explain that to the parents, of course, particularly since they’d Opted Out. But others would be grateful. Renewal was a hungry beast; it needed constant feeding.
    Peter, on the other hand, was different. When he arrived, he’d actually looked pleased with himself, the arrogant little twerp. He’d looked her right in the eye, and there was something mocking about his face. It was as if he was saying to her ‘I know. I know the truth about you.’ But of course, she was just imagining that. She had to be; how could a Surplus know anything? He was just clever, that was all. He had spotted a weakness and was using it to his advantage.
    Still, real or not, it made her hate him. And, worse, it made her afraid of letting him leave until the look had gone. Sending him to the desert like that was too dangerous; what if he did know something, however unlikely the prospect was? It didn’t look like she’d be able to lose his file either, not if they were keeping an eye on him .
    The whole situation was intolerable. She would have to deal with him herself. And if he thought that Margaret Pincent was weak, he had another thing coming. If the week of beatings and starvation when he first arrived hadn’t done the trick, there were other more interesting methods. Sleep deprivation. More Solitary. Leave him in that cell until he was so desperate for company he cried out her name.
    She thought for a moment, then smiled briefly. Perhaps she should attack him with kindness first. That was how you really destroyed a Surplus: make it think you love it before abusing its trust so completely that it could never trust another human being again. Yes, she thought with a satisfied nod, she would break Peter. And when she had broken him completely, then she would get rid of him. The Authorities would have to lump it. It wouldn’t be much of a loss – even broken, Peter was unlikely to be of any use to anyone.
    Anna sat with her eyes focused on the food in front of her. She didn’t want to see Peter. Didn’t want to even acknowledge his existence. Although, when a quick scan of Central Feeding revealed that, strangely, Peter wasn’t even there, she