#Ships in Distress Off A Rocky Coast

[m-o-ustafa92]

كان لودولف باكهويسن رسام ألماني تدرب في البداية على يد والده ليصبح ناسخاً. في عام ١٦٤٩، إنتقل إلى أمستردام حيث أمّنت له مهاراته الرائعة في الخط العمل كموظف لدى واحد من أكثر تجار المدينة شهرة. في النهاية قادته براعته الإستثنائية في الرسم إلى ممارسة مهنة الرسام، مما أدى إلى نجاح سريع. كان لباكهويسن شغف خاص بإلتقاط تأثير الطقس على سطح البحر، وهو موضوع قدّمه بخبرة ملحوظة. بحلول الجزء الأخير من القرن السابع عشر، أصبح فنان المناظر البحرية الرئيسي في هولندا منتجاً لوحات بحرية للرُعاة الملكيين والأرستقراطيين عبر أوروبا. يمكننا تقدير موهبته اليوم بهذا المشهد البحري الرائع.

نرى ثلاث سفن شحن من نوع لعب دور محوري في تعزيز الازدهار الهولندي أثناء القرن السابع عشر. حاملة علم الجمهورية الهولندية باللون الأحمر والأبيض والأزرق المفعم بالحياة، تمثّل هذه المركبات الثراء الوطني بينما تتمايل بشكل خطير بالقرب من شاطئ صخري. لقد عانت كل سفينة بالفعل من خسارة صاري ويمكن رؤية أدلة على الحطام في الحطام العائم في المياة الرمادية الفولاذية في المقدمة. لكن وسط الكارثة الوشيكة يظهر بصيص من الأمل، إذ تخترق آشعة الشمس الذهبية السحب النذيرة بالشؤم مشيرة للبحارين المُحاصرين أن العاصفة على وشك الإنحسار. يُعد هذا المشهد تذكير مؤثر بعبور الحياة.

Ships in Distress off a Rocky Coast

Ludolf Backhuysen

1667

[quo-usque-tandem]

Ships in Distress off a Rocky Coast by Ludolf Backhuysen

[illustratus]

Ships in Distress off a Rocky Coast by Ludolf Bakhuizen

[icecreamwithjackdaniels]

Ludolf Bakhuizen (Dutch, 1630–1708), "Ships in Distress off a Rocky Coast" (details), 1667

[gumnut-logic]

It was a shame Gordon wasn’t with him.

It was the first thought that crossed Virgil’s mind the moment the call came in.

“Aw, man, Gordy would love this.”

Apparently, Alan had the same thought.

“FAB, Thunderbird Five, diverting now.”

Thunderbird Two responded smoothly as he turned the great cargo plane onto her new trajectory. They had been in Bangladesh fishing flood victims out of a nasty storm. It had been a long day for both Alan and Virgil and John had been hesitant to send them onto another rescue, but it had to be done.

Christmas Island was any biologist’s dream, but in particular, a marine biologist’s dream. The native fauna were odd, endemic, and in Gordon’s words…well, Virgil didn’t have that many words in him right now.

And he was kinda missing those words.

If Gordon were here, tired or not, there would be babbling excitement, despite the rescue.

But their fish brother was still confined to the Island, recovering from his injuries. Virgil found himself cursing the Chaos Crew silently through his teeth yet again.

Maybe a special trip out here was called for as a treat.

The sun was on a setting trajectory as they approached the lone volcanic island in the middle of the Indian Ocean. “Christmas Island, Thunderbird Two on approach. We need clearance for air space above the harbour. Freighter in distress.”

“Roger, Thunderbird Two. The sky is yours.”

“FAB.”

He dumped airspeed enough to engage VTOL and manoeuvred his ‘bird to a position directly above the foundering ship, not far off the main docking port of the Island. The boat was obviously off trajectory and heading towards a rocky headland.

If they had been moments later, this would have been a very different rescue.

It must have been fate for them to be in the area at the right time.

“Borkum II, Thunderbird Two here to assist. What is your status?”

There followed a calm and precise outline of a jammed propeller, a malfunction in a computer and a list of failures in an efficient system that left Virgil frowning.

But first to the immediate problem. “Thunderbird Five, John, can you kill their engines? They are reporting a computer failure. I’d rather solve half the problem before Two has to strain against that amount of power.”

“Attempting now, Thunderbird Two.”

“I’m dumping the module on the dock.” Get rid of Two’s weight in order to maximise her muscle.

It took moments, in which Eos reported success in navigating their computer network and gating a raft of viruses, all of which was leading John off in an investigative streak as to where they had all come from.

