Darren reached inside his jacket and patted his shirt breast pocket. Just to check that his grandad's death certificate was still there. Gold dust. That's how death certificates were these days. The way to the creation of life. And despite modern technology, they were still printed on paper, albeit artificial paper, rather than wood-derived. The doctor had also needed his 'service charge' for writing the certificate. Everybody had to get ten per cent.

"Is it far to go?" Alison's question disturbed his thoughts.

"Another five minutes, turn right at the junction, then ten minutes down on the right."

"Darren, I know it is your grandad, but I've waited so long for this."

"That's ok, he would have wanted it this way."

They had been together for five years and desperate to start a family. Problem was, with the world's population spilling over the edges, couples needed the authorization to have babies. And that authorization was only given when somebody died. A different slant on life for a life. Hence the importance of death certificates. These were exchanged for Permissions to Conceive. Once the population had reached a certain tipping point, it would exponentially rise. That tipping point had been reached while governments were still arguing why their particular population should have birth control limits imposed on it. The draconian measures which were now in place were to save the planet and all individual populations. Compulsory fluoridation of the water supply in the 20th century relatively painless compared to the furore of compulsory dispensing of a contraceptive chemical in the water supply.

"Nearly there," said Darren. "The waiting will soon be over." He made a false yawn. "I think I shall be ready for bed after this journey," and he gave Alison a large wink. "Alison, have you been listening to me?" She appeared deep in thought and was distracted when he spoke to her.

"Sorry, Darren. I was miles away."

"No problem," he replied.

In truth, she had mentally returned to Darren's grandad's house. The old boy was lying there, barely conscious. She had spoken to him.

"Granddad, I do so want a baby, but we need a Permissions to Conceive and we cannot get that unless we hand in a death certificate in exchange. You've had a good life and Darren and I are grateful for all you've done for us. But we, well maybe I, am asking for one last thing to do for us." She gently eased the pillow from under his head and laid his head back on the bed.

"I'm sorry, Granddad."

She placed the pillow over his face and pressed down gently but firmly. He struggled weakly but soon laid still. Alison held the pillow for a few moments and looked carefully at his chest. When she was sure his breathing had stopped, she removed the pillow and replaced it under his head. She then slipped quietly out of the room. They arrived at the Permissions to Conceive offices and their application was dealt with swiftly. As they left, Darren secured the certificate in a zipped shirt pocket. He was ready for bed.