The Resistance

building’s power, its arrogance, its secrecy, as he walked around its boundaries. He was shivering, and not just because of the cold winter wind that froze his face. This was the place where Longevity drugs were made. This was the place he despised, that he’d always despised. And today he was going inside.
    The building gave little away from the outside. Painted white, with Pincent Pharma emblazoned across its gates, the laboratory had small windows with mirrored glass, ensuring that anyone peering in to spy on the workings of the employees within would be met only by a reflection of their own squinting eyes and curious expression. Around the building was a high wall, impenetrable except for several large gates, one of which allowed pedestrians through and either side of which was stationed a security guard in a toughened glass and steel booth, along with an identi-card scanner which automatically opened and closed the gate.
    Foreign terrorists fighting for cheap Longevity drugs in their own countries had tried several times to bomb Pincent Pharma; the laboratory was, though, apparently indestructible. Bomb-proof, fire-proof, flood-proof, damage-proof – he’d read about it in the file Pip had given him. Longevity production was considered more important even than farming, which itself was a high priority for the Authorities. Comfort, Health, Wealth and Learning were the stated aims of the Authorities – these things were what mattered to people, what resonated with them. The only thing that mattered was to keep everyone alive and happy. What didn’t matter was people like him and Anna. New people. New life. Like Noah’s Ark, the Authorities had pulled up the gangplank many years before and set sail defiantly, not caring what they might be leaving behind, or to what horrific world they might be sailing.
    And now, he was going to be working inside this place. Peter, who had approached the building from its back in order to size it up before formally presenting himself to Richard Pincent, suppressed a slight shudder at the thought as he walked around the perimeter wall. Along it, posters gleamed in new glass casings, the Pincent Pharma logo clearly visible across the top of each of them, navy on white, the final ‘a’ in Pharma given a little tail that suggested a friendly smile.
    As he approached the gate, Peter steeled himself. Steadily, he walked towards it.
    The guard appeared not to see him, looked past him, as though his existence was of no importance at all.
    ‘I’m Peter,’ Peter said, looking him right in the eye. ‘Peter . . .’
    ‘Peter Pincent?’ the guard asked lazily. He was thin, wiry; a scar just above his left eye suggested that he had seen action.
    Peter frowned. He hated his surname. Loathed it.
    He nodded.
    The security guard looked him up and down, unaware that Peter was also scrutinising him. The guard was about a hundred and forty, Peter guessed.
    ‘You’ll need to fill in a few forms,’ the man said, handing Peter a clipboard then leaning against the wall of his booth. There was a little smirk on his lips, as though he was playing with Peter, as though he was party to some joke. Peter’s eyes narrowed. He hated authority figures, people who thought that a uniform and a job title gave them the right to order people around, to order him around.
    Irritated, Peter began to scrawl his name, address, date of birth and purpose of visit on the forms he’d been given; the guard appeared to enjoy his awkward attempts to lean on the flimsy board behind them.
    ‘You were in one of those Surplus Halls, weren’t you?’ It was a statement as much as a question, a way to show Peter that he had no secrets.
    Peter nodded tightly. ‘That’s right.’
    The security guard’s lips crept upwards into a sneer. ‘Lucky, aren’t you?’ he said, not waiting for an answer. ‘And now you’re coming to make Longevity drugs. Interesting career move.’
    Peter took a deep breath and handed the form back to the guard. ‘Now, where should I go?’
    The guard folded his arms and looked Peter up and down again. Then he shrugged.
    ‘You don’t have a security pass, do you? Can’t go through without a security pass.’
    ‘And where do I get a security pass?’
    ‘Reception.’
    ‘And I can’t get to reception –’
    ‘Without a security pass. It’s a tricky one.’ The guard’s eyes glinted slightly. Peter gave him a sarcastic smile.
    ‘So it looks like I’m going to be spending the