However, the engines were dead, and Two could do what she needed to do.

Four grapples and two enormous rear rocket engines brought the craft to a stop and stabilised her in the water. VTOL was enough to keep her steady and move her to a dock where she could be secured and her cargo unloaded, rather than strewn along the coast.

“Many thanks, International Rescue!”

“No problem, Borkum II.”

Virgil switched over comms. “Thunderbird Five, rescue complete. Retrieving the module and heading home.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Two.”

“I wish Gordon was here.” Alan was voicing Virgil’s thoughts again.

But those thoughts were derailed as he lined up Two to retrieve her module. One of the grapple launchers reported an error and failed to fire.

Virgil thumbed the dash seeking further information, but Two couldn’t give him anything conclusive.

“Five, we need to land on the Island. Can you get the necessary clearances? Grapple number four is showing a malfunction.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Two.” A moment. “You have clearance to land.”

“Thanks, John.”

He settled Two down beside her module in the carpark at the main docking facility.

“Now I really wish Gordon was here. He’s going to be pissed.”

Virgil climbed out of his pilot’s seat and his whole body creaked. He was tired, but he couldn’t agree more. “I’m going to check number four grapple. Why don’t you go and snap some holos before the sun sets?” Virgil reached into one of the cabin lockers and pulled out his holorecorder. “Here you go.”

Actually, now he had thought of it, he wouldn’t mind setting foot on the Island himself.

“Watch out for spectators.”

Alan’s eyes widened and he was immediately out of his seat. He grabbed the ‘recorder and jumped onto the hatch. “FAB, Virg.”

He disappeared below before Virgil could utter another word.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “John, you got eyes on the squirt?”

“Always, Thunderbird Two.” But Virgil could hear the smile in John’s voice.

Back to work.

Stepping out into the tropical wet season was a familiar feeling. The dock itself was part of a large facility managing imports and exports. On the other side of the Island was the airport and air authority for the region. Christmas Island was part of Australia and despite being a fair distance around the globe from Tracy Island, it still had things in common with home.

He left his helmet in the cockpit, choosing to spend these few scant moments breathing the fresh air of another ocean.

He walked around to the grapple in question and shooting his own grapple gun up at Two’s undercarriage, hauled himself up there and had an argument with the much larger gun’s mechanical systems.

What he found equated to too much monsoon rain and a worn rubber washer that had degraded and jammed the system. A spare washer fixed the issue, but that also prompted the need to examine the three other grapple guns for similar damage.

In the end, he opted to swap them all out and threw off a note to Brains about finding a better material to support the movement of the heavy use equipment.

By the time he finished, the sun was kissing the horizon.

There was no sign of Alan.

“John?”

“He’s signing autographs.”

Virgil blinked. “What?”

“Alan went down to the beach and some locals spotted him. Don’t worry, just five young girls. I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“Girls? Really?”

John snorted.

Okay, maybe Virgil was a little too tired. “Give him five and then call him back. I’m looking forward to dinner.” Maybe a barbecue. Steak, maybe a beer, sit back and watch the moon rise. Maybe he could drag John down and get Gordon out of his room…

Something clambered over his boot.

His boots were sturdy by nature and if the scampering creature hadn’t been bright red in the waning sunlight, he might not have realised it was there. But it was bright red, as large as his hand, and very much a crab.

It was enough for Virgil to step back…hurriedly, not in a panic. It was only a crab, after all.

As big as his hand.

It appeared to be alone, however. None of those massive migrations this Island was renowned for.

Hell, if that had been the case, Gordon would be in his ear. Virgil had already checked; the annual red crab migration of Christmas Island had happened over a month ago.

This must be just a straggler.

Gordon, of course, was the source of Virgil’s knowledge about the red crabs. The one time they had been here before was during Gordon’s hydrofoil accident recovery as a special treat. Virgil had flown him in and stayed with him as the coastline was taken over by swarms of red crabs.

That was the reason why both Virgil and Alan wished he was here this time as well. The aquanaut adored Christmas Island and its crazy crabs.

Tracy Island had its fair share of endemic crabs, but none as spectacular as these hoards.

Virgil would do anything for his little brother and that trip was the proof.

Waking up with six large red crabs in your bed was an experience he had no wish to repeat.

He really, really loved his little brother.

The lone crab scampered across the tarmac and up into a grassy bank.

Virgil shivered despite himself.

And still wished Gordon was here.

He hit his comms. “Okay, Thunderbird Five. Two is secure. Where is that brother of ours?”

“Should I call him back?”

“Nooo…” Virgil grinned. “I want to see these ‘girls’.”

