by PURUPUSS RATED FRT

Chapter 11: Gordon

August 15th.

Virgil placed the birthday card he’d received from Bruce Sanders on his table, before a photograph of himself and his brothers laughing together inspired him to turn on his computer. The machine quietly buzzed into life and he logged on to the home page of Team Tracy and clicked the link to the news open forum.

“Rumours abound,” he read, “of the continuing rift between star rookie driver Alan Tracy and his father, the owner of Team Tracy, multi-billionaire Jefferson Tracy. Neither man is willing to confirm stories that the pair have been estranged from each other for some time…”

Virgil could confirm it. As far as he was aware no one in the family had spoken to Alan since that angry day one month ago. No one had tried to contact the young man, thinking that he needed the time and space to think.

Unfortunately, Virgil was very aware that Alan hadn’t tried to contact anyone either.

His eyes fell on the birthday card again Why not? Surely today, of all days, would be a good opportunity to start mending a few bridges. He had the excuse! He also had a new cell phone and Alan wouldn’t know the number.

Virgil dialled and waited, trying to decide what he was going to say.

“Hello?”

“Alan! It’s Virgil! I thought I’ve give myself a treat for my birth…day...” Virgil’s voice faded away, overtaken by the sound of the dial tone. Undaunted he dialled again.

The phone was hung up before he even heard it ring.

Refusing to be disheartened Virgil tried ringing again and got an engaged signal. Changing tack he rang Alan’s home number, reasoning that would be sure to check his messages at least once today.

After three rings the answer-phone kicked in. “Hi, Alan. It’s Virgil. I tried ringing you on your cell, but we were cut off. I think my new cell phone must have something wrong with it. Either that or I must have got a bad phone line. Anyway, I thought that, since it’s my birthday, I’d treat myself and give you a call. I’ve been following you on the TV and the Internet and I wanted to congratulate you on your win. That last race of yours was a nail-biter, but you still managed to sneak through, huh? That puts you even closer to Gomez in the standings, doesn’t it? One more win and you’ll be in the lead, right…? Ah….” He thought frantically. “Things have been pretty quiet here. Work’s carrying on as usual… A few guys are away and Butch has been seconded from Greg Harrison’s team to Max Watts’. He’d only been working on his new job for ten minutes when he broke a die. Boy, the poor guy got a roasting from Watts… Ah… I haven’t seen anything of Thunderbird Three come through the plant yet, but we’ll be starting on Thunderbird Four next week… Gordon says he wants to paint her yellow, but I’m tempted to paint it pink with purple polka dots. Don’t you think he’ll hate that…? Uh… Every time I talk to John he does nothing except rave on about Toni Cullen. I’m beginning to think that he is the father but he’s too scared that if he admits it Father will…” Deciding that mentioning their father’s name was a bad idea, Virgil changed the subject. “Scott’s desperate to test fly Thunderbird One, but the gimballed seat keeps on sticking. At this rate he’s going to be piloting her lying on his back! …” Trapped in this one sided conversation, Virgil ran out of steam. “Ummm… Look… Alan… My videophone number and email address haven’t changed if you feel like getting in touch. Just a hello would be great. Just to know that you’re okay. But if you want to have a rant about the old man or anything you know I can keep a secret … … Please, Alan,” he begged. “If you call me I’ll even tell you all about Lisa being naked in my apartment! You’d be the only one who’ll know the full story because I haven’t told anyone else, not even Scott!” He stopped, realising that he was sounding desperate, and took a deep breath. “Please ring someone… Anyone! It doesn’t have to be me… Call John. Call Grandma. Call… anyone…! Alan… I miss you… … We all miss you… We’re not a complete family without you…” Feeling dissatisfied Virgil hung up the phone.

The doorbell rang.

Hoping that it was Alan planning to surprise him, Virgil rushed to the door.

“Happy birthday!”

His momentary surge of gleeful expectation deflated, Virgil sagged. “Oh… It’s you.” He turned away and let his guests into his apartment.

“Well a happy birthday to you too,” Scott said. “What’s wrong?”

“Feeling your age?” Gordon asked as he stepped into the room looking around him. “Nice place.”

Virgil waited until all three brothers had entered and then shut the door. “I’ve been trying to phone Alan. I thought that maybe, since it’s my birthday, he might at least talk to me…”

“And?” John asked.

“And he hung up on me.”

“Oh.”

“Three times.”

“Ah.” John regarded Virgil critically. “Sometimes, after you’ve said things you don’t really mean, it’s hard to find the right words to say and make them sound genuine. He’s probably been busy and forgot it was your birthday. Maybe he’s composing an email of apology to you now…” he gave a wry grin. “It’s been known to happen before.”

Virgil ran his fingernail along the top of the kitchenettes worktop. “Maybe.”

“You big softy!” Gordon teased. “You pretend you’re tough but in reality you’re a pussycat.”

Virgil, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, stuck out his chin. “Believe it or not I actually care about you guys; though I wonder why sometimes… What are you doing here anyway?”

“Duh!” Scott exclaimed. “It’s your birthday and we’re here to celebrate! Come on; if you like we can pick Bruce up and the five of us will hit the town. What do you say?”

Virgil had to admit that it sounded like a good idea. “I’m in! Give me a moment to ring Bruce and see if he wants to join us…” He made the appropriate arrangements with his friend and then headed for the door.

“Hang on, Virgil,” John stopped him. “I’ve got something for you first.” He pulled an untidy parcel out of his pocket and placed it on the counter. Its crumpled paper and lack of tape spoke of a hasty wrapping.

Gordon gingerly prodded the package and a corner fell open revealing a computer aided drawing on the paper. “Nice wrapping, Johnny. What did you use? Thunderbird Five’s schematics?”

“Close,” John grinned. “Open it, Virg.” As Virgil picked up the parcel and began unwrapping, he continued gabbling. “It’s something we’re all going to have, but I wanted you to be the first to try it out.”

Virgil held up his present. “A watch?”

“I know,” John’s grin had broadened, “that you’ve got a new one, but I’ll guarantee it’s not like this. Put it on,” he instructed.

Virgil raised an eyebrow at his other brothers, removed his watch from his wrist and replaced it with the gift. “It’s got a big face…”

“Literally,” Scott said as he spread the discarded wrapper on the worktop. On it were various sketches of watches, including a reasonable facsimile of the one Virgil was now wearing. Instead of the traditional dial, or even a digital readout, the face of this watch in the picture was… a human face.

“That’s a clue.” If John’s grin had got any wider it would have split his face in two. “Wait there. When your watch beeps press the bezel at ten and two-o-clock.”

“Ten and two,” Virgil repeated. “Right… Where are you going?” he asked as John headed for the door.

“Outside. Remember to push ten and two when the watch beeps.”

“Ten and two. Gotcha.” After he’d seen the door close behind John, Virgil turned back to his brothers. “What’s he doing?”

Scott shrugged. “Beats me.”

The watch beeped.

“Go on,” Gordon urged. “Push ten and two!”

“If you’d given me this I’d expect it to blow up in my face,” Virgil muttered. “But since it’s from John…” he pressed the bezel.

John’s beaming face replaced the dial. “Hi, Virgil.”

“John!” Virgil held his arm so Scott and Gordon could see the dial too. “You’ve made a videophone watch!”

“Yep. It’s not a new idea, but the challenge was to create an analogue watch that appeared to have a mechanical mechanism, but which would still work with a clear video output. This is the Mark I model, but once we’ve got the initial bugs ironed out it’ll do more than tell the time.”

“Such as?” Virgil asked.

“It’ll be a thermometer, altimeter, depth gauge, music player, tracking device, compass, heart rate monitor… and anything else we can think of.”

“Kind of an electronic Swiss Army knife, huh?” Gordon mused, trying to remove the watch from Virgil’s arm. Virgil pulled his arm free and retightened the strap.

John, still outside, laughed. “Kind of. And once we’ve all got one we’ll be able to be in contact with each other from anywhere and everywhere.”

“Anywhere in the world?” Gordon asked.

John let himself back into the apartment. “Not at the moment,” he admitted. “Only in the U.S. I’m keeping the signal out of the public network, so it’s bouncing off Tracy Industries’ radio masts. But once we’ve got Thunderbird Five operational we’ll be able to communicate from anywhere on the planet to any member of International Rescue.”

“Won’t it be difficult to answer if your hands are full?” Scott asked.

“Nope. It’s voice activated.” John raised his wrist. “John calling Virgil.” Virgil’s watch beeped. “You’ll answer by saying, ‘Virgil here.’ I’ll set it up to recognise your voice in a minute…”

“What about our agents?” Scott asked. “I can’t see Lady Penelope wearing a watch this big.”

“Or this colour,” Virgil added, indicating the brushed aluminium finish.

Gordon grabbed Virgil’s arm again. “And Grandma won’t want something this heavy.”

“I’ll have a chat with them and see what they suggest. Here,” John reached into another pocket. “These are yours.” He pulled out three more watches selecting one for Scott and another for Gordon.

Virgil picked up the remaining watch. “Three?”

“Uh… yeah… This one’s Alan’s,” John admitted. “I was kinda hoping he’d turn up too.”

“Well, the night’s still young.” Scott finished strapping his new timepiece onto his wrist. “Let’s get these programmed and then head out. With any luck he’ll be waiting when we get back.” He waved his arm. “At least we won’t lose each other.”

After a great deal of hilarity, some good natured ribbing, and a quick lesson in the finer points of watch wearing, each brother had his timepiece set up to respond to “his master’s voice”; as Gordon quipped.

Scott had another look at his new watch, saw the time, and stood. “We’d better go. Bruce’ll be waiting.”

“Give me a minute,” Virgil suggested, “and I’ll check my emails before we go…”

He checked them again when they returned later that evening, having dropped Bruce off at home. “Nothing.” He opened up his web browser and navigated to the Team Tracy page, bringing up a photo of the start of the last race. “I see he’s still wearing his helmet to the car before the start.”

“Sportsman’s superstition,” Gordon explained.

Virgil looked at him. “Huh?”

“When you get to the top level of your sport you tend to get a bit paranoid,” Gordon told him. “And you start thinking that if you did something this time and you won, then you’d better do it before the next competition to ensure that you keep winning. You don’t want to change that winning formula.”

John stared at him. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope. I’ll guarantee that a large percentage of high performance athletes have their own little rituals and woe-betide anyone who breaks that ritual.”

“Did you have any little rituals?” John asked.

“Yep.” Gordon started ferreting about in his trouser pocket. He pulled out a small drawstring bag. “After I’d won my first inter-state meet, I found this in my left shoe.” He tipped a small piece of green plastic, roughly in the shape of a four-leaf clover, onto his palm. “I’ve no idea how it got there, but ever since, every time I’ve competed, the last thing I’ve done before I’ve left the changing rooms for the pool, is put this bit of plastic into my left shoe.”

“You’re pulling our legs, Gordon,” Scott scoffed.

“Yeah,” John smirked. “The left one.”

“I’m serious!” Gordon insisted. “Remember how I nearly wiped out in my Olympic semi? Before that race I’d lost my lucky charm. I was frantic, looking everywhere for it, but couldn’t find it anywhere. In the end I had to race knowing that it wasn’t where it should be. Which…” he mused, “is probably the reason why I swam so badly. My mind hadn’t been focussed on the race.”

“And you found it after the semi?” Virgil asked.

“Yep. It’d slipped inside the lining of my swim bag. Straight after I found it I went down to the nearest gift shop and bought this little bag so I’d always know where my lucky charm was. Knowing that it was in my left shoe as I stepped up to the blocks for the final gave me that extra confidence I needed to win. I’ll be the first to admit that it’s all psychological,” Gordon grinned, “but when you’re about to swim the race of your life, you need every bit of confidence you can get.”

“So you think that’s why Alan’s still wearing his helmet when he walks out to the car?” Scott asked, looking over Virgil’s shoulder at the computer screen. “He said it was uncomfortable.”

“I’d almost stake my life on it,” Gordon said with confidence.

“When’s his next race?” Scott took control of the computer and navigated to the race itinerary.

“Saturday,” Virgil told him. “At Coche Del Olor.”

“Saturday…” Scott mused. “Coche Del Olor… That’s not too far away…” He grinned at his brothers. “Why don’t we all go catch the race? And if we happen to bump into Alan afterwards…”

Virgil matched his brother’s grin with one of his own. “It’s the weekend so I’m free. How about you guys?”

“I’m finishing at the space agency in a couple of weeks,” John said, “and I’m trying to make sure everything’s up-to-date before I leave, but I can spare a day. How about you, Gordon?”

“Coche Del Olor!” Gordon’s eyes were shining. “That’s halfway between Marineville and here, isn’t it?”

“Roughly,” Virgil confirmed. “Can you make it?”

“I’m doing some testing for WASP over the next few days,” Gordon told him. “But I’ve got Saturday off, so I’ll be there.”

“Testing?” Scott’s ears had pricked up. “Testing what?”

Gordon tapped the side of his nose. “All very hush-hush, technical, water-based stuff.” He winked. “But I’m hopeful I’ll get one or two ideas for International Rescue’s benefit. And I’ve told the brass that once we’ve finished this round of testing I’m quitting.” His eyes twinkled. “I’m going to leave WASP to enjoy the playboy life, lazing about on our tropical island paradise with my family…”

His brothers glanced at one another.

Gordon noticed the silent interaction. His smile faded and he became serious. “Can I ask you guys something?”

“Shoot,” Scott said.

“Before Alan left, he had a go at me. He said…” Then Gordon, clearly uncomfortable at the idea, gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “No. Don’t worry about it. I’m being silly.”

Virgil glanced at John and the latter returned the look. They had a fair idea of what was causing Gordon’s consternation.

But no one had told Scott Alan’s final words. “What did he say, Gordon?”

“He said…” Gordon hesitated.

“Gordon?”

“He said that Dad was having second thoughts about me being part of the team. That’s not true, is it?”

Virgil could almost see the wheels in Scott’s brain ticking over as he tried to think of a tactful reply.

The eldest had hesitated too long. “It is true, isn’t it,” Gordon said in a voice that was almost a whisper. “He doesn’t want me to be part of International Rescue.”

“Of course he wants you,” Scott bluffed. “It’d be a bit hard for Virg to fly Thunderbird Two, drop the pod in the water, and then somehow drop out of Two so he could pilot Thunderbird Four. Besides, no one else in the family has the skills to be the aquanaut of the team.”

“Then why did Alan say that if it’s not true?”

Scott dodged the question. “What else did Alan say?”

“That I’m not a team player.”

“Oh.”

“Scott?”

John came to his big brother’s rescue. “You’re a swimmer, Gordon. That’s a solo sport. There’s just a feeling that… maybe… you’re not used to looking out for others in high stress situations like we’re going to find working together in International Rescue.”

“‘There’s a feeling’?” Gordon asked, alarmed. “Do you all think that?” He looked between his brothers. “You do, don’t you!”

“We didn’t at first,” Virgil explained. “We couldn’t imagine International Rescue without all five of us being part of the team. But then you got caught up with your swimming…”

Gordon looked at each brother in turn, trying to catch their eye, but none of them were able to hold his gaze. “You don’t trust me?” He stuffed his lucky charm’s bag back into his pocket and sank into one of Virgil’s seats. “No one in my family trusts me…”

“It’s not that we don’t trust you, Gordon,” Scott explained. “It’s just… that… You do have a tendency to put yourself first.”

“Yes,” Virgil agreed. “Take that first weekend after you came home. We were all looking forward to spending some time with you and going to the game together as a family, and you took off with your friends.”

Gordon was silent.

“If we’re going to be out in dangerous situations we can’t afford to carry a team member who doesn’t consider the others,” Scott continued. “We’ve got to be able to work together for the greater good. Not as individuals. You must understand that.”

Gordon looked up at his big brother. “Why didn’t Dad tell me this? Why let me think that I was going to be part of International Rescue?”

“Because he was hoping…” Scott glanced at their brothers. “We were all hoping that you’d... I won’t say changed… more like reverted back to the guy you used to be before you won your medal. We’d hoped that this last year under water had brought back the team player you always were.”

“You’d rather that I hadn't won my medal?”

“No!” Scott said the word brusquely. “We’re thrilled you won your medal. We’re proud of you because you won your medal. You worked hard to win it and we were willing to support you every step of the way. What we don’t like is the way winning the medal changed you.”

“Oh.” The syllable was said so quietly that Virgil wasn’t even sure that a sound had been uttered.

John crouched down so that he was at his auburn-haired brother’s eye-level. “Consider this a wake-up call, Gordon. We want you as part of International Rescue. Every time I’ve day-dreamed about what it’s going to be like I’ve imagined you as an integral part of the team; piloting Thunderbird Four; co-piloting Thunderbird Two; swimming to the rescue of people whose only chance rests with your skills.”

“Yes.” Virgil sat forward. “International Rescue needs you. We want you to be part of the organisation.”

Staring at the floor, Gordon nodded. He looked at his new watch. “I’d better be going. We’re starting testing tomorrow.”

“Where are you guys staying?” Virgil asked. “I’d let you stay here except I’ve only got one spare camp bed.”

Scott was wearing a troubled frown. “I’ve got the key to Father’s place. John and I were going to stay there until the morning and Gordon was planning on flying back tonight…” He turned to the red-head. “If you want to stay with us, Gordon, I’ll get you to Marineville in time tomorrow.”

