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Authors: Gemma Malley
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Edwards began to walk away.
The woman, though, had not finished. ‘Although you can’t say the same for the other one. The girl,’ she said, her voice quieter, but still audible to Peter. ‘Does she deserve my respect too? We’re getting firm on immigrant labour and then we just allow Surpluses to escape and make them Legal. What’s to respect?’
‘Ignore her,’ Dr Edwards whispered, but Peter barely heard him. Anger was shooting up and down his body like fireworks, propelling him forward until he was right beside the woman.
‘Don’t you ever mention Anna again,’ he said, his voice low, leaning down so that his face was close to the woman’s. ‘That’s her name. Anna. And if you ever, ever bring her up in conversation again, I will not be responsible for my actions.’
The woman looked at him and feigned thin laughter. ‘I think you’re making my point for me, Peter,’ she said, shaking her head, and raising her eyebrows at the man next to her. ‘Youth is ignorance. It’s all take, take, take. Aggression instead of discussion. Perhaps you’ll learn in time, but I imagine in your case it really will take a long time. Once a Surplus …’
She shook her head, a look of pity in her eye. Peter’s heart, meanwhile, was pounding in his chest and every instinct made him want to throw himself at the woman, to make her understand what it felt like to be labelled Surplus, to be subjugated, beaten down, humiliated, until all you knew was the desire to serve, to pay your debt to society, to beg forgiveness over and over again simply for existing – to feel like Anna had for most of her life.
Instead, he forced himself to stand up straight, to look away.
‘There, you see. He doesn’t have anything to say now,’ the woman said triumphantly, picking up her fork and delicately swirling some spaghetti round it.
Dr Edwards moved to guide Peter away. ‘I imagine Peter has plenty to say,’ he interjected, smiling drily, ‘but now is probably not the time, wouldn’t you agree?’ Carefully, he steered Peter away from the table and towards another on the other side of the hall.
They sat down and started eating in silence. When their meal was almost finished, finally trusting himself to speak, Peter looked up at Dr Edwards.
‘What did she mean about your views on Surpluses?’ he asked. ‘You don’t think Surpluses have a debt to pay society?’
Dr Edwards put down his knife and fork and looked around hesitantly, then leant in closer towards Peter. ‘No, Peter, I don’t believe that Surpluses have a debt to pay. I think, on the contrary, that we probably owe a debt to them.’ His voice was low and soft, inaudible to anyone but Peter.
Peter eyed him cautiously. ‘You do? So why don’t they?’
Dr Edwards took a mouthful of food and chewed it silently, then put down his fork. ‘Peter,’ he said, his voice a little louder than before, ‘try to understand that the way people respond to you isn’t personal. People have always been fearful of youth. Children and young people are threatening – they challenge things, they reject the status quo. Even before Longevity was invented, teenagers were being demonised by society. They were being issued with civil behaviour orders limiting their movements, they were being blamed for crime, for society’s ills. As people started to have fewer children, so the fear of young people grew. The further away from something we are, the more we tend to mistrust it, Peter. We dislike the unknown, we reject anything alien to us: people with views that contradict ours, societies that are run along very different lines. And children are very different. Young people always contradict their elders – it’s in their nature.’
‘You’re saying they’re scared of me?’ Peter’s tone was sarcastic, dismissive.
‘I’m saying that you unsettle them. I’m saying that if you want to make friends, you will have to be patient with them. Prove to them that they have no
The woman, though, had not finished. ‘Although you can’t say the same for the other one. The girl,’ she said, her voice quieter, but still audible to Peter. ‘Does she deserve my respect too? We’re getting firm on immigrant labour and then we just allow Surpluses to escape and make them Legal. What’s to respect?’
‘Ignore her,’ Dr Edwards whispered, but Peter barely heard him. Anger was shooting up and down his body like fireworks, propelling him forward until he was right beside the woman.
‘Don’t you ever mention Anna again,’ he said, his voice low, leaning down so that his face was close to the woman’s. ‘That’s her name. Anna. And if you ever, ever bring her up in conversation again, I will not be responsible for my actions.’
The woman looked at him and feigned thin laughter. ‘I think you’re making my point for me, Peter,’ she said, shaking her head, and raising her eyebrows at the man next to her. ‘Youth is ignorance. It’s all take, take, take. Aggression instead of discussion. Perhaps you’ll learn in time, but I imagine in your case it really will take a long time. Once a Surplus …’
She shook her head, a look of pity in her eye. Peter’s heart, meanwhile, was pounding in his chest and every instinct made him want to throw himself at the woman, to make her understand what it felt like to be labelled Surplus, to be subjugated, beaten down, humiliated, until all you knew was the desire to serve, to pay your debt to society, to beg forgiveness over and over again simply for existing – to feel like Anna had for most of her life.
Instead, he forced himself to stand up straight, to look away.
‘There, you see. He doesn’t have anything to say now,’ the woman said triumphantly, picking up her fork and delicately swirling some spaghetti round it.
Dr Edwards moved to guide Peter away. ‘I imagine Peter has plenty to say,’ he interjected, smiling drily, ‘but now is probably not the time, wouldn’t you agree?’ Carefully, he steered Peter away from the table and towards another on the other side of the hall.
They sat down and started eating in silence. When their meal was almost finished, finally trusting himself to speak, Peter looked up at Dr Edwards.
‘What did she mean about your views on Surpluses?’ he asked. ‘You don’t think Surpluses have a debt to pay society?’
Dr Edwards put down his knife and fork and looked around hesitantly, then leant in closer towards Peter. ‘No, Peter, I don’t believe that Surpluses have a debt to pay. I think, on the contrary, that we probably owe a debt to them.’ His voice was low and soft, inaudible to anyone but Peter.
Peter eyed him cautiously. ‘You do? So why don’t they?’
Dr Edwards took a mouthful of food and chewed it silently, then put down his fork. ‘Peter,’ he said, his voice a little louder than before, ‘try to understand that the way people respond to you isn’t personal. People have always been fearful of youth. Children and young people are threatening – they challenge things, they reject the status quo. Even before Longevity was invented, teenagers were being demonised by society. They were being issued with civil behaviour orders limiting their movements, they were being blamed for crime, for society’s ills. As people started to have fewer children, so the fear of young people grew. The further away from something we are, the more we tend to mistrust it, Peter. We dislike the unknown, we reject anything alien to us: people with views that contradict ours, societies that are run along very different lines. And children are very different. Young people always contradict their elders – it’s in their nature.’
‘You’re saying they’re scared of me?’ Peter’s tone was sarcastic, dismissive.
‘I’m saying that you unsettle them. I’m saying that if you want to make friends, you will have to be patient with them. Prove to them that they have no
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