The Resistance

life, but he was met by silence. Sighing with relief, he moved his fingers to the keypad to the left of the screen and began to search.
    ‘You’re sure that Longevity production hasn’t been compromised?’
    Peter jumped back abruptly at the sound of a high, anxious voice and pressed himself against the wall. Walking towards him, he could see the unmistakable form of his grandfather. A fearsome-looking woman with rigid hair was striding down the corridor next to him.
    ‘Production?’ His grandfather’s voice sounded incredulous, but Peter could hear the stress in it. ‘Of course it isn’t compromised. Non-essential functions are shut down in case of power failure, but never Longevity production. Longevity production and Unit X both have independent back-up energy systems, Hillary. Longevity production never ceases. Really, there’s nothing to worry about.’
    Peter’s eyes widened at the mention of Unit X. It was the place Pip had wanted to know more about, although that seemed almost a lifetime ago now.
    ‘Your security is still down, Richard, which is alarming enough. I thought Pincent Pharma had the most sophisticated systems in the world.’
    ‘It does,’ he said grimly. ‘And now we know to put it on a grid of its own too. Hillary, people will be fired over this, I can assure you, but it is no reason to be worried. No reason to . . .’ He stopped dead as he saw his grandson and stared at him suspiciously. ‘Peter! What on earth are you doing here?’
    Peter reddened. ‘We were . . . me and Dr Edwards, I mean . . . we were looking at the Operations Plant,’ he mumbled. ‘Dr Edwards had to go and talk to the research team. I was just on my way back.’
    His grandfather’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know that this is a restricted area?’
    Peter nodded. ‘Dr Edwards said . . .’
    ‘Dr Edwards, I’m sure, knew what he was doing,’ his grandfather said tightly, his eyes flickering over to the woman. ‘But perhaps you should return to your workstation, Peter. As quickly as possible.’
    ‘So this is Peter Pincent. How very interesting.’ The woman was staring at Peter curiously.
    Peter said nothing. He wanted to ask about Unit X, wanted to reassure himself that it was just another unit, that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation to quash the doubts now nagging at him.
    ‘Yes, yes it is,’ his grandfather said, his eyes still trained on Peter suspiciously. ‘Hillary, this is Peter. Peter, Hillary Wright is the Deputy Secretary General at the Authorities.’
    Peter surveyed the woman quickly. Her eyes were narrow, her posture upright.
    ‘So, I hear you are a convert to Longevity.’
    ‘I . . .’ Peter dug his nails into his palms. ‘I think Longevity is an incredible thing,’ he said carefully.
    ‘And you’ll be signing the Declaration at the press conference this afternoon?’ Hillary continued, her eyes fixed on him beadily.
    Peter balked slightly. ‘Press conference? I’m not very good with press –’ he said.
    ‘They are a necessary evil, I’m afraid,’ Hillary said sharply. ‘People will be curious, Peter. You’re rather famous, you know.’
    ‘I thought I was more infamous,’ Peter said.
    ‘Fame, infamy, they’re of the same family,’ Hillary said, smiling thinly. ‘I think it would be a good idea.’
    She shot a look at Peter’s grandfather, whose expression was unreadable. ‘I’m sure Peter will agree,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Signing the Declaration is something to celebrate, after all.’
    Peter looked back uncomfortably. He might be signing the Declaration, but that didn’t make him a puppet for the Authorities, for Pincent Pharma.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I don’t think I . . .’ Then he hesitated. Perhaps a press conference might not be such a bad idea. It would serve the Underground right, after all. It would show Pip once and for all that Peter was his own man. It would show that he couldn’t be manipulated any more, couldn’t be used.
    ‘Actually, why not?’ he said eventually.
    ‘Good,’ Hillary said. ‘I know that Richard will ensure that you’re briefed.’
    ‘Of course,’ his grandfather said cautiously. ‘6 p.m., Peter. Now, I think you’d better go back to your lab.’
    Peter made his way to the other end of the corridor where he turned left. They thought they were using him, but they weren’t; he was using them, he thought to himself, swaggering slightly. No one used Peter. Not any more. But then he stopped. Something