The Pincent Pharma lobby seemed strangely silent without the constant whirring of the escalators. Rows of chairs were filled with journalists waiting silently; Richard watched them for a second or two before making his way to the front. He had arranged for a spotlight to shine on him as he mounted the podium; it had exactly the effect he’d hoped for. As he walked towards the lectern, the assembled journalists gasped and stared up at him, the prophet on the mount, the bearer of light. Gravely, he looked out over the Pincent Pharma lobby. Every newspaper was represented; every news feed, every radio station.
To the right, Peter sat with Derek Samuels on one side watching him, to keep him in check, and Hillary on the other. In front of Peter were the exact words that he was to say to the journalists. Richard looked over briefly and noticed that Hillary was watching him beadily.
Richard stepped forward.
‘Welcome, one and all,’ he said confidently, his voice resounding across the lobby. ‘Welcome to a most important press conference. And may I apologise wholeheartedly for our energy cut-out this afternoon – we are upgrading our current system and this temporary lapse in power was unfortunately a side effect of the implementation programme. However, as you can see, everything is now back to normal. So, to the point of today’s press conference – I’m delighted to have with me Hillary Wright, Deputy Secretary General of the Authorities, and Peter Pincent, my grandson who, as some of you will know, has been working with me over the past few weeks.’
Richard frowned slightly as he noticed two guards whispering fervently to each other, their faces serious; they felt his gaze upon them and immediately fell silent. Richard’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then he smiled back at his audience.
‘As I think was intimated in your invitations to today’s event, there are two significant announcements that we are making today; both are close to my heart and both, I think, will emphasise the continued commitment of the Pincents, and Pincent Pharma, to the Authorities’ aims of Comfort, Health, Wealth and Learning. For today we are launching the prototype of Longevity+, the next phase of Longevity, which could be in production in as soon as six months, pending Authorities’ approval which, I understand, is very likely to be forthcoming.’
Two doctors appeared at the back of the hall. Richard frowned – they worked in Unit X. He hadn’t asked them to attend. But instead of sitting down, they seemed intent on talking to a guard; moments later, they left with two of them.
‘Imagine, if you will,’ Richard continued, smiling at the journalists before him, his fingers drumming on the lectern, ‘feeling as you did when you were truly young. As young as my grandson here, in fact.’
Everyone now stared at Peter. Feeling slightly warm under the lights, Richard took the opportunity to pull out a handkerchief, and he mopped his brow before quickly scanning his notes.
‘Imagine feeling that sense of vitality, of energy, every morning,’ he continued. His eyes flickered over to Hillary – her face was stony, unreadable. ‘Imagine, if you will, the benefits of Longevity being extended to the outer body as well as the inner one. Because that, in a nutshell, is Longevity+. Renewal in the fullest sense of the word. Not just eternal life, but eternal youth.’
The assembled reporters gasped and looked suitably impressed.
‘Of course,’ Richard said seriously, beginning to relax slightly, ‘such drugs are not produced easily. There are funding requirements, extensive research, substantial production costs. But,’ he said, turning again to Hillary before beaming at the reporters in front of him, ‘I am confident that the Authorities will meet the needs and desires of our people and ensure that funding of Longevity+ is prioritised above all other funding areas.’
He met Hillary’s eyes; she smiled thinly.
‘Before I ask Hillary to talk to you about grants and funding, perhaps you will allow me to move on to the second announcement of the day – a personal announcement, as it happens, but one which I believe also has a wider significance. For today, my grandson, Peter Pincent, is to sign the Declaration.’ He shot a benevolent look in Peter’s direction; Peter looked back stonily. ‘As you will know, Peter has had a difficult start in life, a chequered past, if you will. But he is a Pincent, something which he has demonstrated all too well in his time at Pincent Pharma. I wanted you all to share in this momentous step for him, his move into adulthood, into this brave and wondrous world that Longevity has created for us. Ladies and gentlemen, my grandson, Peter.’
Unsteadily, Peter rose to his feet. He made his way to the podium, where his grandfather was carefully flattening out his Declaration and motioning for the photographer to make his way over in order to catch the moment. With a flourish, he handed Peter a pen and moved back so that Peter could sign.
‘Right there, at the bottom,’ he said, under his breath. ‘One signature. Do it quickly.’
Peter stared at the document.
‘Do it or Anna disappears for ever, you understand?’ Richard hissed, then grinned at the photographers surrounding them. ‘Stage fright, I think,’ he said jovially. ‘Boy’s not used to all this attention.’
Then, suddenly, Peter looked up at the journalists. ‘Actually,’ he said seriously, ‘I’d like to say a few words. If that’s OK?’