His eyes still lowered, Gordon shook his head. “No. I told the brass I’d be back tonight and I don’t want to finish my time with WASP with a black mark against my name…” He looked up. “That’s if I do decide to leave.”

“… Son of the ex-astronaut and industrialist Jeff Tracy…”

Bruce Sanders’ ears picked up when he heard the announcer say the name of his boss. He joined his workmates who had downed tools and gathered around the radio so they could hear the news bulletin. “What’s happened?” he asked and was shushed by some of the others.

Louis Fleming pulled him to one side. “Virgil’s brother’s been killed!”

“What!” Bruce stared at the other man. “Which one?”

“Uh…” Louis thought for a moment as he tried to remember. “I think they said he’d won some kind of medal.”

“Military medal? Scott?!”

“No. Olympic medal.”

“Gordon. He was the guy who was here the other week.” Bruce groaned. “I was only with them yesterday… They’re a close family and this is going to hit them hard.”

“Close? What about those rumours about Alan and his dad...?”

Bruce ignored the question. “Does Virgil know yet or has the press jumped the gun as usual?”

Louis pointed over to a guillotine where Virgil, his earmuffs tuned into his own private music station, worked oblivious to the personal catastrophe that had just been announced to the world. “Looks like he’s about to find out.”

Olivia, Hamish Mickelson’s P.A., had stepped into Virgil’s line of sight. With a slight frown of confusion, Virgil stopped the machine and turned to face the young woman, turning off his music so that the inbuilt microphone could pick up her words. She said something, beckoned, and the pair of them headed in the direction of the office.

Bruce glanced about to check he wasn’t observed. “Cover for me,” he instructed.

“Bruce!” Louis stopped him.

Irritated, Bruce turned back. “What!?”

“Tell him I’m sorry and… ah… I’m thinking of him?”

“Oh…” Ashamed of the way he’d over-reacted, Bruce nodded. “Okay… Thanks.”

He’d only gone part of his journey when he was accosted by a supervisor. “Where do you think you’re going?” Greg Harrison asked.

Bruce squared up to his boss. “To see if I could help Virgil.”

“Good,” Greg grunted. “He’s going to need our support.”

The two men hurried towards the managerial office. “How come the radio heard before the family?” Bruce mused.

“Jeff Tracy is news,” Greg replied grimly. “Even in the days when he was first starting out in the business world he was forever being pestered by the media. People forget that he’s only human and, more than that, a family man. They’re interested in the big story and don’t care about his or anyone else’s feelings.”

“I didn’t hear the full bulletin,” Bruce admitted. “Am I right that Gordon’s been killed?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“How?”

“He was test driving a World Aquanaut Security Patrol boat. It crashed.”

“But what are WASP doing releasing news items about things like that before the family gets to hear about it!?”

“Jeff Tracy’s news…” Greg repeated.

They pulled up short in the outer office. The P.A., who had no idea of the reason why she’d summonsed a junior member of staff to the General Manager’s office, smiled at them. “Can I help you? Mr Mickelson’s busy at the moment.”

“We know,” Greg began. “We were wanting to…”

The office door opened and two sombre men stepped out. Mickelson, seeing whom was in the outer office, turned to Olivia. He smiled at her. “Would you go and see if the accounts department have finished that financial report yet?”

Her returned smile held a hint of confusion. “Of course, Mr Mickelson.”

When the door had shut behind her, Mickelson turned to Harrison. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to do without Virgil for a while, Greg.”

“I know.” Greg cast grave eyes on Virgil. “I’m sorry, Son. We heard the news on the radio.”

“What!?” Virgil exclaimed. “But I’ve only just been told by Father!”

“If there’s anything we can do to help,” Bruce said. “We… ah… You know where to find us,” he finished lamely. “Lou too.”

Virgil managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Bruce, but I’m flying out to the hospital now. I’m just going to head home to grab some things.”

“Hospital?” Greg Harrison looked sharply at him. “Who’s in hospital?”

Virgil frowned. “Gordon.”

“Gordon!?” Bruce blurted out. “But the radio said he was dead!”

Virgil paled and ‘Uncle Hamish’ placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “The radio’s wrong. We’ve just been talking to Jeff. Gordon is in a critical condition at the Marineville hospital.”

“Oh good!” Bruce said. “I mean, it’s not good, but it’s better than what we thought, which was bad, and I’m glad it’s better news, I mean not it’s not good news, but better news than what we heard…”

“Do you want to help Virgil, Mr Sanders?” Mickelson asked, interrupting the confused, embarrassing discourse.

“If I can,” Bruce nodded.

“Good. Perhaps you’ll drive him home in his car. You can leave it there. I’ll follow and bring you back in mine. We’re going to meet John there and then he and Virgil will fly to Marineville.” Mickelson turned to the supervisor. “Greg. I’ve got a private project that will require Mr Sanders’ and Mr Tancy’s assistance for some time.”

Greg Harrison nodded. “I understand, Hamish. I’ll let Max Watts know and see if he can spare someone to assist me.”

“Thank you.”

Little was said between driver and passenger on the ride home. Virgil, free of driving responsibilities, spent most of the time on his cell phone with the airport, arranging for his plane to be readied for the upcoming flight. He hung up as Bruce turned into his street and sat in silence until they drove into his garage. “I only saw him yesterday.”

Bruce, at a loss as to what else to say, said: “I know.”

“He’s such a character; so full of life.”

Bruce grinned. “Yes, he was.” He parked the car. “And he will be again. Keep positive.”

Virgil nodded and climbed out of the car as Hamish Mickelson pulled up on the road outside.

Once inside the building, Virgil kept himself busy throwing a few items of clothing and some necessities in to a bag, while talking to Scott on his mobile. Ten minutes later and there was a knock on the door. Hamish Mickelson answered it. “Hello, John.”

“Hi, Uncle Hamish.” John stepped into the house and received a wave of greeting from Virgil who was saying something about flight times to his phone. “Is he talking to Scott?”

“Yes. John, have you met Bruce Sanders?”

John managed a smile. “Yes, yesterday. Hi, Bruce.”

“Hi, John.”

Virgil hung up the phone. “Scott’s arranged for us to land at Marineville airbase. There’ll be a car waiting to take us to the hospital.”

“Good.” John looked uncomfortable. “I’ve just been talking to Father…” He paused. “He wants us to tell Alan… face-to-face.”

Virgil, reaching out for his bag, stopped. “Oh.”

“He’d rather that someone in the family told him and Coche Del Olor’s on our way. He’s been in contact with Karl Richards to give him advance warning and to make sure that Alan doesn’t find out from a radio report.”

“He’ll have his work cut out for him,” Virgil said grimly. “The radio’s already reporting that Gordon was killed.”

“What!”

“I’ll get on to the radio station and set them right,” Uncle Hamish offered. “In the meantime you boys had better get on your way. We’ll take my car to the airport.”

The aeroplane was warmed up and waiting for them when they arrived. There was the briefest of goodbyes before Virgil did the final checks. A short time later he and John were heading for the skies.

After the standard radio conversation with the tower and John’s call to their father to let him know they were on their way, the first half hour of flight through the darkening skies was travelled in silence; each brother wrapped up in their own thoughts.

When he finally did speak, John’s opening remarks came straight out of left field. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

“Apology?” Virgil glanced at his brother and fixed his concentration back on the controls.

“For what I said to you and what I said about you.”

Confused, Virgil frowned at the instrument panel.

“I also want to give you my heartfelt thanks.”

Virgil glanced over again, this time with a querying look. “What for?”

“For calling Dad.”

“Huh? No, he called me... at work.”

“No. I don’t mean today. I mean when I was nominated for the Theydon… You did call him, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“I… ah…” Virgil, unsure how to respond, fixed his attention on a cloud formation.

“He told me that he hadn’t spoken to you. But to receive his phone call, so soon after I’d vented my spleen all over you, was too much of a coincidence.”

Virgil decided that the cloud formation was shaped like an ice cream… an up-side-down ice cream.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“You did the right thing.”

Surprised, Virgil looked at his brother. “I did?”

“You did. You did ring him, didn’t you?”

Virgil hesitated briefly before replying, considering his options. Then he nodded. “He didn’t lie to you, though. I barely gave him the chance to say hello before I told him not to say a word to me, but that he had to ring you A.S.A.P.” Virgil shrugged. “Then I hung up on him.”

“Thanks,” John repeated.

“You don’t mind?”

“I was mad with you at the time, and I’ll admit that I called you a few names that you didn’t deserve, but now I can see that you did the right thing…” John stared out the aeroplane’s window without seeing the skies passing by. “I didn’t mean those things that I said about everyone. I was just starting to find my way in the world and was feeling that I was going to be trapped by the idea of International Rescue, and I lashed out at Father, you, and everyone else… The fact that they’re all still talking to me makes me think that you haven’t given out any details.”

Virgil shook his head. “No, I haven’t; and Father and I agreed that it would be better all round if he and I didn’t discuss what you said. Everyone else has worked out that something happened between us, but I figured that’s the way it should stay… Between us.”

“You haven’t even told Scott?”

Virgil gave a wry grin. “It may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t tell Scott all my secrets, and I don’t think he’s got a hotline to my thought processes. He’d get a shock if he did.”

John managed a dry chuckle. “I guess I’ve been looking for the right time to say I’m sorry, Virg, and I am sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. If I hadn’t wanted to help, I wouldn’t have rung Father,” Virgil told him. “Forget it.” He flapped his hand dismissively.

“But I shouldn’t have mouthed off at you like that. I hope you can forgive me…” John looked at his brother with an expression that was both pleading and hopeful. “I said some horrible things to you, but I didn’t want to hurt anyone; especially you. I didn’t, did I?”

Now that they’d moved on that cloud was not an ice cream… more like an upside-down traffic cone. One that had been run over several times…

“Virgil?” John pressed.

Virgil gave a reluctant nod. “A little. But you surprised me more.”

“Oh, heck.” John thumped himself on the knee as if dealing out his punishment. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said that. And I’ve said forget it.”

John nodded. “Like I started to say… I’ve been looking for the right time to apologise. And with what’s happened to…” He swallowed. “I’ve realised that now is always the right time.”

Virgil said nothing. He understood fully.

“I know that ultimately the outcome’s the same, that I’m still going to be part of International Rescue, but I’m glad that I spoke up, even if I should never have done it the way I did. Now I know that I’m a member of International Rescue because I want to be a member; because I think I can help make a difference. Not because I’m a Tracy and I feel it’s my duty… That would have only created more problems.”

Virgil nodded.

“Of course now… with what’s happened… the whole point may be moot…”

Virgil radioed the airfield ahead and requested permission to land…

A Team Tracy car was waiting for them and sped them to the raceway. Negotiating the track’s security they were directed over to the team’s base inside a featureless grey building just like every other featureless grey building on the track. They stopped outside, underneath the ‘Team Tracy Racing’ sign and looked at each other, before, without a word, John tapped on the door and they stepped inside.

The room only had two occupants. Alan’s face was pale. So pale that his pasty features were nearly indistinguishable from his blonde hair. His team manger, Karl Richards was taking to him quietly, but the young man didn’t appear to be hearing him.

“Alan,” John said, and Alan started at the unexpected, but familiar voice. “He’s alive, Alan, but he’s in a critical condition. We’re going to see him… Do you want to come with us?”

Alan looked at him, his mouth moving as if he was trying to speak, but no words came out.

“Father, Grandma and Scott are already there,” Virgil said. “We need to be all together. We need you to be with us. Are you coming?”

Alan’s face was blank with shock and Virgil wondered if anything of what was being said was registering in his brain.

“I tried to keep it from him until you got here,” Karl Richards was explaining. “I was keeping him busy running practise laps, but he stopped to talk to another team. They let slip that they’d heard about Gordon’s accident on the radio.” Alan flinched at his brother’s name.

“Thank you, Mr Richards,” John said. “Are you coming with us, Alan?”

Richards took a helmet from lifeless fingers. “I think you should, Son. Your family needs you now and you need to be with them.”

Alan looked at the older man and gave a slow, mute nod.

“You’ll want to get some things together,” John suggested. “Where are you staying?”

“In his trailer,” Richards told him. “Come on,” he took Alan by the arm, “let’s get your bag packed.”

Alan’s trailer, despite being little more than a sophisticated caravan, was a roomy affair with the bedroom, lounge, kitchen and bathroom facilities partitioned off from each other. John went into the latter room and packed away some of Alan’s toiletries into a plastic bag while Alan, clearly still numb with shock, attempted to pack an overnight case. A chore Virgil took over after his youngest brother had thrown in two pairs of pyjamas and no underwear.

It was a long time after they’d received clearance to leave the airport and John’d radioed Jeff to let them know that they were on their way with their extra passenger before Alan, sitting in the seat behind the pilot’s, finally spoke. “I told him I hoped I’d never see him again.”

John and Virgil glanced at each other. “We know, Alan,” John said softly.

“I didn’t mean it.”

“We know,” John repeated.

Alan was silent again for a full five minutes. “But does Gordon know?”

Virgil was glad that he was piloting the plane and had an excuse to not participate in this conversation. Not that John appeared to need any help. He clambered back so he was able to sit in the seat next to Alan. “I’m sure he does.”

“But what if he doesn’t? What if I never get the chance to tell him?”

“You will,” John sounded confident and Virgil hoped that confidence wasn’t misplaced. “Have you ever known Gordon to give up? How many times over the years has he complained about having to get up early to go to the pool?”

“Hundreds.”

“And how many early morning practises did he miss?”

“None,” Alan admitted.

“See. And when he was out of form and all the other competitors were winning races and he couldn’t even seem to find his rhythm, did he ever give up?”

“No.”

“No,” John echoed. “And now is no different. He won’t give up and we won’t let him give up. Will we!?”

“No…”

“We’re going to encourage him and support him and work as a team to get him through this. Okay?!”

“Yes.”

“And we’re not going to let him see that we’re scared, or worried, are we?!”

“No!”

“We’re going to be positive, and we’re going to help him all the way. Right!?”

“Right!!”

Virgil wanted to turn around and tell John how great he was, or at least treat him to a thumbs-up signal of approval, but he knew better than to let Alan see, so he kept his eyes on the cloudy skies ahead.

“Will Dad want to see me?”

“Oh, Alan…” John softened his voice. “The only thing he wants more at this moment is for Gordon to be okay.”

“But I was horrible to him.”

“You were frustrated, he knows that. But remember he was only trying to keep you safe. He didn’t want you to…”

Alan finished the sentence for him, speaking so quietly that Virgil could barely hear the words. “…He didn’t want me to end up like Gordon.”

“No,” John whispered. “None of us want that.”

It was time to land.

As they had at Coche Del Olor, the aeroplane was met by a chauffeured car, which took them to the Marineville Hospital. A cold, imposing block of concrete, like the other buildings in the complex, it was on a hydraulic ram, which allowed it to be lowered underground in times of danger to the base. Virgil hoped that they’d never experience this particular activity.

A junior WASP officer met them at the car and, practically marching through the hospital, led them to a room. “Your family is in there,” he announced, before retreating at double time.

The three brothers looked at each other, took a collective big breath, and slid open the door. Inside, Scott and Jeff were on their feet before they had the chance to realise who the newcomers were, while, between them, Grandma remained seated, twisting her handkerchief between her gnarled hands.

Jeff Tracy didn’t smile. “You’ve made good time.”

“It was an easy flight.” Virgil went to Scott’s side as John claimed the seat beside his grandmother, taking her hand. This left Jeff and Alan standing, face-to-face, eyeing each other up, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

No one said anything.

Virgil was just starting to wonder if John would consider acting as mediator when Alan uttered a strangled, “Dad”, dashed forwards, and wrapped his father in a desperate embrace.

Jeff clung to his youngest son. “It’s okay, Alan. He’s going to be okay. He’s got to be.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know…”

“You were only trying to keep me safe.”

Jeff pushed his son away and looked him in the eye. “And you were only trying to be yourself… and I respect you for that.”

“How is he? How is Gordon?”

Alan’s whimpered query sent a chill down Virgil’s spine as a forceful reminder of why the family were gathered together in this soulless room. Scott must have seen the shiver of fear because he laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “He’s still in surgery.”

“Have you had any indication as to how he is?” John asked.

Jeff sat down, guiding Alan into the seat beside him. “Only that he was unconscious when they pulled him out of the water. They had to administer CPR three times on the way to hospital.”

“I got here as they were taking him from the emergency room into surgery,” Scott said. “If he hadn’t been so pale I would have thought that he was tricking everyone…” He paused. “I managed to overhear some of the doctors as they went past… They said his glucose levels were through the roof.”

The Tracy boys had learnt the significance of this phenomenon in their medical classes. Virgil had to swallow down the acrid taste of bile as his brothers reacted badly to the news.

“What?” Grandma looked anxiously between her grandsons. “What does that mean?”

“It’s something that they discovered earlier this century,” John replied. His ability to recall facts had always made him a dangerous opponent when playing trivia games. “They realised that when a victim is badly injured and losing a lot of blood, then the body tries to compensate by releasing large amounts of glucose into the bloodstream. The more glucose the more severe the injury. Emergency medical personnel came to realise that even if the patient showed no external sign of injuries, the glucose levels could indicate a more serious problem internally and they would know to react accordingly. It’s saved a lot of lives,” he finished, aware that his dissertation had had a disquieting effect on the older members of his family. He gave his grandmother a reassuring smile and patted her on the hand. “If they’ve picked that up already then they’ve got an idea what they’re dealing with. They’re not guessing as to what treatment he’ll need.”