That earned him a snort and directions down to the local beach.

It turned out that the beach was a bit further away than Virgil had expected. The Island was as volcanic as Tracy Island and hence supported the resultant rugged terrain. The walk to the beach involved navigating around a rocky bay until Virgil finally found himself some sand.

The ship they had saved earlier was lit against the pier in the distance while Two hulked in the foreground on a rocky point.

Alan was standing with five girls in the middle of the beach just above the line of sea-wrack. Whatever they were talking about, they were definitely engrossed in it. One of the girls was crouching down and handing something up to Alan. His brother was wide eyed. Another moment and he had the holocam out and trained on whatever they were talking about in the sea-wrack.

It took a trek halfway up the beach before Virgil realised the wrack was alive and moving.

What the hell?

He stepped back, definitely hurriedly. “Virgil! This is amazing! Gordon is going to kill us!”

What?

But Alan was suddenly in front of him with a handful of….tiny red crabs.

They couldn’t have been bigger than the width of his little finger, but there were hundreds in Alan’s palm and climbing up his arms, over his boots, legs…everywhere.

What the hell?

And they were on Virgil. He scampered backwards up towards the edge of the beach, but there were tiny red crabs on everything. He brushed them off as gently as he could and in the least panicked way he could manage.

Didn’t help much.

He darted up the beach, over the stone wall at the edge and onto the grass. But there were tiny crabs there as well. Perhaps not as many, but they were still crawling up his legs.

“Virgil?”

“Alan, I think it is time to go.” His voice was a little louder than normal.

“But all these baby crabs…Gordon will love this. Can we bring him back here tomorrow?” Alan was attempting to film his handful as they climbed over his everything.

Several of the girls were giggling at Virgil.

Great.

He pulled a little crustacean off his baldric. It was quickly replaced with another one.

“Alan, we’re leaving. Anticontamination protocol is in effect.”

“Aww, really?”

“Professionalism, Alan.” The one he pulled off his shoulder was bigger than the rest. Definitely bigger.

There followed a happy-unhappy drag of a little brother off the beach. It involved whining and a swapping of at least three phone numbers.

Unbelieveable.

“I’m flying Gords out here tomorrow. He has to see this!”

Virgil had no doubt.

But the problem was, he wasn’t willing to leave Gordon’s care solely to their little brother. Sometimes heavy lifting muscles were needed.

Even ones covered in baby crabs.

It took some compressed air to make sure they were both clean of the endemic wildlife. Virgil even ran a mediscanner over the both of them to doubly make sure.

He had no wish to remove the crabs from their island habitat or hurt them in any way. They could just stay on their island and he would stay on his.

Of course, Alan babbled all the way home. Apparently, he had some fantastic footage of the babies that Gordon would just adore. There was also some extensive planning for a full family day trip the next day so everyone could see the baby crabs.

Virgil had no doubt that both John and Scott would be absolutely thrilled.

Not.

But they all loved Gordon, so chances were that they were all going to Christmas Island as soon as practically possible.

Alan already had John arranging the appropriate paperwork.

Virgil loved his littlest brother as well.

Damnit.

By the time he brought Two into land, Alan had worked enough on him that he was actually looking forward to the planned trip.

After all, they were only tiny crabs, weren’t they?

Two sighed as he killed her engine and let the turntable do its work. He relaxed back and let his shoulders drop.

Food and some well-earned sleep.

And hopefully no dreams about crabs.

“Hey, Virgil, what’s that?”

He turned to his little brother. “What?”

Alan’s eyes were widening and not in joy. He pointed towards Virgil’s chair.

Virgil looked down just in time to see a claw the size of his hand reach around the edge of his pilot’s seat.

What the-?!

But the thought didn’t have a chance to complete its profanity as Virgil was out of the chair and halfway across the cabin before he could swear.

A massive, brown crab took up most of the back of his pilot’s chair. It had to be at least a couple of feet across.

“What the hell is that?!” It was waving one of its huge claws as it clambered around the now empty seat and took Virgil’s place.

“Um, I’m sure Gordon knows.” Alan was clambering backwards out the other side of his seat.

Both operatives evacuated the Thunderbird at a considerable pace.

Gordon was consulted and amongst the laughter at their expense it was revealed to be a robber crab, yet another common arthropod inhabitant of that island that Virgil had very little wish to revisit but had now apparently been lassoed into landing on again tomorrow.

It was either that or Robbie the Robber Crab was going to take up permanent residency on Tracy Island. Something that was never going to happen while Virgil was an inhabitant of said Island.

