Title: Surf City
Author: McJude
Rating: PG
Summary: Harper and Dylan take a holiday together, but someone keeps popping up. Hercules crossover.
Disclaimer: Andromeda is property of Tribune.
Author's Note: This is a PG-13 version of a story based on the Dylan/Harper friendship in SHARDS OF RIMNI Harper reminded me so much of Iolaus, I wondered what the golden hunter would think of this new friendship. (There is also another version of this story, so if you are not 18 or don't like higher rated stories, please read it here.) I want to thank Becky for helping me with this story. Also Julia rose beyond the call of her Beta duties to writing (and then letting me edit) the first true "fight scene" that ever appeared in one of my stories.
I glance down at my own face, frozen with terror, reflected in the wide blade of the knife now held at my throat. I cannot see my assailant because he is standing behind me, but I sense that it is someone strong and very, very angry.
"I'm letting you go with a warning, Geek Boy, do you know what you are in for?" It might be easier if I pretended that I had no idea what he was talking about, but I do. The knife pulls away and I spin around. He's a small man, even shorter than I am, long sun-bleached blond hair falling loosely in curls around his face. . . piercing blue eyes. . . diabolical grin. "I hope you do, because he's always been mine. Understand?"
"Ryan? What is this Ryan? I don't understand." I vaguely remember Dylan's A/I friend on whom I had done some retrofitting. This madman looks a little like him.
"I'm afraid you've got me mixed up with someone else, buddy. My name isn't Ryan, it's Iolaus. Get that, Iolaus. Now go, and don't forget what I've told you."
I clench my fist to take a swing at him and realize that it is a stupid thing to do. He still has a knife. He seems somewhat deranged. It doesn't matter because he is gone. Somewhere into the night. I realize that it is not the first time that day I have seen him. He must have been tailing me for some time.
* * * *
Earlier that day.
I am finally getting a chance to try out my hover board in a real freakin' ocean. After we had returned from Fellenhoff Drift, Dylan thought we needed a real vacation. Not only did he rent a comfy seaside cabin with a kitchen stocked with food and Sparky on a planet with a real ocean with waves and beaches, but he even sprang for an extension of the rental of my hover board. I wasn't sure what had gotten into Dylan, but we sure seem to have bonded on the last adventure. I guess he needed to relax, too, and I am glad he took me with him.
I'd asked Dylan to come surfing with me. I could get him a hover board or a regular surfboard, but he declined. Never learned to do it, he told me. I thought those High Guard Cadets had a lot of free time to spend on the beach, with real waves and without the thought of Dragons chasing them. Can't believe he never learned to surf. Missing one of the great joys of life.
He uses the beach for a staging area for all those things they did learn at the High Guard Academy. He runs huge laps alternating between dry and wet sand. I watch him contort his body with various stretching moves, then tighten it with set-ups and push-ups with infinite variations.
My recreation is much easier, especially when you have a hover board. You can fly out, just above the waves, out to that mystery zone where the incoming waves and the outgoing surf boil and mix together. You're not all tired out from swimming out lying on your board. You're fresh and ready to become one with the waves, get lost in the pipeline.
Like we ever had pipelines in Boston. The only time we had big waves was because they had bombed some harbor on the freakin' coast of West Africa. Some backroom crafted Nova Bomb that sent body parts ashore along the entire East coast of the America's. Even I wouldn't surf in that tomato soup, even though the waves were mighty tempting.
I look around and see several other guys out in the surf -- big gods looking a lot like Tyr with skin in all the hues of the sun-kissed flesh rainbow. Tyr's been a changed man since he returned from that tunnel. I haven't gotten used to him. I miss the old Tyr. But this new one has his good points, like being able to be left with Beka and Rommie and not having to worry about him taking off with the Andromeda. I guess I'll get used to him.
Makes me wonder about Dylan's intentions, too. I wondered when he took me on the mission and I am still wondering. I do not read our Captain Hero that well. I am going to have to start trying.
