Author's note:   This is the second Andromeda story I ever wrote, back in 2001.  I heard that Michael Hurst was going to appear on Andromeda later that season (and read a short description of the role).  I wrote this story and submitted it to ANDROMEDA UNCOVERED and MaryAvatar rejected the story because it was "too clean".  So this poor story has existed only in far flung archives separated from its counterparts on both Mary's and my webpage.  Since the major link to it has disappeared, I decided to bring it home.   I am also listing it under HERCULES FOREVER.  It is very clean by McJude standards, but I wouldn't read it to your little brother or sister as a bedtime story -- they just won't get it -- unless they are an older teen in which case they can read it on their own.

IF YOU NEED ME

Captain Beka Valentine transferred the message from her private viewing screen to the large monitor visible to all crewmembers. The handsome face of Captain Dylan Hunt appeared before them.

"I trust you are enjoying your few days of free time and assure you that your decision not to land with me was correct. The weather here has been constant rain for the last two days with the temperature in the single digits. Fortunately the negotiations have been going well and I expect to rejoin you on the Andromeda sometime tomorrow. In the meantime I have something that will bring a little excitement to your stay." He smiled, one of those smiles that immediately alerted those who knew Dylan that his words and opinions about what he was saying were not the same.

"I doubt that anyone on the crew is familiar with the concept of magazines, but this archaic method of sharing information with words printed on paper and enhanced with pictures is still in use here. A writer has approached me from one of these publications who would like very much to do a story on the crew of the Andromeda. A Mr. Nigel Inyourface will be visiting the Andromeda later today. He would like to meet with each of you individually in your quarters. Please give him your full cooperation."

The crew looked at each other and shared a group thought "What has Dylan gotten us into this time?"

* * * * * *

Beka would have preferred meeting with the reporter in a public area. Recently she had found private encounters troublesome. Somehow whenever she spent time privately with other than the crew members she would end up undressed, engaging in activities which had nothing to do with the running of the ship. She would have to be on her best behavior to talk with Mr. Inyourface in her quarters.

She opened the door and was totally unprepared for what she saw. A short man with thick graying-blond hair, a gray mustache and bloodshot blue eyes. He barely came to her shoulder. He was wearing this gaudy-print, wide-collared shirt of a thin silky material unbuttoned down the front exposing a vast quantity of graying chest hair. Several heavy gold chains hung around his neck. She kept moving her eyes lower searching for something more pleasant to observe, bypassing the tight green trousers, orange socks, and shiny leather shoes. Her only hope was to return to his eyes.

He fumbled with his shirt pocket and extracted what appeared to be a pack of cigarettes. With great difficulty, because his eyes were focused unmovingly on her breasts, he removed two cigarettes with his mouth and was attempting to light both of them.

"Excuse me, smoking is not allowed on this ship." She wondered what combustible they contained; doubting that tobacco was still grown anywhere in the universe.

"Sorry, some people like to smoke after . . .  I've always preferred to smoke before." He said with a leering grin.

"Before what?"

"You know, a dude like me. A babe like you. It's inevitable." It was like he had no idea how repulsive he actually was, especially with two burning cigarettes in his mouth.

"It will be more than inevitable, that I will ask you to leave immediately, except for the fact that my captain has asked me to grant you an interview. Smoking is not allowed anywhere on this ship, so please don't smoke in my private quarters."

He looked around for a place to stub out both cigarettes. There was nothing in the room that looked like a suitable surface to grind it into. Finally he lined up the ends of the two cigarettes and pushed them together in an attempt to extinguish them.

"Here." Beka handed him an empty coffee mug which worked much better.

They sat on two chairs in her quarters. She was glad one of them did not have to sit on the bed. Even as he asked her mundane questions about her life participation on both the Maru and Andromeda, she noticed that he continued to stare at her body. Twice she had to stop him as he again attempted to light cigarettes.

She could only be grateful that the interview was short.

"If you change your mind, Peaches, just whistle!" He commented as he left the room. "You know how to whistle don't you."