Red crabs the size of his hand in his bed, he had handled. Baby crabs crawling all over his body in the hundreds – he could possibly handle those. But giant crabs up to a metre wide? He only had so much love for his little brother.

Maybe he should wear his exo-suit tomorrow.

The rest of the night was spent talking about crabs. Watching the holovids Alan had taken of the baby crabs and listening to a dissertation on the crab inhabitants of Christmas Island performed by Gordon Tracy, Aquanaut and Marine Biologist.

John refused to come down.

Scott suddenly had a business meeting tomorrow.

Kayo didn’t come home either. Virgil had suspicions that John was a tattle-tale.

Virgil glared at all of them.

But the joy in Gordon’s expression destroyed every protest he could possibly think of. And Alan was as eager as the fish.

Virgil sighed and resigned himself to his fate.

Gordon dug up some online footage of robber crabs overturning trash cans.

Virgil just stared.

Gonna wear the exo-suit.

Definitely.

-o-o-o-

Scroll to the bottom of this post to see what Virgil was tackling.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

some fashion. i know the look funky. i was testing some stuff out and based these off of some paintings that ill put under the cut.

Desolation by Thomas Cole - for harry

Ships in Distress off a Rocky Coast by Ludolf Bakhuizen -for tomby

[deepcoraldragon]

New fic! In your Wake

Summary:

Helping a young, wild mer get free from a net was pretty standard work for marine biologists and mer experts Wilbur and Phil. But Wil couldn’t get it out of his head. Maybe it was the other mer’s worryingly bony frame. Or the fact that their distress call had summoned none of their podmates. (Wilbur always got attached too fast).

Or: mer!Clingyduo aren’t bad at living alone, per se. It’s more like everything dangerous in this goddamned ocean is bad at leaving them alone. (Much like sbi, once they realize what’s going on).

Chapters: 1/8 | Words: 2027 | Read on AO3

Chapter one: Sundried

Wilbur was out at sea with his family.

Well, minus Techno. He had chosen to stay at the rehabilitation center, overseeing a few departures. Phil would normally have done the same, but a major storm had hit the coast the night before, and the current priority was to make sure no animals had been washed ashore, injured or stranded.

“Nothing so far," said Wilbur, lowering his binoculars.

Phil was looking at the coastline with the naked eye from his place at the boat's helm, but Wilbur knew that his ridiculously good eyesight allowed him to spot some things long before he did.

It was also certainly a matter of experience. Phil, a certified marine biologist specializing in the biology of merpeople, these half-human, half-fish water beings, had been working at the rehab center longer than Wilbur had been alive.

Still, it was Wilbur who saw them first.

At the limit of the shoal they were skirting, a shape perched on a rock. Too big for a seal.

“Phil," Wilbur called.

Wordlessly, his father followed the edge of the rocky area in its direction.

Grey seals, taking sunbaths on the surrounding rocks like large, squishy bananas, watched them pass curiously. Their calls were hoarse, dissonant and loud, but as the two approached, they could not quite cover the high-pitched trills of a distress call.

“Definitely not seals,” Phil muttered.

 When the water level became too low, Phil raised the zodiac's engine and Wilbur pulled out the ship’s paddle.

A splash announced that they had been spotted. Wilbur slowed their approach to assess the situation.

A webbed hand, with eroded claws and missing a few scales, was holding on the boulder what looked like a cross between a pile of old, bright orange plastic nets and a young mer. If the dryness of the yellow and black scales, matted and cracked by the wind and the heat of the morning sun, hadn't been enough to worry Wilbur, the way the net’s rope bit cruelly into the mer's skin, twisting and contorting their limbs, would have been more than enough.

“Do you see the other one?" Phil asked in a low voice, before pointing, when he found the answer to his own question.

A smaller hand was gripping the edge of the rock, on the side opposite to theirs. Another, a fragment of shell clutched between its claws, was frantically sawing at the ropes.

“They're not going to make it alone, are they?" Wil surmised, already eager to help.

“No," Phil said gravely. “And I’m worried about the one who's caught. His breathing is too slow. We'll approach gently, and you can calm the second one down. As soon as another member of their pod arrives, we drop everything and back off. Most pods in the area recognize our boat...”

“... But a protective, worried mer doesn't always bother to look before attacking," Wilbur finished. “If only Techno were here... Don’t tell his I said that.”

“We're more than capable of handling it,” Phil reassured.

The cries of distress had died down as they approached, but as Wilbur dipped the paddle back into the water, propelling them toward the two kids, a final, strangled call was heard.

“We're here to help you," Phil announced, his voice slow and calm. “My name is Phil, and this is my son Wilbur. We're from Servür’s Marine Rehabilitation Center. We're going to come closer now, okay?”