I can see a huge swell rising in the open ocean. I push my board under the water, turn off the automatic jets and prepare to take this one commando style. Seamus Z. Harper versus the big one. This ought to be good. This ought to be freakin' fantastic.
The water breaks over my head and I feel as if in am under a waterfall. A moving waterfall crashing into the beach in front of me. I know there are not words to describe this sensation to Dylan. He's never done this, and there is no way to share. I am alone against the sea, or at least I think I am alone.
I happen to glance over my right shoulder and there is someone else in the pipeline with me. Someone else sharing this once in a lifetime experience. A small golden man with wet blonde hair. Doesn't look like one of the sea gods, but he is one hell of a surfer. He is smiling away, as if to say that anything I can do he can do better. I don't doubt it. I am on a techno-crafted hover board; he is on what looks like a piece of freakin' driftwood. He smiles over at me.
"Nice pants." That is what I think I hear him say.
I look over. He is wearing this freakin' piece of blue cloth wrapped around his groin. He looks like Tarzan in cornflower cheesecloth.
The wave breaks down and carries us into the beach. I see Dylan now relaxing on a beach chair off in the distance with his floppy-straw hat, cut-off jeans, big cooler full of beer and Sparky. I want to scream and see if he saw me, but walk quietly toward him. The other man walks away, down the beach. I notice Dylan's eyes follow me.
* * * *
I wanted to go out that night and Dylan wanted to stay in the room and play GO. Maybe I should have agreed. He said something about moving into vacations gradually. Relaxing in stages. Must be another thing they taught them at the High Guard Academy. Maybe it's a good idea. I'll never know because Seamus Z. Harper wanted to go out. I went by myself just for a short walk into town and ended up with a freakin' knife at my throat. I can still see his shit-faced grin now that I am back in the safety of the cabin. Listening to Dylan snore. Some vacation.
* * * *
"Cripes, Dylan. I didn't know it rained here." I am looking out a window that is streaked with a yellow slimy rain. The beach is empty and the surf is flat. "Do you know how long this is supposed to last."
"Don't know. We don't have access to any weather communications. You said you wanted to enjoy the natural surroundings of the beach. No electronics."
"Natural surroundings that were supposed to include sun, and surf, and sand, and shells, and cute girls in bikinis."
"Haven't seen many girls here, bikinied or otherwise. Mostly you surfer dudes."
"Guess we'll have to hit some clubs to find them."
Dylan nods his head. "Well, if it's no day at the beach, how about we put on some oilskins and hike up to the casino."
"Oilskins."
"Sorry, rain gear. My mind must be somewhere else."
"Not really fond of casinos, Dylan. Why don't we just stay here? Maybe the weather will break."
"I hear they have a game of Photodots."
"Haven't played in a while. Don't know if I still have the old Harper touch."
"Well, if you don't, I just cut you off. You will be playing with my money."
* * * * *
Photodots is a remarkably simple game if you have an IQ of 185 and electronically enhanced reflexes. Basically it is like the old game of darts only the target is very small and you as a player control single photons to go through tiny slits and holes. All you have to do is realize that sometimes photons react like waves and sometimes like particles -- then predict when each will occur. It should be one of those things where the house always wins, except when people like me get involved. Instead of betting on a coin/toss I study all the freakin' variables and win big time.
Of course the casino game is showy -- huge representations of what is going on at a sub-molecular level. I always attract a crowd. Today I have all the observers that I want in Dylan -- watching me play and my bankroll grow. Tyr must have told him about my skills. I remember the first time Tyr watched me, carefully studying me with those dark eyes, chin resting on his fist, a hint of a smile, when he realized that for me, Photodots is a serious game. Dylan is more quizzical. But I realize that he likes watching me win, especially when it is his money.
"Think you're good at that, don't you?" I recognize the voice before I turn around. It is the man from last night. The crazy one.
"Someone thinks so." I pat the pile of chips and rods in front of me and glance towards Dylan.
"How are you on a more manly scale? Care to throw something people can actually see?"
I look up at the huge display on the wall. Most people don't realize that they are not playing with the lights projected on the wall, but with tiny bits of light.