“But what treatment does he need?” Virgil asked. “Have we been told anything?”

Jeff shook his head

.

A couple of interminably long hours passed before there was a knock on the door. The Tracy men were instantly on their feet in hopeful expectancy, but it was only the young WASP officer. “Excuse me,” he said, saluting, “but Petty Officers Denny and Mason would like to see you. They were onboard the rescue boat.”

“Will you boys go?” Jeff asked. “I’m not moving from here until we get some news.”

Scott, as eldest and their leader, took it that the directive was aimed at him and stood. His brothers, aware of an unspoken need not to let each other out of their sight, followed him and the officer through the door. It wasn’t only their propensity to getting into mischief together that had caused their grandma to call the five of them “her handful”. And now that there seemed to be a possibility that one of their digits was going to be amputated…

Virgil gave himself a shake and made himself think positive thoughts.

The junior officer directed the four brothers into a room where two men in WASP uniform stood, twisting their caps in their hands. Scott did the introductions before the senior Petty Officer, Mark Denny, introduced himself and his younger colleague Stephen Johnson. “How is he?”

“You obviously haven’t heard the radio,” John said.

“No,” Mark shook his head. “We came straight here after the briefing.”

“He’s still in surgery,” Scott said briefly as he took a seat.

“Oh,” Mark Denny sat down as if he’d been deflated. “I hope he’s okay. He’s a great guy. A true friend.”

“Yeah,” Stephen agreed. “Gordon’s the last person we’d want something like this to happen to.”

Virgil sat forward. “Do you know what happened?”

Both men gave a sombre nod. “We were there,” Mark explained. “Stephen saved his life.”

“I didn’t do anything. You gave him CPR.”

“Yeah, but if you hadn’t pulled him out in time…”

“Whoa!” Scott ordered, worry and his Air Force training putting more authority into his voice than he’d intended. “Can you start from the beginning? What was he testing?”

“A hydrofoil,” Mark stated. “Designed for high speed and manoeuvrability...” The brothers looked at each other. This was a vehicle that would have been of use to International Rescue. “…Theoretically it was capable of reaching 500 knots, but we think Gordon was doing 400 when he crashed.”

Virgil closed his eyes and tried not to imagine his brother coming to an abrupt halt from 740 kilometres per hour. “Why did he crash?”

“Did he hit a wave?” John pressed; his voice tense. “Or was it something mechanical? Or was it…”

“We don’t know,” Mark interrupted. “He didn’t report any problems. But you can guarantee that there’ll be a full investigation into the accident.” His jaw stiffened with resolve. “We’ll see to that. It’s the least we can do for him.”

“So…” Virgil said slowly, not wanting to visualise events, but ironically needing to know the whole story, “what happened next?”

“Obviously most boats can’t travel at 500 knots,” Mark explained. “So we were positioned at intervals along the course and Stephen and some other guys were flying above in the helicopter…” He took a deep breath. “One moment everything’s proceeding as expected… The next…” He swallowed. “The next moment the hydrofoil’s tumbling bow over stern. It was crazy! It seemed to happen instantly and yet I watched it happen as if I was watching it in slow motion! The craft hit the water and appeared to explode into hundreds of fragments. There were bits of debris and flaming fuel all over the surface and no sign of the cockpit or Gordon. At that moment I felt sure we’d lost him. That was until Stephen jumped out of the helicopter and pulled him to the surface.” He gave his friend an affectionate punch on the arm. “That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

“I didn’t do anything special,” Stephen protested.

“That jump must have been at least 14 feet. And to jump into the water with all that flaming junk floating around…”

“Maybe…” Stephen conceded. “I didn’t really notice. I just knew that if our positions had been reversed Gordon wouldn’t have hesitated to save me, so I had to save him. So I jumped in. The cockpit was relatively intact underwater, and Gordon was still strapped into his seat, and I managed to find the release lever. Fortunately the balloons inflated and dragged him and the seat to the surface. He had on so much protective gear that I couldn’t see him or how he was. All I knew was that he wasn’t moving. I pushed the seat closer to the nearest boat, which happened to be Mark’s, and they pulled Gordon out of the water.”

Mark took over the narrative. “When we got his visor open it was obvious that Gordon wasn’t breathing ‘cos his face was blue. At that moment we didn’t worry about what other injuries he might have had, we just knew that we had to get him breathing again. It’s a bit hard to do CPR properly when someone’s in full survival kit and strapped to a cocooning pilot’s seat, so we more or less,” Mark tried to find the right words, “dumped him out of the seat and onto the deck.” He clenched his hands into fists. “I hope we haven’t made things worse.”

“I’m sure whatever you did was for the best,” Scott soothed. “Then what?”

“The skipper floored it back to shore,” Mark recollected. “We’d just manage to get Gordon breathing again and think that we could kind of relax and evaluate his other injuries, when he’d arrest again. I resuscitated him twice on the water. I understand the ambulance had to do it once more on the way to hospital.”

Scott nodded. “That’s our understanding too.”

Stephen, to the surprise of all present including Mark, suddenly threw his cap onto the floor. “Why did it have to happen to Gordon!? There’s not one of the squad who wouldn’t be willing to trade places with him right now.”

“You know him well?” Virgil asked.

“Yeah. We were stationed with him in the bathyscaphe. You can get to know a guy pretty well when you’re trapped together in a bubble underwater for a year.”

Scott managed to dredge up a chuckle from somewhere. “Not being able to escape Gordon at times must have been hard going.”

“Sometimes,” Stephen agreed. “He can be a bit…” he bit his lip, trying to think of a suitable description.

“Arrogant?” John suggested.

Stephen gave him a funny look. “I was thinking more of ‘driven’. He could be single-minded at times too. But he always made sure that his squad’s welfare had top priority. I mean for most of us it was a bit of a culture shock to be so isolated from the world, but Gordon made sure that our wellbeing was looked after. If we needed support he was always there for us…”

Mark chuckled. “If we needed a laugh he was there for us too. And he tried to make it as much like home as he could. He even produced a weekly newsletter and we were all encouraged to submit our news from home, no matter how trivial. And he was so proud of you guys…” he indicated the Tracys. “You could almost guarantee that there would be something about at least one member of his family in the bulletin. Whether it was you winning your races,” he indicated Alan, “or your book,” he looked at John before fixing his gaze on Virgil. “You saved a woman’s life, didn’t you?”

Virgil felt his face grow hot. “Ah… Yeah… Well, I helped.”

Mark smiled. “Gordon dedicated a whole newsletter to that story… The funny thing was that as happy as he was to boast about his family, he rarely said anything about his own life. We knew all about you guys, and next to nothing about him.”

Stephen was nodding his agreement. “Yes, he is a very modest man…”

The Tracys stared at him. “Gordon!?”

“What about his medal?” John asked.

The two WASP officers frowned at him. “Medal?”

“Yes,” John confirmed. “He must have mentioned his Olympic medal. At home he talks about nothing else.”

“Medal?” Now it was Mark and Stephen’s turn to look astonished. “Gordon had an Olympic medal?”

“I think I remember him mentioning that he’d been to the Olympics, when I first met him,” Mark mused. “But he said it so casually that I thought he’d gone as a spectator. What sport?”

“Swimming,” Scott told him. “The butterfly.”

“Figures. It was obvious that he loved his swimming,” Stephen noted. “He didn’t need to tell us that, we could tell by the way he moved through the water.”

“Where’d he come in the race?” Mark asked.

Scott was looking slightly dazed. “First. He won gold.”

“Really!?” A beaming smile crossed Mark’s face. “Amazing. Just shows you that you never really know a guy.”

“Yes,” Scott agreed. “It just shows you…”

Virgil was beginning to wonder if the ‘Gordon’ that the two WASP men were talking about was the same Gordon who was fighting for his life in another part of the hospital. “How was he before the accident?”

“Fine,” Mark replied. “Well…” He looked at his friend as if seeking confirmation. “Maybe a little distracted… He’s been like that for the last month since your father and Al...” He stopped: looking away from the youngest Tracy.

“Not that he wasn’t totally focused on the test!” Stephen added quickly, not wanting to appear to be laying blame. “He was so focussed that at breakfast this morning that he hardly spoke to anyone…” The elder Tracys glanced between each other; wondering exactly what had caused this uncharacteristic reserve.

“Yes,” Mark agreed, grateful for his friend’s help. “That was Gordon. Like Stephen said, when he had to be, he could be single-minded.”

“But it didn’t stop him enjoying a joke,” Stephen managed a smile. “Even this morning when we were about to ship out, I had to go and look for him. I found him in the locker; still putting his boots on. His excuse was that he couldn’t find his ‘lucky charm’. Then he laughed and said that I wasn’t to worry as it probably only worked when he was in the water anyway. I asked him if he was worried about the speeds he was going to reach and told him that it wasn’t too late to back out if he had any doubts. There are other guys in the squad trained in the use of the boat; any one of them could have taken over. Then I reminded him that about 85% of the attempts on the water speed record ended up as fatalities. He just grinned and said that in that case it was just as well that he wasn’t attempting a world record. He wasn’t worried about it at all.”

“I double-checked too,” Mark recollected. “He told me that nothing would stop him from his one chance to go faster than his kid brother without leaving the surface of the planet.” He smiled at the youngest Tracy. “He was possibly your biggest fan, Alan. When he was watching your last race… Glued to the TV, wasn’t he, Stephen?” Stephen nodded. “The brass walked in right at the moment when you were receiving your trophy.” He barked out a laugh. “Would you believe he actually told them to shut up until after…?”

Alan buried his face in his hands.

John, in the seat closest to him, put a comforting arm about his shoulders. “It’s okay, Alan,” he whispered.

Alan, his face still hidden, shook his head, and Virgil, wishing he could do more to take away his kid brother’s pain, rubbed the hunched over back. “This isn’t your fault.”

Mark and Stephen looked uncomfortable before Mark glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. “Guess we’d better get moving,” he said, standing up. He reached into his pocket. “Here’re our phone numbers. If we can do anything please call us. If we can, we want to help.”

Scott took the slip of paper. “Thanks. We’ll let you know how things go.”

“Thank you,” Stephen replied. “Look… Tell Gordon we’re thinking of him. That’s not only us, but the whole squad.” He hesitated. “He promised us that he’s throw a big party for us all before he left WASP. Tell him he’s not allowed to renege on the deal in this way.” He shot an uncertain glance at Alan, who hadn’t moved.

Scott gave him a grim smile. “We will. Thanks for taking the time to talk to us.”

The room was silent for a full five minutes after the two WASP officers had left.

John was the first to break the silence and voice his thoughts. “Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed.

“And we created the monster.”

Alan had taken advantage of the silence to pull himself together. “I don’t get it. When he was at home, we couldn’t stop Gordon from talking about Gordon. Why didn’t he do that at WASP?”

“If WASP is anything like the Air Force,” Scott began, “you learn pretty quickly that no one cares how rich your father is and what fancy schools you went to. All they want to know is that you’re willing to pull your weight with the tedious tasks, and that they can count on you to watch their backs when the bullets start flying.”

“Fine. So that explains his behaviour at WASP,” Virgil said, “but reverse Alan’s question. Why didn’t he behave like that at home? Why was he so arrogant?”

“Remember when he won that medal?” John said. “Initially he didn’t boast about it much. We were the ones telling all and sundry how great he was and how proud we were of him.”

“Yes…” Virgil agreed.

“After a time he must have come to believe that he was as marvellous as we said he was. Either that, or that’s the way he believed we thought he should behave.”

“No.” Virgil shook his head. “I can’t accept that that’s the answer. He goosed Lisa. None of us would do that; let alone condone it.”

They all looked at Alan. “What!?” he protested. “I wouldn’t do that…! Grandma would kill me!”

“Okay, Alan. We believe you,” Scott said. He shrugged. “Maybe we got a little bit of old Gordon plus a big bit of WASP, and WASP got Gordon… Who knows and, right now, it’s not the question I want the answer to.” He looked around his brothers. “Everyone feel up to heading back?”

Nothing had changed. Their father and grandmother were still sitting in the same places, in the same room, their expressions telling the boys that they had nothing to report.

It was hours later before the surgeon emerged from the operating theatre. He was a middle-aged man, prematurely old from spending years of repairing otherwise healthy young men and women. He was also a straight-talker, believing there was no point in sugar-coating the cold, hard facts. “The good news is that there’re no skeletal or spinal injuries. Those engineering boffins know how to create adequate safety equipment to cushion and restrain the skeleton and external musculature. Unfortunately,” he added before anyone had a chance to relax. “They have yet to discover a way to restrain the internal organs and stop them from trying to sieve their way through the rib cage and slice themselves open on the spinal column.”

“And that’s what’s happened to Gordon?” Jeff asked; every muscle taut with worry.

“Yes. There is not an organ in his body that has not sustained severe bruising, including his heart. Part of the right lung is so severely damaged that we have had to remove a section about the size of a fifty cent piece. Gordon is fortunate that his years of swimming have increased his lung capacity and once healed, should he survive, this injury shouldn’t cause him any long term disabilities.”

Jeff picked up on one particular phrase. “Should he survive? How serious is it?”

The surgeon’s face was stony. “The next 48 hours are critical. If he can survive that period he at least has a chance of recovery.”

“And the long term prognosis?”

“Mr Tracy, Gordon has been through a lot. His body has spent a relatively long period without oxygen and most of his internal organs have received some degree of damage… As I say, if he survives the next 48 hours his chances of a reasonable, if not a full, physiological recovery are good. Unfortunately I am unable to comment on his neurological wellbeing.”

“Brain damage?” The words were exhaled rather than spoken out loud.

“His brain will have sustained severe concussive forces against his skull during the crash. That coupled with the oxygen deprivation…” The surgeon sighed. “I am not a neurologist. Gordon is fortunate that there have been significant advances in neurological care in recent years. My recommendation is that as soon as he is stable enough to be moved, we transfer him to the leading neurological facility in the country.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get Gordon the best care possible,” Jeff stated. “Money is no object.”

The surgeon gave a humourless smile. “So I have been told. I assume that you would like a full list of injuries and surgical procedures performed?”

Virgil had a feeling that he didn’t want to know. Despite this he sat and listened as a long list was recited. Large intestine and small intestine. Urinary bladder and gall bladder. Spleen, stomach, pancreas, duodenum, liver, heart and lungs. Contusions and haemorrhages. Sutures and staples. Dissections and resections. Drains, tubes, and catheters. Medically induced coma. Medical terms that were all distressingly familiar.

At last the surgeon stopped talking. Numb, white faces looked at him, each praying that they were in the middle of a particularly realistic but painful dream. “Any questions?”

“Yes.” Jeff’s voice caught in his throat and he cleared it. “When can we see him?”

The surgeon gave him a sympathetic look. “I will see to it that, as soon as he has been settled in his room, you are sent for.”

“Thank you.”

“But I will warn you! As I said we had to remove 25% of his liver and the surrounding structures have also sustained damage. The resultant swelling has filled his body cavity and we have been unable to close the wound. We have been forced to pack the stoma with surgical pads and cover the whole area with a clear surgical dressing. This dressing acts like the skin, aiding in healing and also allows the Intensive Care Nurse a visual check on the progression of the healing process. Unfortunately the sight of what appears to be an open wound can be distressing to loved ones.” He looked at Grandma and she returned his gaze with a defiant stare.

It was a further unsettling hour before a nurse collected the Tracy family. She was a bright and cheerful woman, both sympathetic to their plight and eager to do all she could to help them through this traumatic time. “My name is Denise and I’ll be one of the six I.C. nurses assigned to Gordon’s care,” she explained as she led them through a rabbit warren of corridors. “Someone will be in the room to care for him around the clock, 24/7. Rona is already with him and she will go off shift in an hour’s time. I’ll use that time to get a full understanding of Gordon’s condition. The other I.C. nurses assigned to Gordon are Bob, Sarah, Clare, Lance, and Bet.” She stopped outside a door. “Would anyone like to ask me anything before we go in…? No? Well, don’t be afraid to ask us anything at any time.”

“Will he be able to hear us talk to him?” Alan asked. He’d been quieter than anyone during this ordeal and everyone stared at him.

“I’m afraid that I can’t give you a definitive answer,” Denise admitted. “Some patients in a medically induced coma are able to recall everything that was said to them and about them. Others appear to lose the ability to hear. Each patient is unique.” She gave them a sympathetic smile. “Ready?”

No one was ‘ready’, but they all nodded their assent. Denise opened the door. “Hello, Rona. I’ve brought Gordon’s family along to see him.”

The nurse, Rona, older and more serious than Denise, looked up from the notation that she was making on an electronic clipboard. “Good evening.”

The only response was a choking noise. It had to have been made by Scott, horrified by the state of his younger brother. Or it could have been John, equally appalled. Or maybe Alan, still coming to terms with the fact that his final words to his brother may have been about to come back to haunt him.

Or maybe I made the sound? Virgil thought. Maybe I made it involuntarily? Without realising. Maybe my brain has disconnected from my vocal chords somehow in these last torturous hours? Maybe it’s my way of dealing with what I’m seeing? Maybe… He forced himself away from the inane thoughts and made himself look at the horror before him.

