Dry Dock

"Excuse me, are you sure that you have no dry docks at all available
for the next few days? When we spoke on the radio, we were assured
that there would be no problem." The young man smiled with little
humor. "Perhaps you could check your records again?"

Damned odd accent the man had. "I'm sorry, but we're completely
booked for the next month. Perhaps one of the other dockyards on the
island would be able to accommodate you?"

"No, I think not. This is the only facility on the island with a dry
dock wide enough to take our beam."

"I'm sorry, sir." It was obvious that the man wasn't in the least
sorry just as it was obvious that the dry dock in question was empty.
He turned away to some nonexistent paperwork.

The blonde man, the one who hadn't spoken yet, turned to his friend,
angrily saying something in a language the Harbor Master didn't
understand. The first man replied in the same odd language, and
putting a hand on his shoulder managed to slightly placate him.

"Might there be another facility on this island, or perhaps one on a
neighboring island that could be of assistance?"

"I doubt it."

"Would you mind if I used your phone?" The request was polite, even
mild.

"Sure man, go ahead." The smile was superior, he'd won.

After a long series of numbers were punched into the faceplate and a
pause while the line was connected, the young man finally spoke into
the receiver. "Bob? Yes, hello? It's Garth. I'm afraid that we won't
be able to meet you in the keys as we planned…I know…we were caught
in that hurricane and sustained some hull damage…No, it wouldn't be a
problem if we could find a dry dock that could take us…Well, I know
that I can, but I'd rather not get the Prime Minister or the Foreign
Secretary involved. We can beach the ship and repair it that way…If I
have to I'll just fly back up to Washington for that State Dinner I
have to attend, drop off the film at NGS and then go on to New York
for the UN speech…I know that, but I can still be up at Woods Hole by
Thursday night and you weren't planning to leave until Friday
morning….Fine…Yes, of course… I'll stay in touch."

"You're a busy man."

His answer was just a neutral look.

"So who the Hell are you?"

Three more men who seemed to be with the man who had just made the
phone call walked in, again speaking in that strange language. The
main guy listened, gave some orders, they bowed slightly and left.
Odd, that.

" I don't recognize that language you're all speaking. Hey, man,
where are you guys from?" Now that he looked more closely, the young
guy had purple eyes. Creepy looking. He didn't bother to answer, just
dialed another long distance number. This time he spoke with less
deference than he had used to the first person he called, Bob was it?
Woods Hole? Nah, couldn't be that Bob. This call was more cut and
dried, more brusque and sounded like he was giving orders again and
he wasn't speaking in English.

The rest of the weird guys turned to go, but then the purple eyed guy—
the one who seemed to be in charge— turned back before walking
out. "If any calls should come in for us, we'll be anchored out in
the harbor until tomorrow morning."

"And who the shit are you?" The only answer he got was a look that
told him exactly in what opinion he was held.

Man, there were some strange characters who came through the
dockyard, but that had to be the strangest group yet. He saw the men
walk back to the tender they used to transport them from their ship.
Damn, there were more of these guys then he had realized, there must
be thirty or forty of them between the men on the transport and the
ones he could see milling around on the dock and the rest out on the
ship they were headed to. God knew how many there were below decks,
Jeez...there could be a hundred of them, maybe more.

And the ship they had out there…damn. He'd never seen a boat like
that one, not in the years he'd been around water and that was all of
his life. Big, long and low slung, no masts, looked like some weird
sub, but not like any sub he'd ever seen. Damn thing must be close to
a hundred meters from bow to stern. Big, and broad, too. Looked
powerful, almost military, probably had some kind of arms or weapons
of some kind aboard. Damnedest thing he ever saw. And the men, they
looked tough, like the kind of men you wouldn't want to mess with,
the kind you wouldn't want to be around when they were drunk or
pissed off. They had that tightly coiled feel about them, like they
were ready for anything. They weren't threatening anyone or anything
like that, but he sure didn't want to get them mad. Those things they
were all wearing on their hips looked like some kind of weapons, not
like anything ordinance that he was used to, but they were definitely
armed.