They were answered by an aggressive screech. Phil motioned for Wil to keep going.

Up close, the bound mer looked even worse for wear. He didn't even turn his head as they approached, though his too-long, tangled hair obscured whether his eyes were open or not, and each of his slow, labored breaths escaped with a slight wheeze. Wilbur steered the boat as carefully as he could, almost holding his breath. Phil pulled a short blade from his belt.

The hull of their boat hit the edge of the rock with a dull thud.

Wilbur barely had time to brace himself before a golden shape shot out of the water, shooting a spray of salt water into his face.

Fortunately, Wilbur was not a marine biologist for nothing.

Keep reading on AO3!

[heartistolovewith]

“Ships in Distress off a Rocky Coast” c. 1667 by Ludolf Backhuysen

[sortasilentdave]

Ludolf Backhuysen, Ships in Distress off a Rocky Coast

[taylorswiftarthistories]

Ships in Distress off a Rocky Coast by Ludolf Bakhuizen, 1667 / "Safe & Sound" by Taylor Swift

[artschoolglasses]

Ship in Distress off a Rocky Coast, Simon de Vlieger, 1645

[klassizismus]

Details: Ships in Distress off a Rocky Coast, Ludolf Bakhuizen, 1667

[ltwilliammowett]

HMS Beagle - Part 1

HMS Beagle was built as a small two-masted brig sloop of the 10-gun Cherokee class. Although 107 of this class were built, 26 were lost at sea, which is why they were given the name coffin brigs. Unfortunately, the same thing happened to the Beagle in a different way.

HMS Beagle off the Galápagos by John Chancellor (x)

When the Beagle was finally launched in 1820, she was initially not used and was kept in reserve without masts and rigging (in ordinary). It was not until five years later that she was transferred to the Hydrographic Office to serve as a survey ship. Her job there was to sail to various places in the world and make surveys for accurate charts. She was even converted to a bark, which meant that she now had three masts, the 10 guns were reduced to six and extra cabins and a forecastle were added.

The Expeditions

In 1826 the Beagle set sail for the first time. Under the command of Captain Pringle Stokes (1793- 1828) she was to sail from Patagonia to Tierra del Fuego to make accurate and up-to-date surveys, as new maps of the South American coast were needed for trading there. She was accompanied by HMS Adventure under the overall command of Captain Phillip Parker King. The two ships left Montevideo on 19 November 1826 and explored the coasts of southern Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego around the Strait of Magellan until April 1827, before returning to Rio Janeiro in June 1827. Stokes entered the Río Santa Cruz and charted Isla Pavón, which was about 54 kilometres from the mouth of the river. Pringle Stokes described the Tierra del Fuego people he first encountered in 1827 very objectively, which was unusual for a European of his time. He attributed their "primitive state" to the rigours of the climate. In December of the same year, the two ships sailed south again, this time accompanied by a schooner named Adelaide, and docked at Port Famine (Puerto del Hambre) in January 1828. From there, Stokes was tasked with "surveying the western coasts between the Straits of Magalhaens and the 47th parallel south, or as much of these dangerous and exposed shores as he could examine". He was to return to Port Famine by the end of July.

Scrimshawed whale tooth decorated on one face with H M Beagle in rough seas off a mountainous shoreline, lettered Working H M Sloop BEAGLE up the River Santa Cruz 1834 and signed J A Bute, the reverse with a scene of the Beagle beached on shore lettered H M Sloop Beagle laid on shore to repair her Forefoot and again signed J  A Bute 1835 (x)

Conditions were extremely difficult. The narrow, rocky channels were unexplored. There were raging tides, storms and blizzards, and overcast skies or fog that made astronomical observations impossible. This further aggravated Stokes, who had been mentally distressed for a long time, and caused him to fall into a severe depression.  In June 1828, he wrote in his diary:

Nothing could be more desolate than the scene around us. The high, bare and barren heights surrounding the inhospitable shores of this bay were themselves covered low down with dense clouds, on which the violent squalls that beset us beat without effecting any change.... All around us, and some of them were not more than two-thirds of a cable's length away, were rocky coves lashed by a tremendous surf; and as if to complete the desolation and utter desolation of the scene, even the birds seemed to avoid their surroundings. The weather was such that. "the soul of man dies within him."

When the ship returned to Port Famine on 27 July 1828, Stokes had not left his cabin for four weeks. Lieutenant William Skyring, the assistant surveyor, had taken command. On 1 August 1828 he attempted to shoot himself, but the bullet lodged in his skull and did not kill him immediately. Conscious and lucid, gangrene set in and Stokes finally died on 12 August 1828.