"What's the matter, you blind?"
"You know what I am talking about Geek Boy."
"Darts?"
"Actually I was thinking knives." Before I have a chance to answer the same knife that had been at my throat just hours before is sailing through the air and embedded right in the middle of the target of the PHOTODOT game. It just quivers there. Strangely enough there is no response from Dylan or the others in the room. It has to be a hallucination not for the sharing. That really bothers me. I wonder if it might be going on at the sub-atomic level.
"Let's blow this joint. If feel as if my luck is about to change." I turn to the still unmoving Dylan.
"Looks like you won enough to buy us a good lunch. How about we try out the Ioliasian Buffet?"
I shrug my shoulders, walk behind him, and wonder if surfing in the yellow rain might not be preferable.
* * * * *
I spend the rest of the afternoon watching Dylan play Black Jack. He claims it is his favorite Casino game, but they don't allow people like me with electronic enhancement to play. It is awfully simplistic, but I am glad Dylan found something he liked to do. He doesn't win much; he doesn't lose much -- that's Dylan. I convince him that since I have spent all day just standing watching him play cards, we need to do something active. I suggest we go to a dance club.
The club is too loud, too smoky, too flashing, too. . . . the kind of place I really like. Dylan is not so sure. Dylan equals moderation. This isn't moderate. Dylan orders me some layered neon colored drink that tastes really good and a scotch for himself. He looks around the room for potential dance partners. I will get to see Dylan's taste in women.
He finds one, goes over and asks her to dance. She's a little too tall and muscular for my tastes wearing an olive jumpsuit. Then I realize that she must be a Heavy Gravity Worlder, probably reminds him of his mother. She does have long, auburn hair and a nice smile. The two of them make a nice couple.
Dylan isn't much on the fast numbers, but then the music gets slow and languid and he and this woman move together like they are graduates of some inter-galactic academy of ballroom dancing. Must have been another thing they learned at the Academy. Dylan continues to amaze me with his talents.
They finish the dance and walk over to the bar for a drink together. I've got to find me a partner or spend the night drinking alone, so ask some cute little green girl and we get up on the platform and start going to it. She is a good dancer. I am a good dancer. I wish they had some dance contest tonight for us to enter. I don't know how I would stack up against Dylan and that HG babe though. I notice that he does watch us as we dance. It might be an interesting competition.
The music gets louder. The drink seems to have made me really loose and in-tune with the music. This is really, really fun. It's almost as good a workout as going one-on-one with the waves. I've had more practice with dancing; we could do that in Boston.
I look at my partner and her eyes seem to be focused at something over my left shoulder. I turn and look and he is there. Dancing alone --without a partner. He's wearing these tight leather pants with patches on the knees and seat, two brown leather belts crossing each other on his ass, no shirt, and this purple vest made up of small square patches. Tanned and sun-bleached. Small and muscular. He is one good-looking dude, and he can dance.
I can dance, too. I step it up a notch, pull off my shirt and tie it around my waist. The music gets louder and faster. We dance, acknowledging each other's presence with our eyes and forgetting entirely about my partner. But it isn't a contest, no one is going to evaluate and judge. Suddenly I am not enjoying this place very much. The song finishes and I go over and tap on Dylan's shoulder.
"I think we should go."
He doesn't look too upset, and smiles at me saying, "I thought you were having a good time."
"Don't like that dude up there, he bothers me a lot."
"Who are you talking about, Harper?"
"That blonde guy."
"What blonde guy?"
"The one behind me, he says he knows you. Says his name is Iolaus."
"I don't think I know an Iolaus. If I ever did, I don't remember."
Now he tells me.
He turns to the HG babe and tells her he has to go. I try to read the look on his face, and conclude that he is glad that I came up with an excuse to get him away from her. That lady might have been too much even for Captain Hunt.