Richard felt his chest constrict. ‘A few words?’ he said through gritted teeth, moving in and trying to manoeuvre Peter away from the podium. ‘Peter, perhaps now isn’t the time for . . .’
‘Speak!’ A journalist interrupted. ‘Let’s hear from Peter Pincent.’
‘Yes. Peter Pincent,’ another chimed.
Reluctantly, Richard let go of his grandson. ‘Very well,’ he said, smiling benevolently again, for the benefit of the reporters. ‘A few words.’ Then he turned around. ‘Think of the girl before you say anything stupid,’ he whispered into Peter’s ear. ‘You will be sending her to a place far worse than Grange Hall, and this time there will be no escape. She will die in there, believe me.’
Peter nodded soberly, and moved towards the microphone.
‘As my grandfather has said, I’ve been at Pincent Pharma a while now, and in that time I’ve learnt a great deal about science, about Longevity, about the beauty of those white pills, the work that has gone into them, the potential they release,’ he said. Around him, journalists were nodding and taking notes, and he took a deep breath.
‘Each of us, I think, reaches a point where we search for the meaning in life, the point of it all. And my time at Pincent Pharma has really helped me in my search,’ he said. ‘It’s made me realise what’s important. Family. Loyalty. Progress.’
He shot a smile at his grandfather, who was staring at him, a false smile fixed on his face.
‘Which is why,’ he said calmly, ‘I am not going to be signing the Declaration today. Or any day, in fact.’
There was a gasp from the floor.
‘Of course you are,’ his grandfather interrupted menacingly. ‘Of course he is. Right now. Aren’t you, Peter?’
Peter smiled. ‘Actually, no. You see, what I want is life. A real life, full of moments of joy, of anguish, of irritation, of fun. A life with an end point, which makes each second important. A life that is full of love, that doesn’t cause suffering and pain. Because that’s what Longevity does. It enslaves people, it ruins them.
‘This,’ he said quickly pulling off his prized ring, the ring he’d kept so carefully. ‘I thought it represented life. I thought it was important. But it isn’t.’ He looked at the ring for a second, the flower engraved on one side, ‘AF’ engraved on the other. Albert Fern. His great-grandfather’s ring. Looking back at the assembled journalists, he hurled it to the back of the room, throwing his grandfather a triumphant look. ‘It’s a Pincent family heirloom. And I despise the Pincents. I’d rather die than be a Pincent.’
‘And who knows, you may get your wish,’ his grandfather hissed angrily, as two guards appeared at Peter’s side, and started to drag him off the podium.
‘I don’t want anything to do with this place where Surpluses are tortured, where breeding farms are set up just so that people don’t have to have wrinkles. I want a life where people actually enjoy themselves,’ Peter shouted. ‘A life where people have children and mess and they don’t bury their heads in the sand and ignore what’s going on around them . . .’
‘You will regret this,’ his grandfather whispered angrily as he passed him. ‘Anna too.’
‘You don’t even know where Anna is,’ Peter shot back. ‘You should look for the Surpluses, too, while you’re at it.’ He tried to push the guards off, but they were too strong for him; a heavy hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him as they dragged him towards the side of the lobby.
His grandfather’s face crumpled with confusion; Peter shot him a triumphant parting glance as he was pulled away.
‘Wait! Peter! What was that about breeding farms?’ a journalist shouted, jumping to his feet.
Another stood up. ‘Mr Pincent,’ he called out, ‘is it true that Surpluses are being tortured to make Longevity+? Do you have anything to say about your grandson’s accusations?’
Richard looked around, thinking quickly. Peter was struggling violently with his guards; more and more journalists were standing up, shouting their questions.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he called out, raising his hands to calm them. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please, a moment.’
The noise level reduced slightly; some of the journalists sat down.
‘As you know,’ Richard continued, his eyes moving beadily around the room, ‘my grandson Peter started out life as a Surplus, brainwashed by the Underground’s pernicious members, moulded into a dangerous and criminal mind. His mother was also a criminal, and perhaps that should have been a warning to me. I had hoped very much that by employing him here, by giving him the best chances available, he might be rehabilitated.’ He shook his head. ‘Sadly, I think that today has shown that rehabilitation is simply impossible. It is evident to me now that Surpluses are not able to adapt into our civilised society, that they can’t grasp the opportunities that we offer them. We want what’s best for them, ladies and gentlemen, but that doesn’t mean they want what’s best for themselves . . .’
‘Are you saying that Surpluses shouldn’t be made Legal?’ a journalist shouted out. ‘Are you saying your grandson shouldn’t be allowed his freedom?’
‘I’m saying,’ Richard said levelly, ‘that perhaps we need to review the Surplus Act. I’m saying that what Peter has said today is full of lies, full of misinformation. He knows nothing of the workings of Pincent Pharma, or of the development of Longevity+. I’m saying that I apologise for his outburst. I should have realised how completely the Underground had brainwashed him; should have anticipated that he might try to sabotage this important event.’