Even Virgil’s fertile artistic imagination hadn’t visualised this. Gordon had to be lying there, the thatch of red hair seemed to confirm that, but there were so many pieces of medical equipment around him that he appeared to be lost amongst it all. A sheet lay across his body, concealing everything from his hips down, but above that, frightening in it’s size and rawness, was the open, bloodied wound.

Other than that original choking sound, no one had responded to Rona’s greeting. It wasn’t that they’d purposefully ignored her, but the sight of the recumbent figure on the bed seemed to have stolen all traces of lucid thought and speech.

Scott steeled himself. He walked closer to the bed, not looking at the pump that was supplying oxygen, or the machine that was circulating Gordon’s blood, but with his eyes fixed on two closed lids. He reached out towards a covered foot, a part of Gordon’s body that seemed relatively unharmed and, hesitating before he made contact, looked at the nurse. She nodded her assent and he gently rested his hand on the lump in the sheet. “This isn’t one of your funnier jokes, Gordon.”

His words seemed to clear the air somewhat, and the family moved closer, Jeff on one side of the bed; Grandma claiming her place on the other.

“We’re here, Gordon,” Jeff said. “We’re all here.”

“Yes, Honey,” Grandma confirmed. “And we’re not going to leave you.”

The only reply was the hiss, whine and pulse of machinery.

John placed his hand on a still leg. “It’s John, Gordon. We came as soon as we heard you’d had… problems.”

Virgil mirrored his brother’s actions. “It’s Virgil, Gordon. We were talking to Mark Denny and Stephen Johnson earlier. They, and everyone else in the squad, are all hoping that you’ll be getting better soon.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “They’re holding you to that party you promised them.” He squeezed the foot. “So don’t let them down, okay?”

Alan had hung back, painfully aware of his last interaction with his brother, and Jeff indicated that he should come nearer. Alan took a tentative step closer. “Gordon…? It’s Alan, Gordon…” He reached out, finding an unencumbered little finger. “I’m here too… I’m sorry, Gordon. I didn’t mean what I said when I left… I-I was angry, that’s all… I didn’t mean it… Please forgive me,” he begged, and his father pulled him closer in a reassuring hug.

Friday melded into Saturday which dragged into Sunday. No one strayed far from Gordon’s bedside, except when shooed out by the medical team whenever something tricky or delicate had to be attempted. Even then Jeff would often put his foot down, refusing to leave the room, instead taking a seat in the corner where he silently watched proceedings.

It was during one of these brief respites that Alan had passed the comment: “the race will be over now.” There was no bitterness or sadness in his voice and he offered up no further speculation on the result or subsequent standings.

Sunday afternoon and Gordon returned to the operating theatre to close up that obscene hole. During this time even Jeff Tracy was forced into a waiting room. “Virgil,” he began as soon as the door closed behind them and they were alone. “This is going to put plans back a bit. You’d better ask Hamish if he’s willing for you to work longer than the agreed year.”

Stuck for anything else constructive to do, Virgil agreed. “I’ll go phone him now.” He stood, heading for the door and the exit so he could make his cell phone call outside of the hospital.

“No, don’t do it now,” Jeff amended. “I think that, once Gordon’s out of surgery and if things have proceeded as expected, you should fly back tonight. You can discuss it with Hamish face-to-face tomorrow.”

Virgil, almost at the door, froze. He turned. “What?!”

“You can go to work tomorrow.”

Virgil stared at him, a cauldron of emotions stirring inside him. But he kept his voice neutral. “Why?”

The rest of the family, stunned by the suggestion, were watching the exchange as if it were a tennis match.

“We’re not achieving anything sitting around here,” Jeff stated.

“I’m achieving relative piece of mind…”

“ACE is finalising work on Barrett Limited’s construction and the Graham Corporation job will be coming through the plant this week…”

“So?”

“So, we need to ensure that all the proper quality control processes are adhered to. I want…” Jeff paused, “I need you to be there to make sure that everything is done correctly.”

Virgil straightened and fixed his father with a steely gaze. “No.”

The family shifted uneasily. This was not a time that any of them wanted to deal with confrontations. And that, combined with the fact that it was Virgil, usually one of the more obedient of the boys, standing up to his father, made them uncomfortable.

“Virgil…” Scott warned. But it was said quietly, as if he were trying to avoid another Alan-sized explosion.

Virgil ignored him. “I am NOT going back to work tonight.”

When Jeff spoke again there was no trace of his feared Kansas accent. His voice was calm and measured. “I understand your frustration…”

“Do you?”

“But don’t you think Gordon would appreciate knowing that his craft is made to specs?”

The internal cauldron was starting to boil over. “Do you honestly think that Gordon cares at this moment!? Cos I don’t!”

“You’ve tried so hard all year to keep your identity secret at ACE,” Jeff continued. “I’m sure you don’t want to ruin everything now. How are you going to explain the fact that you’re absent from work for an extended period of time?”

“I’ll tell them the truth! I don’t care if anyone at ACE finds out our relationship! Gordon’s my brother and I’m proud of the fact and I’m proud of him!”

“I know you are…”

Scott stood. “Virgil, settle down,” he said, laying a calming hand on his brother’s arm.

“Let go of me!” Virgil shook himself free.

“Please, Virgil,” Jeff persisted. “Go home and keep an eye on Thunderbird Four… Go home for Gordon’s sake…”

“No!” The cauldron exploded: erupting into a fury of angry emotions. “I am not leaving him! I don’t understand you! Why are you worried about what everyone at ACE thinks?”

“Son...”

“Why are you worried about Thunderbird Four?”

“Virgil,” Scott whispered.

“What use is a submarine without an aquanaut to pilot it?!”

There was a stunned silence.

Virgil felt the need to escape. He stormed out the door, just managing to hear a quiet “leave him, Scott,” before it slid shut behind him.

An angry red mist before his eyes, Virgil stomped through the hospital and out through the well kept hospital grounds. Once on the road he turned right, then right again, then left, right, walking, turning, running away from the nightmare with no thought or knowledge of where his flight was taking him.

Over half an hour later he found himself on a beach on the edge of what looked like an inlet. The narrow finger of water was flanked on the far side by steep hills casting a shadow over the surrounding landscape. He sat on the sands and hugged his knees close, both to ward off the chill of the closing in night and the coldness of his life.

“Are you all right?”

“Have you been following me?”

“No.” Scott sat on the sand beside his brother.

“Then how’d you find me? I don’t even know where I am.”

Scott gave a wry grin. “I’d like to be able to say that my sixth sense led me here, but the reality is that John’s built GPS into these things.” He tapped his watch. “It was easy to get a bearing on where you were headed and track you in the car.” He gave Virgil a concerned look. “I’ll ask you again. Are you all right?”

“Compared to Gordon I’m brilliant.” Then Virgil sighed and glanced at his brother. “Why did I do that? Father needed me sounding off at him like Gordon needs a hole in his abdomen.”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t want to leave Gordon. Doesn’t Father realise that?”

“He knows.”

“I don’t want to leave in case…” Virgil swallowed and looked down towards the mouth of the inlet.

“I understand,” Scott stated. “I know where you’re coming from. If he’d told me to leave there’d be a hole in the hospital’s roof.” He paused. “But I can understand his point of view too.”

“Do you know what’s really infuriating?” Virgil asked. “The fact that I can understand his point of view too.”

“If there’s the slightest change in Gordon’s condition, you’ll be the first to know. And I’ll make sure that you’re there when they move him to the neurology unit.”

“Thanks,” Virgil grunted.

“If it’s any comfort, you’re not the only one he’s told to leave,” Scott admitted.

“Really? You too?”

“No,” Scott shook his head.

“So who else has he sent packing? John?”

“Yes. I don’t think John was happy, but I think he decided that one tirade a day was enough for everyone’s nerves at the moment. But, between you and me, I won’t be surprised if he applies for compassionate leave so he can finish at the space agency before his two weeks are up. I’ve got the feeling that he hasn’t been that happy there for some time.”

“I’ve thought that too. I figured that maybe the Cullens won’t let him see little Toni or something.”

Scott ran sand through his fingers. “You do realise that Father dismissed you first for a reason?”

“No? Why? Because he thought I wouldn’t make a fuss?”

“Yes,” Scott confirmed. “He thought John might offer up a few arguments, since he’s leaving so soon, but it was Alan he was really concerned about.”

Virgil was aghast. “He didn’t tell Alan to leave, did he? Surely not.”

“He did. He knows that Gordon wouldn’t want Alan to miss out on his one chance at winning the world championship... Did you hear the result of yesterday’s race?”

“No.”

“Gomez spun out. He took out the guy who’s currently in third. That means Alan hasn’t lost too much ground in the standings and still in second place.”

“So what was Alan’s reaction to be told to go?”

“Took it like a lamb. I think that, like John, he realised that Father wouldn’t be able to take another argument. It also helped that,” here Scott offered Virgil an apologetic smile; “I suggested that you might need his support on the homeward flight.”

“You did what!?”

“Humour him, Virgil. Let him think that he’s helping you…”

“While you’re humouring me into thinking that I’m actually helping him?”

Scott shrugged. “You read my mind…” Virgil scowled and he held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I forgot that was a taboo subject.” He hit his brother gently on the leg. “Are you ready to head back? Gordon will be coming out of surgery soon.”

Upon his return to hospital, Virgil’s first task was to seek out his father. “Sorry,” he apologised.

“It’s okay, Son. I understand.”

“I suppose someone’s got to keep an eye on things back at the factory.”

Jeff placed a hand on Virgil’s arm. “And there’s no one I’d trust more to do that…”

Bob, the I.C. nurse, appeared to the door. “He’s on his way back to his room if you want to follow me.”

At once Jeff’s focus was redirected from one son to another. “How did the operation go?”

“No problems. You’ll be pleased to know that Gordon’s more or less in one piece now.”

Gordon was, although he was still moored to a multitude of machinery. He lay deathly still on his hospital bed and his white gown, white sheets, white pillow case all seemed to have had conspired to drain the colours of life out of him. Even his red hair seemed to have lost much of its vitality.

Jeff stood beside the bed. “I don’t know how many times over the years I’ve thought that he’s going to be the death of me before my time...” he said, holding a lifeless hand. “But I’ve never thought that it would be the other way around.”

His mother laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t talk like that, Jefferson. He’ll be all right.”

An hour later, Scott looked at his three brothers. “When are you leaving?”

Alan glanced at his watch. “The sooner the better, huh, Virgil? We don’t want to be flying when we’re tired.”

Virgil managed to suppress a sigh. “Okay, Alan. Let’s go.” He leant closer to the sleeping figure. “I’ve got to go, Gordon. There’s some work for Graham Corporation I’ve got to see to, and I know you’ll want me to keep an eye on that.” He patted an unresponsive arm. “Hang in there. You’ve just survived the first hurdle.”

The first plan was for John to retrieve his car from Virgil’s place. But, after a few phone calls, he persuaded the space agency’s hierarchy to let him work from their Marineville office.

This meant that it was only Virgil and Alan on the flight home. Under normal circumstances Virgil would have found Alan’s continual fussing over him during the flight to Coche Del Olor either laughable or very irritating. But realising that not only did it give Alan a sense of purpose for the trip, it also helped the young man reintegrate himself into the family, Virgil said nothing to dissuade him.

“Will you be okay for the final leg home, Virgil?” Alan asked.

“I’ll be fine, Alan.”

“We could always continue on, I could drop you off at home and then fly your plane back.”

“Thanks for the offer, Alan, but I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Virgil’s resolve nearly snapped. Managing to keep calm he nodded. “I’ll be okay.”

They made a smooth landing at Coche Del Olor and after one last assurance that Virgil was going to be okay alone on the final part of the trip, the brothers said their goodbyes.

Alan stepped out of the plane and a figure walked up to him. It was his manager, Karl Richards, and Virgil felt a sudden pang of loneliness as he watched the pair of them walk away. He’d be arriving home to no one.

The final leg passed uneventfully and Virgil touched down at his home airport. He taxied into his hangar, locked down the aeroplane and stepped out into the cool, lonely, evening air.

“Hello, Virgil. Did you have a good trip?”

Surprised Virgil looked at Hamish Mickelson. “What are you doing here?”

“Your father called and said you’d be in to work tomorrow. Edna’s insisting that I bring you home to stay at our place. She’s waiting in the car…”

For the second time in a year, Virgil gave thanks for his ‘Aunty’ Edna.

Chapter 12: A Quiet Calamity

Virgil checked the text message again. No change, it read. Txt me when lunch & I’ll call. S. He sighed and looked up from his cell phone, taking in the blue exterior of the building that housed much of ACE. He didn’t want to be here… not today.

Someone stepped out of the factory and jogged across the car park. “I’m glad I caught you before you went in,” Bruce Sanders exclaimed. “How is Gordon?”

“Not good,” Virgil admitted. “He made it through the first 48 hours, so that’s the first hurdle we’re over, but they’ve still got him in a drug induced coma.”

“It’s bad?”

Virgil nodded. “It’s not good.” He gave his friend the briefest rundown of Gordon’s injuries. “They haven’t even begun to check how badly his brain’s damaged. They don’t want to move him any more than necessary.”

“That’s rough,” Bruce said. “Umm… Why are you here? Mr Mickelson gave me a call yesterday and said you were coming to work today, but I didn’t believe him.”

Virgil gave a bitter laugh. “I was sent home by our boss.”

“Your Dad? Why?”

“Because, and he’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier… Because all we were doing was sitting around the hospital bed moping. We weren’t helping Gordon, and we were only making each other miserable. John’s gone back to work, but he’s working from Marineville. I dropped Alan off at Coche Del Olor last night and he’ll be travelling with his manager to the next track on the circuit today.”

“He’s going to keep racing?”

“Yes. Gordon wouldn’t want him to give up.”

“Um… What’s the prognosis?”

Virgil shrugged. “We don’t know. We won’t know until he wakes up… if he wakes up.”

“Oh…” Bruce said, not knowing what else he could say that was of comfort. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ve got to be.” Virgil indicated his cell phone. “But rules or no rules, I’m keeping this with me. Scott’s promised to call the instant there’s any change.”

“Uh… Talking of phones,” Bruce said slowly. “When Mr Mickelson said you were heading home, I left a message on your landline voicemail…”

“I haven’t been home. The Mickelsons are letting me stay at their house.”

“That’s good,” Bruce gave an uncertain smile. “But… ah… like I said I left a message on your phone… But it’s not your message on your voicemail.”

“It’s not…?” Virgil stared at his friend. “It’s Gordon, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. When did you last check it?”

“I thought he’d give up once he’d got back on dry land, so I haven’t bothered. I should have known better…” Virgil dialled his own number. He listened to a familiar voice speaking with an obviously fake Cockney accent.

Virgil T can’t come to th’ phone,

‘E’s locked up. ‘E’s not comin’ ‘ome.

‘E’s spendin’ time at ‘is Majesty’s pleasha,

For havin’ fun knockin’ some Skulz togetha.

Virgil stared at the phone. “I wonder how long it’s been like that?”

“I don’t know…” Bruce watched as Virgil continued to gaze at the mobile. “Ah… You realise that you can’t leave it like that? You’re going to have to change it.”

“I know.” But Virgil didn’t move. He continued to stare at the phone.

“Do you want me to change it?”

Virgil closed his fist around the phone.

“Virgil?”

Virgil gave a numb nod, held the instrument out for Bruce to take and, without looking back, walked away.

Later Bruce found him inside the factory. “There you are,” he said, slipping the phone into Virgil’s hand. “I managed to make a copy before I deleted it and I’ll keep it on my phone. You’ve now got a plain old vanilla message.”

Virgil looked at him in sombre gratitude. “Thanks, Bruce.”

Bruce decided to try to cheer him up. “Of course, I may have left a silly message of my own.” He favoured his friend with an engaging grin.

“No,” Virgil shook his head. “You wouldn’t do that… Not at this time.”

“No,” Bruce agreed. “You’re right.” The bell sounded. “Back to work. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“I’ll be fine.” Virgil started walking towards the mustering bay. “Work’ll help keep my mind off everything.”

But it didn’t. He’d been at it for nearly two hours and was in the process of setting up the guillotine for the final panel to go through ACE for the client known as “Barrett Limited”. Setup complete his hand went out to the button to start the machine.

But something made him stop. He stared at his handiwork and then at the plans.

“Anything wrong, Virgil?”

Virgil glanced at his supervisor. “I think so. I think I was just about to make a huge mistake.”

Greg Harrison gave a frown of concern. “What mistake?”

“I’ve set the guillotine up incorrectly.” There was no point denying the fact. The numbers that were on the plans did not match those that he’d inputted only moments earlier. “I shouldn’t’ve done that. Why did I do that? I always try to be careful. I even double-checked them,” Virgil become slightly frantic. “They should be right. I could have cost ACE money. I could have cost someone their life! This is my fault! Why did…”

“Whoa, Virgil! Calm down,” Greg ordered. “Let me check first.” He compared numbers. “You’re right. They’re wrong.”

“I’m sorry, Greg. I don’t know why I did that.”

“You’ve got a lot on your mind at the moment.”

“But that’s no excuse!”

“Virgil, calm down,” Greg soothed again. “Do you want to take a break?”

Virgil nodded: reluctantly. “I… I think I need a moment to pull myself together.” It was not an admission that he was comfortable making; but the truth was more important than saving face. “Do you mind if I take five?”

“Make it ten,” Greg instructed. “I’ll fix this.”

