The Resistance

inside her. ‘Sheila was my friend. I left her behind in Grange Hall. I left her behind . . .’
    Maria caught her as she fell; she found herself a few moments later back on the sofa, lying down with Maria bending over her, concern in her eyes.
    ‘I . . . I don’t know what happened,’ she said uneasily. ‘I’m sorry. I . . .’
    ‘You fainted,’ Maria said gently. ‘Are you OK, Anna?’
    Anna nodded. ‘I’m fine,’ she said staunchly. She’d learnt at Grange Hall never to show weakness.
    ‘I’m sure you are. But you must be careful, Anna. Without Longevity your health is weaker than the rest of us. And that little boy is depending on you.’
    Anna looked at Ben worriedly, then pulled herself up. ‘You’ve been very kind. But I must go now.’
    ‘Can we see each other again?’ Maria asked.
    Anna bit her lip, imagining what Peter might say. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said quietly. Then, her eyes fell back on the photograph of Sheila. ‘I mean, maybe,’ she corrected herself. ‘If I can help.’

Chapter Nine
    Peter nearly didn’t get to the meeting with Pip on time. Dr Edwards had him studying something called Synthetic PirB all morning and filing the results of a major study in the afternoon, and it had been 5.15 p.m. before he’d been able to get away, and a further twenty minutes before he felt absolutely confident that he wasn’t being followed – a regular paranoia that was getting worse lately. As always when meeting Pip, the address wasn’t straightforward to find. Number 87 wasn’t actually on Grays Inn Road, but round the corner, an old building nestled behind an office block. From the outside it appeared derelict; inside a porter was sitting behind a desk looking half asleep, but he still insisted that Peter sign in before entering. Noticing that he didn’t request his identi-card, Peter scribbled the current Underground password; the guard nodded and Peter headed for the stairs.
    He needn’t have rushed, in the event; Pip was ten minutes late. The room was small, grey, with a meeting table in the middle and a haphazard arrangement of cheap metal chairs around it. Peter pulled one out and sat on it, then looked around. There was little to hold his attention; the walls were covered in peeling, colourless wallpaper, and a whiteboard hung listlessly from one wall. There were no blinds at the window, but none were necessary because of the accumulated grease and dirt which prevented anyone from seeing in – or out.
    ‘This place is being turned into flats next month,’ Peter heard Pip’s familiar voice say, and he turned round quickly. Pip never announced his presence; he always seemed to appear from nowhere, skulking into rooms unnoticed, his blue eyes twinkling at people’s surprise.
    ‘Flats are more energy efficient,’ Peter replied.
    The answer appeared to satisfy Pip. ‘So, how’s Pincent Pharma?’
    Peter shrugged. ‘Fine. I’m kind of getting the hang of it. So haven’t you found a new headquarters yet?’
    Pip didn’t appear to notice the question. ‘And your grandfather. Have you seen much of him?’
    Peter bristled as he thought of their conversation the day before. ‘A bit. He keeps telling me how great Longevity is. Trying to convince me not to Opt Out.’
    ‘You told him you were Opting Out?’ Pip’s voice was incredulous. ‘You just told him?’
    Peter faltered slightly. ‘You said to be as honest as possible. And I only said I hadn’t decided yet.’
    ‘I said not to tell too many lies because you’d get confused. I also told you to tell him you were planning to sign . . . Oh, Peter.’ He shook his head, and Peter found his chest tensing uncomfortably.
    ‘It just came out,’ he said. ‘But it’s OK, honestly. Don’t you trust me?’
    ‘Of course I trust you,’ Pip said, but his eyes were still worried. They made Peter feel guilty; the guilt made him irritable.
    ‘No, you don’t. You think I’m just a kid. You think I don’t know anything. But I do. I know what I’m doing.’
    Pip nodded, then looked at the grimy window. ‘I know you do, Peter. But you don’t know how persuasive your grandfather can be. I do.’
    ‘He’s not persuasive ,’ Peter said, his defences rising further. ‘I think he talks total rubbish. He thinks young people are a waste of space.’
    ‘And a threat to him.’ Pip allowed himself a little smile. ‘You know, Peter, a few hundred years ago, many countries in the world considered slavery to be a