Replica of the memorial cross of Captain Pringle Stokes (x)

[icecreamwithjackdaniels]

Ludolf Bakhuizen (Dutch, 1630–1708), "Ships in Distress off a Rocky Coast" (detail), 1667

[gumnut-logic]

Claws

This was inspired by this post by @gordonthesquid​ It didn’t quite end up where I was aiming, but I think Gords will enjoy it a little anyway?

I hope you enjoy it too :D Extra notes at the end :D

-o-o-o-

It was a shame Gordon wasn’t with him.

It was the first thought that crossed Virgil’s mind the moment the call came in.

“Aw, man, Gordy would love this.”

Apparently, Alan had the same thought.

“FAB, Thunderbird Five, diverting now.”

Thunderbird Two responded smoothly as he turned the great cargo plane onto her new trajectory. They had been in Bangladesh fishing flood victims out of a nasty storm. It had been a long day for both Alan and Virgil and John had been hesitant to send them onto another rescue, but it had to be done.

Christmas Island was any biologist’s dream, but in particular, a marine biologist’s dream. The native fauna were odd, endemic, and in Gordon’s words…well, Virgil didn’t have that many words in him right now.

And he was kinda missing those words.

If Gordon were here, tired or not, there would be babbling excitement, despite the rescue.

But their fish brother was still confined to the Island, recovering from his injuries. Virgil found himself cursing the Chaos Crew silently through his teeth yet again.

Maybe a special trip out here was called for as a treat.

The sun was on a setting trajectory as they approached the lone volcanic island in the middle of the Indian Ocean. “Christmas Island, Thunderbird Two on approach. We need clearance for air space above the harbour. Freighter in distress.”

“Roger, Thunderbird Two. The sky is yours.”

“FAB.”

He dumped airspeed enough to engage VTOL and manoeuvred his ‘bird to a position directly above the foundering ship, not far off the main docking port of the Island. The boat was obviously off trajectory and heading towards a rocky headland.

If they had been moments later, this would have been a very different rescue.

It must have been fate for them to be in the area at the right time.

“Borkum II, Thunderbird Two here to assist. What is your status?”

There followed a calm and precise outline of a jammed propeller, a malfunction in a computer and a list of failures in an efficient system that left Virgil frowning.

But first to the immediate problem. “Thunderbird Five, John, can you kill their engines? They are reporting a computer failure. I’d rather solve half the problem before Two has to strain against that amount of power.”

“Attempting now, Thunderbird Two.”

“I’m dumping the module on the dock.” Get rid of Two’s weight in order to maximise her muscle.

It took moments, in which Eos reported success in navigating their computer network and gating a raft of viruses, all of which was leading John off in an investigative streak as to where they had all come from.

However, the engines were dead, and Two could do what she needed to do.

Four grapples and two enormous rear rocket engines brought the craft to a stop and stabilised her in the water. VTOL was enough to keep her steady and move her to a dock where she could be secured and her cargo unloaded, rather than strewn along the coast.

“Many thanks, International Rescue!”

“No problem, Borkum II.”

Virgil switched over comms. “Thunderbird Five, rescue complete. Retrieving the module and heading home.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Two.”

“I wish Gordon was here.” Alan was voicing Virgil’s thoughts again.

But those thoughts were derailed as he lined up Two to retrieve her module. One of the grapple launchers reported an error and failed to fire.

Virgil thumbed the dash seeking further information, but Two couldn’t give him anything conclusive.

“Five, we need to land on the Island. Can you get the necessary clearances? Grapple number four is showing a malfunction.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Two.” A moment. “You have clearance to land.”

“Thanks, John.”

He settled Two down beside her module in the carpark at the main docking facility.

“Now I really wish Gordon was here. He’s going to be pissed.”

Virgil climbed out of his pilot’s seat and his whole body creaked. He was tired, but he couldn’t agree more. “I’m going to check number four grapple. Why don’t you go and snap some holos before the sun sets?” Virgil reached into one of the cabin lockers and pulled out his holorecorder. “Here you go.”

Actually, now he had thought of it, he wouldn’t mind setting foot on the Island himself.

“Watch out for spectators.”

Alan’s eyes widened and he was immediately out of his seat. He grabbed the ‘recorder and jumped onto the hatch. “FAB, Virg.”

He disappeared below before Virgil could utter another word.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “John, you got eyes on the squirt?”

“Always, Thunderbird Two.” But Virgil could hear the smile in John’s voice.

Back to work.

