Hannah poured from an ornate china teapot and then passed a cup to Anne. She settled back on the sofa as Tucker placed another log on the fire.

"Anne, so little of this makes any sense," Hannah said rubbing at her eyes. "How could Eastman be so certain he'd create someone like me, you know, someone, with an SPR of a hundred? If it was that easy, surely the government would have been doing it by now and producing thousands of supposedly perfect little babies every year."

Anne smiled. "Hannah, make no mistake, you are a fine young woman- intelligent, beautiful, brave; you possess the qualities one might expect of perfection..."

Tucker sniggered and Hannah felt her face flame.

"...but you're not perfect; no one is. You just happen to meet or be at the top of the criteria set in testing. If the criteria were different, who knows where you might be."

Something came to Hannah, a thought so fleeting, she couldn't grasp at it quick enough before it was gone, like remembering a dream only to instantly lose its meaning. It had something to do with Briggs, something she had seen, or heard, or read but Anne interrupted her thoughts before she could try to process them further.

"Many years ago, when the government required a more 'scientific' approach to testing, a secret convention was held. A panel of the most powerful people in our society met to decide what parameters they wanted to set for the SPRs and more importantly, what they meant by the term 'perfection'. Until then it was a very rudimentary system based on level of education, health, wealth and so on. But this system was immediately with issue and under such simple criterion, a top-heavy population developed. More people seemed to fall into the higher SPR boundaries that the government wanted or could afford. So they decided to delve deeper, trying to find a more refined way of dividing up the population. Early on, they realised what they needed was a benchmark; a living, breathing example of perfection; well as close to it as they could find. You probably don't need me to tell you who became that benchmark do you?"

"Briggs," hissed Hannah as she leant back in the chair, shaking her head.

"Why on earth would anyone think of using him as a role model?" Tucker scoffed. "He's a bloody psychopathic, sociopathic, nut job...with bells on!"

Hannah shook her head from side to side as Anne chuckled lightly.

"Tucker, I have heard that man called many, many things over the years, but that one has to be my favourite. But in answer to your question, you are forgetting the context in which that decision was made. Firstly, Briggs was born into a very powerful family whose influence spanned the generations. Indeed his father, John- Michael Briggs was a much celebrated war hero, who sat on the panel. He also happened to be the cousin of our then-President, Anthony- Michael Stannington; our last President in fact. After all, the term President becomes redundant when you abolish democratic elections and the legislature to suit your own ends."

Hannah recognised the names straight away and it dawned on her that she was directly related to this powerful dynasty. A history, she'd once been forced to memorise and regurgitate in a test at school. The corruption, greed and wanton disregard for humanity of this ruling elite didn't just control her life and that of everyone else's, it flowed through her veins, lying in the very building blocks of her being. The thought sickened her and left her feeling more tainted. She looked over at Tucker who held his head in his hands, as if the weight of the constant revelations were too heavy to bear.

Anne continued. "It wasn't just family connections that helped Briggs. After several key battles during the uprisings, Briggs, by then a rising-star in the army, became the 'poster-boy' for the government. Images of Briggs, clamouring over the walls of trenches, leading the fight, slaughtering the opposition covered the front pages of the newspapers. Briggs was clever, successful and above all ruthless; everything Stannington wanted in a male heir, but wasn't fortunate enough to be blessed with himself. So Briggs was chosen as the benchmark and from then on all of us have been judged against him."

Anne took a sip of her tea and let her newest revelation sink in.

"Hannah, I'm not sure I want to know anymore," said Tucker quietly. "This..., all of this is just too much to handle."

"I know," she replied. "But if we don't find out everything, how can we fight back, how can I protect my parents?"

"Your mother is safe Hannah, Briggs won't risk losing you. You are his ideal lineage, he'll want you to carry on what his family has done for generations; rule. I however, am surplus to requirements. I know too much and am clearly below par, I am as good as dead as soon as he realises my part in all this."

"I..., we, won't give him that opportunity."

"Hannah, have a word with yourself. Have you heard what you're saying? You still believe after all we have seen and heard that this can end well...for all of us?"

"Yes, yes, I do, now more than ever. Anne, time is running out, it won't be long before we are missed and they send search parties out for us. Could you please tell us the rest of the story, quickly?"

Anne replaced the tea-cup on its saucer. "Knowing that Briggs was the benchmark for the SPRs, allowed Eastman great insight into the whole system. He realised that if he could fertilise eggs from exceptionally highly scoring young women with Briggs sperm, then there was a chance, a remote chance that one of you might meet the top parameters. He spent months looking for these women. Strangely, Hannah, your birth mother, Diana, was actually one of the lowest scoring respondents. But Eastman liked her and when she came for selective fertility treatment, he chose her. Eastman had no idea whether this would work or not, but on the days that you and the others were born, his initial data looked positive, very positive. With the help of someone else, he falsified the testing data and you were all predictably demoted."

"So, Eastman wasn't alone in this; he had help."

"Yes. A plan like this can't be carried out in isolation. Eastman was a clever man, make no mistake, but one can't revolt by oneself. Over the years he discreetly sought out those in opposition and shared his grand plan with a few specific people. It is not my place to tell you about them and anyway I can't give you all their names, because Eastman refused to tell us all them, for their safety and ours. But clearly, you being here now means my safety is now compromised too."