There was a murmuring on the floor, a few nods of agreement. Then the murmuring became more vocal as the journalists began to turn to the back of the lobby. Frowning, Richard Pincent noticed someone moving at the back of the room. Then he heard a gasp, more gasps, and someone shouting, ‘He’s got a gun.’ It was only then that he saw the youth. At first he thought that a guard was holding him, then he realised that it was the boy who was pressing something into the guard’s back and dragging him to the side of the room.
‘Another Surplus,’ he said quickly, his voice faltering now, his eyes wide with fear, with shock. ‘People, this is a mounting crisis. We must find a way to deal with these criminal youths.’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Jude said angrily, pushing the guard ahead of him and holding the gun out where everyone could see it. ‘Only I’m afraid I’m not a Surplus. Nor’s Peter. So you can’t harvest our cells to make your Longevity drugs. Or is it only girl Surpluses you can use?’
The room hushed; Richard looked at the boy in alarm. ‘I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said icily. ‘Guards, do something. Restrain this boy.’
‘Anyone comes near me and this guard dies,’ Jude shouted. ‘I work for the Underground. I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.’
‘You think I care if you kill a guard? They’re ten a penny,’ Richard said angrily, then blanched slightly as he noticed all the guards in the room staring at him, their eyes full of shock and resentment.
‘What if I kill you?’ Jude said calmly. ‘What will you do then? Or what about if I don’t kill you? What about if I tell you instead that footage from Unit X is on tape? That I’ve got evidence of the Surplus girls you’ve been keeping there? Creating embryos for your precious drugs. Why don’t you tell the journalists about that? Why don’t you tell them about their screams?’
Richard Pincent went white. ‘It’s lies,’ he said, his voice catching. ‘It’s all lies.’ He stepped back, grabbed Derek Samuels. ‘The Surplus girls,’ he hissed. ‘Where are they? And Anna?’
Derek Samuels didn’t need to say anything; his expression, the greeny tinge to his face, said it all. Disgusted, Richard let go of him.
‘Lies that will soon be coming to a computer terminal near you,’ Jude was saying. ‘Unless you let Peter go. Unless you cancel the launch of Longevity+.’
‘How dare you!’ Richard was white now, struggling to comprehend what the boy was saying, trying to understand what was happening. He was shaking with rage, his eyes bulbous, his hands tightened into fists. ‘How dare you threaten me. I am Richard Pincent. I will not have this. I will not . . .’ He felt a stabbing pain in his left arm, and looked around wildly. ‘I will not have anyone question my methods, question my . . .’ But he didn’t finish his sentence; instead, he clutched his chest and fell to the floor.
‘He’s dead!’ a journalist cried out, as two doctors rushed forward. ‘The Surpluses have killed him.’
Like sheep, the journalists began to leave their seats, rushing to the front of the room to get a better view. Immediately, Hillary stood up.
‘I think,’ she said, taking the microphone, ‘that we’ve seen enough. Please return to your seats.’
The journalists didn’t move. ‘Is it true about Unit X?’ one shouted.
‘Who’s the other boy?’ another called out.
‘Are you really creating embryos?’ another cried. ‘Here, at Pincent Pharma?’
As the journalists’ questions became louder, more insistent, Hillary looked over at the doctors who were moving Richard on to his side. ‘He needs heart regeneration,’ one said. ‘He’s got one waiting.’
Hillary nodded, then she turned to the microphone and held up her hands until a semblance of quiet had been restored. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said, her voice crisp and authoritative, ‘as Deputy Secretary General, I would like to apologise for today’s proceedings. As you will appreciate, Pincent Pharma has been encountering some . . . problems recently. May I make it clear that the Authorities take allegations of malpractice and abuse of Surpluses very seriously indeed and that a full inquiry will be launched immediately. I will be taking over the running of Pincent Pharma while Mr Pincent undergoes medical assessment and treatment. In the meantime, and to protect the impartiality of our inquiry, I know that you will understand that there will be no reporting of this press conference or the events surrounding it. Cameras, notebooks and recording devices will, as a matter of national security, be confiscated as you leave.’
‘Leave?’ a journalist cried out. ‘We can’t leave. Tell us about the Surpluses.’
‘Tell us about Longevity+,’ someone else shouted. ‘Tell us how it’s really made.’
Hillary regarded her audience coolly, then allowed her eyes to rest on the first journalist. ‘And your name is?’
The man shifted uncomfortably. ‘Tom Wellings.’
‘Well, Tom, I’m afraid that you are mistaken. You will leave, under Authorities’ mandate. Failure to comply with an Authorities’ mandate results, as you well know, in arrest and investigation.’