* * * *
I am fortunate. The sun comes out and the surf comes up once again I am ready to face the ocean. Dylan spends enough time on the beach to turn the skin that no one will ever see under his turtlenecks a yummy shade of golden-brown. People will notice the sun-streaks in his hair though. One night I even agree to play GO with him until he tells me that I am the worst GO player he has ever seen and suggests that I get some reprogramming done on my game base
It isn't my game, but I know I should be better at it than I am.
The next night he takes me out to dinner to the nicest place on the beach. I have to watch him eat this slimy fish in a cream sauce that he claims he genuinely loves and drink one glass of this red wine that is so dry it makes the ends of my jaw hurt, but the steaks are tasty and huge. I get this wonderful gloppy chocolate dessert with nuts and whipped cream, and he gets fresh fruit. The guy does watch his waistline; still he orders a brandy after dinner.
I don't challenge Dylan when he says he knows a quicker way home, one that involves going down dark and narrow streets. I was going to tell him that I didn't want to get home that badly, but figured I would have to tell him about my encounter with the man with a knife and didn't want to admit that.
I look up and emerging from the darkness are seven or eight men. Big men! Big men walking shoulder to shoulder toward us as if to challenge our right to take this route.
"We don't have any money, if that's what you want." Dylan says in a brutish way.
One of the men makes some comment about pretty boys and faces staying pretty. They have knives. I wonder if everyone on this planet carries a knife.
Dylan is a great fighter. I've fought at his side a few times and after the last trip I feel as if I am getting better. We are badly outnumbered though. Maybe Dylan can handle three/four/five men at once, usually I can't, but tonight I am going to have to try.
"Hey, you! Yeah, you, Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumb! Come and get a little taste of Harper!" I yell at two of the guys who are coming at us. Dylan gives me both a "Thanks" and an "Are you crazy?" look at the same time.
I search my oversized brain to remember Tyr’s self-defense lessons and my street experiences and the only thing that comes to me is a very strange phrase Anasazi kept repeating to me over an over, "When the mind ceases the action, the body reacts". I never seemed to understand it to the great ire of my Nietzschean instructor.
All thoughts however perish when I see two sledge-hammer sized fists coming towards my head. Ducking was out of the question so I do the only thing possible in this situation, I go down, sitting almost in a forward split, and bring my own fists up, hitting the Twiddle Dee in the groin from the best vantage point possible. The thug screams and doubles over in pain. I twist and fall backwards, bring my knees to my chest and then jack-knife them up, hitting my assailant up the head and sending him flying.
I hear the thud of a body hitting the dumpster but I have no time to gloat as the other one, Twiddle Dum as I called him, charged with a roar. I am still on the ground, so I twist again and scissor-sweep the bandit’s legs from under him. The brute falls with a loud crashing sound and I twirl around on my back and gain enough momentum to bring my legs down on his midsection. I hear the crack of the broken bones and Twiddle Dumb remains motionless.
‘The bigger they are…’ I think and flip up, off the filthy alley -- and straight into the hands of another thug. I forgot there were seven of them. Before I can understand what had just happened I find myself in a headlock with a mean-looking blade pressed to my throat, nicking my skin. Gees, that’s new, even that mad man Iolaus didn't bother to cut me. The thug mumbles something about slitting my throat but not before having his way with me and Dylan but I don’t really listen to him. I can’t believe I let him catch me like that.
Suddenly I see Iolaus appear from out of no where, and wonder if these guys are his friends. He acts as if he is trying to tell me something. He makes faces, flops his hands, hangs his head and acts like a puppet with the strings gone loose. I understand and in an instant I hang limp in the arms of my assailant, the only thing seemingly holding me up being his grip on my neck and his knife at my throat. He is startled and at this precise moment Iolaus grabs his hand and twists the knife out, a little more pressure and I hear the bandit’s wrist snap. He howls in pain but still holds my neck so I head-butt him backwards, the back of my head makes contact with his nose and I hear another howl and he loosens his grip on me. I slip out and watch as Iolaus dispatches him with a few swift kicks.
The blond saunters over to me and winks, "You did good, Geek Boy!" I mumble my thanks, not very coherent and somehow disturbed by his proximity and post-battle rush, but he waves me off.
