The Resistance

by Gemma Malley

  ‘I wish I could,’ his grandfather said, his expression suggesting the opposite. ‘But it appears Anna has been a foolish girl. She’s been getting involved in seditious activity behind your back.’

  ‘What?’ Peter said uncertainly. ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Lying? I wouldn’t dream of it. We’ve got the evidence on tape – the girl provided plans of Grange Hall for some sort of break-in. What was she thinking?’ His grandfather shook his head and Peter felt himself go white.

  ‘She was planning to break into a Surplus Hall? With whom? Richard, this is a serious business,’ Hillary interjected.

  ‘With no one,’ he reassured her. ‘It was a set-up. Her contact was a Catcher.’

  ‘A Catcher?’ Peter stared at his grandfather in disbelief. ‘You set her up? You bastard. You . . .’

  ‘Insurance, Peter. Insurance,’ Richard smiled. ‘You don’t think I would rely on you to do the right thing, do you?’

  ‘Where is she?’ Peter demanded. ‘What have you done with her?’

  ‘She’s perfectly safe, Peter,’ his grandfather replied icily. ‘But unless you sign the Declaration at 6 p.m. this evening, smiling for the journalists’ photographs, I can’t guarantee that she’ll remain so for much longer.’

  Constrained by the guards, Peter twisted to look back at the girls, back at Sheila.

  ‘The Surplus Sterilisation Programme,’ Peter said, suddenly, his voice tight. ‘Sheila’s name was on the list. How can she be pregnant if she was sterilised?’

  ‘Surplus Sterilisation Programme? But it never got ratified,’ Hillary said, surprised. ‘It was only ever a discussion paper . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she saw the look on Peter’s face.

  ‘You . . .’ His face contorted with confusion then anger as the truth dawned on him. He turned on his grandfather. ‘You planted it for me to find . . . You sent me the note. It wasn’t the Underground,’ he said, his voice almost a whisper.

  ‘I helped you make your mind up, that’s all,’ his grandfather said, a malevolent smile creeping across his face. ‘You wanted to sign the Declaration and I took away the barriers, that’s all. I was helping you.’

  ‘Helping me?’ Peter looked around the room wildly, adrenaline streaming through his veins so that he didn’t know what to do with himself. ‘You think that making me think I was infertile, having to tell Anna that she . . . that she . . .’ He broke off, unable to finish the sentence, bending over involuntarily and crying out from the pain as the guards pulled his arms backwards.

  ‘Take him away now,’ Richard said, dismissing the guards with a wave. ‘And Peter?’ He looked at his grandson, his eyes narrowing. ‘Make no mistake, if you do not follow my precise orders at the press conference, if you are not utterly convincing, Anna will be imprisoned for the rest of her life. You will never see her or her brother Ben again. And you yourself will be imprisoned for suspected aiding and abetting. Don’t cross me, Peter. Trust me when I tell you that it really isn’t worth it.’

  Peter felt his fists clench with anger. ‘Anna’s Declaration,’ he shouted as he was dragged from the room. ‘Her signed Declaration. Was that you, too?’

  But he got no answer.

  ‘I thought you said the girl was dangerous?’ Hillary whispered to Richard when the door had closed behind him and the guards. ‘Are you really going to let her off the hook?’

  Richard smiled darkly. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Far from it, in fact.’

  Jude found himself at a dead end. He knew the lift shaft was only a few metres away, but a metal screen was blocking his way. He knocked it; it was thin, could be dismantled, he reckoned, but it would make a noise and the game would be up. Frustrated, he wriggled backwards; he would have to find another way round. Making his way back to the area above the Pincent Pharma reception, he crawled to the left. The dust was getting in his eyes and he longed to wipe it away, but each time he tried he simply added more; instead, he found himself squinting, using his hands to guide him.

