Peter hadn’t been able to get home to see Anna; the blackout had resulted in emergency security measures being imposed and no one was allowed to leave the building. Nor could he reach Anna on the phone; he tried and tried but no one answered. Instead, he and Dr Edwards were left in their lab, twiddling their thumbs, waiting for energy to be restored: all nonessential activity had been shut down, the identi-card system had stopped working, and emergency lighting was on, emitting a low light throughout the building that made each room and corridor feel strange and alien.
‘You want to see the drugs being made?’ Dr Edwards asked. ‘The real hub of production?’
Peter looked up, still preoccupied with thoughts of Anna. ‘I thought it was out of bounds,’ he said vaguely, remembering his first tour of Pincent Pharma, the peek at the ‘finishing area’ he was allowed, but no more. ‘I thought it took months to secure a pass for the production area.’
Dr Edwards shrugged, his eyes twinkling. ‘It does, usually. But the security system is down, isn’t it? Seems like quite a good time to me, bearing in mind your news. And nothing else in the building is working, so there isn’t much else to do.’
‘OK. Sure. Let me just try Anna one more time.’ He dialled the number but no one picked up; a few minutes later, Peter reluctantly followed Dr Edwards out of the lab.
They made their way to the production side of the building, passing through door after door that swung open disconcertingly instead of remaining solidly shut as they usually did. Guards were patrolling the corridors, their expressions grim, but without the identi-card system they didn’t know who was meant to be where; whilst Dr Edwards and Peter were stopped several times, they were, each time, allowed to pass freely.
Eventually, they reached the viewing gallery on the fourth floor, the area behind a large glass wall through which Peter could see the small white pills shooting out of funnels. Dr Edwards walked past the window, through a door to his right. ‘There,’ he said, pointing down the corridor to another glass window. They walked towards it, then Peter gasped. Hundreds of vats sat next to each other, machines hovering over them; into some, powder was being poured, in others, mechanical arms were stirring, large metal lids clamping down over them and lasers beaming down. In front of them large sheets of white lay like undisturbed snow, waiting to be fed into pressing machines, ready for the finishing room. The operation was so much bigger than Peter had expected, so industrial. Those machines, those slabs of white, they were the stuff of eternal life. He shook his head in amazement.
Dr Edwards looked equally entranced. ‘Just think, Peter,’ he breathed. ‘Just think what is contained within those sheets. The perfection of mankind.’
Peter stared at them, wondering how many little spherical pills each would produce. Their pure whiteness made them appear so innocent; their promise of eternal life so irresistible.
‘And that’s it?’ he murmured quietly, transfixed as he watched the pills being born out of large machines. ‘You just mix and press? I thought there would be more to it, somehow.’
‘There is,’ Dr Edwards breathed. ‘So much more.’ Then his eyes went misty as they stared into the middle distance. ‘Sweet Longevity, make me immortal with a kiss,’ he whispered.
Peter frowned. ‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ Dr Edwards reddened slightly. ‘I was just remembering something . . . another time, another place. You know, it was Albert Fern who got me excited about science in the first place. He was a great scholar. A great lover of human endeavour.’
‘Albert Fern?’
‘The creator of Longevity. Yes. Your great-grandfather, Peter. He wanted to cure disease, to end suffering. He made me realise what was possible if you never gave up. If you opened your mind to possibility . . .’
‘But he died, didn’t he? Bit ironic, don’t you think?’
Dr Edwards hesitated, then he nodded. ‘But the rest of us live, Peter. And he lives on in every tablet, in every human kept alive by them.’
They stood silently, watching the tablets for a few minutes. Then Dr Edwards took off his lab coat. ‘Peter, while I’m here I think I might pop upstairs to see the research team. We rarely have the time to discuss our research together these days; I think now might be rather a good opportunity. Can you find your own way back, or do you want me to walk back some of the way?’
Peter shook his head. ‘No, I’ll be fine. You go.’
‘I shouldn’t be long,’ Dr Edwards said. ‘But I’m not sure I’d hang around here if I were you. It is a restricted area.’
He walked down the corridor; Peter
barely noticed him go. He was unable to take his eyes away from the
Longevity pills, imagining what he could do with the years that
stretched out in front of him. He could do anything, go anywhere.
The choice was almost paralysing, the decisions endless.
Jude’s heart was thudding in his
chest and his face was covered in hot, grimy dust. He was back
almost where he started – almost but not quite. Below him was the
Security Centre, the hub of Pincent Pharma, the source of all
information, all the power. He could hear someone swearing beneath
him; could hear walkie-talkies going off every few minutes and
frantic conversations. Carefully, silently, Jude opened up the box
in front of him, the mainframe to the security camera system. His
hands were moist with sweat and as he explored the innards of the
system the various wires slipped out of his fingers several times,
but eventually he found what he was looking for. Silently, he took
out his knife and cut two of them, before fusing them together and
connecting them to his own mini-com. Its small screen, just six
centimetres by ten, flickered into life. Jude held his breath,
listening for a sound that might indicate that he’d made a mistake,
that the system below him was also was flashing into life, but he
was met by silence. Sighing with relief, he moved his fingers to
the keypad to the left of the screen and began to search.
