The Resistance

Yes, I believe he is.’
    ‘Then get on with it,’ he hissed. ‘I’m with a senior representative from the Authorities. I have a press conference today and a blackout to contend with. I don’t want to be bothered with anything else, do you understand?’
    ‘Completely,’ Samuels said quickly. ‘Consider it dealt with.’

Chapter Twenty-Four
    Shivering under the thin blankets, Sheila rolled over on to her side. Her stomach was swollen and sensitive to the touch and she wriggled awkwardly to get comfortable, then slowly allowed her eyes to close and tried to coax her body into sleep.
    She was woken what felt like minutes later by the sound of voices close by. Sheila froze. Voices close by were never a good thing in her experience of this place.
    ‘Right. So we think this one’s nearly ready?’
    ‘Levels look right.’
    ‘Lovely. And how many are we looking at?’
    ‘At least twelve, maybe more.’
    The other voice whistled. ‘Great. OK, then, let’s wheel her in.’
    Sheila felt her bed moving and she opened her eyes, fearfully. Behind her was a heavy-set man, pushing her bed; at the foot, pulling her, was a nurse she recognised.
    ‘Where . . . where am I going?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice level.
    The nurse looked at her irritably. ‘Does it matter?’
    ‘Am I going back to Grange Hall?’
    The nurse grimaced. ‘No, Surplus. You’re about to repay your debt to society, young woman.’
    ‘Does that mean I’m going to be a housekeeper now?’ Sheila asked hopefully. ‘Does that mean I’m going to a house?’
    The nurse laughed. ‘A house? Give me a break. Now shut up or I’ll have to inject you, and the doctor prefers you lot awake, understand?’
    ‘Awake?’ Sheila asked, before she could stop herself. ‘For what? What’s the doctor going to do to me?’
    ‘What’s the doctor going to do to me?’ the nurse repeated, her voice mocking. Then she looked past Sheila to the orderly pushing her bed. ‘All right, stop a second will you?’
    The bed stopped and the nurse pulled out a needle. ‘Just a little one,’ she said. ‘She’ll be awake in time for the op.’
    Sheila felt a hand clamping hold of her arm and the sharp pain of a needle being inserted into it.
    ‘That’s better,’ the nurse said to no one in particular as she disposed of the needle. ‘You’d have thought with all the experiments they do on Surpluses they’d have mutated a gene by now to stop them talking. Organ regrowth is all very well, but what about us? We’re the ones that have to deal with them day in, day out.’
    Sheila’s head started to spin and, seconds later, she felt herself falling into a deep sleep.
    The room Peter found himself in reminded him of the old depots and derelict warehouses he’d spent time in when he was younger, being dropped off, picked up, left sometimes for days at a time while the Underground tried to work out what to do with him, tried to find someone who’d be prepared to take him in. Boys were difficult, Pip would mutter to him; girls were easier to hide, easier to entertain. Boys needed space to run around, but running around simply wasn’t an option for illicit children, not with prying eyes everywhere, not with the Catchers ready to pounce at any minute. It had got harder as he had got older, too – there were always homes for young children, always people who would offer to hide babies, but a growing boy was a challenge. Any boy more than five years old was difficult to place.
    Peter frowned and pushed the memory from his mind. Then, pausing only briefly to take in the shabby state of the room, the boxes piled up, the unswept concrete floor, he scanned the room. In the far corner, only just visible behind a pile of what looked like rubbish and rubble, he saw a door. Checking that there was no one to see him, he scurried towards it and opened it just a fraction. The first thing he heard on opening the door was the voice of his grandfather, and he quickly jumped back.
    ‘So you see,’ his grandfather was saying, ‘Longevity is a wonder drug, but it has its limitations. What we’re developing here is the next stage. Longevity 5.4. Or, for marketing purposes, Longevity+.’ They were walking towards a staircase; Peter strained to listen.
    Hillary shrugged. ‘If you say so. Now, can we get on with this? The Authorities have other pressing concerns, Richard. Concerns that rather supersede Longevity.’
    Peter’s grandfather smiled thinly. ‘Supersede