The Resistance

‘You’re very outspoken for a scientist who’s been demoted to ReTraining,’ she said coolly. ‘Then again, I suppose that’s why you’re where you are. But all the same, I’d think before opening your mouth if all you can do is come out with subversive rants about your views on Surpluses. Not everyone will be as tolerant as we are.’
    ‘Tolerant?’ Dr Edwards asked. ‘Is that what you are?’
    ‘Yes,’ she said thinly. ‘And I notice the Surplus himself isn’t saying anything.’
    Peter bristled, and he gripped his lunch tray, barely able to control himself.
    ‘Peter is not a Surplus,’ Dr Edwards said quietly. ‘He is an employee of this company, and he deserves a little more respect.’
    ‘Yes, I know he’s an employee. That’s why this conversation started.’ The woman stared at Dr Edwards for a moment, then her eyes flicked over to the camera in the corner. ‘We all know his mother’s in prison,’ she said, her voice quieter all of a sudden. ‘You know that he’s here because Richard Pincent is his grandfather and felt sorry for him?’
    ‘She’s not my mother,’ Peter growled, under his breath, moving towards the woman angrily. ‘And I don’t care where she is.’
    Dr Edwards grimaced and motioned for Peter to stay where he was.
    ‘He is here because he has a contribution to make,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Unless you doubt Mr Pincent’s motives? And it is probably not that advisable to go round denouncing his mother. After all, she is Mr Pincent’s daughter.’
    The woman’s eyes flickered upwards again, this time towards the bank of cameras positioned along the walls of the dining hall, and she flushed slightly. ‘I was not denouncing her,’ she said, a slight note of stress in her voice. ‘I was just . . . stating a fact. But you’re right, of course. The boy is not a Surplus any more, and I’m sure he’s a very good addition to Pincent Pharma.’ She managed a smile of sorts, then turned back to her dining companions; Peter and Dr Edwards began to walk away.
    The woman, though, had not finished. ‘Although you can’t say the same for the other one. The girl,’ she said, her voice quieter, but still audible to Peter. ‘Does she deserve my respect too? We’re getting firm on immigrant labour and then we just allow Surpluses to escape and make them Legal. What’s to respect?’
    ‘Ignore her,’ Dr Edwards whispered, but Peter barely heard him. Anger was shooting up and down his body like fireworks, propelling him forward until he was right beside the woman.
    ‘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