  And then, just when he thought he was making progress, he hit another dead end. Another metal plate – they must have been installed to separate the lift shaft, he realised. Whichever way round he went, he was going to find the same barrier. Sighing, he allowed himself to collapse on the floor in exhaustion whilst he collected his thoughts. He lay there for a few minutes, his mind racing, trying to work out what to do next. And then he heard something beneath him: a door opening. Tensing up, he lifted himself back on to his hands and knees; the guards had tracked him down, he realised. He’d been stupid to rest, even for a minute. But as he peeked down the nearest air vent to see how many guards there were, he frowned. One guard walked in, and didn’t look up to the ceiling at all, but instead stared at the empty bench in front of him. His eyes scanned the room suspiciously, his hand reaching down to his holster to retrieve his gun. And then, suddenly, he fell to the ground. It took Jude a few seconds to realise that someone had struck him; his eyes widened as he realised that the someone was Pip, who had been hiding behind the door. Then he watched in disbelief as Pip swiftly unrobed the guard, swapped clothes with him and propped him up on the bench.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Pip cautiously opened the door and slipped into the corridor. Years of experience had taught him how to become invisible, to deflect attention, to blend seamlessly into the background, years that he seldom regretted and yet knew were owed to the darkest travails of humanity. The irony was not lost on him; in quiet moments he liked to muse on it, to question himself, just as he liked to question everything.

  He took out his phone and dialled a number. ‘Yes. Me. I’m in. There’s a power cut here. Any information?’

  ‘Power cut? No, no information. Your whereabouts?’

  Pip frowned. The power cut couldn’t be a happy accident; such things didn’t exist. Was it Peter? A more malevolent force? He walked towards a small sign. ‘Corridor A, North.’

  ‘Roger. Contact will be with you shortly.’

  Pip nodded. ‘The power cut means security is compromised. Make your way in through the basement. But be careful – it might be a trap.’

  ‘Roger.’

  Unsettled, Pip turned his phone off and slipped out into the corridor. He disliked the things – he needed them, of course, knew they were invaluable, but even with anti-tracking devices they were dangerous. If he were caught, he would never give up his comrades, never alert the Authorities to the existence of a van full of men waiting to assist him when he gave the word. But his phone? It wouldn’t take much to trace his last calls, to track down his fellow Underground soldiers.

  Seconds later, a man in overalls appeared. He cleared his throat as he passed Pip, but kept on walking.

  ‘Longevity’s all very well, but a drug for tiredness would be welcome,’ Pip said softly.

  The man stopped. ‘And one for heating,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I can’t seem to warm up in this weather.’

  They eyed each other for a couple of seconds, then Pip moved closer. ‘Location?’ he asked. ‘Do we know where the girl is?’ The news of Anna’s kidnap – and it was a kidnap, as far as the Underground were concerned – had reached him just hours before from the watchers he’d assigned to shadow her. Immediately an action plan had been decided, contacts within Pincent Pharma rallied.

  The man nodded and slipped a roughly drawn map into Pip’s hand. ‘She’s being kept on the other side of the building, storeroom 48. But there’s a guard outside.’

  Pip nodded thoughtfully. ‘What about the blackout?’ he asked. ‘What’s the word?’

  The man looked at him curiously. ‘I thought that was you. They’re saying it’s the Underground.’

  Pip frowned. ‘Thank you,’ he said sincerely. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

  The man nodded briefly, then walked quickly away, back to work. He had risked his life and Pip knew that – cameras had probably picked up their exchange; within hours he might be questioned, tortured. But those hours would give Pip the t
ime he needed. He had to think of the big picture. All of them did.

  Adopting the gait of a guard, Pip walked off down the corridor. It took him several minutes to reach the services area where the storerooms were located on the other side of the building. His eyes scanned the numbers on the doors. He could hear the muffled sound of a baby crying, a sound which nearly stopped him in his tracks. Room 48 was just ahead; as his contact had warned him, a guard was stationed outside the room.

  ‘Thought you might want a tea break,’ he said to the guard.

  The guard looked straight ahead. ‘I’m not to move,’ he said. ‘Orders from Richard Pincent. Who are you, anyway? Don’t remember seeing you around.’

  Pip smiled. His hypnotic eyes looked steadily into the guard’s, charming the look of suspicion from his face. ‘Got brought down here to bolster security. Because of the blackout,’ he said. ‘Just thought you might want to stretch your legs.’

  The guard looked at him, a flicker of temptation crossing his eyes, then he shook his head. ‘Not worth my while,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘But cheers, all the same.’

