The Legacy

kicked, punched, picked up and punched again. Pip had been like a surrogate father to Peter. Al Jude had wanted to do was to earn his respect, to prove himself to Pip –and for what? Had the Underground been a sham al along? Was that why it had never come close to winning? Had Pip been Derek’s agent, forming a resistance movement to ensure that al rebels, al those who disagreed with the system, could be careful y managed, contained, kept at bay?
    He couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. Even now as Pip walked in front of them, even now as Derek pushed them roughly down the corridor towards Richard’s office, Jude was waiting for the look, waiting for a twitch, something – anything – that told him Pip was playing a game, a complicated game that he didn’t understand, a game that explained everything, that made it al OK.
    Pip didn’t even turn round; he just walked slowly, shuffling along the corridor like an old man. Jude hated him. He hated him more than he’d ever hated anyone – even Richard Pincent. Because Richard Pincent had never pretended to be someone he wasn’t. Because Richard Pincent had never earned Jude’s love and then smashed it into lit le pieces.
    As Jude approached the office, Pip stepped aside and Derek moved forward to knock. Slowly he opened the door to reveal Richard leaning on his desk looking terrible, his skin a strange green colour, his eyes bulging. At the sight of Derek he stood up and smiled. ‘Derek,’ he said. ‘You have the Surpluses?’
    He saw Jude and Sheila and frowned uncertainly, then his eyes lit up. ‘You have these ones as wel ? See, Peter? There’s no one left now.’
    Peter’s face was white as Jude and Sheila were pushed into the office. Sheila stumbled and fel to the ground. Peter immediately held out his hand to help her up but she shook her head, wrapping her arms round her knees and hiding her head in them. Peter looked at Jude searchingly, but Jude could barely meet his eyes – he had nothing but despair to communicate.
    There was another knock at the door, another guard, another delivery – this time Anna and the children. Jude flinched as she walked in, her pained eyes seeming to bore into him. She saw Peter and walked slowly towards him, faltering on her feet, the children in her arms. Ben immediately reached for Peter’s neck and Anna released her hold as Peter’s arms wrapped around him, around her, around Mol y, like branches – a silent communication, a bond that inspired both awe and jealousy in Jude.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ Peter said.
    ‘No,’ Anna said. ‘Don’t be. He should be the sorry one.’
    She turned towards Richard, who staggered forward. ‘The ring,’ he said to Derek.
    ‘You have the ring?’
    Derek nodded, taking it from Pip and handing it to Richard. ‘Here it is,’ he said.
    Richard took the ring and exhaled loudly, then closed his eyes for a second.
    Richard took the ring and exhaled loudly, then closed his eyes for a second.
    ‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘Yes.’ He stared at it, turning it over and over in his hands. ‘But where is the formula?’ He frowned, then shrugged and pressed a buzzer on his desk; two seconds later a scientist appeared at his door. ‘Here,’ Richard said, giving the ring to him. ‘The formula is on here. Find it. Use it. Reboot the system. Do it now.
    ’
    The scientist nodded urgently, took the ring and left. Richard looked around grimly.
    ‘You’ve done wel , Derek,’ he said. ‘Very wel .’
    Derek smiled silkily.
    ‘How has he done wel ?’ Hil ary asked suddenly. ‘Richard, wil you please tel me what’s going on? What is this ring? Why are these people here, in your office?’
    ‘The ring?’ Richard laughed. ‘The ring is our answer, Hil ary. We wil be reborn.’
    ‘Reborn? What are you talking about?’ She looked piercingly at Richard, but he wasn’t listening – he had poured a large glass of water and drank it down in one before refil ing it.
    There was another knock at the door and everyone swung round. It was the scientist. ‘Mr Pincent, sir,’ he said tentatively. ‘We’ve looked at the ring. Several of us. It doesn’t appear to have the formula on it, sir. Just the initials A.F. and a rudimentary engraving of a flower.’
    Richard looked at him angrily. ‘Look again,’ he barked. ‘The ring has the formula on it. I know it has.’
    ‘You know?’ Pip asked quietly. No one seemed to have heard him apart from Jude, who froze. There was