He smiles his deranged smile again and whispers, "Just remember, Geek Boy, when the mind ceases the action, the body reacts." Now he is freakin' quoting Tyr. He winks again and the next thing I know he is gone.
I brush myself off and look around.
"Nice fight, Mr. Harper." Dylan says with a smile.
"I had a little help." I smile at him and wait for a comment about our friend.
"Tyr's lessons come in handy don't they? You held your own. I knew I could count on you to handle your share."
"But. . . "
"Don't but. . . Harper. Let's get home."
* * * *
"Tell him to go on without you. We need to talk. Tell him you have to use the bathroom, he hates public restrooms. You'll catch up with him." Iolaus tells me, I'm pretty sure now that Dylan can't see or hear him.
"We're almost to the beach, I can pee on the beach." I say to Dylan.
"No, you can't pee on the beach, Harper. Go back to that bar, I don't think anyone will jump you walking across the open beach. But don't, for the sake of others, use it for a restroom. Didn't your mother ever teach you anything."
I turn expecting my companion to say something pithy and smarmy about being right and there is no one there.
"Won't be long, but might have a beer. Don't wait up for me."
* * * *
He's waiting in the bar for me. I use the restroom because I really do have to pee and would have used the beach if Dylan hadn't chastised me so. He has two huge mugs in front of him and that smile on his face. When I near him he extends his arm and grabs my forearm, a new form of handshake, and I grab his the same way. He then grabs me with the other arm and pulls me into a hug. When he releases me he is smiling, but not as diabolically.
"You've passed."
"What?"
"You passed."
"What?" I have no idea what he is talking about.
"It was a test, Harper. To see if you were good enough to be his partner."
"Dylan put you up to this?"
"No Dylan didn't, I did. It's a long story. He's used to having a partner. Someone to fight at his side, back-to-back, someone to share his adventures with. That's the way he his."
"What ARE you talking about?"
"I can't really explain it, Harper. He and I have were together in the past."
"Like when. . . he says he doesn't know an Iolaus . . . like before the black hole." I figure it has to be something spooky like that and maybe he doesn't remember all that stuff.
"Much longer than that. As I said, I'm not going to explain. I've been watching him for a while, with Tyr, with Rommie even. But then I saw you with him on Fellenhoff Drift and realized that you might be the one. I had to test you to make sure you were good enough.
"It's not going to be an easy job. He does have his quirks and idiosyncrasies. . .
"Like you're telling me!"
"But he's one great friend. He'll go to hell and back to save you. Loyalty is one of his strongest points."
"I know that. I've seen him searching for Tyr -- several times -- when I would have simply said 'bye-bye Uberman, have a good life.'"
"So you realize that. Good, that's important. And don't get too upset when he falls for some babe, they never live long anyway."
"A pleasant thought."
He grins at me. I wonder what more he isn't telling me.
* * * *
The sun is rising over the ocean as I walk along a stretch of white dry sand with no footprints. I'm going back and I wonder how I got there. I must have fallen asleep walking back from the bar. Dylan has got to be worried that those men came back. I hurry toward our cabin, or at least toward the direction I think our cabin is.
Dylan is on a straw mat in front of the cabin doing sit-ups. He sees me, quickly stands and grabs me by the shoulder, pulling me to him.
"Where've you been, Harper. "
"Don't know. Think I fell asleep. Can't tell you."
"Can't tell me, or won't tell me."
"Can't tell you. Believe me, I wish I knew."
"I was worried."
"Not as worried as I was when I woke up in the sand. Pure white sand. No footprints. That doesn't make much sense does it."
"About as much sense as the dream I had last night."
"Whatya dream, big guy."
"I dreamed I was fighting monsters, big slimy, smelly monsters."
"Just a normal dream, Dylan."
"With a sword?" He has a very puzzled look on his face. I can think of nothing to say back, still wondering when this Iolaus guy might have known him. "And I was wearing these really funky, heavy pants, made out of woven leather strips."