The Resistance

People like us.’ She stood up to go. ‘Thank you, Anna. I knew that you were good and courageous. As soon as I saw your face, I knew you were someone I could trust. I’ll be in touch, and until then, you look after this little man, won’t you?’
    She pressed Anna’s hand, then turned and left, leaving Anna staring after her. It was madness, she thought to herself. You couldn’t just break into Grange Hall. You couldn’t get five hundred Surpluses out secretly and keep them hidden.
    But then again, she’d told Peter it was futile trying to escape, and they’d done it, hadn’t they? Slowly, she picked up her tea and took a sip, wondering how to mention the map to Peter, bearing in mind his present mood. She decided that perhaps she wouldn’t say anything for the time being; for now she’d keep Maria’s plan to herself.

Chapter Fifteen
    After what had felt like the longest morning he’d ever experienced, Peter stared listlessly at his chicken stew with extra iron and the tranqua-smoothie which his palm print had ordered for him; it was supposed to both boost his immune system and lower his blood pressure. What he really needed, though, was something to relieve the pain in his head and the feeling of nausea that crept through his body every time he thought of Anna, of the Declaration, of the choice that lay before him.
    ‘I didn’t know you were stressed,’ Dr Edwards said, sitting down and eyeing the smoothie. ‘Anything you’d like to talk about?’
    Peter shook his head. ‘I’m fine,’ he said flatly. ‘Those machines don’t know what they’re talking about.’
    Dr Edwards smiled. ‘I see. Hundreds of years of research and technological development dismissed out of hand. Well, I suppose you could be right. But then again, your dilated pupils, the frown lines above your eyes and the fact that you’ve been staring at your food for a full five minutes without even picking up a spoon suggest to me that perhaps the machine might know what it’s talking about. So to speak.’
    His eyes were twinkling, but Peter was in no mood for his humour.
    ‘Fine,’ he said stiffly. ‘I’ll have my tranqua-smoothie.’ He picked it up and drank some – to his surprise, it was delicious. He intended to put it down after one or two gulps, but somehow the instruction didn’t reach his hand or his mouth and moments later, the glass was drained. He put it down and sat back in his chair; he felt warm, nourished, slightly light-headed, a bit like he’d felt years ago when he first met the Coveys, when they put him to bed and read him a story and told him that he’d be safe with them.
    He started to eat his stew.
    ‘I take it your mood is not related to the codes I had you memorising this morning?’ Dr Edwards asked, then he sat back in his chair. ‘I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business. If you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to.’
    ‘I don’t,’ Peter said firmly, putting his spoon down. Then he studied Dr Edwards’ face cautiously. Actually, he did want to talk. The very fact surprised him.
    ‘You know about the Surplus Sterilisation Programme?’ he asked, a few moments later.
    Dr Edwards frowned. ‘Sterilisation? No, Peter. I can’t say that I do. Is it new?’
    ‘Not new.’ Peter paused briefly, looking up at the cameras, then he lowered his voice. ‘Just new to me.’ He paused again, trying to swallow the lump that had appeared in his throat. ‘Turns out I’m not going to be much use at propagating the human race after all. Nor is Anna. They sterilise Surpluses when they’re caught. They just don’t think to tell anyone.’ He attempted a casual laugh; it came out sounding bitter and angry.
    ‘Peter, I’m sorry. I had no idea.’ Dr Edwards looked truly sympathetic; Peter just shrugged.
    ‘Yeah, well,’ he said, returning to his bowl and spooning more stew into his mouth. ‘I guess I should have expected something like that.’
    ‘How could you expect that? It must be very difficult for you.’
    Peter thought for a moment.
    ‘Kind of.’ He put his spoon down and looked up at Dr Edwards, at his kind smile and worried eyes. ‘It’s worse for Anna,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s set on the idea of having children, thinks that it’s her purpose in life or something.’
    ‘And you?’
    ‘Me?’ Peter cleared his throat, playing for time. ‘I don’t know what my purpose is,’ he said eventually. ‘Maybe I don’t even have one.’
    ‘Of course you have