“Thanks… Sorry… I’ll…”

“Go. Don’t come back until you’re ready.”

Virgil made his way to the locker room and sat down on the seat in front of his locker, burying his face in his hands. What was wrong with him? Was this a foretaste of what he could expect in International Rescue? Did this mean that if, while they were on a job, one of his brothers was injured, that he’d be an incoherent, woolly-minded mess? A liability?

“Virgil…? Ah… Are ya okay, Pal?”

Virgil straightened. “Oh… Hi, Butch. I’m fine.”

Butch looked at him, his expression concerned and confused. “Sure?”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. I… I had a rough weekend, that’s all. It’s caught up with me.”

“Oh.”

“What are you doing here out of uniform?” Virgil asked, trying to steer the conversation away from his problems.

“Got th’ first of m’ tats removed.” Butch extended a bandaged arm. “Th’ doc said I can come back t’ work long as I keep it cova’d.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Nah.” Butch puffed out his chest. “Piecea cake. No blood neither. It was better than when I got ‘em.”

“That’s good. Lisa must be pleased.”

“Yeah.” Butch gave a soppy smile. “I’m gonna get half m’ face done Friday…” He tapped his right cheek. “Ge’ rid of th’ Skulz, when I’ve got th’ weekend with no dust.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Yeah…” Butch looked uncomfortable. “Betta get ready.” He pulled on his overalls and zipped them up, before donning his work boots. Finally fully attired he hesitated. “Ya sure you’re okay?”

Virgil gave him a grateful smile. “I’m sure. Thanks, Butch.”

“‘Kay. Well if ya want help, just yell.”

“I will.” Virgil watched the big man lumber out of the room. Then, letting his head rest against the cool locker, he tried to analyse what had gone wrong with him. Last Friday, when he’d first received the news of Gordon’s accident, he’d been fine. Shocked, of course, but in control. So what was different now?

Control. That was it. And purpose.

Last Friday, when he’d got the news, he’d known that Gordon was getting the best possible care and that he had his own things to do: get the aeroplane readied, pack his bag, collect Alan and fly the three of them to Marineville. He’d had a measure of control over what he was doing and why. And there was a purpose to it.

Unlike this morning when he could only worry about Gordon.

Change of mindset. That was what was required. He was at work and he had to make sure that the work was done properly. He had to do that for ACE, for his father, for Uncle Hamish, for Greg Harrison, for his work colleagues, for ACE’s customers, for himself…

For Gordon.

Feeling immeasurably better, in control, and full of purpose, Virgil strode out of the locker room and to where Greg Harrison was finishing the corrections. “Thanks, Greg. Sorry about that. I’m right now.”

Greg gave him an uncertain look. “Are you sure?”

Virgil looked him in the eye. “I’m sure. Ready for me to take over?”

The morning tea bell sounded.

“Oh, heck.” Virgil sagged. “I can work through, if you want.”

“No.” Greg managed a wry grin. “You’ve done that often enough. You don’t want everyone else to think you’re showing them up. Get yourself a drink; you’ve got to keep hydrated.”

Taking the older man’s advice, Virgil grabbed a bottle of water from the canteen, and sending a text that he was heading to somewhere private, starting walking towards the exit.

“Virgil?”

He looked up from his phone. “Hi, Lisa.”

“Is everything okay? Butch said you were sitting in the locker room during work time.”

“Rough weekend,” Virgil replied, hoping she’d leave it there.

“Oh…” Lisa Crump bit her lip in concern. “Where are you going?”

Virgil held up his cell phone. “I’ve got a call to make. If you’ll excuse me, I’m running out of time.”

“Of course,” Lisa nodded, and he took advantage of the moment and hurried towards the doors. He glanced back before he left the building and realised that she was watching him go, the concerned expression still on her face.

His phone rang the theme from the movie The Dambusters. “Hi, Scott.”

“Hi, Virgil.”

Something didn’t sound right. “What’s wrong?” Trying to keep well away from eavesdroppers, Virgil started walking around the building.

There was a merest fraction of a pause. Anyone who didn’t know his brother like Virgil did wouldn’t have picked it up. “Nothing.”

“Scott!?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Virgil.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Everything’s fine.”

“How’s Gordon?”

“Still under 24 hour surveillance. The doctor’s checking him over now. He had a peaceful night… Which is more than can be said for the rest of us. These seats are murder.”

“Have they said when they’re going to bring him out of the coma?”

“Not yet. Father’s flown in the country’s top neurologist.”

“One of the perks of being one of the country’s wealthiest men.”

“Yeah.” Scott was sounding distracted. “The neurologist is checking Gordon now and he’ll hopefully let us know the plan of attack soon. Send me a text when you’re ready for a call at lunchtime and I’ll get to where I can use the phone. Hopefully I’ll have some positive news by then.”

“Hopefully. Okay, Scott. I’ll talk to you in a couple of hours.”

“Bye, Virgil.”

Virgil hung up the phone and frowned at it. Something wasn’t right; Scott’s manner had told him that. But if there were any complications then he knew that Scott would have told him. Probably it was just worry coupled with uncomfortable seats that had Scott sounding off colour.

Voices penetrated his musings.

“I’m telling you, Hamish. He shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil realised that the voice belonged to Greg Harrison. He then realised that he’d inadvertently stopped walking beneath Hamish Mickelson’s open window.

“I agree with you, Greg. But this wasn’t my decision, and from what I’ve gathered it wasn’t his either.”

“His father’s?”

“Yes. It’s out of my hands.”

“I thought Jeff had more sense that that.”

“You know what he’s like. Those boys mean the world to him. He’s probably worried sick at the moment and not necessarily thinking clearly.”

Troubled by what he’d heard and not wanting to be accused of eavesdropping, Virgil walked away. He resolved that there wouldn’t be a repeat of this morning’s hiccough and then sent Alan a text to check up on the young man.

Virgil grabbed his phone, his lunch and closed his locker door. He started walking out of the room when he was stopped by Bruce. “Can I have a quick word?”

Surprised, Virgil looked at him. “I was about to call Scott, but I can spare a minute.”

Bruce looked uncomfortable. “You’re going outside again?”

“Yes. It’s more private.”

“Mind if I tag along for a moment?”

Curious, Virgil nodded and the two men stepped outside into the August sunshine. “What’s up?”

“People have been asking me what’s wrong with you,” Bruce admitted.

Virgil raised a querying eyebrow. “People? Like Lisa and Butch?”

“Yes… and others. I didn’t know what else to say so I thought I’d stick fairly close to the truth. I’ve told them you’re worried about a sick relative, but I haven’t said what your relationship with this person is. With any luck they won’t put two and two together. I hope I did the right thing?”

“I don’t think I care who knows now,” Virgil admitted. “I’ve got more important things to worry about. But thanks; I’m sorry you’ve been put on this spot like this.”

“That’s okay, I’m glad to help.” Bruce indicated the phone. “Let me know how he is… I’ll see you later.” He hurried away to get his lunch.

Virgil found a shady spot under a tree and sent a text message saying that he was ready to receive a phone call. He’d nearly finished his own lunch, an Aunty Edna special, when the call came through. “Hi, Scott. How is he?”

“Stable. The neurologist wants to move him to his hospital as soon as he can. The Marineville surgeons think he might be able to be shifted on Friday.”

Virgil frowned. Scott still didn’t sound right. “Has something else happened?”

“They’ve removed one of the drains.”

“That’s good,” Virgil said. “That leaves how many?”

“About one hundred,” Scott grunted.

“What else did the neurologist say?”

“Mr Millington, that’s the neurologist, has suggested induced hypothermia…”

“What? They want to freeze him?”

“Not quite that bad. They reduce the body temperature from 36.8 degrees Celsius to about 33 degrees.”

“Why?”

“A reduction in temperature helps reduce the brain’s metabolic activity and, hopefully, reduces damage to brain cells.”

“How much damage does Mr Millington think there is?”

“He’s playing his cards pretty close to his chest at the moment,” Scott admitted. “He doesn’t want to say anything until he understands what he’s dealing with. He’s flying out in a few minutes to start planning possible treatments. Marineville’s got an excellent set up, but the Willis Institute has the top neurological hospital in the country and Father wants to ensure that Gordon has nothing but the best. He’s on the phone now, arranging for a suitable plane to fly us there. I’m going to pilot it…”

“In that case Gordon is definitely going to get the best.”

Scott let the compliment slide by. “If things do go ahead as planned, I was thinking that it would make more sense if you and Alan were to meet us at the Willis, rather than here at Marineville. Of course we’ll have to play it by ear and see if the doctors think he can be moved. They might decide that it’d be better to wait.”

“When are they going to bring him out of the coma?”

“Depends on when he can be moved, they think he’ll find the flight more comfortable if he’s unconscious.”

Virgil had to admit that that made sense. “How are you guys holding up?”

“Oh…” There was that microscopic pause again. “We’re okay.”

“Scott? What aren’t you telling me?”

“We’re all fine, Virg. You don’t have to worry about us.”

Virgil wasn’t convinced. “How’s Grandma?”

“She’s okay. You know Grandma: she’s as tough as old boots.”

“I heard that, young man!”

Virgil smiled when he heard the distant voice. “Can I talk to her?”

Mrs Tracy came on line. “Isn’t it time you were back at work?”

Virgil looked at his watch. “I’ve got a couple of minutes yet. How are you, Grandma?”

“Nothing wrong with me, Honey. How are you?”

“The same as I was yesterday.”

“Was it only yesterday that you were here? It seems longer. Time drags when you’re waiting for the unknown… Did you have a good flight back?”

“Apart from Alan making sure that I wasn’t going to crash the plane every two minutes, it was fine.”

“How was he when you dropped him off…?”

They continued on in this fashion until Virgil heard the bell ringing to signal the end of lunch. “I’ve got to go, Grandma.”

“All right, Honey. Take care and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I’ll be in touch at afternoon tea time.”

“I’ll let Scott know.”

The text message and phone call at afternoon tea were almost carbon copies of the calls from earlier in the day. Scott still sounded distracted and Virgil couldn’t shake a feeling that he wasn’t being told something. He didn’t let the sensation put him off his job though. He worked diligently and made none of the errors that had characterised the morning’s work.

He’d already decided that he’d spend the night at his own place, rather than the Mickelsons’ when the call to down tools sounded. Relieved that the day was finally over, Virgil opened the door to his locker in preparation to retrieving his bag.

His cell phone rang that familiar tune.

For no real reason a chill shot down his spine. “Scott?”

“Have you finished work for the day, Virg?”

“Yeah. I was about to head home. What’s wrong?”

“Look, he’s out of danger now, but Gordon had a few problems earlier.”

“A few problems? What do you mean: A few problems?” Virgil leant against the edge of his locker.

“We were lucky that Mr Millington was here when he was.”

Virgil clenched his free hand into a frustrated fist. “What problems, Scott?”

“Epidural hematoma…”

Virgil felt his mouth go dry. “What…”

“They had to take Gordon into surgery. Mr Millington drilled a hole into his skull so he could insert a catheter to aspirate the excess blood away to relieve the pressure on his brain…”

Virgil fought to comprehend what he was being told.

“They think the coma slowed down the bleed and it only became critical today…”

“Hold it.” Virgil straightened. “This morning… Didn’t you tell me that Mr Millington was flying out, to quote you, in a few minutes, at lunchtime?”

“Yes…”

“So is he still there?”

“No. He’d already performed the operation when I was talking to you.”

“He’d already…” Virgil frowned at the back of his locker. “How long ago did all this happen? When did he operate?”

There was that micro-pause. “About seven hours ago.”

“About seven hours ago?!”

“Yes.”

“And you’re telling me seven hours after it happened?!” Virgil felt his ire rising.

Scott knew it, and to counteract his brother’s mounting anger he tried to keep his voice calm and quiet. “We didn’t want to worry you…”

“You didn’t want to worry me?!”

“Honest, Virg: there was nothing you could have done. It was all over before you could have reached the airport. We didn’t tell Alan either. Father’s on the phone to him now.”

“Scott! How many times have we spoken since this happened?”

“Ah… Three…”

“Three times! Three times since he nearly died! And you’re telling me now!?”

“We thought it was for the best.”

“Whose best?”

“Ah… Yours… Gordon’s…”

“So, not telling me that he nearly died until seven hours after the fact is in my best interests? How do you work that out?”

“Well…”

“You lied to me!”

“I didn’t lie… I… ah… omitted a few facts.”

“You promised me, Scott! You promised me you’d call me the instant anything happened! NOT seven hours later!! You…!” Virgil felt a light touch on his arm and glared at the intruder.

“Um… Virgil…” Bruce said uncertainly, and indicated the room.

Virgil looked behind him, noting a sea of shocked, bemused faces. “I’ll call you back in a moment,” he snapped into the phone. “And I’ll be on video. You’d better be too!” He threw the handset into his bag, hauled his bag from his locker, slammed the locker door shut and, without acknowledging his workmates, stomped out of the locker room.

Once at his car he ripped open the door, launched his bag into the back and threw himself into the driver’s seat. But, instead of turning the car’s engine on, he fired up his in-car videophone. He had to wait ten rings, fingers tapping the steering wheel impatiently, before there was an answer. “Right! Now look me in the face and explain to me why waiting seven hours after Gordon nearly died to tell me that he had a few problems was in my and his best interests!”

“We were going to tell you,” Scott admitted. “One minute we were all sitting there, with Gordon lying between us as if he were asleep. The next thing we knew the nurse was calling for help, lights were flashing, alarms were blazing, people were rushing about, and we were pushed out of the room with no explanation. Honest, Virg: by the time we’d found out exactly what was happening and had dug John out of his meeting, it was all over and they were wheeling Gordon back into intensive care.”

“And you didn’t think of calling me then? When it was all over?”

“We did think about it. But then we decided what was the point? He was out of danger. You would have got here and it would have been just like it was yesterday with us all sitting about like zombies. It was better for you to carry on working without any worries and for Alan to keep practising.”

“Without any worries? And John? I note you called him.”

“He’s in the same city so didn’t have so far to travel. But, honest, Virg: even by the time he got here, Gordon was back in his room.”

“I’m a part of this family too! You should have called me!”

“Like I said we were going to, but then we decided that there was no need...”

“No need??”

“Honest, Virg: the only difference between what things were like before the haematoma, and now; is that now Gordon’s got a bandage around his head and another drain in his body.”

“To replace the one that they removed?” Virgil couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“That was the truth.”

“What other bits of the truth have you not told me?”

“Honest, Virg: I’ve told you everything. The hypothermia treatment is to help stop the bleeding.”

“I don’t believe you. What else are you hiding?”

“Honest, Virg…”

“If you say honest, Virg: one more time, I’m going to ram your phone down your throat!”

Scott looked uncomfortable, but not threatened, by the threat. He took a deep breath to keep his cool. “I’ve told you everything that I know. Gordon’s okay, relatively speaking. Mr Millington’s inserted the drain and they’re administering the hypothermic treatment. If he remains stable we’re going to fly him to the Willis Institute on Friday. You can meet us there…”

“But not at Marineville. What else are you trying to hide from me?”

“Nothing, Virg! I’ve told you everything! We didn’t think it was necessary to interrupt you at work.”

Virgil gave an exasperated sigh. “You didn’t think it was necessary. I’m calling you every break to get the latest update on Gordon’s condition; I can’t work properly because I’m worried about him; and you didn’t think it was necessary to tell me that we nearly lost him?!”

Scott’s “no” was almost inaudible.

“And who’s looking after Gordon now, since the great Mr Millington has gone back to Willis?”

“The doctors here are excellent. They’re clued up on most things, but they don’t have the specialised neurological skills that Mr Millington has. Gordon’s in good hands.”

“Can I trust you on that?”

“Virg, I…”

“Don’t call me that!”

The silence that followed was telling. But Virgil was too angry to feel guilty and apologise.

The video picture wobbled, Scott’s downcast face slid out of shot and Grandma’s came into focus. “Virgil…”

Virgil glared at his grandmother. “Why, Grandma?”

“It seemed to be the right thing to do.”

“The right thing?! What would you have done if the worst had happened? Waited until I turned up at Willis on Friday and then tell me: oh, sorry, Virgil, but Gordon died on Monday. We thought it was for the best that we didn’t tell you until now so that you’d have the weekend to get over it?!”

“You’re annoyed with us. I can understand that…”

“Can you?! This is way past annoyed, Grandma. This is seriously furious!”

“I know … We made a mistake.”

“I’ll say you did!”

“I don’t know what else we can say, Virgil. Scott’s explained everything. It all happened so fast that we didn’t have time to call you. Would an apology help?”

Virgil was feeling stubborn. “No.”

“Then I don’t know what else we can offer you…” A hand was laid on Grandma’s shoulder and she looked up. “Do you want to talk to him?” She vacated the chair…

…And Virgil’s father took her place. “I’m sorry.” Jeff looked drawn and tired. “If you would be happier forgetting about work for the time being and would rather be here with us then I’m not going to stop you.”

Virgil felt he’d achieved a minor victory. “Thank you!”

“But at least wait until you’ve had dinner,” Jeff advised. “I’m sure Edna’s got something special cooked and she won’t be happy if you fly out on an empty stomach.”

Virgil nodded, realising that now was the time for conciliatory measures. “Okay. I’ll call you after dinner and let you know my ETA.”

Jeff gave a sombre nod. “We’ll wait for your call.”

