If the Crew of the Black Swan had been surprised to find a female member amongst their prisoners, they did not show it. All the Atlas Crew Members were treated firmly but courteously. There were several looks of apprehension when the true size and bulk of Arnie Sidebottom and Henry Hurst had been revealed. Arnie was very calm but Henry, who was in an absolutely foul temper, exuded an aura of utter malevolence towards his captors, even though he was keeping it under control.
The hard training had been good for Henry and his more than adequate proportions had increased to well defined muscularity. When he moved everything rippled and it was an awesome sight; Henry was a bad person to have as an enemy.
As they were taken forward, the enormous size of the inside of the Black Swan became apparent. It was very austere, but functional. Archie Murphy stared about him in amazement, obviously impressed at the way in which the seven ships had been married into one.
Eventually they arrived at the bridge and were impressed by the discipline and order which prevailed. After the bridge of the Atlas, which was only a quarter the size of this one, everything seemed to be strange and of large proportions. The onboard computers were enormous when compared to those of the Atlas, but, for all their size, they only had about one tenth of the capacity of the newer versions.
Michael's practiced eye quickly swept over the many controls and immediately realized that the myriads of levers and dials were duplicated systems from the motors of the extra vessels which formed part of the whole. By rights the Black Swan should have ten powerful rocket motors which would give bone-shattering acceleration if required to do so. How many of the motors were actually functional was another matter, but those that were could all be controlled from this place.
As they were herded into the centre of the room, a door opened on the far side and an amazing figure entered the room. He was tall and athletic-looking and sported long, black, curly hair. He also wore an eye patch over his left eye. He was dressed in a white, lace-trimmed shirt with fluffy arms and tight cuffs, maroon skin-tight trousers and slack-fitting, black, turned down thigh boots. For all the world he looked like a character study of a pirate from the Eighteenth Century. The hands were graceful but the remaining eye was blue and cold. There was also some slight scarring round the face and on the backs of his hands.
“Hell's teeth!” muttered Arnie. “It looks like Henry Morgan himself, Sir.”
The newcomer spoke for the first time. “It's Harry Morgan, actually.” He spoke coldly and without humour. He crossed the bridge and stood in front of them, hands on hips and feet apart. “I am the Captain of this ship and you are my prisoners. What you say and do in the next few hours of your life will determine whether you live or die, so choose your words carefully.”
Nobody doubted him.
“Who is, or should I say was, the Captain of the Atlas?” asked Morgan.
“I am the Captain,” said Michael, “and I wish to point out that you have no authority to take over a Company vessel.”
“You appear to lack a little authority at this moment in time, Mr……. erm, what is your name?”
“Michael Stephens.”
“Are you the only pilot in this Crew?”
“Yes, “ lied Michael.
“Is this woman part of your Crew?”
“Temporarily,” lied Michael again. “We were taking her to Ceres to take up a secretarial post there and she has been helping out in the galley.”
“You will instruct me in the operation of the Atlas,” decided Morgan.
“No I wont!..... even if I wanted to I couldn’t, the motors have been shut down,” retorted Michael.
“Can you reactivate them?” asked Morgan quietly, as though he had suffered this conversation before.
“Only by contacting Company H.Q.”
“Then you are of no further use to me,” observed Morgan. He paced around for a few minutes and then spoke to a ferocious-looking man who appeared to be the First Officer.
“Send over a search party and a skeleton crew straight away.”
Morgan beckoned to another Officer who was of a better appearance than the others until he turned round. His good looks were marred by a wicked looking scar on the left hand side of his face and part of his left ear was missing. Again he wore the buccaneers uniform. It seemed that this crew had suffered a common, traumatic experience.
"Take the prisoners and secure them. Watch out for tricks and pick a room which is completely barren of wiring... I seem to remember that Captain Stephens has a knack of altering wiring.”
Michael was disturbed that Morgan knew him. He was not sure if he knew Morgan or not, but there was something familiar about him. The prisoners were taken to a large room without furniture and herded inside. There was one dim light which was recessed into the bulkhead and inaccessible. There was not even a porthole.
Two armed guards were placed outside the door which was one of the old fashioned screw-down bulkhead doors. There was no chance of opening it in a hurry; the room was cold and offered no hope. The prisoners just stood silently, waiting for and expecting the worst. Michael tried to cheer them up and rally their flagging spirits but was unsuccessful. Soon he, too, lapsed into silence.
A little while later the door was opened and the Officer who had brought them from the bridge stepped in. "I apologize for the poor hospitality, but it will have to do for the time being.”
“We have perfectly good quarters aboard the Atlas,” replied Michael.
