"So, is there any other business before we adjourn for the day?" asked the Captain.

The other members of the Preliminary Council glanced at each other, all silently begging the others to say no. They were all tired. There seemed to be no end to the small problems that kept cropping up, minor decisions that had to be made.

First of all, of course, there had been the matter of electing a replacement for Alan Fielding, whose death had left a seat vacant around the table in the Orchid room. Several people had made suggestions, including Lewis Blake who had pushed hard for a man called Kenny Bacon, a suggestion that had made Tennyson react in horror as the man had been a property landlord back in his old life. It had immediately prompted him to nominate a man of his own, also a passenger, but a man he'd come to admire and respect. In addition there had been people who thought that the post should be left vacant, as a tribute to Fielding, until Blake had pointed out that this would leave more crew than passengers on the Council, giving Tennyson too much power.

Throughout it all, Owain Arthur had sat silent, which had made Tennyson suspicious. He'd expected the politician to propose a man loyal to him, in an attempt to pack the Council with people who would vote his way. He had to be up to something, and Tennyson had vowed to keep an eye on him. In the meantime, the matter of Fielding's replacement had been shelved for the time being, to give anyone who wanted a chance to put their name forward.

Then they had spent an interminable age debating how the small lumps of steel the work crews were breaking off the camshaft of engine one should be used. Some insisted that digging tools should be the priority, to help dig the irrigation ditches that would be so needed for the farm they were going to create. Others pointed out the necessity for woodworking tools, to cut down trees and create lumber, while others still wanted the fastenings and fixings they would need to assemble their new homes on the mainland. No agreement could be reached, with people refusing to be moved no matter what arguments their opponents made, no matter how emotionally they made them.

They had eventually reached a compromise regarding what proportion of the steel would be assigned to each project, but then another equally thorny issue had come up requiring another full hour of discussion and debate, followed by yet another. It was too much. They all needed a rest, and so they all sat in silence, hardly daring to even move in case it somehow conjured up another item for discussion.

"There is one more thing," said Owain Arthur apologetically, and everyone else sagged in despair. Ross Calhoun actually groaned out loud. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?" he begged. "I'm so tired I can hardly think."

"This will only take a moment," Arthur told him. "I would just like to take another vote on a matter we talked about a couple of days ago, in case anyone's changed their minds."

"If there's already been a vote, then that's the end of the matter," Tennyson told him, sitting up in his chair, his head suddenly fully alert with suspicion.

"This is an important matter, concerning the eldest passengers, who deserve all the care and respect we can give them," Arthur replied with an expression of perfect sincerity. "Just because they are too old and infirm to contribute to the mainland settlement doesn't mean we should just cast them aside to be forgotten. I'm sure that many of us will have been thinking of their plight since we took the first vote, and might well have changed their minds on the issue."

Tennyson was tensing up with fear. He's put pressure on someone, he thought. He's bullied someone into changing their vote. But why tip his hand so early unless he already thinks he's built an unassailable power base for himself? The man spent every free moment walking the ship, he'd been told. Talking to passengers and crew. Listening to their problems and concerns. Making promises. Making himself popular.

Ordinarily Tennyson would have welcomed this. If the politician wanted to be in charge, then let him. Tennyson certainly didn't want the job. But Arthur had bullied Russell Baldwin into letting himself be beaten up, so that he could 'save' him and be the hero. And then he'd tried to frame Viktor Dityatin for the crime. Joe Wardley had told him that he was now almost certain that an engineer called Ben Hersey had been the one who'd beaten up Baldwin, although he had no proof. Arthur had people who would do his bidding, it seemed. Who would commit crimes for him. What would Arthur do when he no longer had to bully and persuade, but could just give orders like a King? What would their community be like when no-one dared to stand up to him?

This wasn't just a vote, Tennyson now realised. It was a declaration of war. He was so confident now that he wasn't afraid to tell the others exactly what he intended. Tennyson looked across the table and saw the politician looking back at him, the faintest of smiles on his beautific face. Tennyson met his eyes, letting him know that challenge had been accepted. God grant it isn't too late, he prayed in the privacy of his own head. God grant there's still time to turn things around.

In the meantime, though, there was a vote to be taken. Hopefully the other members of the Council would see what was going on and side against Arthur. "I assume you're talking about the vote about whether to build two wind turbine instead of just one," he said therefore. "So we can keep the telephone service going."

"Allowing people in one part of the ship to call for help from the other parts of the ship," Arthur confirmed. "Or even from ashore. This ship is nearly a thousand feet long, as you know, of course. Without the phones, how could an injured, elderly passenger, alone in his cabin, call for help?"

Other members of the Council were nodding, and Tennyson had to agree that it was a powerful argument, but there were just so many other demands upon their time and resources. The irrigation ditches would be useless without wind-powered pythagoras screw pumps to lift water into them. One look around the table was enough to tell him that they were in no mood for another debate, though. They just wanted to have the vote and go to bed.