  ‘No problem. No problem at all.’

  Pip smiled wryly, his eyes taking in every detail of the guard, of the door. Then he turned around and walked away. It was never going to be that easy, he thought to himself ruefully. But it had been worth a try.

  The guards had to literally drag Peter through the warehouses, down the steps, down the corridor. At every stage he wrestled with them, cursed them, dragged his feet, protested.

  ‘You know what they’re doing up there?’ he asked them, through gritted teeth. ‘Do you know what Pincent Pharma does behind closed doors?’ But the guards didn’t seem interested; they stared resolutely ahead, kicking or pushing him every so often when he struggled too much, when irritation got the better of them. Eventually, Peter gave up; angrily, he looked down at the floor, the only place he could bear to look, the only place where he would not be met with posters proclaiming Longevity’s wondrous properties, with whiteness, with the purity that permeated the entire building, purity that Peter now saw as the lure of the devil.

  ‘Lifts are out,’ one of the guards sighed. ‘We’ll have to take the stairs down.’ They dragged Peter towards the stairwell, then pushed him down in front of them, chuckling when he stumbled, looking at him blankly when he turned to remonstrate with them.

  As they reached the second floor, Peter heard footsteps beneath him, on their way up. A check over the banister revealed another guard, coming towards them. Could he trip him, Peter wondered? Could he create enough of a diversion to escape? Then he shook himself. Anna. He had to protect Anna. He had to do what his grandfather said. With a sigh, he continued to walk; seconds later, he came face to face with the approaching guard. The guard stopped; Peter stopped too, allowing his eyes to register the polished shoes, the dull grey uniform, the gold buttons. The eyes . . .

  Peter felt his heart skip a beat as the familiar blue eyes registered surprise for an instant. He stared into them, feeling their questions, their reassurance, their acceptance, their warnings all at once, each message received perfectly by Peter.

  ‘This the lad?’ Pip asked.

  ‘The lad?’ The guards looked at him uncertainly.

  ‘Peter Pincent,’ Pip said, his voice a sneer. ‘I’m to take him downstairs. Apparently there’s more trouble upstairs and you’re needed.’

  ‘What sort of trouble? Mr Pincent told us to lock him in one of the storerooms behind reception,’ one of the guards said.

  Pip raised an eyebrow. ‘All I know is that it’s all kicked off. And Mr Pincent, he’s not happy.’

  The guards looked at each other apprehensively then pushed Peter towards Pip before turning and climbing the stairs again.

  Roughly, Pip grabbed Peter; then turned and pushed him down the stairs, causing Peter to stumble.

  ‘Get a move on,’ he said tersely. ‘I’ve got enough to do without babysitting, do you understand? Now come on, move.’

  Peter started to walk, but Pip quickly stopped him, then put his finger to his lips and crept up after the guards. Peter heard two dull thuds and they both fell to the floor; Pip was holding what looked like a revolver, which he returned to his guard’s holster. He bent over the guards, located their keys and in a few seconds had released Peter’s handcuffs.

  ‘Quick, help me move them,’ he whispered. They dragged the bodies down to the second floor landing, and Peter acted as a lookout while Pip found an empty room to stash them in.

  ‘Right. To the storerooms,’ Pip said when he’d finished. ‘After you.’

  He held the door to the stairwell open for Peter, who walked through it, his legs feeling unsteady.

  ‘You . . . you know where they are?’ Peter managed to say.

  ‘I have a feeling I might,’ Pip said, taking the map from his pocket. He pulled Peter down the stairs then motioned towards a door, leading to a long, empty corridor. Peter followed, silently; moments later, Pip opened a door leading to an empty room.

  ‘Quick,’ he said. ‘We haven’t got long. What’s going on? Did you cause the blackout? Why the guards?’

  Peter felt his heart thumping. ‘Anna,’ he said, ignoring Pip’s questions. ‘My grandfather . . . he said she’s been arrested. He said she’d been caught planning seditious activities.’

  ‘She was trapped,’ Pip said calmly. ‘That’s why we came here – to get her out.’

  ‘She’s here? I thought she was in prison somewhere. Who’s the “we” anyway? Are you here with other people?’

