The Resistance

like Longevity, not us. But their religious leaders banned research on stem cells. Banned it – can you believe that? So their research dried up. We took the baton, and . . . well, you know the rest.’
    Peter frowned. He felt confused, didn’t know what to say. ‘There used to be young people,’ he said eventually. ‘Now there aren’t any.’
    His grandfather nodded. ‘That’s what people have chosen, Peter. There are difficult choices to be made and that was one that was unavoidable. But is it really such a bad thing?’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘These young people you talk of, they had nothing. No hope, no prospects. They were turning to crime to support themselves, Peter. They terrorised communities.’
    He walked back to his desk, leaning against the front of it so that he was just inches away from Peter. ‘And then we discovered Longevity. The Holy Grail, Peter. The secret to eternal life.’
    Peter took a deep breath. ‘And nature?’
    ‘Nature?’ His grandfather shook his head with disgust. ‘Nature is our enemy, Peter. She has always been our enemy. Nature held sway over humankind, striking us down at will, ravaging our bodies with cancer, killing women during childbirth, creating plagues that wiped out entire cities. All these are the gifts of nature, Peter. She is no friend of humans.’
    ‘And Longevity is?’ Peter asked uncertainly.
    ‘Yes, it is. Longevity was created to save us, Peter,’ his grandfather said gravely. ‘Imagine if Anna was dying. Wouldn’t you want to give her Longevity then? Wouldn’t you want to save her life? Yes or no?’
    Peter didn’t say anything for a second or two. ‘I . . . I don’t know,’ he said. He realised as he spoke that he was telling the truth. Then he shook himself. It was a trick question. Wanting to save someone’s life didn’t make Longevity OK.
    ‘No,’ his grandfather smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you do. The truth of the matter is that nothing is black and white – it is all shades of grey. You might want to think about that before you throw your life away for a lost cause.’
    As soon as Peter had left, Richard picked up the phone and dialled Adrian’s private line.
    ‘Adrian,’ he said, when the phone was answered, ‘where are we at with the research grants?’
    ‘Grants?’
    Richard frowned. It was a woman’s voice.
    ‘I’m sorry. I thought this was Adrian Barnet’s line.’
    ‘It was. Now it’s my line. My name is Hillary Wright. I’m the new Deputy Secretary General.’
    Richard took a few seconds to digest this information. ‘And Adrian?’
    ‘Adrian has been redeployed.’
    Richard nodded. ‘Then welcome to your post,’ he said jovially. ‘This is Richard Pincent speaking. Of Pincent Pharma.’
    ‘Yes, I rather thought it might be.’
    The voice wasn’t cold, but it sounded almost amused; certainly she didn’t sound impressed. One of the new breed of women, he realised irritably; the first generation of women with no expectation of raising young to hamper their ambition, to temper their choices.
    Winning over the female population had been critical to the success and legalisation of Longevity. The Authorities had, predictably, failed miserably in convincing them, so it had been left to Richard to hire the slickest spin doctors, the most Machiavellian individuals he could find to win over the hearts and minds of Britain and then the world. ‘Free from the slavery of child rearing’ went the strapline aimed at women; eminent female academics had been secured to argue Longevity’s case, to hail it as the ultimate triumph for women, the final emancipation. The strategy had been successful and soon women, unencumbered by the desire to have babies, focused their attentions on the workplace instead. The post-Longevity generation of women saw no glass ceilings; they soon found their way into company boardrooms, soon took over companies, public bodies, until no one thought twice about it. No one except Richard. This new breed of woman made him uncomfortable; made him nervous. They were known by those of his generation as ‘the ball-breakers’, but to Richard, the reality was more ominous. Ball-breakers didn’t understand the codes and protocols of men; they were always so much harder to bribe, to meld. He would have to proceed carefully, cautiously.
    ‘Well, you must come to the labs. I’d love to show you round,’ he said coolly.
    ‘Indeed,’ Hillary replied. ‘I wonder, would you mind telling