"Very well," he said. "All those in favour, raise your hand."
As he'd expected, six hands were raised. All those who'd voted in favour the last time, plus Lewis Blake, who'd voted against last time. Tennyson looked at him, locked eyes with him, and the man looked away in shame. Arthur, on the other hand, was beaming with triumph.

"Those against," the Captain then said. He raised his own hand, and four other people did the same. "The motion is passed," he said with weary resignation. "I'll tell Sutherland we'll be needing two wind turbines for the ship."

"Thank you," said Arthur, smiling. "And now I think it's time to adjourn. See you all tomorrow."

"The Captain is the Head of the Council," said Olav Solberg, though. "He adjourns the meeting. Not you."

Bless you, Olav, thought the Captain. A look of fury passed briefly across Arthur's face, disappearing almost immediately as he regained control of himself. "Yes, of course," he said with a broad smile. "Forgive me, Dave. I didn't mean to overstep myself."

"It's Captain Tennyson," said Solberg sharply. "Not Dave."

"It's alright, Olav," said Tennyson, smiling gratefully. "I think we can forgive him one minor oversight." He looked around the table. "So if there's no other business..." Everyone just looked back at him. "Then I declare this meeting adjourned. Thank you, Ladies and Gentlemen, and I'll see you again tomorrow. Or rather, later today."

Everyone stood, and Lewis Blake strode swiftly towards the nearest exit, as if desperate to get out of the Captain's sight as quickly as possible. That was alright. Tennyson knew where his cabin was. He'd pay him a friendly visit later, see if he could get him to open up about what had happened. If Blake could be persuaded to testify that pressure had been put on him, maybe Tennyson could use that to expose Arthur. Show the rest of the ship what kind of man he really was. And in the meantime there was another avenue of attack he could take against the politician.

He put a grateful hand on Solberg's shoulder as he went past, then left the one-time function room, looking for a place where he'd have some privacy. The Promenade was just a short distance along the corridor, and as he stepped out into the starlight he looked around to make sure there was no-one else in sight. Then he took the phone from his pocket.

He called Joe Wardley, who answered almost immediately. "You okay?" the Head of Security asked.

"Not really," Tennyson replied, and he gave he other man a quick run-down on what had just happened. Wardley swore. "He's making his move then," he said.

"Yes," said Tennyson, "so we need to make ours. Russell Baldwin is the weak link, I think. If we can get him to tell the truth about what happened, we can put an end to Arthur's ambitions once and for all."

"You haven't heard?" Wardley replied. "Baldwin's dead."

"Dead?"

"They found him dead in his cabin. He choked on a sweet."

Tennyson swore. "Dead? You don't suppose, I mean, it was an accident, right?"

"He was lying on his back on his bed, watching the telly. The sweet just slipped down his throat by accident. Nearly happened to me a couple of times. There's no reason to suppose it was anything other than an accident."

"You don't think the timing's a little bit convenient?"

"It happens, Dave. There was no sign of a struggle. If it was murder, it would have to have been a professional."

"Or two professionals," said Tennyson, fear creeping up his spine like a frozen snail.

"What was that?" asked Wardley. "I didn't catch that."

"Never mind," said the Captain. "Joe, have you still got one of your men tailing Dityatin?"

"Yes. Colm McGregor."

"From now on, he's not just Dityarin's ankle monitor. He's his bodyguard. Tell him to be on his guard at all times, just in case."
"You think someone'll try to kill him? Arthur?

"Just in case," Tennyson told him. "Just in case what happened to Baldwin was someone tying up loose ends. I don't want to take any chances."

"Whatever you say, Dave. I'll tell Colm. Warn him to he on his guard. I really don't think it's necessary, though. Arthur's a slimy piece of work, to be sure. A liar, a man of no morals or scruples, but a murderer? The guy was an MP, for God's sake... Wait a minute, I'm getting another call. It's Ellis! Mind if I put you on hold for a moment?"

"Please do. Hopefully they want to tell you they got all the pigs."
"I'll let you know."

The phone went silent, but Tennyson carried it in his hand as he continued on his way to his cabin. Getting there, he took off his jacket and hung it on a hook and was just loosening his tie when Wardley's voice came from the phone again. "Yes, Joe?" he said as he put it back to his ear."

"They did it, Dave," said Wardley, but there was a grim tone to his voice. "They got the hell pigs. The whole pack."

"We lose anyone?" asked Tennyson.

"Two," the Security Chief replied. "Kenny and Bellhouse. They're bringing their bodies back."

Tennyson hung his head for a moment. "Okay," he said. "We'll get some teams ashore at first light to start building shelters and digging irrigation ditches. Tell them good work, Joe."

"I already have."

The Captain hung up and called Svein Tajikk, to tell him to get ready to get his teams ashore. Then he carried on getting undressed, eager to collapse into his bed.