  Pip nodded.

  ‘Then tell them we need them to storm this place,’ Peter said, his voice rising with emotion. ‘To get Anna out, but also . . .’ he paused, his eyes widening as he looked at Pip. ‘They have to go to Unit X. I was there. That’s why my grandfather . . . the guards, I mean. It was because I saw what he’s doing up there. He had Sheila, and other Surplus girls. They were . . . They’re harvesting foetuses, Pip. For Longevity+. I had to leave her there. I have to sign the Declaration, otherwise Anna . . .’ His voice dried up as he felt his legs buckling beneath him and he slowly slid to the ground. ‘I didn’t listen to you,’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t listen . . .’

  ‘You discovered the truth,’ Pip said, seeming to take this torrent of information in his stride. ‘Better to find your own way than to blindly trust the words of others, whoever they are.’ He leant down and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. ‘But now you know the truth, we must get you both out of here.’

  ‘I didn’t protect Anna,’ Peter said desperately. ‘I said I would, and I failed her. I told her to sign. I . . .’ He gulped, forcing back the tears that had welled up in his eyes. ‘And it was all a lie. The sterilisation programme. He made it all up.’

  ‘A lie?’ Pip’s face lit up. ‘Yes, yes, I hoped . . .’

  ‘I hate myself,’ Peter whispered.

  ‘You should despise Richard Pincent, but not yourself,’ Pip said gently. ‘Richard Pincent is determined to twist the world to his own dark ends; you are on the side of the angels. But even angels fall, sometimes. We all make mistakes; without them we would learn nothing.’

  ‘You don’t make mistakes,’ Peter said despondently.

  Pip turned away. ‘I have made the worst mistakes of all,’ he said quietly. ‘But we can all strive to make amends. That is why I fight, Peter. That is why I continue to take Longevity, the drug I despise, why I keep myself alive – because I won’t stop until it’s over. Until it’s all over.’

  Peter looked at him searchingly. His mentor, the man he had once considered invincible, all-knowing, all-seeing, suddenly seemed frail, human.

  ‘So what are we waiting for?’ he said. ‘Let’s get them out. Let’s attack.’

  Pip shook his head. ‘No, Peter. We can’t risk it.’

  ‘But why?’ Peter said desperately. ‘We need to get the girls out. You didn’t see it, Pip, it was horrible.’

  ‘I know,’ Pip said seriously.
‘But an armed attack would bring the security forces down on us. No, we need to do this quietly.’

  ‘Quietly,’ Peter sighed with frustration. Then he frowned. ‘So who caused the blackout? If it wasn’t you, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Pip said, shaking his head. ‘In former times I’d have said that God was on our side.’

  ‘God?’ Peter’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I thought he’d been replaced by my grandfather.’

  As he spoke, there was a noise from above and they both looked up sharply. Then, seconds later, there was another noise, something scraping along the ceiling. Pip put his fingers to his lips and silently moved a chair under the air vent in the ceiling. Then he stood on it, lifted his hands up and quietly levered the air vent open.

  Peter looked up apprehensively; the next thing he knew, Pip was dragging someone down through the vent on to the floor. Peter stepped back, his eyes wide, his heart racing in his chest and stared at the person on the ground. He didn’t look like a Pincent Pharma employee; he was wearing jeans, his hair was too long, his face was . . . Peter frowned as he peered at him from the corner of the room. His face looked young. As young as Peter’s own face.

  Peter looked around for a makeshift weapon and grabbed a wooden pole, which closer inspection revealed to be a broom handle. He brandished it, held it over the youth as Pip knelt on top of him. But instead of flinching, he looked directly at Peter, and his expression wasn’t one of fear, of fascination, or any of the usual emotions people displayed when seeing him for the first time; it was an expression Peter couldn’t read – of sadness, perhaps, or loss.

  ‘You know, it isn’t God that’s on your side,’ the young man said, his voice strangled from Pip pressing down on his chest. ‘To my knowledge, no god can leave a connectivity demon, untraceable by even the most experienced technological professional, particularly the lazy, ignorant computer geeks that work here. A connectivity demon that shuts down electricity across the whole building.’