He could see where there was some kind of a repair patch laid over
the hull at the water line, looked like they got bashed on some reef
or a rock or maybe rammed or something. Big hole there, no wonder
they wanted to use the dry dock.

Well, too bad for them. He didn't like them so they could go to hell
or use some beach like that guy had said on the phone.

That's the way things stood for about two hours. Sort of an uneasy
truce was the best way the Harbor Master could describe it, but it
seemed to him like the weird guys were just hanging around waiting
for something to happen. It was quiet even though a bunch of those
weird sailors were around, hanging around together in a couple of
clumps. They didn't even talk, except quietly to each other in that weird
language, just sitting on the edge of the dock and standing around
here and there. They even ignored the girls who were around the dock,
the tourists and the yacht ladies. Didn't even give them a second
look. That was strange for sailors, and that's for sure.

The more he thought about it he noticed that they were looking, after
all, they were just under enough discipline to restrain themselves.

Damn—that was some accomplishment with a shipload of sailors,
wherever they were from.

They seemed to be waiting for something. Orders, maybe? And even
though they were waiting, they were watching everything that was
going on, all the people coming and going and the boats and him, too.
Damn, they were creepy.

He looked up from the newspaper he was pretending to read when Sir Geoffrey walked in, pompous as ever. "What's this I hear about you not being able to offer the
proper assistance to our guests, Michael?"

"What the Hell you talking about? They asked an' I said no. I don't
have to let in anyone I don't want to."

Sir Geoffrey regarded his old friend for the briefest moment. "Might
we speak privately?" They went back to Michael's small cubbyhole
office. "Have you any idea who those men are? No? They are the
officer's and crew of the Atlantean Naval vessel that is out in the
harbor. They have the Crown Prince of their country with them and
they were enroute to Norfolk for some kind of hands across the sea
folderol. After which they are to continue to New York to join in some sort of
celebration they have up there—something called Fleet Week."

"Atlanteans? I never even saw one of them before this. Geoff, are you
shitting me? I thought they all had tails like fish."

"Evidently not, though I wish I were mistaken about whom they are. I've just received a call from the First Lord Admiral of the Navy in London strongly suggesting that we give them any and all assistance at once."

"Shit."

"Quite. Now I'm going to see if I can find his Highness, who is also
an ambassador I might add, throw myself on his mercy and ask him to
dinner. You will apologize to whichever one of them is the Captain
and make sure that he has everything they could possibly want. Am I
making myself clear?"

"But…they're just a bunch of freaks…"

"Who can shut down all shipping and ocean fishing and drilling
worldwide whenever they want and whom you've managed to insult."

"Shit."

"Quite."

Walking over to the edge of the dock where several of the sailors
were sitting and standing around, just waiting and chatting. Sir
Geoffrey introduced himself to blank stares and shrugs indicating
that they had no idea what he was saying to them. After a few minutes
of charades that yielded no real information, a slightly older man
detached himself from a group near their tender and asked, in heavily
accented English, if he might be of any assistance.

"How do you do? I'm Sir Geoffrey Osbourne, Prime Minister of this
island and I would like very much to speak to His Highness, if that
would be at all possible."

"I'm the Captain of Ra, sir." He saw the lack of
understanding. "That's the name of our ship." The incomprehension
continued. "Ra was the name of the sun god in the old religion. The
Prince has gone back aboard, but I can ask if he will see you." His
manner was polite, if somewhat aloof.

A quick conversation via some kind of radio and the Prime Minister
was standing on the deck of the strange ship. A young man, an
exceedingly attractive young man pushed himself to his full height of
about 6'2" from where he was leaning against a railing and walked to
the entry port as the politician came aboard.

"I understand that you wished to speak to me, Mr. Prime Minister?"

He extended his hand. "You're the Prince, sir?" His hand was left
hanging in mid air.

"Yes. I'm Prince Garth. How may I help you?"

