The Resistance

himself; Pip had no reason to follow Jude around. He’d have far bigger fish to fry. But what were they? Had he come for Peter?
    Jude returned to his search, anxiously, flicking through the camera system. It took him a while, but eventually he found her. His princess. His red-haired beauty.
    A red-haired Surplus, he suddenly realised, noticing the Embedded Time on her fragile wrist. He’d been brought up to despise Surpluses, to see them as vermin, a threat to civilisation, a threat to Legal people like him. But then he’d found out how close he had come to being Surplus himself; it was because of Jude that Peter had been a Surplus. His tutor had once told him about the old religion called Christianity, about the concept of Original Sin – a barbaric idea, his tutor had scoffed. But Jude understood Original Sin perfectly. Lately he’d begun to think it summed him up.
    He stared at the girl, wondering what her own story was, imagining what it would be like to talk to her, to have her listen to him, to share their stories and their dreams. Why was she there, he wondered? Was she ill? Perhaps he could take care of her. Perhaps she could take care of him too.
    Not taking his eyes off her, he pressed a button to zoom in. But as her face filled the screen, he realised with a jolt that she was awake. Her eyes seemed to be staring right at him – beautiful, expressive eyes that looked terrified, dark with horror. As he felt his muscles tighten, he trained the camera back to see what was causing her distress, to understand the tears in her eyes. There were doctors and nurses round her, doing things to her – things that made Jude shudder. And then he felt a prickle at the back of his neck as he saw three other figures. He recognised the man immediately – it was Richard Pincent, the man whose face was plastered on every piece of Longevity advertising, who was regularly on the news, in the papers. There was a woman too; he didn’t recognise her. But he did recognise Peter. Recognised those darting eyes, those clenched fists. The girl was screaming now, her mouth wide open, her face red with anger; her legs, he could see now, were in some sort of strange manacles.
    ‘Up there. He’s in the ceiling.’ Jude started slightly; the voice came from below, in the Security Centre. He could hear a ladder being dragged along the floor. Any minute now, the air vent a few feet away from him would open up and he’d be caught.
    Desperately, his eyes glued to the tiny screen, Jude forced himself to disconnect it from the mainframe and the image of the girl disappeared. He shoved his mini-com back in his pocket, took a deep breath and crawled as quickly as he could towards the lift shaft.
    Peter had come out of his hiding place immediately, his eyes fixed on his grandfather; there was no point in doing anything else. ‘What are you doing to Sheila?’ he seethed. He wasn’t scared; he was angry, white with hatred, bitterness coursing through his veins. His voice was low, measured. He would not allow his anger to weaken him in any way. ‘What’s happening to her?’
    Richard Pincent stared at him; he was shaking with rage.
    ‘How? How did you get here? No one knows. No one . . .’
    ‘I followed you. It wasn’t exactly hard.’
    ‘You followed us?’ He walked over to Peter and grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘You followed us? How dare you? You cheap little spy.’
    Peter shook him off; Richard grabbed him again, this time with more force.
    ‘What are you going to do with him?’ Hillary asked anxiously. ‘What if he tells someone what he’s seen?’
    ‘He won’t tell anyone anything,’ Richard said darkly. ‘The guards will be here any moment; they’ll see to that.’
    ‘’You going to chain me up, too?’ Peter asked, through gritted teeth. ‘Turn me into a Useful resource? You make me sick. You are sick. Sick in the head.’
    ‘Enough!’ His grandfather swung a blow at him, catching him on the head and knocking him to the floor.
    Peter pulled himself up, his face defiant, and looked at Hillary. ‘And you condone this? The Authorities are happy, are they?’
    Hillary looked at him uncomfortably. ‘All Pincent Pharma’s processes will continue to be reviewed and checked by an appropriate department,’ she said, moving away from Peter apprehensively. ‘Naturally there are standards and we need to ensure that we are meeting our aims and objectives . . .’
    ‘Objectives,’ Peter said. ‘Of course. Got to