The Resistance

needed to see for himself.
    ‘And you will. We have within our grasp the Holy Grail of anti-ageing, if you’ll just wash your hands over there and put on this gown . . .’
    ‘But I don’t understand. I don’t . . .’
    ‘You will! We’re already at the testing stage. Unofficially, that is. But so far, there’s been nothing but an increase in demand from our . . . the participants in our trials.’ He grinned. ‘I promise you, Hillary, this is going to be absolutely huge. For us, for the nation . . . Follow me, and prepare to be amazed.’
    Sheila moaned softly, and tried in vain to free her arms. She didn’t feel important any more; she felt unhappy, afraid, uncomfortable. She could hear screams every so often, and it scared her.
    A man appeared in a white coat, walking briskly towards her. Next to him was the nice woman who was organising things on a trolley. Sheila’s vision was improving gradually; she could make out other beds, people in white coats talking in hushed voices.
    ‘OK, number please?’
    ‘Let’s see now . . . She’s VA 367.’ The woman didn’t smile at Sheila this time; she just walked over, and pressed a lever which raised Sheila’s legs up into the air, wrenching her down the bed so that she grazed her wrists on the manacles.
    ‘And the number for the retrieval?’
    ‘Oh, twelve.’
    ‘Twelve?’ The man sounded impressed. ‘Not bad. That’s the record so far, isn’t it?’
    The woman nodded. ‘We had an unsuccessful eleven last week.’
    ‘Right, well, let’s make sure this is successful then, shall we?’
    He adjusted the light so that it was shining between Sheila’s legs and pulled up her gown. She was hot and embarrassed, but was unable to move.
    ‘It hurts,’ she managed to say to the woman, who had in her hands several small glass tubes. The woman smiled.
    ‘No, it doesn’t,’ she said brightly. ‘This really isn’t that difficult. Just lie still and let the technician get on with the procedure. It will be over soon.’
    Sheila nodded obediently. And then, as she felt something cold and hard jabbing inside her, a bloodcurdling scream filled the room. Sheila only realised a few seconds later that she was making the noise herself. The pain was excruciating, like a knife tearing through her. But it was more than pain. Somewhere, deep inside, her body was crying for something and Sheila didn’t know why or what, but it felt like her cries came from the deepest part of her soul.
    She tried to protest, but the pain shooting through her abdomen made it impossible. Instead, she felt her eyes well up with tears and she prayed that whatever was happening would be over soon, because she knew she couldn’t endure it for much longer. She didn’t want to be a Valuable Asset any more. She just wanted to be Surplus Sheila.

Chapter Twenty-Five
    Peter heard his grandfather open another door; he waited for a few seconds, then, tentatively, opened the door he’d been crouching behind. As he crept through, he saw a flash of white light as his grandfather and Hillary disappeared through two double doors. He found himself in an antechamber; on a counter in front of him was a large sink with gowns hanging next to it and a shelf with small plastic bags on it, which, on closer inspection, turned out to contain latex gloves. Quickly, Peter made his way towards the double doors and pushed at one a fraction so he could see into the room; immediately, his eyes opened wide in shock. The room was very large; along the farthest end were five beds, all with girls in them. As he looked at them, he felt a slight nausea rising up inside of him. Their faces were pale, their eyes glassy or closed. Two of them had their legs in the air, held by strange metal contraptions, which Peter found it hard to look at. The girls all looked his age, younger even. Around one were men and women in white coats. At Peter’s end of the room were various machines and three empty beds stacked on top of each other; Peter made sure no one was looking, then ran to the beds and hid behind them.
    From this vantage point, he saw his grandfather turn to Hillary, a smile on his face. ‘The Surplus,’ he said easily. ‘A drain on society. A burden that the planet can’t cope with. Right?’
    Hillary shot an uncomfortable look in the girls’ direction, then looked away quickly. ‘These are Surpluses? Why are they here?’
    ‘My question, Hillary. Answer my question, please.’
    Hillary sighed. ‘They have