Beka was trapped in an ancient movie. She wondered why she had an intense aching in her groin and a strange desire for this disgusting little man to lick her all over her body with his cigarette flavored mouth. She continued to think pleasant but disturbing thought about him long after he had left.

* * * * * *

Harper could not believe it when he answered the knock. His elementary school teacher was standing outside his door. Mrs. Twanky. He would never forget that woman and how good she smelled when she held him close to her body. Of course he would always pretend she was holding him for a reason other than that some bully had beaten him up and stomped his memory sticks into little pieces. He remembered that wavy white hair and those flashing blue eyes. He remembered how she used to teach the neighborhood children in her house and made the class sing and dance illustrate subjects when they had no books or materials. But most of all, he remembered grabbing onto her body; it was softer than down pillows.

"I always knew you would turn out to be someone special, Harper." Her voice was soft and lyrical. "Now you are the head engineer on a huge starship. You've done your teacher proud."

'Hell' thought Harper. 'No one cares what a little twit like me had done with his life'. He had no one but himself to make proud. She reached out for him and gathered him into a hug.

"I'm supposed to be meeting with some reporter. He's writing a story on our ship. When he shows up you'll have to leave."

"I can wait. I have all the time in the world. Tell me what you have been doing?"

Harper loved to have someone to whom he could babble about all the projects, big and small, he had done on the ships over the years. He had always wanted to tell someone about them, now he had the teacher who had loved him the most to share them with. He told her about the good things. He did not tell her about being infested with Magog eggs or about making weapons of total destruction. His favorite teacher sat beside him on the bunk and put her arm around him; he talked incessantly until he fell asleep.

"If you need me, just call." She said to the sleeping Harper as she left the room.

* * * * * *

"Why do you waste your prayers for a soul's safe passage, when a golden coin will do the job?" Rev Bem looked up at the man standing before him. His Magog face showed no emotion. The man, though human, was almost as ugly as members of his species. He stifled the improper thought and spoke.

"And what good will money do in the face of the divine?"

"Divine. I don't know of the divine, but it feels good in my pocket." The man slapped a leather pouch that hung from his belt. His voice was like a high guard lance being run along the wall of the starship, rough and irritating. "And when I am happy, I can put in a good word, with whomever..."

"Who are you?"

"I am Charon."

"Sorry, but I have never heard of you. What do you do?"

"I am the boatman who transports souls to the underworld. What's the matter "ugly boy"? Aren't you supposed to be the spiritual leader? Does the name River Styx mean anything to you?" His tone was taunting. Rev didn't like dealing with people like this. He seemed to have no idea how dangerous it was to taunt a Magog.

"I will pray for understanding. I do not pray for knowledge. I do not know you, but I pray that the divine will smile upon you despite your discourtesy. I pray to slack a hunger growing in me fueled by your insolence." Rev continued. That "Inyourface guy" couldn't be any worse than this creature. Rev turned his head and continued to pray.

"When you have finished praying, if you still need me, just call." The ugly man said as he walked out of the room and down the hall.

* * * * * *

It had been decades since Trance had seen one of her species, but she was almost positive the man before he was one. He, too, had purple skin and yellow hair. She wondered why his eyes were blue and not black, but continued to stare at him. No tail. She didn't have a tail now either. They seemed to get injured easily.

"What happened to your tail?" She asked.

He twisted around and looked at his rear. "No tail." He replied with a silly smile.

"Are you a...?" She whispered a word in a language he could not understand.

"What?" It was obvious that if he didn't understand her, he wasn't. She didn't repeat the word.

"Then why are you purple?" She asked.

"What does it matter?"

It mattered a lot to her. If he was purple because he was a member of her species, he might be the evil one she had heard about in the past. Because of that she was deeply torn. Why couldn't she meet a nice member of her own species? It was horrible to live in fear that others would judge you because of someone else who looked like you. Someone you had never met, yet who carried all the negative aspects of your race. "It matters to me. I want to meet someone like me."

"Like you how?" The little purple man reached out and took her hand in his.