"I'm afraid that there's been a frightful misunderstanding and I must
apologize most abjectly, sir. The facilities of the island are at
your complete disposal."

"Might I ask what the misunderstanding was, sir? I was told quite
plainly that the equipment we requested was already reserved." His
tone was cool, dismissive.

"Our Harbor Master was mistaken. The dry dock is available and we
would be honored if you would make use of it."

"Would you now?" The ship's captain walked over to them, murmuring
something to the Prince. He nodded in some kind of agreement then
turned his attention back to the Prime Minister. "Captain tells me
that a US Navy cutter has been dispatched to assist us and the member
nations of NATO have offered us whatever help we might need, so thank
you, but I think that we'll be fine."

Another man arrived with a note, handing it to the Prince who read it
to himself. "That's nice of them, please convey my deepest thanks and
we'll keep them informed should we require any additional aid." He
looked to the bureaucrat. "The Cousteau Society and Woods Hole have
also offered to help. Kind of them, isn't it?"

Sir Geoffrey knew that Michael had made a large mistake is attempting
to get rid of these men and their damaged boat. Fine, they were from
a foreign country and they had a member of their royal family aboard,
but that wasn't enough to account for NATO and the most prestigious
oceanographic organizations in the world throwing offers of help at
them, and a US Navy ship was on the way? Blast and damn. They were
going to look like a bunch of colonial nahobs. The Prince seemed to
have already dismissed him and looked like he was about to wander off.

"Your Highness?"

"Yes?"

"I fear that we might have gotten off on the wrong foot. Would you do
me the great honor of dining with me and my wife this evening, along
with your good Captain here?"

The young man seemed to consider his options and his answer for a
long couple of seconds. "Why that would be a pleasure, sir. Thank
you."

"Wonderful! I'll have a car pick you up on the dock here at half past
six if that would be all right?"

"That would be fine. We'll see you then."

The car was on time and as they climbed in the Captain was
complaining about having to attend a meal with a man he referred to
as a racist lout'.

"Today's racist lout is tomorrow's UN swing vote."

"Fucking politics. Forgive me, sir."

He smiled. "I've been known to use that phrase myself."

"You do realize that the dry dock is the only way for us to complete
the repairs so that they won't have to be redone back home. And you
know the schedule that we're on. We really can't afford to waste time
here if we're to fulfill our orders."

"Of course I realize that. After the Prime Minister begs us enough
we'll graciously accept his apology and allow him to make them
available to us. You should be able to move Ra into the slip first
thing in the morning."

The man was more or less placated, if not completely happy. "So what sort of food can we expect tonight?"

"Either some complicated fish thing because they think that's all we
eat or they will try to impress us with beefsteak. It's always one or
the other. Fish if they want us to feel at home, beef if they want to
introduce us to something new."

"I hate beef."

"The wine will probably be good."

"That's something, anyway."

"Your Highness, may I introduce my wife, Lady Susan? I've also taken
the liberty of inviting some of the more distinguished residents and
guests of our little island, if you don't mind."

Oh, God, as Dick would say, so this is Hell. His face was pleasantly
neutral. "Of course not, Sir Geoffrey, we're honored to be invited."

"This is Lord Duncan and Lady Gloria, Doctor Sebastian, Professor
Jaeger and his wife Caroline. Oh, and this is Richard Grayson. Might
I offer you gentlemen something to drink?"

"Just water for me, thank you. I believe that the Captain would enjoy
some wine if you have any. Dick, I didn't know that you were down
here. It's good to see you again."

"And you, Your Highness. This is a pleasant surprise." If anyone
noticed the electricity between them as they politely shook hands,
they were tactful enough to keep it to themselves.

"What are you doing down here? You live up in Haven, as I recall."

"Bruce owns a place and I decided to take a couple of weeks for
myself, just a short break. I know that you're busy, but if you have
some free time, perhaps we could catch up."

"Yes, I'd enjoy that. We'll make a point of it, shall we?" Dick
nodded.

