The Resistance

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