"You know, sweet, kind, brave. I am a healer."

"And people don't take you seriously when you look like a grape."

"I do wonderful things, but people always look at me as if I am some cute little tag along thing. People cannot remember my name. I feel so small; so insignificant. Do you have any idea what I am talking about?"

'If you only knew'. He thought to himself. "I am definitely like you Trance, definitely like you. If you need me, just call." He thought again, 'Why am I purple? Because I like it'.

* * * * * *

'Nothing could be stupider than to waste your time talking to a magazine reporter'. Tyr though to himself. He would gain nothing from the interview. He wanted to just sneer and walk away, but the way Dylan had been acting recently, he felt he owed the captain a few minutes of his time. He muttered under his breath as he opened the door. Before him stood a small man dressed in a strange and colorful costume. He wore a hat with bells hanging from several floppy points and tossed balls into the air. At any time Tyr expected him to burst into song, at which time he would pound him into a thick hummus-like paste.

"I do not find you amusing at all, little man?"

"Ah, cut it, Tyr, you know it is a cover. I have news. Important news to relay only to you from your pride."

"My pride is dead. I am the last survivor. No one in my pride would entrust anything of importance to someone like you."

"Your pride is not entirely dead. They do not exist in the world as you know it. But my world has dimensions that cannot be measured. Those who existed in your world also exist in mine, except they are different. The Nietzschean's are the poets and songwriters of my world, but they feel a need to communicate with you.

"Good and evil, Kind and Cruel. Twist. Twist. Twist. It's a twisted world." Now the annoying little man actually was singing. Tyr wanted to hold his ears in pain.

"OK, enough. If you have a message. Tell me. And please, please don't sing."

"My message is that I am. That should be enough. I not only have his genes. I am him."

"Who?"

"Think about it Tyr. When you know, just call and I will return."

The jester skipped out of the room, juggling his balls and singing "Twist, Twist, Twist." Tyr sat down and buried his hands in his fists. It could not have been true.

* * * * * *

"Hello, Rommie." Someone was there in her head. She could not only see and hear him, she could feel his presence. "I am Ryan."

"You are an avatar like me? Correct?"

"Yes, I am the avatar of Clarion's Call. We, avatars, must stick together."

"The others I have met in my journey, seem to have their own agendas. We are not a sympatric group. Why should you be any different?"

"Because, in addition to being like you, I like you."

"How can you, as you say, like me, when you don't know me?"

"I know things you only feel. Things that you are afraid to speak."

"Why should I be afraid to speak?"

"Because you are afraid of what his answer will be?"

"Whose answer?"

"Dylan's."

"Dylan?"

"You are afraid. You are in love."

"What are you talking about?"

"You are afraid, because you believe he cannot love someone who is shall we say 'different'. Do the words 'Golden Hind' mean anything to you?"

"The avatar of a High Guard starship lost four centuries ago?"

"Back further. Check your data."

"The flagship of a British explorer?"

"Keep looking, Rommie, the answer is there. Just call if you need me."

The thoughts were gone. He was gone. Rommie was not even sure anyone or anything had been there.

Her mind seemed cluttered with thoughts, which although they had always been there, seemed suddenly unloosed and unfettered. The answer was there, somewhere.

* * * * * *

Returning to the Andromeda always left Dylan with an unexplainable feeling of melancholy. He should be happy to return to his ship and his crew, yet there was always something, which was impossible for him to explain, that seemed missing. Perhaps it related to the old days, some High Guard thoughts still dwelling in the recesses of his mind. Why reunited with those who were now his world, did he feel only for those who were missing?

Mr. Inyourface was waiting for him on the bridge. The small man removed his dark rimmed glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief he extracted from the inside pocket of his tweed jacket. The somewhat amazed look on his face removed the same even after the lenses had been cleaned. Obviously it was what he was seeing, and not how he was seeing it, that actually bothered him. Dylan extended his hand in greeting.

"I hope my crew was cooperative. They are an independent lot. Sometimes they... " Dylan began.

"Sometimes they see things differently from each other."