Stepping out into the tropical wet season was a familiar feeling. The dock itself was part of a large facility managing imports and exports. On the other side of the Island was the airport and air authority for the region. Christmas Island was part of Australia and despite being a fair distance around the globe from Tracy Island, it still had things in common with home.

He left his helmet in the cockpit, choosing to spend these few scant moments breathing the fresh air of another ocean.

He walked around to the grapple in question and shooting his own grapple gun up at Two’s undercarriage, hauled himself up there and had an argument with the much larger gun’s mechanical systems.

What he found equated to too much monsoon rain and a worn rubber washer that had degraded and jammed the system. A spare washer fixed the issue, but that also prompted the need to examine the three other grapple guns for similar damage.

In the end, he opted to swap them all out and threw off a note to Brains about finding a better material to support the movement of the heavy use equipment.

By the time he finished, the sun was kissing the horizon.

There was no sign of Alan.

“John?”

“He’s signing autographs.”

Virgil blinked. “What?”

“Alan went down to the beach and some locals spotted him. Don’t worry, just five young girls. I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“Girls? Really?”

John snorted.

Okay, maybe Virgil was a little too tired. “Give him five and then call him back. I’m looking forward to dinner.” Maybe a barbecue. Steak, maybe a beer, sit back and watch the moon rise. Maybe he could drag John down and get Gordon out of his room…

Something clambered over his boot.

His boots were sturdy by nature and if the scampering creature hadn’t been bright red in the waning sunlight, he might not have realised it was there. But it was bright red, as large as his hand, and very much a crab.

It was enough for Virgil to step back…hurriedly, not in a panic. It was only a crab, after all.

As big as his hand.

It appeared to be alone, however. None of those massive migrations this Island was renowned for.

Hell, if that had been the case, Gordon would be in his ear. Virgil had already checked; the annual red crab migration of Christmas Island had happened over a month ago.

This must be just a straggler.

Gordon, of course, was the source of Virgil’s knowledge about the red crabs. The one time they had been here before was during Gordon’s hydrofoil accident recovery as a special treat. Virgil had flown him in and stayed with him as the coastline was taken over by swarms of red crabs.

That was the reason why both Virgil and Alan wished he was here this time as well. The aquanaut adored Christmas Island and its crazy crabs.

Tracy Island had its fair share of endemic crabs, but none as spectacular as these hoards.

Virgil would do anything for his little brother and that trip was the proof.

Waking up with six large red crabs in your bed was an experience he had no wish to repeat.

He really, really loved his little brother.

The lone crab scampered across the tarmac and up into a grassy bank.

Virgil shivered despite himself.

And still wished Gordon was here.

He hit his comms. “Okay, Thunderbird Five. Two is secure. Where is that brother of ours?”

“Should I call him back?”

“Nooo…” Virgil grinned. “I want to see these ‘girls’.”

That earned him a snort and directions down to the local beach.

It turned out that the beach was a bit further away than Virgil had expected. The Island was as volcanic as Tracy Island and hence supported the resultant rugged terrain. The walk to the beach involved navigating around a rocky bay until Virgil finally found himself some sand.

The ship they had saved earlier was lit against the pier in the distance while Two hulked in the foreground on a rocky point.

Alan was standing with five girls in the middle of the beach just above the line of sea-wrack. Whatever they were talking about, they were definitely engrossed in it. One of the girls was crouching down and handing something up to Alan. His brother was wide eyed. Another moment and he had the holocam out and trained on whatever they were talking about in the sea-wrack.

It took a trek halfway up the beach before Virgil realised the wrack was alive and moving.

What the hell?

He stepped back, definitely hurriedly. “Virgil! This is amazing! Gordon is going to kill us!”

What?

But Alan was suddenly in front of him with a handful of….tiny red crabs.

They couldn’t have been bigger than the width of his little finger, but there were hundreds in Alan’s palm and climbing up his arms, over his boots, legs…everywhere.

What the hell?

And they were on Virgil. He scampered backwards up towards the edge of the beach, but there were tiny red crabs on everything. He brushed them off as gently as he could and in the least panicked way he could manage.

Didn’t help much.

He darted up the beach, over the stone wall at the edge and onto the grass. But there were tiny crabs there as well. Perhaps not as many, but they were still crawling up his legs.

“Virgil?”

“Alan, I think it is time to go.” His voice was a little louder than normal.

“But all these baby crabs…Gordon will love this. Can we bring him back here tomorrow?” Alan was attempting to film his handful as they climbed over his everything.

Several of the girls were giggling at Virgil.

Great.

He pulled a little crustacean off his baldric. It was quickly replaced with another one.