‘You’re sure that Longevity production hasn’t been compromised?’
Peter jumped back abruptly at the sound of a high, anxious voice and pressed himself against the wall. Walking towards him, he could see the unmistakable form of his grandfather. A fearsome-looking woman with rigid hair was striding down the corridor next to him.
‘Production?’ His grandfather’s voice sounded incredulous, but Peter could hear the stress in it. ‘Of course it isn’t compromised. Non-essential functions are shut down in case of power failure, but never Longevity production. Longevity production and Unit X both have independent back-up energy systems, Hillary. Longevity production never ceases. Really, there’s nothing to worry about.’
Peter’s eyes widened at the mention of Unit X. It was the place Pip had wanted to know more about, although that seemed almost a lifetime ago now.
‘Your security is still down, Richard, which is alarming enough. I thought Pincent Pharma had the most sophisticated systems in the world.’
‘It does,’ he said grimly. ‘And now we know to put it on a grid of its own too. Hillary, people will be fired over this, I can assure you, but it is no reason to be worried. No reason to . . .’ He stopped dead as he saw his grandson and stared at him suspiciously. ‘Peter! What on earth are you doing here?’
Peter reddened. ‘We were . . . me and Dr Edwards, I mean . . . we were looking at the Operations Plant,’ he mumbled. ‘Dr Edwards had to go and talk to the research team. I was just on my way back.’
His grandfather’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know that this is a restricted area?’
Peter nodded. ‘Dr Edwards said . . .’
‘Dr Edwards, I’m sure, knew what he was doing,’ his grandfather said tightly, his eyes flickering over to the woman. ‘But perhaps you should return to your workstation, Peter. As quickly as possible.’
‘So this is Peter Pincent. How very interesting.’ The woman was staring at Peter curiously.
Peter said nothing. He wanted to ask about Unit X, wanted to reassure himself that it was just another unit, that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation to quash the doubts now nagging at him.
‘Yes, yes it is,’ his grandfather said, his eyes still trained on Peter suspiciously. ‘Hillary, this is Peter. Peter, Hillary Wright is the Deputy Secretary General at the Authorities.’
Peter surveyed the woman quickly. Her eyes were narrow, her posture upright.
‘So, I hear you are a convert to Longevity.’
‘I . . .’ Peter dug his nails into his palms. ‘I think Longevity is an incredible thing,’ he said carefully.
‘And you’ll be signing the Declaration at the press conference this afternoon?’ Hillary continued, her eyes fixed on him beadily.
Peter balked slightly. ‘Press conference? I’m not very good with press –’ he said.
‘They are a necessary evil, I’m afraid,’ Hillary said sharply. ‘People will be curious, Peter. You’re rather famous, you know.’
‘I thought I was more infamous,’ Peter said.
‘Fame, infamy, they’re of the same family,’ Hillary said, smiling thinly. ‘I think it would be a good idea.’
She shot a look at Peter’s grandfather, whose expression was unreadable. ‘I’m sure Peter will agree,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Signing the Declaration is something to celebrate, after all.’
Peter looked back uncomfortably. He might be signing the Declaration, but that didn’t make him a puppet for the Authorities, for Pincent Pharma.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I don’t think I . . .’ Then he hesitated. Perhaps a press conference might not be such a bad idea. It would serve the Underground right, after all. It would show Pip once and for all that Peter was his own man. It would show that he couldn’t be manipulated any more, couldn’t be used.
‘Actually, why not?’ he said eventually.
‘Good,’ Hillary said. ‘I know that Richard will ensure that you’re briefed.’
‘Of course,’ his grandfather said cautiously. ‘6 p.m., Peter. Now, I think you’d better go back to your lab.’
Peter made his way to the other end of the corridor where he turned left. They thought they were using him, but they weren’t; he was using them, he thought to himself, swaggering slightly. No one used Peter. Not any more. But then he stopped. Something was gnawing at his stomach. Something wasn’t right. Maybe he’d been a little hasty. He hadn’t even spoken to Anna yet. Her signed Declaration was burning a hole in his pocket and he needed to know more than anything why she’d changed her mind.
Quickly, he turned and he started to retrace his steps. He would tell his grandfather that he needed more time. He would insist that when he chose to sign the Declaration was his own business. But as he turned the corner, he stopped abruptly. His grandfather had disappeared. He ran ahead to the end of the corridor, but when he looked left and right there was no sign of them.
Annoyed, Peter continued to look around, trying to listen out for the sound of their footsteps, but eventually he had to accept defeat. They had, it seemed, disappeared into thin air.