"Sometimes they see..."

"Sometimes they see only what they want to see." Nigel continued to look right at Dylan as he spoke.

"Everyone on your crew is looking for something. Something that they believe they cannot see. Perhaps they believe that they cannot see it because it does not exist."

"My crew is skilled, dedicated and pragmatic."

"But what each is looking for does exist, they just choose not to see it."

"I suppose you see it."

"I do not need to see what I know exists."

"You puzzle me little man."

"Me, puzzle you, Dylan. It is you, I do not understand. Why do you fight so hard to save a universe and yet care so little for what those nearest to you want and need? Why do you not help direct their vision?"

"It is their job to help with my vision. I am the captain."

"Gods, you have changed. When did your vision start to mean so much?"

"I am merely trying to restore...

"Your precious commonwealth. Fighting against the evil Magog. What is so damn important about..."

"You sit on your isolated planet while we protect you from becoming Magog matrix."

"And since when has mankind had it any easier. The monsters have always been there."

"Not like the Magog."

"Tell that to those who faced the hydras, the gydras, the she-demon! What makes your Magog so damn special."

"Those others are imaginary. Mythical beasts."

"Even if you dismiss them as imaginary, which I believe that you, Dylan most of all, should not be so quick to do, they created fear in men's hearts. What about the shepherd who protected his sheep from the wolves, or the sailor who faced the hurricane. It is just that things in your world are larger, but not any more intense."

"I don't understand what you are getting at Mr. Inyourface. You asked for an in-depth look at my ship, and I granted it to you. Go home and write your story. Write about my crew, their strengths and foibles. Sell your slick magazines to those who consider themselves intellectually superior. Just don't tell me how to run my world."

"That's it; you consider it YOUR WORLD now. What has happened to you? Why can't you see?"

Dylan's head began to spin. Images with no foundation in the life he had lived, even if it were over three hundred years long, seemed to come in and out of focus. Even the man standing before him looked different. He felt as if he were watching some kind of fantasy movie. He tried to think not on the universe but only on his crew. Narrow it down and try to focus. It wasn't happening. He heard voices calling out.

"One man can't do it all," came screaming from his lips.

"Save the universe, or help your crew?"

Dylan shook his head. He didn't know.

The Nigel wrapped his arms around Dylan and hugged him tightly. Dylan was not used to physical contact. It bothered him when members of his crew touched him. He preferred to be saluted. He uncomfortable hugged Nigel back and rested his chin on his head. There was something familiar and comforting...

* * * * * *

"Captain Valentine here," her face appeared on the monitor in Dylan's quarters. "I was just checking on that reporter you sent the message about. We're only going to be orbiting a few more hours, and wondered if he was ever going to show up."

"What do you mean, Captain Valentine? I talked to him at length. He has his material and is on his way back home."

"I never talked to him. I talked to this gross horny man who must have been part of his entourage, but Mr. Inyourface never got to me."

"Gross! Horny man! What ARE you talking about Captain Valentine?"

"Chest hair, gold chains, open shirts, orange socks... get the picture Captain?"

"Well that certainly wasn't Mr. All-Tweed Inyourface."

"Rommie said she talked to another Avatar, Rev Bem spoke to an ugly philosopher about money, Harper swears he talked to his elementary teacher, and Tyr conversed with what he can only describe as a singing jester. What happened, Captain Hunt?"

"I don't know, Beka. I don't know. I talked to him at length. He talked about seeing things differently, but...

Dylan could no longer think. His mind was far too confused. He could no longer remember the conversation he had with the short bespectacled man dressed in tweed. The image he had once allocated to Nigel Inyourface was gone, replaced by one that had no place in his world. He saw a small but powerfully built man with long golden-hair and bright blue eyes. The man was half-naked, wearing only leather pants, a strange purple vest and an amulet hanging around his neck. The man was smiling and gazing at him with a look one would only give someone you loved and trusted completely. Dylan felt strangely at peace.

"Maybe one man can do it all, if he is the right man." He thought to himself.

McJude

October 2001