“Alan, we’re leaving. Anticontamination protocol is in effect.”

“Aww, really?”

“Professionalism, Alan.” The one he pulled off his shoulder was bigger than the rest. Definitely bigger.

There followed a happy-unhappy drag of a little brother off the beach. It involved whining and a swapping of at least three phone numbers.

Unbelieveable.

“I’m flying Gords out here tomorrow. He has to see this!”

Virgil had no doubt.

But the problem was, he wasn’t willing to leave Gordon’s care solely to their little brother. Sometimes heavy lifting muscles were needed.

Even ones covered in baby crabs.

It took some compressed air to make sure they were both clean of the endemic wildlife. Virgil even ran a mediscanner over the both of them to doubly make sure.

He had no wish to remove the crabs from their island habitat or hurt them in any way. They could just stay on their island and he would stay on his.

Of course, Alan babbled all the way home. Apparently, he had some fantastic footage of the babies that Gordon would just adore. There was also some extensive planning for a full family day trip the next day so everyone could see the baby crabs.

Virgil had no doubt that both John and Scott would be absolutely thrilled.

Not.

But they all loved Gordon, so chances were that they were all going to Christmas Island as soon as practically possible.

Alan already had John arranging the appropriate paperwork.

Virgil loved his littlest brother as well.

Damnit.

By the time he brought Two into land, Alan had worked enough on him that he was actually looking forward to the planned trip.

After all, they were only tiny crabs, weren’t they?

Two sighed as he killed her engine and let the turntable do its work. He relaxed back and let his shoulders drop.

Food and some well-earned sleep.

And hopefully no dreams about crabs.

“Hey, Virgil, what’s that?”

He turned to his little brother. “What?”

Alan’s eyes were widening and not in joy. He pointed towards Virgil’s chair.

Virgil looked down just in time to see a claw the size of his hand reach around the edge of his pilot’s seat.

What the-?!

But the thought didn’t have a chance to complete its profanity as Virgil was out of the chair and halfway across the cabin before he could swear.

A massive, brown crab took up most of the back of his pilot’s chair. It had to be at least a couple of feet across.

“What the hell is that?!” It was waving one of its huge claws as it clambered around the now empty seat and took Virgil’s place.

“Um, I’m sure Gordon knows.” Alan was clambering backwards out the other side of his seat.

Both operatives evacuated the Thunderbird at a considerable pace.

Gordon was consulted and amongst the laughter at their expense it was revealed to be a robber crab, yet another common arthropod inhabitant of that island that Virgil had very little wish to revisit but had now apparently been lassoed into landing on again tomorrow.

It was either that or Robbie the Robber Crab was going to take up permanent residency on Tracy Island. Something that was never going to happen while Virgil was an inhabitant of said Island.

Red crabs the size of his hand in his bed, he had handled. Baby crabs crawling all over his body in the hundreds – he could possibly handle those. But giant crabs up to a metre wide? He only had so much love for his little brother.

Maybe he should wear his exo-suit tomorrow.

The rest of the night was spent talking about crabs. Watching the holovids Alan had taken of the baby crabs and listening to a dissertation on the crab inhabitants of Christmas Island performed by Gordon Tracy, Aquanaut and Marine Biologist.

John refused to come down.

Scott suddenly had a business meeting tomorrow.

Kayo didn’t come home either. Virgil had suspicions that John was a tattle-tale.

Virgil glared at all of them.

But the joy in Gordon’s expression destroyed every protest he could possibly think of. And Alan was as eager as the fish.

Virgil sighed and resigned himself to his fate.

Gordon dug up some online footage of robber crabs overturning trash cans.

Virgil just stared.

Gonna wear the exo-suit.

Definitely.

-o-o-o-

 Some videos for your entertainment. Our world is definitely an amazing place :D

Robber crabs

Hmm, should we tell Virgil that the coconut crabs aren’t confined to Christmas Island, but may also be near Tracy Island?

[hermesserpent-stuff]

Tombstone for 2, 3 and 6 plz

(Questions from here)

If they could own any one piece of artwork what would it be? 

Ships in Distress off a Rocky Coast, 1667 by Ludolf Backhuysen (mostly because that painting makes me think of him so much ahh i love that painting)

Do they have recurring themes in their nightmares?

Yes. Being alone in a dark place. Typically a cave or in his office late at night. There are some times nightmares of walking through the city alone where all the power is out 

So lots of being alone. Its a nightmare because the mounting dread he feels while sleeping. 

What is one talent that they always surprise people with?

He can play the piano. Literally never shows anyone. But he can. He cannot do really complicated pieces though.