Virgil hung up the phone and was about to start to car when there was a knock on the window. He rolled it down. “Uncle Hamish?”

Hamish Mickelson lent on the car so that he could talk without being overheard. “Is everything all right? Bruce Sanders told me that you’d received a disturbing phone call from Scott.”

“It was.” Virgil gave him a brief précis of the various conversations. “I’ll fly out after dinner. I’m sorry if that’s going to cause problems here.”

Hamish gave a wry smile. “I’m sure we’ll cope.” He opened the car door. “Get out of there and I’ll take you home for dinner. Then I’ll drop you back here to pick it up afterwards.”

Edna Mickelson had surpassed herself with the meal and Virgil had eaten too much. He arrived home late and tired and unwilling to chance a long aeroplane flight in this somnolent state. As desperate as he was to get to Gordon’s bedside, he wouldn’t do anyone any good falling asleep at the controls. He contemplated his bag, his bed and decided the latter was calling him now and that he’d worry about the former in the morning.

His phone rang. The caller ID identified itself as John and Virgil smiled into the videophone’s camera. “Hi.”

“Hi, Virgil. I rang the Mickelson’s and they said you’d gone home. I hear you’re planning on flying back to Marineville tonight.”

“I was going to,” Virgil suppressed a yawn. “But I’m too tired now. I’ll fly out first thing in the morning.”

“I wondered how come you were ringing so frequently today yet didn’t seem to be in a hurry to fly out. I didn’t realise until this afternoon that no one had told you what had happened to Gordon. I don’t blame you for being annoyed. If they hadn’t told me I would have gone ballistic!”

“I did,” Virgil admitted. “I gave Scott both barrels, Grandma one, and I’d run out of ammo by the time Father came on the line.”

“I know. That was when I realised that you and Alan hadn’t been told; when I heard your, ah, ‘discussions’ with our nearest and dearest.”

“If I went ballistic, Alan must have gone nuclear!”

“Actually, Alan’s conversation with Dad was comparatively calm.”

“Comparatively?”

“From what I could hear over your yelling, he sounded more like a water pistol. He drenched Dad, ran out of juice, and kind of evaporated away to nothing.”

“Alan?”

“He wasn’t on the phone for nearly as long as you were. I think he must have gone into shock. I’ll give him a call after I’ve finished with you and check he’s okay.”

“Good idea,” Virgil agreed and then stopped to think. “I wonder if I should be the one to call him?”

“I thought you were heading off to bed?”

“I was, but you’ve woken me up a bit. What do you think, John? You’re better at the heart-to-heart stuff than I am, but at least I can relate to where he’s coming from.”

“I don’t think it’ll hurt,” John admitted. “If it doesn’t work give me a buzz and I’ll have a go.”

“Okay…” Virgil slapped his hand on the table when a sudden burst of anger flared up. “I still can’t believe they didn’t tell us!”

“I know it’s hard to understand, but they thought they were doing it for the best. You know Gordon wouldn’t want you to stop working on International Rescue’s stuff or Alan to miss any more races.”

“Are you sure about that? I’m not sure that I know Gordon any more, not after what those WASP guys told us.”

“I will concede that you have a point there.”

“Just like I’m starting to doubt that I know Scott. I thought he sounded like he was concerned about something, but every time I asked him he said everything was okay. So I told myself that he was just worried. I told myself that Scott wouldn’t keep anything important from me. I told myself that I was letting my concerns run away with me… I was wrong.”

“So was he and he knows it … They all do. The only explanation that I can offer for their behaviour is that after nothing happening for so long, they got a heck of a fright when things went crazy. I think they were all a bit shell-shocked.” John gave Virgil an earnest stare. “Would you be willing to listen to some advice? You don’t have to act on it, but I want you to consider something before you go. This is just a suggestion; nothing more.”

Virgil sat up. “What suggestion?”

“Reconsider flying out here tomorrow?”

Startled, Virgil blinked at his brother. “Why?”

“You know what it was like over the weekend. The six of us were sitting there like zombies, not saying anything, just watching Gordon. It wasn’t an enjoyable time.”

“No, it wasn’t. But then I’m not expecting to enjoy it. That’s not why I’m going.”

“But you remember how mind-numbing it was? No one talking? The silence except for the machinery? The uncertainty of what the future’s going to bring? The feeling of helplessness?”

“Yes…”

“Apart from this morning’s excitement, things haven’t changed.”

“That’s okay. I can deal with that.”

“In the short term I’ve no doubts you can. In the long term I think it would drive anyone crazy. If, and remember this is only a suggestion not an instruction; if you decide to stick to your original plan…”

“Father’s original plan.”

“Father’s original plan,” John amended. “Then, when you visit, you’ll only have to face it for a weekend and you’ll be offering Father, Grandma and Scott a break from the monotony.”

“How long do you think Gordon’s going to be in this coma, John? Have you heard something I haven’t?”

“No. I haven’t heard any more than you. But it’s pretty obvious that this isn’t going to be an overnight recovery. When Gordon comes around, if you’re more valuable at the hospital than at work, then I’ll expect you to be there A.S.A.P. But at the moment I can’t see that there’s a lot that you, Alan, and I can do, except brood like everyone else. But, by staggering our visits, we can help Dad, Grandma and Scott cope.”

Virgil thought for a moment. “I can see what you’re saying, John. But the idea of not being there if Gordon has problems again…

“I know.”

“Or even not being there when he makes an improvement...”

“I know,” John repeated and shrugged. “And I understand your position. I was in a meeting when Father called me this morning. He told me that they’d rushed Gordon into brain surgery, I hung up the phone, said something melodramatic like my brother’s dying,and ran from the room. I got such a fright that I couldn’t bear to leave Gordon after that. I’ve only just got back to my rooms and I haven’t called work to apologise…”

“It’s been a tough day all round,” Virgil sympathised.

“Yes,” John agreed. “I know why you’re desperate to come here, but I think you should at least consider sticking to plan A before you made the decision to fly out.”

“Okay,” Virgil nodded. “I’ll give it my full consideration.”

“Thanks.”

“Is it true that Gordon was back in the ward by the time you got there?”

“Yes. They were re-wiring him up to the life-support. Hearing those bellows pump back into life was one of the best sounds I’ve heard in a long time.”

“Scott said it all happened about seven hours before he told me.”

John pursed his lips. “That would be about right.”

Virgil leant closer to the videophone. “John…” When he next spoke his voice was quiet. “Do you remember last year when Scott crashed in Bereznick?”

“Remember it! It’s only recently been relegated from number two to number three of the worst moments of my life!” John looked at Virgil curiously. “Why?”

“You believed that I had some sort of paranormal interaction with Scott, didn’t you?”

“Yes… Eventually…” John frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I think it happened again this morning.”

“What?” John looked flabbergasted. “You’ve got some sort of telepathic link with Gordon too?”

“No. Not Gordon. I wasn’t aware that anything was wrong with him on Friday until Father rang me at ACE.”

“I don’t get it?”

“This morning…” Vigil spoke slowly, formulating his words with care. “I was working on the final panel for Thunderbird Five. I was nearly going to cut it when I realised that I’d set up the guillotine wrong.”

“Anyone can make a mistake.”

“But I’d already double checked what I’d entered. You know me, I check and double-check everything. I was fine for the first couple of hours at work and then, all of a sudden, I lost concentration. I felt out of control. It scared me, John. I could have endangered yours, Alan’s and Scott’s lives. I thought I was losing it.”

John looked at his brother in concern. “What did you do?”

“Got Greg Harrison to check my workings and he confirmed my mistake. So he told me to take a break to pull myself together.”

“And did you?”

“Yes. And it seemed to work. I thought about what was wrong with me and came to the conclusion that because I was worried about Gordon I was feeling that I didn’t have any control over what was happening…”

“That sounds more like Scott than you.”

“Exactly. And it wasn’t until seven hours later that I found out that that was when Scott was being kicked out of Gordon’s room and being forced to watch Gordon being rushed down for brain surgery.”

“And he was feeling out of control,” John finished, his brow creased in a thoughtful frown.

“Yes… I pulled myself together – I thought – and then went back to work. Just in time for morning tea. When I contacted Scott he said Gordon was being examined by the neurologist. He didn’t mention that this was after Gordon had been operated on.”

“So…” John said slowly. “Are you saying that you’ve got this telepathic link thing…?”

“Kyrano called it empathetic clairvoyance.”

“I remember. You’ve got empathetic clairvoyance whenever Scott’s stressed?”

“Well… Stressed and feeling out of control. He must have been feeling powerless when his plane was hit, they were crashing, and his co-pilot was injured. That was when it felt the worst for me too. Before I felt the plane crash.”

“And then when they were trying to get out of Bereznick?”

“I could still feel it, but it wasn’t such a strong sensation. Scott wasn’t totally in control with his situation, but he was doing something about it.”

“Getting three injured crewmen to safety.”

Virgil nodded.

“Virgil…” John appeared to be considering each word before speaking. “If your theory is right… Have you considered the implications of this?”

“Implications?”

“With International Rescue. What if, for argument’s sake, I’m injured, touch wood,” he tapped himself on the head, “and trapped on a crumbling ledge? Scott knows this but he can’t get to me. You’re somewhere else at the danger zone about to rescue some victims and suddenly you get this empathetic clairvoyance thing from Scott and go to pieces. That could be disastrous!”

Virgil felt himself go cold. “I hadn’t thought about that.” He frowned, contemplating the problem. “But,” he mused. “This morning’s sensations were a lot less intense…”

“But bad enough for you to make mistakes.”

“But I realised that I’d made those mistakes… eventually… so I was able to correct them. And last year… when I thought someone believed me…”

“Me?”

“Yes… And when I knew that the authorities knew that Scott was in trouble… It became bearable. My head cleared.” He looked at John hopefully.

“So you’re saying that, so long as you think someone believes that you know that something’s wrong, or you know that something is being done… all this is manageable?”

Virgil nodded. “I hope so.”

John looked grim. “So do I. I don’t want to contemplate the alternative.” He bit his lip. “I wonder why this doesn’t work in reverse? Why you know when he’s out of control but not vice versa?”

“Maybe I haven’t been stressed enough?” Virgil suggested. “Maybe with me it’s not a lack of control but something else that opens the… the ‘link’… But…” he hesitated. He was about to betray a confidence. “Scott did tell me that he felt that I was with him when he was trapped in Bereznick.”

“What!?” John’s mouth fell open. “Really?” Virgil nodded. “What about when you were beaten up by the Skulz? That must have been stressful. Watching the video was bad enough.”

“He hasn’t mentioned anything.”

“Maybe he didn’t realise what he was experiencing…” John gave a low whistle as if he were releasing a pressure valve. “No wonder you bawled him out. If you knew all along that something was wrong and that he wasn’t telling you the full story…”

“The problem is that I didn’t know that something was wrong,” Virgil corrected. “I had my suspicions, but that was because I know him, not because I was reading his mind. At the time I didn’t even think that what happened to me was anything… ah…” He tried to think of an appropriate word.

“Supernatural?”

Virgil made a face. “That’s going too far.”

“Well? What would you call it?”

“Weird. Uncomfortable. Unpleasant. Unwanted.”

“Understandable.”

Virgil sighed and let himself sag in his seat. “I’m too tired to be thinking about ESP, clairvoyance, or anything else.” He gave John a look of gratitude. “Thanks for listening and not thinking I’m due for a trip to the funny farm. I think you’re probably the only person I can discuss this with.”

“What about Scott?”

Virgil shook his head. “No. If I told him that when he gets stressed I start losing it, then he’s going to start stressing that he’s stressing me.”

“…Especially when he’s stressed. Point taken,” John conceded. He looked at his watch. “Are you going to call Alan now? If you don’t want to I’ll do it.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll give him a ring before I feel like dozing off again. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Thanks. And don’t forget, if you want to discuss anything tomorrow I’m only a cell phone or a watch away.”

“I keep forgetting about the watch. If people see me talking to my wrist then I’ll be definitely heading for a padded cell.” Virgil smiled at his brother. “Night, John.”

“G’night, Virgil. And don’t forget to think about what I said.”

After the phone call had been terminated, Virgil did do some thinking as he tried to decide which the best way to tackle Alan. In the end he gave up, decided he’d wing it, and pressed the speed dial.

The youngest Tracy’s dishevelled image appeared on screen. “Hi, Virg,” he said quietly, running his left hand through his hair, displacing it even further.

“Hi, Alan. I thought I’d see if you wanted to talk about what happened today.”

Alan glanced down and appeared to examine his hands. “Not really.”

“Oh,” Virgil tried to appear disappointed. “I thought we could swap stories.”

“No thanks.”

Virgil’s attention wandered from his disconsolate brother to what he could see of the interior of Alan’s trailer. Visible behind his kid brother’s left shoulder was what appeared to be a fist-sized dent in the wall. He decided to ignore it for now. “We were lucky Mr Millington was there when he was.”

“Yes.”

“Everyone must have got a heck of a fright.”

“Yes.”

“I know I did when I found out.”

“Yes.”

“I think Scott’s ears are probably still ringing from when I yelled at him.”

“…”

“Alan? Are you listening to me?”

Alan looked up at Virgil “I never thought he could be so cruel.”

Virgil stared at his youngest brother. “Huh?”

“Was it because he’s mad at me for walking out?”

Virgil, trying to find some logic behind Alan’s words could only utter: “What?”

“And Scott? D’ya think it was his idea?”

Totally bemused now, Virgil scratched his head.

“D’ya think he put Dad up to it? Maybe it was some kind of punishment?”

“Punishment?”

“Or maybe they were trying to make a point…?”

“A point?”

“Maybe they think that I still don’t want to be part of the family? But I do, Virgil!”

“I know you do, Alan. That’s obvious, but…” Virgil paused. “What are you talking about?”

Alan glanced at the video screen. “I think Dad and Scott hate me,” he whispered.

With a horrible feeling of déjà vu, Virgil stared at his brother. “Alan?”

“They didn’t tell me when Gordon got really sick.” Alan’s voice was so quiet that the microphone was barely picking it up. “They didn’t want me to know. They didn’t want me to be there with him.”

Virgil was beginning to wonder what went into the genetic makeup of blonde Tracys to make them so insecure. “They didn’t want to tell you because they didn’t want to worry you.”

“But how could they hide it from me? Why wait hours before telling me?”

“They did what they thought was right, Alan,” Virgil soothed. “And now they’ve had a chance to think about it, they realise that it was the wrong thing to do. But at the time they did what they thought was best for everyone.”

“But what would they have done if Gordon had died…?”

“I don’t know,” Virgil admitted. “Probably flown out to tell us face-to-face rather than over the phone. I only hope we never have to find out… Hey, come on,” he cajoled, seeing Alan’s disconsolate expression,” cheer up. It didn’t happen.” His words seemed to have no effect. “Tell me what happened when you spoke to Father. Where were you when you got the phone call?”

“We always have a few drinks after practise… It’s time to unwind and go over the day without the pressures of trying to squeeze that little extra speed out of the car… Then I got that phone call…”

“What did he say?”

Alan bit his lip as he tried to remember. “That Gordon had taken a turn for the worse. When he said that he’d been rushed into surgery with an epidural hematoma I flipped. I was scared, Virg. I haven’t told Gordon that I’m sorry for what I said to him and for a moment I thought I’d never get the chance.”

“He knows, Alan,” Virgil stated.

“But I haven’t told him!”

Virgil made no comment. “Then what happened?”

“I think I went into shock. Once Dad had said that Gordon was out of immediate danger I was so relieved that I kinda didn’t really listen to anything else he said. I mean, I heard him say that all the drama had happened hours earlier, but it didn’t sink in. I finished the phone call, said goodnight to the guys, and went back to my trailer and started cooking dinner. That was when I started thinking about what Dad had actually said. That was when I realised that they hadn’t wanted me to know.” Alan’s voice had faded away to a whisper again. He looked down.

“How’s your hand?”

“Huh?” Alan looked up sharply. “What?”

It was a guess, but an educated one. “Show me your hand, Alan.”

Alan pretended to be surprised by the question. “If you insist, but I don’t know why you’re interested.” He raised his left hand so it was visible to the camera. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“How about your right hand?”

“Oh,” Alan gave what was supposed to be an unconcerned shrug. “It’s fine.”

“Let me see.”

“Virgil!”

“Alan!”

Alan gave an exasperated sigh and held up his right hand, palm facing the camera. “Happy now?”

“No. I want to see the back of your hand.”

Alan hesitated. Then, with a beaten look on his face, he turned his arm. The knuckles were red and grazed, and there was a small cut on the joint of the middle finger. “I, ah, I was adjusting a bolt on the car and I knocked it against the chassis.

“Were you working on your car in your trailer?”

“In my trailer?”

“Look behind you, Alan. There’s a hole in the wall that wasn’t there on Friday.”

Alan didn’t look over his shoulder. Instead he lowered his hand and his eyes.

“Does it hurt?”

“No. I put ice on it straight away.” Alan flexed his fingers. “It’s fine.”

“Good. Did punching the trailer wall make you feel better?”

“No.” Then Alan gave a wry grin. “And neither did decorating it with spaghetti sauce. How come you guys know me so well?” he complained.

“Because we’ve known you all your life,” Virgil responded. “That’s why Gordon knows that you didn’t mean what you said to him.”

“Are you sure? What if he crashed because he was worried about me and what I said?”