"You two know each other, Your Highness?"

"Yes, Sir Geoffrey. We were childhood friends. Forgive me, might I
trouble you for that glass of water?"

The dinner was shrimp followed by filet mignon. Garth ate salad. The
Captain ate the shrimp. The conversation mostly centered on the usual
questions Garth answered when he was in a surface social situation.
He'd answered the same ones a thousand times. He'd actually
considered just having a tee shirt printed:

No, sharks aren't that bad
We can dive very deep
I'm with someone, thanks
Yes, I'm a real Prince
I'm a VERY good swimmer
Really, they're just my eyes
I'm a vegetarian
Yes, whales are really big.
Pollution is everywhere

No, we don't all have tails and fins

He tried not to let his eyes glaze over too badly. He was an
Ambassador, it was good practice. He had to attend things like this
all the time. They were all the same and they were all deadly.

As the coffee and dessert was being served, Dick spoke across the
table to Garth. "I heard that pretty much every naval power in the
western hemisphere offered to help your ship, will you be accepting
any of the offers?"

"That decision is up to the Captain, he has control of his vessel.
I'm merely a passenger this trip."

"Really, your Highness? Where are you enroute to, if I'm allowed to
ask?" Lord Duncan stabbed a bit of steak as he asked.

"Washington, DC. I'm delivering some film I took for Bob Ballard of a
wreck we were just diving to the National Geographic Society. After
that, I have to fly up to New York to get back to the UN."

"You're quite young to have that sort of responsibility, if I might
say so."

"My government wouldn't send me if they weren't confident in my
abilities, sir. And, in fact, I don't find my age to be a handicap. If
anything, I find that I have more stamina than many of the other,
older delegates."

Dick looked up from his plate, keeping a straight face. "Yes, I'd
heard that you were known for that, your Highness."

"Where had you heard that, Dick?"

Lady Susan had been staring at the two Atlan men throughout the
evening. "If you'll forgive my saying so, your Highness, I had no
idea that the men of your country were so all so smart—and so handsome! I hope I'm not being too forward in asking if you might find some time so I could finally learn to swim?" She smiled at him in what was probably intended to be a seductive manner.

Garth paused a moment, his hand in a fist in his lap in an effort to
not laugh out loud at the woman. "I'm afraid that I'm somewhat overscheduled this visit, m'lady. " He sipped his water in an effort to not laugh. "And many people on the surface seemed surprised when they first meet one of us. We seem to have somehow
gotten the reputation of being idiots.""

"Oh, no, your Highness! That's not what I meant at all! I merely
meant that for someone as young as you, you've risen quickly." Dick almost choked on his wine.

"Well, I have some family connections, Lady Susan." His face remained
a mask.

"Your father was a King, your Highness?" One of the other men asked this one.

"Yes, he was."

"And is he on the throne now, sir?"

"No. He was killed quite a few years ago. Unfortunately political intrigue isn't limited to
the surface."

"Oh, permit me to offer my condolences on your loss."

Lady Gloria. "Forgive me for asking this, but I've been reading all about your country and the society you have down there and I was wondering of it's true?"

Garth looked a bit confused. "Is what true?"

"I'd heard that many of the men from your country are
homosexuals. Is that true, your highness?"

Oh, that old seashell again. "It is, Lady Gloria. But don't worry, quite a few are also bi." He sipped his water and added, as an afterthought, "The women, too. We have to keep the population up somehow, after all."

Sir Geoffrey coughed loudly. "How was your ship damaged, if I might
ask? It's unusual for one of your ships to request surface aid, isn't
it?" Leave it to the politician to change the subject.

"We surfaced during the storm to help a fishing trawler that was
foundering. Another fishing boat was forced into our hull by a rogue
wave. Normally we would just dive below the wave action and ride out
a blow like that, but we were on the surface attempting to help."

"Were the fisherman saved?" That was Lady Gloria.

"They were put ashore safely this morning."

