The Resistance

isn’t tolerated by the Authorities.’
    Richard took a deep breath. The Protection of Surpluses Bill had been a sop to the Liberals when the Surplus Halls were set up; everyone knew that it was meaningless – a series of checklists, of safeguards that everyone turned a blind eye to. But it was still on the Statute. If Hillary wanted to, she could insist its requirements were followed. Which meant that they were moving rapidly towards a stalemate situation, he realised. One that would suit neither of them. ‘Perhaps we might work together on this one, Hillary,’ he said carefully. ‘I suppose a preliminary announcement might be possible.’
    ‘Next week? And Peter will sign the Declaration?’
    ‘Next week,’ Richard smiled thinly. ‘Friday. I’ll arrange the conference for late afternoon, and perhaps you could visit us earlier in the day to see the production process for yourself?’
    ‘Very well,’ Hillary said curtly. ‘Then I’ll be in touch.’
    Richard put the phone down and waited a few seconds before picking it up again and dialling a number. ‘I need you to do something for me,’ he said, when Derek Samuels answered. ‘You know Underground message formats? I need one delivered. And it has to be utterly convincing . . . You can? Good, OK, then. Take this down word for word . . .’
    His heart beating quickly, he relayed the message, explained what Samuels was to do with it. As he spoke, his eyes flicked up to the screen to his right, which was trained in on Dr Edwards’ lab. ‘Oh and Samuels?’ he said. ‘I’ve got another job for you. Delicate matter. I’ll need one of your best operatives. Former Catcher would be ideal. They’d be good with former Surpluses, wouldn’t they?’
    ‘A former Surplus? You don’t mean . . .’
    Richard shook his head at the surprise in Samuels’ voice. Did he really think that Richard Pincent would let emotion or something as meaningless as family get in the way of success?
    ‘Actually, perhaps you’d better come up to my office. This is one I’d rather discuss in person.’
    He switched the receiver off, then turned to his computer to bring up his profit ratios. Money and power – he had more of both than he’d ever imagined possible. And nothing – no one – was going to take it away from him.

Chapter Eight
    Peter didn’t sleep well that night. However much he tried to suppress them, the first notes of doubt had started to float into his head, clamouring to be heard, and leaving him angry and feeling guilty. He found himself wondering about religion, about the thin line between old-fashioned medicine and Longevity, and he found himself worrying about how much of an impact he could really make on the world in just fifty years, if he even lived that long. Fifty more years didn’t seem much when everyone else was here for ever. Fifty years wasn’t really long at all.
    It was with relief, then, that Peter found the note from Pip on the doormat on his way to work the following morning, reminding him that he had an important role to play, that he was significant after all. At first he thought it was another flyer for some service or other – painting, decorating, vitamin injections, plastic surgery, petrol coupon trading schemes, permanent make-up – but as he started to crumple it in his hands, he saw the mark of the Underground – a small dove with an olive branch in its beak, representing the search for new life. Immediately he ducked back inside, carefully uncurling it.
    Looking for a new direction? Bored of doing the same thing every day?
    Call our recruitment consultants today to ask about our training. Whether you’re interested in technology, languages, science or the service industry, we’ve got the job and training to make your dreams come true. If you believe in yourself, anything is possible.
    Ring 0845 389 7053, where we’re waiting to take your call.
    It looked inconsequential, but Peter knew immediately that no one else on his road would have received this particular advert. Quickly, he raced upstairs and dug out the mobile phone that Pip had given him. Computer and standard phone lines couldn’t be trusted, he’d told Peter. The Underground used old-fashioned mobiles tuned to unique frequencies which they changed regularly so that the Authorities weren’t able to discover them. It took just one rashly made phone call from a landline or web phone to put the whole operation in jeopardy.
    Peter dialled the