“You heard those WASP guys say that once he got in the hydrofoil his full concentration was on that boat.”

“Maybe… But I still don’t understand. Why didn’t Dad tell me earlier? Why didn’t Scott or Grandma call me?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Virgil admitted. “But I do know that they don’t hate you,” he reinforced. “And if they didn’t tell you because they hate you, then they can’t be that fond of me either and I don’t think I’ve done anything to upset anyone… Well,” he amended, “nothing prior to when they told me about Gordon’s emergency surgery.”

“Huh?” Alan’s face creased into a confused frown.

“I’ve been texting and ringing all day and everyone kept on telling me that Gordon was fine. Then I got a phone call from Scott at four-o-clock my time to break the news. They made a point of telling me after work. That’s probably why they didn’t tell you earlier, so that there was no chance that I could find out from anyone but them.”

Alan’s eyes were wide with surprise. “They didn’t tell you before that?”

“No. Scott said they didn’t want me to worry. They wanted me to carry on working and they wanted you to carry on practising.”

Intrigued by the revelations, Alan leant closer to the phone. “What did you say when you found out?”

“I ranted and I raved. I accused Scott of lying to me and I told him I was going to ram his phone down his throat…”

“You did what!?”

“Then I yelled at Grandma… And by the time Dad came on the line I’d calmed down a little bit. That was when he said that if I wanted to give up work in the interim and wait at the hospital with them he wasn’t going to stop me.”

“Are you going to?” Alan asked.

“No,” Virgil replied, and then realised that he’d made the decision without really thinking about it. “I had a chat to John and he pointed out that I’d achieving more here than I would in Marineville.”

“But what if something happens to Gordon?”

“What could I do? And Thunderbird Four’s about to start going through the plant. When International Rescue is fully operational and Gordon’s one-hundred-percent fit again, I’m going to make sure that his submarine’s up to standard.”

Alan nodded and he frowned in thought. “I think I’m going to quit the series. It’s not important like what you’re doing.”

“Your races may be not important to International Rescue,” Virgil said. “But they’re important to you; everyone knows that. You can’t give up now. Not when you’re so close to winning the World Championship.”

“But Gordon…”

“But Gordon wouldn’t want you to give up on your dream...”

“Maybe…”

“No. Definitely… Has anyone told you what we four had planned for last Saturday?”

Alan looked bemused by the perceived change in topic. “No?”

“We were going to meet up at Coche Del Olor and catch your race. Then afterwards we were going to ‘accidentally-on-purpose’ bump into you.”

“You were?”

Virgil nodded. “It was Scott’s idea.”

A small smile formed on Alan’s face. “It was?”

“Gordon was looking forward to it.”

“He was?”

“He had that gleam in his eye that he gets when he was excited about something.”

“He did?” Alan beamed, and then watched as Virgil’s face clouded over. “What’s wrong?”

Virgil’s thought processes had gone beyond their planning session for Saturday. “I’ve just remembered the last things the three of us said to Gordon... I think we upset him.” He slumped back in his chair. “I hope it wasn’t preying on his mind on Friday.”

Alan looked alarmed. “What did you say?”

“He… He asked us about…” Virgil hesitated, worried that he was about to open raw wounds again. “He asked us if what you’d said about him not being wanted by International Rescue was true.”

Startled, Alan stared at him. “What did you tell him?”

Virgil bit his thumbnail. “That we all had concerns about his ability to be a team player. John tried to soften the blow by saying that swimming’s a solo sport and we thought he was out of practise of working with others.”

“Is that why those WASP guys said he was more distracted the morning before the accident?”

Subdued by this train of thought, Virgil nodded and fixed his younger brother with an earnest stare. “If anyone in the family had anything to do with Gordon’s accident, it was us.”

“That can’t be right. Like you said before, Gordon was focused on driving that boat. The accident had to have been caused by a mechanical fault.”

“I hope so.”

Trying to think of something to lighten the mood of the conversation, Alan watched as Virgil sat troubled by the knowledge that he might have inadvertently been a catalyst in Gordon’s accident. Then the younger Tracy brightened. “Did you really threaten to ram Scott’s cell phone down his throat?”

Dragged out of his introspective reflections, Virgil managed a chuckle. “Yes. I got sick of him patronising me.”

“Was this going to be a free show anyone could enjoy, or would I have to pay for viewing privileges?”

Virgil laughed. “Alan, just for you I’d arrange complimentary tickets.”

“Thanks.” Alan grinned before his smile slid into an expression of concern. “You’re looking tired.”

“I am. That’s why I’m not already in Marineville.”

“I thought you weren’t planning on going.”

“As of this moment I’m not. Tomorrow I might change my mind... You?”

“Ditto,” Alan admitted. “You’d better get some sleep, just in case you do change your mind. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, Alan. I’ll send you a text when I’m not working. We’ll have to try to co-ordinate our schedules.”

Alan grinned. “Right. Catch you tomorrow. Night.”

“Night.” The videophone screen went blank and Virgil reached out for another speed dial button. Then he stopped, gave a grin of his own, and lifted his arm. “Virgil calling John.”

A delighted smile replaced the watch’s face. “Virgil! You remembered how to use it.”

“It’s not exactly rocket science.”

John laughed. “How’d it go with Alan?”

“I’ve just got off the phone. I think he’s okay.”

“That’s good.”

“You two are more alike than you realise.”

John’s face creased into a confused frown. “I’m like the petrolhead? How did you figure that one out?”

Virgil grinned. “Well, you’re both blonde for a start.”

“Remember blondes have more fun. Apart from the obvious, what else?”

“Let me put it this way. So that he can say that he hasn’t spoken to me, why don’t you call Father and get him to give Alan a call. A bit of parental endorsement won’t go amiss.”

“Oh.” John understood the implication immediately. “How come?”

“Sorry, John. I haven’t told anyone what was said between us, and I not going to betray Alan’s confidence either.”

“But it was something to do with today?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough,” John sighed. “Okay, Virgil. I’ll give the old man a call and you can finally get to bed.”

“Thanks, John. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I hope it’ll be a quiet day.”

Virgil didn’t fly to Marineville the next day. Instead he kept his cell phone close, ready to respond to the most trivial of calls; until Greg Harrison found him checking a text message between jobs. The supervisor held out his hand and Virgil, feeling like a guilty schoolboy, gave him the phone, not expecting to see it again that day. He was pleasantly surprised when, seconds before the bell signalling the break sounded, it was returned to him. Not a word was said between the two men, but the implication was clear. If Virgil was going to be there then work time was for work. What he did in his own time was his own business.

And most of Virgil’s own time was spent on the phone, either deep in conversation with some member of his family or receiving and responding to text messages. He practically ignored most of his workmates during breaks and Bruce took to spending the free time with Butch and Lisa.

It was at lunchtime on Tuesday and Virgil was sitting in his car when he received his first post-disagreement videophone call from Scott. “Are you still talking to me?”

Virgil managed an apologetic grin. “I’d rather talk to you than yell at you.”

“And you only yell at me when I deserve it. I’m sorry, Virg…” Scott apologised, belatedly remembering to add the last syllable, “…gil.”

“And I’m sorry I overreacted.”

“You didn’t overreact.” Scott’s eyes were down. “I would have behaved in exactly the same way if I’d been in your shoes. Except that I wouldn’t have tried to talk it through. I would have been in my plane flying here… Ready to ram a cell phone down someone’s throat.”

Virgil chuckled. “Honest, Scotty?”

Scott gave a wry smile in reply. “Honest, Virg.” He looked up, making sure that he held his brother’s eye. “Are we okay? You and me?”

“We’re fine, Scott. So long as you don’t do that to me again. The slightest change in Gordon’s condition you’ve got to call me! Either on my phone or through ACE, but tell me!”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Promise me, Scott!” Virgil sat forward. “Promise me that you’ll call if something happens to Gordon!”

“I will.”

“Scott! I need you to make a promise that you’ll call me straight away!” Virgil clenched his fists in frustration. “Promise me you won’t wait a minute! This is important!”

“Virgil?”

“I need to hear you say it! Say you’ll promise to call me!”

Scott, looking surprised at Virgil’s insistence, responded. “Of course I promise I’ll call you! I’ve learnt my lesson. You can trust me.”

Virgil smiled, surprised at the relief he felt. “I know… Thanks.”

Scott stared at his brother, a concerned frown on his face. “Is everything okay with you?”

“It is now…. How is Gordon?”

“No change…”

Chapter 13: A Quiet Wait

– unlucky for the Tracys?

The helijet touched down on the airstrip in a landing so gentle that those observing couldn’t pick the moment when it came to rest.

“Smooth, Scotty,” Alan commented, impressed by the deftness of the landing.

“Did you expect any less?” John asked, shouting to make himself heard over the whine of the engines.

“No.”

As the noise decreased in volume and the four members of the Tracy family present began the trek across the tarmac towards the helijet, Virgil had to admit that while his eldest brother was naturally gifted at most things he tried, control of any type of aircraft was where he excelled. If he could be half as good at flying the future Thunderbird Two, he’d be happy.

A hover-ambulance quietly overtook them, wafting currents of warm air as it glided past on its cushion; the words ‘Willis Institute’ painted on its flanks.

“They’re not rushing,” Grandma commented. “I hope that’s a good sign.”

“It means no one’s panicking,” John pointed out. “So there can’t have been any complications during the flight.”

Scott had disembarked and was walking towards his family, doing up his Air Force flight jacket at the same time. “Good flight?” Virgil asked.

“No worries,” Scott responded. “The medical team’s getting him sorted now. Father will travel with him in the ambulance and the rest of us will meet them there.”

The family had come to a stop by the helijet. They stood back as the doors slid open to reveal a lift occupied by a single individual, dressed in an immaculate navy suit, wearing a trilby hat and carrying a case that suggested that he travelled with a purpose.

“How did you find the flight, Mr Millington?” Scott asked.

The neurologist held out his hand. “Scott,” he beamed as they shook, “I will admit that I had my concerns when I heard that Mr Tracy’s son was going to fly this craft instead of a professional pilot. I had the misguided idea that your father was determined to stamp his authority over this transfer at the expense of common sense. I was wrong.”

Scott grinned. “You’ve got a lot to learn about my father, Sir. If he hadn’t thought I was up to the task he wouldn’t have suggested that I act as pilot.”

“So I am learning. Please accept my apologies for my lack of faith in your abilities.”

“Not a problem.” Scott introduced Virgil and Alan. “How’s Gordon?”

“Doing well. That flight was so smooth that I doubt it had any adverse affects on him. Now,” Mr Millington shifted his case to his other hand, “if you’ll excuse me I must go and ensure that everything is ready for my patient.” He tipped his trilby in the direction of Mrs Tracy. “I will see you all soon.” He walked smartly across the airfield, mounted a travelator, and was whisked away to the main building of the Willis Institute on the far side of the complex.

The lift doors opened again and Jeff Tracy was the first to exit. “Well done, Scott,” he said, standing to one side to allow the remainder of the elevator car’s passengers to disembark.

“Thanks,” Scott’s face tightened as he watched as his deeply unconscious brother was wheeled out from the helijet and into the back of the waiting ambulance. “Mr Millington said Gordon had no problems with the flight.”

“No…” Jeff’s attention was caught by one of the ambulance officers. “I’d better go. Meet you at the hospital.” He climbed into the ambulance and the vehicle glided off towards the Willis.

A short travelator ride later and the entire Tracy family were together in a waiting room. There had been no time for the patient or his carers to settle into the new environment as Mr Millington had decreed that he needed a complete diagnosis of Gordon’s condition before he would allow him to be brought out of the drug-induced coma.

And so everyone waited…

And waited…

And waited…

Jeff tried to kill some time. “What time did you leave, Virgil?”

“Straight after work at 4.00pm.” Virgil looked guiltily at his father and boss. Once he’d cooled down on Monday, he’d realised the folly of heading back to Marineville. His phone call after dinner had been to let his family know that they’d see him on Friday. “As soon as the final bell had rung, I was in my car and out of there. I picked up Alan on the way and we flew straight here.”

“Yep,” Virgil’s youngest brother nodded his agreement. “Karl let me cut short my practice today.”

“When’s your next race?” Jeff asked.

“In a few weeks.”

“Well, don’t feel that you have to stay here if you think you need the time to get to know the track.”

“Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’ll give myself plenty of time, but I’m not leaving Gordon until we get some idea of what the prognosis is likely to be.”

Jeff nodded his assent. “When are you finishing work, John?”

“I hope to slip out of there as soon as they’ll let me go on Friday. If anyone’s planning a big farewell party for me, they’ll be having it without the guest of honour.”

Jeff gave his second eldest a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. You know I can’t wait to leave.”

Time dragged on…

And on…

And on…

Virgil was just starting to wonder if there would be time to try and search out something to eat when Mr Millington entered the room. Instead of his immaculate suit he now wore a doctor’s lab coat. His face was inscrutable.

Jeff was on his feet. “Well?”

“Take a seat, Mr Tracy.” Mr Millington, following his own advice, pulled up a chair and sat down. “I have a lot to explain to you… All of you... And it’s not all good.” He opened a thick folder and donned a pair of spectacles as Virgil tried to ignore the fact that his stomach seemed determined to do somersaults. “Firstly we have conducted numerous scans of Gordon’s skull and brain tissue…” The doctor paused. “There is a massive amount of damage, principally on the right side of his brain. The epidural haematoma that I aspirated at Marineville was the largest of several areas of bruising …” He stopped, looked at the wide-eyed group and then started speaking again, working through his notes.

Virgil, despite his recently acquired medical knowledge, was struggling with much of what he was being told. Phrases like “permanent damage”, “disability”, “paralysis”, “speech impediment”, “reduced mobility”, “loss of function” and “unknown factors” seemed to rear their heads with alarming regularity. Every now and then an “I am hopeful that…” was handed out to the assembled group and Virgil grabbed at it like a lifeline.

“…In summary,” Mr Millington closed his folder and removed his spectacles, “although neurology has made huge advances in the last few years, I can not categorically state what Gordon’s long term prognosis will be. We now have a good idea of what we are dealing with, but, until he regains full consciousness, it is impossible to decide on the correct form of treatment. The brain is a highly complex organ, and the wrong decision, made too early, could have a permanent, negative impact. I propose to bring Gordon out of the coma over the next 24 hours and then reassess the situation.”

Jeff Tracy nodded, his face grey. “Thank you for being to frank with us, Mr Millington.”

“I’ll warn you now, Mr Tracy. There is no ‘overnight fix’ for injuries such as those Gordon has suffered. We are at the beginning of a long, hard road.”

“But he will live?” It was Alan who had asked everyone’s silent question.

“I have observed nothing that gives me cause for concern for Gordon’s continued survival,” Mr Millington reassured him. “His surgeons at Marineville have informed me that his other injuries are healing well, which is why they were willing to let him be moved… But only time will tell how fully he will be able to live his life.”

“So he,” Scott cleared his throat, “he could spend the rest of his life as… as a… ah… in a vegetative state?”

The country’s top neurologist regarded him with grave eyes. “There is always that possibility. We will know more when he is no longer in the coma.”

Scott acknowledged the response with a quiet, “thank you.”

“Does anyone else have any questions?” Mr Millington looked around the subdued group. “I know it is a lot to take in, in a short space of time. Please, feel free to come to me if you have any issues you wish to discuss.”

“Can we see him now?” Grandma asked, her voice strong despite the dire news she’d received.

Mr Millington smiled. “Of course. I’ll arrange for one of our nurses to take you down as soon as he’s been settled in his room.”

It was another ten minute wait before the Tracys were guided out of the waiting room and down a long hall to Gordon’s ward.

Apart from a nurse who sat at her station unobtrusively off to one side, Gordon was the room’s only occupant. Except for the fact that he’d been removed from the respirator only days before, Virgil couldn’t discern any noticeable change in his brother’s condition. Gordon was still pale; seemingly as pale as the linen that surrounded him and the bandages that bound his head. He lay, ghost-like, on his bed.

The nurse who had guided them from the waiting room indicated a door off to one side. “At the Willis Institute we are aware that contact with their family is a large factor in a patient’s ability to recover,” she said. “Through there you will find two bedrooms and a small living area for your private use. In situations where family members’ presence is not required during treatment, this door will be locked. There is another door from your rooms leading out to the main corridor.”

Jeff pulled up a seat next to one side of his son’s bed and sat down. “We’re here, Gordon,” he said, placing a hand on an unresponsive arm. “This is going to be our home until you are ready to leave.”

Later, when Virgil finally got around to viewing the attached rooms he discovered that while the hospital was geared towards providing the best care for its patients, only the bare necessities were supplied for family members. Each of the two bedrooms were big enough to hold a single bed and a chest of drawers, the washroom with hand basin, toilet and shower seemed to be postage-stamp sized, and the living area, with its drink-making facilities, wasn’t much bigger.

But now, in those first hours at the Willis Institute, no one was inclined to check out the accommodation and no one slept in the beds that night. They all sat by Gordon’s bedside, waiting for the moment when he would come out of the drug-induced coma.

Waiting for the moment when he would show signs of life.

It didn’t happen.

Twenty four hours after Gordon had been moved into his new quarters, Mr Millington checked for signs of improvement. When he straightened he looked grim. “I’m sorry, but Gordon is still deeply unconscious. I would classify him as being grade three on the Modified Glasgow Coma Scale. We’ll do more tests to see if we can discover the cause, but, as I said before, the brain is a complex organ. As much as we do know about it now, there is still much more to be learnt.”

