The Resistance

of tea and motioned for her to sit on the sofa.
    ‘I’m afraid it isn’t very big,’ she said, sitting down at the other end. ‘My apartment, I mean. But that’s the way of things nowadays, isn’t it? I used to have a house, you know, years ago, but the rates and energy bills kept increasing and eventually the Authorities encouraged me to move to somewhere smaller.’ She smiled wryly.
    Anna smiled back. She knew all about how ‘encouraging’ the Authorities could be. ‘It’s very nice, though,’ she said politely.
    ‘Thank you. I suppose it’s comfortable,’ Maria said thoughtfully. ‘And comfort is, after all, one of the Authorities’ prime objectives. Comfort, health, wealth and learning. Worthy goals, I’m sure.’
    Anna smiled awkwardly feeling ignorant and hating it. Peter followed every edict and news briefing from the Authorities avidly, using up valuable energy coupons on a computer, switched on daily to check for news and analysis; she couldn’t seem to care much about it. So long as she, Peter and Ben were safe and warm, that was all that really mattered. But now, now she wished she’d paid more attention so that she had something to say.
    ‘Of course, you can’t be huge fans of the Authorities,’ Maria continued. ‘I can’t imagine they have many fans amongst the incumbents of Surplus Halls.’
    Anna shook her head. The truth was that at Grange Hall the Authorities had been a vague and distant power; the only authority she’d thought about was that of the House Matron.
    ‘It’s better now we’re out,’ she said quietly, hoping that Maria wouldn’t notice her sidestepping the question. ‘It wasn’t very . . . comfortable in Grange Hall.’
    Maria smiled ruefully again. ‘No, I don’t imagine it was. You know, when the Surplus Halls were set up, we were told they would be like schools. Separation from parents was seen as necessary to put people off having them – Surpluses, I mean. And to differentiate them. To make it clear that you . . . that they were different. But they were never meant to be brutal places. And employment – employment was always the end goal, but not slavery. That came later.’
    ‘Later?’ Anna asked, curious now. No one ever talked openly about Surpluses, about children, for fear of being labelled a revolutionary, a threat to the Authorities.
    ‘When no one cared any more. People used to, you see. They used to care about civil liberties, about the welfare of Surpluses, about the treatment of illegal immigrants, criminals even. Nowadays, all people care about is how they look, how they feel, how many hours they can have the central heating on, how many hobbies they can take up and discard. They don’t like children. They’re scared of them. You’ve seen the way people look at that little man.’
    Anna looked down at Ben’s chubby face and pulled him closely towards her.
    ‘The photographs,’ she said, blushing slightly at the prospect of asking a direct question. ‘On your mantelpiece. You’re not worried what people might think?’
    Maria followed her gaze, her eyes full of pity and sadness.
    ‘Of course. I worry all the time, but that’s no reason to hide them away. We can’t be scared into doing nothing, Anna, can we?’
    Anna shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But the Authorities . . .’
    ‘The Authorities have too much power,’ Maria said immediately. ‘Power which they use badly. Power which needs to be challenged.’
    Maria moved so that she was sitting close to Anna and took her hand, before looking at her hopefully. ‘Anna, I hope you don’t mind. These children . . . these photographs . . . they’re the reason I invited you here. This one . . .’ She walked over and picked up one of the frames, clutching it to her breast before passing it to Anna. ‘This one is my child. I was young, foolish, I thought I would manage to keep her secret. But the Catchers . . . well, they found her. Took her away. It was the early days when people were still treated leniently if they apologised; they fined me, but otherwise let me off with a caution because I showed “due remorse”. Thought I’d learnt my lesson. But you see, it doesn’t work like that, does it?’
    Anna quickly took the frame, tears appearing in her eyes as she studied the photograph of a tiny baby, wrapped in a blanket.
    ‘She’s a Surplus now?’ she asked quietly.
    Maria nodded. ‘The thing is,’ she said, her voice catching slightly, ‘at first, when