“Captain Stephens, you really must come to terms with the fact that you have lost the Atlas; do not torture yourself anymore. You will never set foot on her again…… accept it," he said gently. “I have brought you some blankets and mattresses. It isn't much but it will help keep you reasonably warm... there is also some coffee, please enjoy it.”
The articles were brought into the room and the coffee was distributed; surprisingly it tasted good.
“What do you think will happen next, Captain?" asked Charlotte, who looked pale and frightened.
“I really don't know, but they have been fairly reasonably up to now,” said a tight-lipped Michael.
“Any instructions, Captain?” asked Benjamin Rimmer.
“Yes, my advice is to not antagonize them. We must try to stay alive and bide our time. Please do not throw your lives away unnecessarily; that will not solve anything.”
“If we are put together with the other prisoners, surely our chances of survival will go up with the increased numbers,” observed Neville Johnson.
"Maybe so, maybe not. If they are all wired to explode, there will be a definite tendency to do as he asks," stated Michael flatly.
“I would like to kill them all,” said Henry coldly. "They are no better than the pirates they are mimicking."
"You may still get your chance, Henry,” grinned Sergeant Brody, “if the fates are kind!”
“There will be a queue for that privilege," growled Arnie, “with me at the front.”
Soon the Crew were huddled together, wrapped in their blankets. They slept a little but Michael organized it so that there were always two Crew Members on watch at a time. He worried about Charlotte. On the face of it her future looked rather bleak as the only woman amongst a lot of hostile men. Eventually he, too, dozed off whilst racking his brains trying to remember who Harry Morgan was.
Presently the Officer returned to the room. "Our Captain is in good spirits , " he said. “your cargo is a very useful one . He is particularly pleased with the small craft, some kind of shuttle isn't it?... and almost new. The food is most gratefully received, as are the mining spares and equipment.
To celebrate the occasion he has invited you to dine with him. I have brought you some coveralls which you should wear instead of your Company uniforms……… uniforms make him nervous…. Please be ready in an hour.”
“I don’t particularly want to dine with him,” retorted Michael.
"Well, that is your choice. However, I should warn you that you can do it the easy way or the hard way,” he replied meaningfully. “Either way you will dine with him.”
He left the room briskly. Reluctantly the Crew changed into the new garments. They soon realized that they were lined with a kind of thermal fur and were much warmer than their own. Michael glanced across at Charlotte and, to his abject horror, realized that her garment fitted like a glove and looked absolutely fabulous on her. It crossed his mind that Charlotte would look good even in a garbage-can liner, but it did nothing to ease his mind.
Amazingly, Henry and Arnie had coveralls which fitted them; they made a fearsome looking duo. As Michael looked around the Crew his eyes rested on Gary Mitchell. He was tight-lipped and he had a strange look in his eyes; Gary had not yet uttered a word since their capture. Michael gave an involuntary shudder and pitied the person that Gary got hold of first. Death would not come quickly to that poor individual, Gary was ruthless, merciless and, if that was not enough, he was fighting mad.
One hour later the door opened and the escort arrived to take them to Captain Morgan’s quarters. The procession moved along quite slowly due to the weak gravity which was normal in these old ships. They presently arrived outside the cabin where they were to dine. It had been a long walk and Michael guessed that they were about to enter the nose-cone of one of the outside rockets
Archie Murphy turned to the Captain and said, “This is a much newer vessel, Sir. It has sliding bulk head doors.”
"I think I would like to hear the full, unexpurgated history of this vessel, Archie, I bet it makes fascinating listening,” replied Michael.
“I'd lay money that this is exactly what we are going to hear over dinner,” added Ben Rimmer.
"You could be right at that,” mused Michael. “Listen, all of you, I do not want any heroics over dinner. Try to act as normally as possible and enjoy the occasion. If we try anything violent we will lose out badly. "
"That is sound advice, Mr. Stephens," observed the Officer of the Black Swan. “Captain Morgan is a bad man to cross. On the other hand, he is an intelligent and benevolent man to those who accept him.”
He then spoke into a grille on the wall. “Your dinner guests have arrived, Captain.”
"Thank you Mr. Jagger, show them in,” replied the grille.
With a soft rumble the door slid aside and as the Crew stepped into the room they were all equally astonished at the breath-taking view it offered. The whole forward cabin was totally glassed in: the deck floor was a cantilever structure of ample proportions and the feeling was one of standing in space itself. The Stars, the Asteroids and even the main hull of the vessel, in spite of its charring, were just like a beautiful painting.
There was a huge table, fully set for their meal. Ron Naylor looked around and cast an approving eye over the proceedings. Each place was perfectly set out with a beautiful display of solid Silver cutlery and table ornaments. The centre piece was an ornate, crystal fountain which was cascading in slow motion due to the lack of gravity. The water was beading like pearls and the colour changed constantly due to a randomly changing light source underneath.
