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."

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