Garth and the Captain exchanged a glance, probably a prearranged signal and started to stand. "If you'll excuse us, we need to return to the ship. We have much to do."

Startled by the suddenness of the announcement, their host pushed his
chair back to walk them to the door, asking that his car be brought
around for them.

"Sir Geoffrey, I'm going down near the harbor myself, I'd be happy to
drop them if that's alright."

"That's not necessary, Dick, my car is ready…"

"Thank you, Sir Geoffrey, you've been very kind, but I don't wish to
impose any more than we already have." He turned to the Captain,
saying something in Atlan to which he smiled. "And I want to thank
you for your hospitality, you've been most gracious but I'm sure you
understand our need to get back."

"Of course, I'll be down to the docks tomorrow to see if you need
anything else."

"Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen."

"Racist assholes. How could you be polite to them?"

"That's my job, Dick, you know that. And what are you doing here,
anyway?"

"I told you, I'm on vacation."

"Without bothering to tell me?"

"You were in Atlantis and not answering your e-mails. I tried."

After they had returned the Captain to his ship Dick and Garth had
decided to go for a drive to a secluded strip of beach to talk in
private. They hadn't seen each other in almost a month and there was
a lot going on for both of them, a lot to catch up on.

"I've been busy."

"Evidently. You were diving a wreck for Woods Hole? When did you do
that?"

"Last week. It wasn't a big deal." He looked at his lover. "I needed
a break, too. I wanted to get away from desks and politicians for a
few days." He took Dick's hand as they walked. "It was just
photographing the wreck, that's all. Bob Ballard wanted the pictures
for an article in National Geographic he's doing."

"Since when do you take on that kind of job?"

"It was a favor for Bob." They kept walking for another hundred feet
when Dick stopped, looking out at the surf.

"…Garth? What's going on? You're out of touch for almost a month,
you're secretive, you're on one of your Navy ships instead of a
regular transport or one of your own boats. There have been all kinds
of rumors about mobilization of Atlantean forces and saber rattling.
What is this?"

"I can't talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's classified." Period. He wouldn't be moved and Dick knew
better than to push.

"I'm worried about you."

"I'm OK."

"Garth…"

"Dick, drop it. I can't discuss it." His eyes were caught by a splash
out beyond the reach of Dick's eyes.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. A fish." He was lying. Garth was lying to him. Shit.

Garth turned to him suddenly, wrapping his arms around him and
forcing him down to the sand. "Now. Here." Dick felt his shirt pulled
over his head, his slacks opened and pushed down his legs. Garth was
kissing him almost violently, as though to mark him, as though he had
something that he wanted desperately to say and knew no other way
than with his mouth and his hands and his cock.

He flipped Dick over onto his stomach as though he was a child's toy,
kissing his back, his hands stroking and caressing Dick's chest and
abdomen, finally encircling the swollen cock.

"Come for me."

"Be in me when I do."

He felt the pressure without any preparation, felt the pain and resistance of
his own body and then the sudden acceptance.

They rocked together for minutes, short minutes since it had been so
long, then with gasps, they came together as Garth collapsed over
him, pushing him flat onto the sand.

After a time when they had caught their breath, Garth withdrew,
stretching on his side on the damp beach, his hand on Dick's back.

"Swim with me, wash off the sand."

Nodding, Dick allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, what little
clothing remaining on them was discarded as they walked down to the
surf.

They stood in warm water just to their chests, carefully rinsing the
clinging grains away. Finally, sand gone, Garth folded his arms
around his lover. Quietly he whispered just loud enough to be heard over the surf.

"There's so much happening. I wish I could tell you, but I can't,
Rob. I want to, but I just can't.

"Is it going to be bad for you, whatever it is?"

"I don't know. Arthur is…" He stopped. "I can't."

"Garth?"

"I can't, Rob. Don't ask me, OK?" He put his hand up to Dick's cheek,
their old gesture together. "I love you. You know that."

He nodded. "I know."

"Look, I don't know what's going to happen, but whatever it is, I
love you."

TBC.

3/25/03