Jude had lost Pip. He had passed straight by the Security Centre, through the door at the end of the corridor, and Jude hadn’t been able to find the relevant camera view. His breathing was returning to normal, though; at first, he’d found himself worrying that perhaps Pip had come for him, that his warning not to fly too close to the sun was a serious one. But then he’d kicked 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 meet those, haven’t you?’
As he spoke, the door opened and two guards appeared.
‘What took you so long?’ Richard asked angrily, motioning for them to grab Peter; they ran towards him and handcuffed his hands behind his back.
One of the guards looked up. ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It’s the power cut. Looks like it was sabotage, not a system failure. We’re heightening security.’
‘Sabotage? You mean the Underground?’ Hillary asked fretfully.
Richard turned to Peter. ‘Have you got anything to do with this?’ he asked icily.
Peter shook his head. ‘I wish I did,’ he muttered.
‘Take him,’ Richard said to the guards. ‘Lock him up downstairs in one of the storerooms behind reception.’
They pulled Peter towards the door; as he tried to break free, one of them hit him around the head.
‘Wait!’ Hillary called out, halting the guards in their tracks. ‘The press conference. We need him to appear at the press conference.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Richard said tightly. ‘He’ll sign as arranged.’
Peter shot him a look of disgust. ‘You think I’m going to sign the Declaration now? Not in a million years. I’m glad the Underground sabotaged your energy supply. I hope they blow this place up.’
‘Of course you’ll sign,’ Richard said. ‘And you’ll smile for the journalists, too. After all, if you don’t, your little friend Anna will pay the consequences.’
‘Anna?’ Peter glared at him. ‘You leave Anna out of this.’
‘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.