Anne for the first time that night looked frightened. Hannah needed more information, but knew she would have to tread carefully, so she took a different approach. "Where does my mother come into all of this?" Hannah asked.

"Oh, Hannah, your poor mother barely features at all. As well as managing the adoption process, Eastman asked me to keep an eye on you all for your first few years of life. I visited regularly under the guise of adoption monitoring. Your mother, like many of the others was initially very wary, but we became more like friends."

Anne stood up and walked over to a small cabinet next to the sofa where Hannah was sat. She pulled open the top drawer and Hannah saw a pile of pictures. The top one showed a small child, being hugged by its mother, their faces obscured by each other. Anne picked up the photo and passed it to Hannah.

"This is you, aged about thirteen months, Hannah. You can keep it."

"Thank you so much, Anne." Hannah took the picture and stared at the image, wishing she could remember those early days.

Anne rifled through the drawer again. "I have one of you in here too, Tucker."

Hannah looked down into the drawer and was surprised to see a handgun tucked at the back.

"You can keep it, Anne," Tucker said rudely, "I don't need any photos to remind me, thanks very much."

Anne closed the drawer softly and went back to her chair.

"Where was I now..., ah, that's right. Hannah, your father didn't want me in the house, but your mother was kind and forgiving. One day, Eastman told me to end my association with your family; he was worried for my safety and that of the plan for some reason. So I visited her and you one final time and in a silly, emotional, rash moment, I told her too much. I said that you were a very special child, and that one day everyone would know why. I gave her a list of people she could contact should she ever need help, but that the list should remain hidden and only used in emergencies. Your mother took the list, looked at me like I had gone mad but never questioned my motives. I left never to return again. I should never have given her that list."

"Why did Eastman ask you to stop visiting, what was going on?" Hannah asked.

"Hannah, he would be here now explaining this to you himself if it wasn't for a traitor, who gave him up too soon."

"A traitor! Who was it?"

"If there's one thing this long life has taught me is that people change. Beliefs and ideals once held so dear can change overnight, especially when money and the promise of power are involved. There are a number of people who Eastman colluded with who that could apply to, but one in particular."

"Is it a person on the list you gave my mother?"

"No, Hannah. Of the four names on there, two of them are now dead, I am the third. The fourth person I'm sure wouldn't have done or said anything to anyone."

"So if it wasn't them, who did you think it most likely is ..."

Hannah was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing in the kitchen. Anne pulled herself out of the chair and stood, waiting. Her face tensed, her body went rigid as she held her breath. The phone continued to ring and she then moved as quickly as she could into the kitchen and picked up the handset.

"Yes, yes they are," Hannah heard Anne reply. "I see. How long? Okay. No of course I won't. Thank you for warning me."

Anne turned to find Hannah and Tucker, who'd both followed her into the kitchen. Her face had gone very pale and her hands trembled as she replaced the handset.

"You have to go...," she whispered, "now!"

"Who was that?" Hannah asked.

"He just that said he was a friend of yours, that an army unit has been despatched to come to collect me and that you need to leave right away before they get here."

"But we can't leave you like this," Hannah cried, "come with us, we'll get you somewhere safe. Cecily will be able to help you.

"Cecily," gasped Anne, "no it can't be, that's not possible."

"It's true, she's alive and safe."

"But how?"

Hannah went to answer, but Anne shook her head. "Never mind, don't tell me anymore." Anne moved forward and grasped Hannah's arm. "Just get out and don't come back, no matter what you see or hear. Do you understand?" Anne let go of her arm and shoved Hannah backwards. "Go!" She shouted.

Tucker pulled Hannah's arm. "Hannah, let's do as she says."

Hannah took a final imploring glance at Anne who had leant back against the wall, one hand flat against her chest.

Hannah pulled away from Tucker and ran back to Anne. "The traitor! You said you thought it might be one person in particular. Who was it?"

Anne leaned forward and whispered a name into Hannah's ear. Hannah shook her head, uncomprehending.

"Hannah, now!" Tucker shouted from the door.

"I'm so sorry, Hannah for ever putting you in this situation." Tears poured down the old woman's face.

"No, Anne, you gave me a family, a real family who truly love me. Thank you." Hannah hugged Anne and then followed Tucker into the night, closing the door behind her on the way out.

Tucker unlocked the car and they climbed in quickly.

"Who is it, Hannah, who did she name?" Tucker asked as he turned the key in the ignition.

"Clairbourne, Professor Clairbourne!"

"No-way!" Tucker said.

Hannah turned to look back at the small home and saw the living room light turn off.

"I don't like leaving her like this," Hannah said quietly. "We must..."

The sound of a single gunshot, pierced the quiet, dark night.

"No, oh no," Hannah sobbed, then shot forward and grabbed for the door handle.

Tucker pulled Hannah back down into her chair and pressed down hard on the accelerator. The car lurched forward and the throaty engine sped up. As they drove away, only three sounds could be heard above any other: the sound of sirens approaching the house they had just left, the sound of sobbing coming from Hannah and the memory of that single gunshot reverberating in their heads.