"I hope the cuisine is worthy of the setting,” remarked Ron Naylor, who liked to eat well whatever the circumstances.
Arnie Sidebottom mournfully surveyed the thirteen place setting and replied, rather unkindly, “Looks more like the Last Supper to me.”
Charlotte smacked his arm playfully and told him to behave himself. Michael had seen her smile at that moment and it came as a great shock to him to realize just how much that little action had wrenched at his heart. Michael had never been in love before and it was taking a long time for the penny to drop. He knew she was different but was still overawed by her beauty, personality and success.
On the right hand side of the door, concealed from view as they entered, was a tastefully lit bar. Standing at the bar, resplendent in a gold and black, shiny satin outfit was Captain Morgan himself.
“Come in and take a drink,” he called cheerfully.
They wandered over dutifully and picked up a crystal goblet topped up with a rather nice, white wine which had been poured out in advance. Captain Morgan waited until everybody had a drink then proposed a toast. “To your continued good health,” he offered.
“And to yours, Captain,” replied Michael.
The glasses were dutifully drained and then refilled by the villainous-looking barman who had an American accent when he spoke. This man, too, bore burn scars on his face. An oppressive silence descended on the gathering. Archie Murphy broke the ice.
"May I congratulate you on the construction of your vessel, Captain. I am extremely impressed with the way that the hulls have been married together. It must have been a difficult task.”
Morgan looked hard at Murphy and searched for signs of sarcasm, found none, then replied, “Thank you Mr. Murphy, it was a marriage of both necessity and convenience at the time."
"Have you ever used your engines to full capacity, Captain?" asked David Boothman.
This time Morgan laughed, "If I was to do that it would kill us all….. we do not know exactly, but we estimate that if we fired them all simultaneously the ship would pull about forty ‘Gs' and shake itself apart.”
"Where did you steal the ships from?" asked Michael indelicately.
"Steal? ...Did you say steal?" demanded Morgan, whose smile had now completely vanished.
"Well, you have stolen mine, it is not an unreasonable assumption that you have stolen these vessels also," insisted Michael.
The smile returned slowly, "Your ship was taken from necessity, Mister Stephens. We needed your crew and cargo."
"For what reason ? Slavery has been illegal for Centuries.”
"Slavery?" said Morgan sharply. "I never spoke of Slavery. My wish is to persuade you, not to persecute you. I can make you rich, rich beyond your wildest dreams……. all of you."
At this moment the trolley arrived with the meals on. It was very ornate and loaded with delicious food. Morgan spoke again.
"I would be grateful if you would hear me out over dinner. I do not wish to argue with you, I just wish to tell my story and state my case. Now...is that an unreasonable request?"
"I suppose not," said Michael grudgingly and the rest of the Crew mumbled their assent.
The party moved over to the table and found that their names were on their places. Captain Stephens and Miss Linaker were placed on the left and right hand sides of Morgan, who sat on the end of the table. It was noticeable that Henry Hurst and Arnie Sidebottom, the two big men, were seated at the other end of the table. Morgan was taking no chances.
The first course was a pleasant surprise, fresh fruit, a generous slice of honeydew melon with all the trimmings. Wine was poured and, as the meal progressed, there was a slackening of the tension in the room.
The main course was roast beef with real potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, sweet corn and fresh peas. It was delicious. On all the old deep-space ships it had been common practice to have hydroponics systems for growing plants and vegetables. It helped to maintain an oxygen balance as well as providing fresh vegetables.
Little was said during the meal. Michael tried to sum up the situation in his head. Morgan was obviously no stranger to space but he had appeared to accept the fact that the Company vessels only had one pilot, at least he had not challenged it. Morgan did not give the impression of being British and was most likely an American. The big ship was definitely American and so were the majority of the welded on vessels, although he had recognized the less sleek but more practical lines of a couple of Russian craft; a strange mixture indeed.
The sweet consisted of ice cream and mandarin oranges with a rather potent sauce which tasted of several liqueurs. Still the meal continued in a strained silence. Once or twice Michael caught Charlotte's eye and tried to give her what he hoped would pass for a reassuring glance. She did not respond but just sat there calmly looking beautiful.
Coffee, cheese and biscuits followed. Ron Naylor wandered if the Blue Stilton had been removed from the galley of the Atlas. It was a cheese he had put on board personally as it was his favourite; fortunately he was wise enough not to pose the question. The silence continued.
Eventually came the brandy and liqueurs. Morgan poured Charlotte a Grand Marnier and a large brandy for himself. Michael had a Drambuie and the rest of the Crew helped themselves to the brandy. Michael noticed that Gary Mitchell had a very large measure and hoped it would mellow him into controlling his temper. In his heart he knew it would not.