The Legacy

She’d been here nearly a year now, a year that felt like for ever. And yet the Authorities had made it clear she was to stay for at least ten years, that this was part of the deal.
    They didn’t know what it was like, she thought to herself as the music played: they’d cleaned the streets of the vile young things and had forgotten what it was to be around them all day long. Perhaps that was why she couldn’t sleep these days, she mused. Perhaps she was waking up at 4 a.m. so that there was a buffer between her dreams and her reality – a time to adapt, to accept.
    She took another gulp of wine and let the music soothe her active mind. It was the girls she found the hardest, she mused, as she felt the alcohol slowly warm her blood. The boys were easy to discipline because they understood about dominance. They tried to fight back, failed, were beaten and then fell into line. Girls, on the other hand . . . She took another gulp of her wine, then another, then reached out for the bottle to refill her glass. Girls were tricky. You never knew what they were thinking, what they were planning. They unnerved her. She was pleased that the liberals were being hunted down, pleased that everyone was seeing the Underground for what it really was. If those sympathisers had only come to work here they’d have realised the truth. If they spent one week in this place, they’d repeal any legislation protecting the little brats.
    A buzzer sounded in her room and Ella’s eyes shot to it angrily, warily. It could only mean one thing – trouble. No one would dare call her at this hour unless it was important, unless it was very bad news. She shrank back into the protective comfort of her chair, wishing she was somewhere else, anywhere else. But she wasn’t. She was there. She had to move. Steeling herself, putting down her drink, she reluctantly stood up, walked over to her desk and picked up the receiver.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Mrs Blunden, there’s someone here to see you.’
    ‘At this time of night?’ Ella asked impatiently. ‘And you let them in? I’ve made it clear that I don’t expect to be disturbed unless there’s a real emergency. A breakout. A death. Unless that’s what’s happened, there is no reason to call me at this hour.’
    ‘If you could just come down –’
    Ella put the receiver down, breathed into her hand to check her breath and, satisfied that the wine was undetectable, slipped her shoes on and made her way out into the corridor. As she did so she shivered – already she missed the sanctity of her rooms with their warm colours, plumped-up cushions, radiators that worked.
    At the bottom of the stairs her Deputy Matron was waiting for her.
    ‘Well? What is it?’
    Sarah nodded her head towards the door to the visitors’ reception. Ella looked up and as she did, a face appeared – a face she recognised. She’d never seen him in the flesh, but she knew who he was immediately. Everyone did. They called him the Dark Knight.
    ‘Mr Samuels!’ she gasped. ‘You should have told me you were coming. I’d have made preparations. I’d have –’
    ‘No need,’ Derek Samuels said smoothly, walking towards her. ‘This is a Code Red. I will be taking the Surpluses with me.’
    ‘The Surpluses?’ Ella said uncertainly. ‘I’m not sure I understand. You’re taking –’
    ‘All of them,’ Derek said confidently. He clapped his hands and more men appeared through the doorway, their Catchers uniforms putting a chill through Ella even though she knew she had nothing to fear from them.
    ‘But shouldn’t there be . . .’ her mouth twisted uncomfortably, ‘paperwork, notification, something? For my records, I mean,’ she said, smiling nervously. ‘You know what the Authorities are like.’
    ‘There is no need and no time for paperwork,’ Derek said.
    Ella bit her lip. ‘So shall I wake them? We could ring the bell.’
    ‘Please don’t trouble yourself,’ Derek said briskly. ‘My men will not need any assistance. I’d be grateful if you would return to your quarters.’
    Ella nodded mutely. Many times she’d hoped that the Surplus Halls would be closed down and the Surpluses got rid of. The rich would have to forgo their slave labour, but they could pay people properly if they wanted help, she’d reasoned. People like Ella herself. Give her a decent wage and she’d clean their houses and cook their meals. It would beat staying here, that was for sure.
    But now that the Surpluses were