She smiled sweetly at him, then turned to the second journalist. ‘And you? Your name, please?’
‘Sarah,’ the woman said, her voice firm. ‘Sarah Condon.’
‘Well, Ms Condon, when the inquiry results are published – which they will be, because the Authorities are committed to total transparency – you will be able to report them accurately for your readers. I would hate for any of you to face sedition charges before you’re able to do that. Really I would.’
She stared at the woman, who, looking shaken, sat down again.
‘I do regret the inconvenience,’ Hillary continued. ‘However, your loyalty and support will be recognised with an exclusive from the Authorities on the Energy Forum tomorrow. And to show our gratitude, each of you will receive ten extra energy coupons next month, assuming, of course, that no details of today’s events have made their way into the public arena. Thank you, and please do make your way out of the building now.’
No one moved for a few seconds, then, gradually, as the guards began to move through the room, the journalists began to stand up. One by one, their belongings were taken from them and they were ushered out of the building into the night. A stretcher appeared; Richard Pincent was lifted on to it. Derek Samuels followed the guards carrying it.
Eventually the room was empty, but for Jude, who was still holding his gun, the guard he was training it on, and Peter and the guards holding him. Hillary waved away Peter’s guards; Jude watched carefully as they left the building, then sent the guard he’d been holding after them, holding the gun at his side, just in case. Hillary turned to him, her lips pursed. ‘These tapes,’ she said, her voice brittle. ‘You will give me all copies, do you understand?’
Jude looked at her in disgust. ‘So you can destroy them?’
‘So that we can investigate your claims fully,’ Hillary said silkily.
‘File them away, you mean.’
Hillary smiled. ‘The Authorities will follow due procedure,’ she said. ‘And I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Either you give me the tapes, or I’ll have you arrested, do I make myself clear?’
Jude looked at her for a moment, then reached into his pocket and handed over a disk. Hillary took it, her eyes lighting up. ‘And now you will give me the gun,’ she said icily. ‘You won’t get out of here alive unless you do.’
But Jude just laughed. ‘You really think there’s only one copy?’ he asked. ‘You really think I’m that stupid?’
Hillary hesitated. ‘More copies?’
‘Of course there are,’ Peter said, taking his lead from Jude. ‘The Surpluses have been rescued. Anna’s safe. And believe me there are more copies of the disk. The images have been transmitted into cyberspace. Anything happens to us and they will be everywhere.’
Hillary’s eyes narrowed. She turned back to Jude who had one eyebrow raised.
‘He’s right,’ he shrugged. ‘If you don’t let us go, things could be very bad for you.’
‘For Richard Pincent, you mean,’ Hillary corrected him. ‘He is at fault here, not the Authorities.’
‘Right,’ Peter said, sarcastically. ‘And the fact that you knew all about it isn’t important? What was it you said . . . “Who’d have thought Surpluses could be so useful?” You think that will go down well in the inquiry?’
Hillary’s eyes widened in shock.
‘See? It’s not just the Surpluses we’ve got on tape,’ Peter said levelly. ‘Let us go, or it goes public.’
Hillary was silent for a few moments, then she took a deep breath. ‘I want you to go,’ she said, her voice angry and low. ‘I want you to go, and I want you to disappear. Breathe one word about what happened here today, raise your heads above the parapet just slightly, and you’ll know the power and ruthlessness of the Authorities, do I make myself clear?’
‘Sure, whatever,’ Jude said, turning to leave.
Peter, meanwhile, was still staring at Hillary. ‘And you come near me or my family and you’ll know the power and ruthlessness of the Underground,’ he said bitterly. ‘Do I make myself clear?’ He moved over quickly to stand beside Jude. Then, slowly, surely, they walked towards the door, looking over their shoulders as they did so, then down the steps, and through the gates. A man emerged from the trees outside the compound, giving the sign of the Underground, and they followed him in silence to the main road, then through a deserted builders’ yard to a road on the other side where a car was waiting for them.
‘You know the disk I gave her was a list of codes from one of my clients,’ Jude said, as they approached the car.
Peter frowned at him, then smiled wryly. ‘So you don’t have anything on tape?’ he asked.
‘Not a thing,’ Jude winked. ‘But she doesn’t know that. Not yet, anyway.’
Quickly, they got into the car and it sped off, down back roads, on to a dual carriageway, into the country. Every so often Peter turned round, his darting eyes checking for other cars on the road, for any sign of danger.
‘I guess we’re going to be doing a lot of that in the future. Looking over our shoulders, I mean,’ Jude said thoughtfully.
‘Welcome to my life,’ Peter said with a shrug. Then he looked at Jude and grinned. ‘Actually, I mean it. Welcome to my life.’