“He’s still in the coma?” Jeff clarified and Mr Millington nodded his confirmation. “But I thought you said that you’d bring him out of it after 24 hours. Why isn’t he waking up?”

“I do not know.”

“Grade three?” Grandma exclaimed. “What’s grade three?”

“The Glasgow Coma Scale evaluates three functions,” Mr Millington explained. “Eye reaction, verbal communication and motor abilities. We evaluate each of these functions assigning a value for each function depending on response. A fully conscious person rates a grade 15. That is they open their eyes spontaneously, they are able to converse normally, and they are able to obey simple commands. At the lowest end of the scale, grade three, the person does not open their eyes, they make no sounds, and they do not move even as a response to pain.” He hesitated. “Grade three is the value we apply to people who are in a deep coma or who are dead.”

Saturday dragged into Sunday morning.

The family attempted to keep talking to Gordon, but it was becoming harder and harder to think of things to say. So they bought copies of various newspapers and magazines to read out loud…

John grabbed a woman’s magazine from Alan. “Why have you bought that?!”

“He hates them.”

“Exactly! So why are you going to force him to listen to you read one?”

Alan grabbed the magazine back. “If he doesn’t like it, then he can wake up and tell me himself…!” He leant over his comatose brother. “Do you hear me, Gordon? I’m going to read this until you stop me…!”

Sunday morning dragged into Sunday afternoon.

The tension was beginning to get on everyone’s nerves.

“Come on, Gordon,” Grandma pleaded, rubbing an unresponsive arm. “It’s time to wake up… Please, Honey…”

Gordon didn’t move.

“It’s a beautiful day out there…”

Nothing.

“The sun’s shining, the birds are singing. It’s a perfect day for a trip to the beach for a swim…”

No reaction.

What happened next startled everyone out of their stupor. “Gordon Tracy!” Grandma shouted. “If you don’t wake up this instant, I’m never going to make you another apple pie!”

It looked so funny; a little old lady yelling at an unconscious man about baking, that someone laughed…

…And Virgil, to his horror, realised that it was him. Mortified he fled the room and collapsed into one of the seats in the hall, burying his head in his hands.

“Are you all right?”

Virgil pressed his palms into his eyes, unable to look at Scott. He shook his head. “No.”

He felt Scott sit next to him and place an arm about his shoulders. “Can I help?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Virgil straightened, but couldn’t look at his brother, instead he gazed straight ahead. “I laughed! Why did I laugh? That wasn’t funny.”

“Gordon probably wouldn’t agree with you.”

“Gordon, and everyone else, probably thinks that I don’t care about what’s happened to him.”

Scott gave Virgil’s tense shoulders a squeeze. “Now, that’s not true… This is hard for all of us. You’re just reacting to a difficult situation in your own way.”

“Come off it, Scott! That is not me! I’m the one without the sense of humour, remember?” Still unable to face his brother, Virgil got to his feet and stalked across to the other side of the hall, thumping the wall with his fist.

“Nonsense!” Scott rebuked him. “You do have a sense of humour. It’s just different to the rest of us. You’re more reactive rather than proactive when telling jokes.”

“What joke?” Virgil turned around. He leant against the wall, fixing his attention on the ceiling so he didn’t have to look at Scott. “There is nothing funny about what’s going on in there.”

“You know what Gordon’s like,” Scott soothed. “If one of us was down, we could always count on him to try and cheer us up. I’d wager that he’s glad that at least one of us has managed to find some humour in this situation and is probably wishing that the rest of us would do the same.”

Virgil finally found the strength to look Scott in the eye. “Do you think so?”

“I know so. And so do you! Gordon wouldn’t want us to be upset.”

“Okay, so Gordon’s forgiving...” Virgil didn’t really believe it. He indicated the room. “What about them.”

“Them will forgive you too. We’ve all had our moments; just like you... only you haven’t been here to see them.”

Virgil took a deep breath before he reclaimed his seat. “You too?”

“Yeah.” Scott nodded. “Me too. I’ll tell you about it sometime.” He nudged his brother. “Are you coming back inside?”

“Give me a minute. I... I need to pull myself together.”

“Okay,” Scott agreed. “No rush.” He stood and looked down at Virgil. “Don’t beat yourself up. This is a new situation for us all. None of us knows how we’re going to behave.”

Virgil waited a full five minutes after Scott had left before he returned to Gordon’s room. He expected signs of disappointment from his family, but no one said anything. Instead he received an understanding smile from his father, a hug from his grandmother, a wink from Alan, and friendly squeeze about the shoulders from John.

Gordon said and did nothing.

When the time arrived for Virgil and Alan to return to their respective homes, Virgil realised that, as desperate as he had been to remain at Marineville last week, he was equally keen to leave the hospital today.

He was not the only one to have this guilty feeling of relief. “I hate to say it,” Alan admitted as he buckled up his safety harness in preparation for take off, “but I’m glad to be out of there.”

Virgil glanced at him before taxiing onto the runway. “You too?”

“Yeah. It’s just not Gordon lying there. And everyone else is so miserable! It's like that place sucks the life out of you.”

“It’s not the place,” Virgil reminded him, “but the situation we’re in.”

“I know. All week I’ve been dying to see Gordon, but over these last two days I’ve been dying to get away again.” Alan paused. “That sounds awful, doesn’t it?”

“No...” Virgil hesitated. “Some people would say that is awful, but not me. I feel exactly the same. I’ve been counting down the minutes until I thought I could suggest that we leave.”

“It would be different if Gordon was conscious, wouldn’t it?” Alan asked, desperate for reassurance. “We’d be happy to stay then?”

“Of course we would. We’d be able to interact with him instead of sitting around staring at him.” Virgil received clearance from the tower and sent his aeroplane aiming for the skies.

There’d been silence between them for a full ten minutes before Alan spoke again. “I think I’ll buy myself a plane.”

Despite his concerns, Virgil had to suppress a smile. That one simple sentence had branded Alan as a Tracy. None of them flaunted their wealth and in the main Virgil did his best to live off the wages he received from ACE. The only time that he dipped into the large retainer that his father paid him was for the care and maintenance of his aeroplane, and when he had bought the Red-Arrow. But the fact that one of them was able to say I think I’ll buy myself a plane as casually as most people would say I think I’ll buy myself a chocolate bar spoke volumes about how much money they each had to play with.

Not that Alan considered any of that as he continued with his train of thought. “Since I’m hopping around all over the country, it’s not always going to be convenient for you to pick me up. Most of my trials and races are on Saturdays and you won’t want to waste a whole day waiting for me. Sunday is usually a day off before the whole circus moves to the next site on Monday. If I have my own plane then I can leave for the Willis straight after the race and then meet up with the rest of the team at the new track Monday evening or Tuesday morning. And, if I had my own plane, you and I’d have more freedom to come and go as we wanted.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Virgil agreed. “Do you want a hand to choose one?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I should be okay.”

Virgil was well aware that his kid brother was likely to choose an aircraft based on something as trivial as how it looked and give no consideration to practicality or fuel efficiency. “Don’t be shy about asking Father or Scott for advice. They’d be glad for the excuse to have something else to think about.”

“If I run into problems I’ll ask them.”

That, Virgil decided, was Alan’s way of saying that he had no intention of getting anyone’s help.

The week dragged. Work dragged. But conversely Virgil found that meal breaks flew past as quickly as Alan in his race car.

Wednesday rolled around and at morning tea Virgil once again checked his answer-phone without any expectations of hearing any momentous news.

He was pleasantly surprised to find an excited message from Scott… Or more correctly a frustrated conversation between Scott and John.

Wherever Scott’s attention was, it wasn’t on the phone in his hand. “…mail. Virgil! Answer your phone!”

John spoke and he sounded almost as clear as their eldest brother, leading Virgil to surmise that he was standing at Scott’s shoulder. “Then he’s not going to answer it now.”

“What a pain. I wanted to tell him the good news personally.”

“Then leave a message telling him to call you as soon as he’s free!”

“But I told him I’d ring as soon as I had news! And he’ll want to hear this straight away… He must be working at the moment.”

“What’s the time there…? About 9.30?”

“About that.”

“And morning tea’s at…?”

“0950 hours.”

“Or ten-to-ten in civilian talk.”

“Yes.”

“So tell him to call you back! I’m sure you can last twenty minutes!”

“But what’s the point of him making me promise to call him the instant as I had news about Gordon if he can’t answer the phone!?”

“He made you promise, did he?”

Scott sounded bemused at his brother’s reply. “Yeah, he did. He was really insistent about that…”

“I’ll bet he was.”

“What do you know, John?”

There was a chuckle. “I know that he’s probably wondering why you rang him up to talk to me.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Scott suddenly appeared to remember that he’d made a phone call and the excitement returned to his voice. “Sorry, Virg. John distracted me.”

“Don’t blame me!”

“Then shut up and let me finish!”

“Finish? You haven’t started yet!”

“Shush! Virgil! If John’ll let me get a word in edgewise we’ve got some exciting news. Gordon…”

The answer-phone cut out.

As the interim message played, Virgil toyed with the idea of forgoing listening to his messages and ringing straight back. If he didn’t know better he would have thought that his brothers were high on something. Whatever their news was, it must be good.

His musings had taken too long and John’s voice, clearer now, came out of the receiver. “Hi, Virgil.”

“Gimmee that!”

“No!”

“John! Give me my phone back!”

“Why. You keep on messing about and not telling him anything.” John’s voice grew louder again. “Virgil, great news…”

“That’s my phone! Give it to me! I’m going to tell him!”

No!”

“Boys!” This voice was deeper. “Stop leaping about, I’m trying to talk to Alan!”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Sorry, Father. Give me my phone, John!”

“Make me.”

“John! Get off the furniture!”

“Sorry, Grandma.”

“And give me that phone.”

“But, Grandma, it’s mine! I’m going to…”

The answer-phone cut out again.

As pleased as he was to hear his brothers sounding so euphoric, Virgil was growing slightly irritated with their uncharacteristic behaviour. He was almost ready to forget about his messages and dial his father’s phone, when a new voice spoke.

It was his grandmother. She was brief and to the point. “Virgil. Gordon’s opened his eyes. Phone your father.”

Virgil was doing just that before her message had finished. “It’s Virgil. That’s great news! I’ll go and tell Uncle Hamish that I’m leaving right away.”

Jeff was more subdued than his sons had been. “No, don’t do that. Not yet.”

Bemused, Virgil frowned into the phone. “Why not?”

“Gordon’s still in the coma.”

“But Grandma said he had opened his eyes!”

Jeff did not sound happy. “He has. But he’s not responding to light or any other stimuli. Mr Millington is still classifying him as a grade three.”

Virgil felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under him. “I don’t understand. How can Gordon open his eyes and still be in a grade three coma?”

“Mr Millington explained to us that a coma is like a very deep sleep, one where there are no responses to light, or pain, or anything. But some patients are still able to move… It must be similar to someone who walks in their sleep.”

“And there are no other reactions? Gordon hasn’t moved anything else? He hasn’t tried to say something?”

“No.” Virgil could hear despondency in his father’s voice. “You look into his eyes and there’s nothing there. No life, no spark…” There was a sigh. “We were so sure that things were getting better... I’m sorry if we’d got your hopes up.”

Virgil didn’t comment. “What else did Mr Millington say?”

“That in the short term there’s nothing else we can do except wait.”

“Oh.” The bell rang.

Jeff heard it. “Is your break over?”

“Yes.”

“Call us at lunchtime. You never know…”

“Yes,” Virgil agreed. “You never know.” He turned off his phone aware of a peculiar drained feeling. One minute it had seemed as if their worries were over, the next it was as if they’d come back ten-fold.

Depressed, Virgil returned to work.

He made the flight to the Willis Institute solo that weekend. Gordon’s room was much as he’d left it; a nurse off to the side, Jeff and Scott on the right of the bed, Grandma and John on the left, and, in the centre of all this misery, Gordon.

His brother’s eyes were open. They remained open the entire time that Virgil was there except for an occasional, slow, unnerving blink. They stared at nothing. They responded to nothing. Virgil was reminded of the insult the lights are on but no one’s home. Except that even the lights didn’t appear to be on in Gordon’s eyes.

Alan arrived late on Saturday evening. The young man tried to be upbeat, telling everyone that his practise sessions had gone well, that he’d thought it would be easy to move closer to Victor Gomez in the overall standings, and reporting on a couple of funny things that had happened during the week. But eventually, even he succumbed to the desolation that seemed to permeate that room.

They sat. They waited.

Virgil rubbed his eyes. They were tired like the rest of him. He’d napped in his chair, but it wasn’t a real sleep. It wasn’t a dead-to-the-world, forget-all-your-troubles, type sleep. It was a sleep on the edge of wakefulness, ready to respond to the slightest change in Gordon’s condition.

He blinked. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he’d seen something move.

No. The figure on the bed lay still.

Confused, he looked back to where the impression of movement had come from.

Nothing.

He was tired. That had to be it. If he was starting to see things then he’d be in no shape for the flight back home later that day.

What was that?!

Another movement? The smallest jerk of a pale thumb? Was he seeing things? Virgil looked around his family to see if anyone else had noticed.

Alan and John had both dozed off. Scott was staring at the ceiling. Jeff was gazing intently into the invalid’s face and Grandma was scratching at an invisible stain on her skirt.

Virgil leant closer, focussing all his energies on that single digit…

“He moved his thumb!”

Everyone stared at Virgil who pointed at Gordon’s hand. “He did! He moved his thumb! That one!”

“What?” Jeff asked, numbed by weeks of depressing inactivity.

“He moved his thumb,” Virgil insisted. “I’m sure I saw him move his thumb. Three times!”

Six pairs of eyes stared at an unresponsive hand.

Twitch.

“He did!” Grandma exclaimed. “Did you see, Scott?”

“I saw it, Grandma!”

Twitch.

“Nurse!” The life seemed to come back to Jeff Tracy. “Nurse!”

“It’s all right, Mr Tracy,” she responded. “I’ve called Mr Millington.”

Twitch… Twitch…

“Come on, Gordon,” John breathed. “Come on. Come back to us.”

Twitch… Twitch…

Mr Millington bustled into the room.

“He’s moving!” Alan exclaimed, urging the doctor over to the bed. “Gordon’s moving his thumb! Look! He’s waking up!”

Twitch… Twitch…

The doctor bent over the invalid, who, apart from that isolated tic, hadn’t moved. Mr Millington shone a light into one eye and then the other. He pinched the skin in various places. He picked up Gordon’s hand and applied pressure to the fingernail bed to evoke a pain response.

At last he placed the limp hand back onto the bed and straightened. “I’m afraid there’s no change. He’s still in a grade three coma.”

Twitch… Twitch…

“But… But…” John stammered. “He moved. You can see him move!”

Mr Millington looked at him with grey eyes. “Gordon is not responding to any stimuli, John. This radial tic is the merely an uncontrolled nerve impulse.”

John looked crushed as he sagged back into his chair and Virgil felt the same. Once again their hopes had been dashed.

Twitch… Twitch…

It was hypnotic. As if every family member was falling under a magician’s spell, their eyes were glued to that twitching thumb…

Twitch… Twitch…

Hour after hour…

Twitch… Twitch…

No one moved…

Twitch… Twitch…

No one spoke…

Twitch… Twitch…

Scott ran his hand over his face. “This is driving me crazy.”

As if his words were an invitation to do something, his grandmother reached out, covering Gordon’s hand with her own small one and holding down that thumb that seemed to possess a life of its own. “Stop doing that, Gordon honey, and put your energies into getting better,” she cooed. Then, while Virgil watched, her face changed from an expression of stoic calm to one of surprise. She looked down at the paired hands and pulled hers away.

Gordon’s thumb didn’t move.

Everyone gave an almost audible sigh of relief.

Twitch…

Twitch…

Twitch… Twitch…

Grandma covered her grandson’s hand again. “It’s all right, Honey. We’re here. I’m here and your father’s here. Alan’s here, and Virgil’s here, and John’s here, and Scott’s here. We’re all here and we’re not going to leave you alone. We’ll be with you every step of the way until you’re through this. We’ll be with you until you are better.”

From then on, every minute of the day and night, the family took turns holding Gordon’s hand. At first his brothers felt a degree of discomfort at such non-masculine familiarity, and made awkward jokes, but, after a time, it seemed as natural as sitting by his bedside.

The Tracys each held Gordon’s hand until their own arm grew tired and they had to swap with someone else. Great care was taken to ensure that the limb wasn’t left unattended on the bed for longer than necessary. “Like passing the baton,” Alan had joked when he’d taken over from his father, and everyone had laughed; not because they felt like it, but because Gordon would have wanted them to.

But it seemed to be working. Not once did Virgil feel Gordon’s thumb move.

After one of his stints on hand duty, he felt the need to get some fresh air and passed the nurses’ station on his way out into the late afternoon sun.

“You’ve got to admire the grandmother…”

Virgil stopped. He wasn’t partial to eavesdropping, but he had a feeling that the grandmother in question was his own. He wanted to hear more.

“The way she’s managed to stay so strong with all the ups and downs the family’s gone through.”

“I’ve known people who were stronger than her fall to pieces under less provocation.”

“She’s from good farming stock and had a hard life until her son made his money. That sort doesn’t generally show their emotions, especially in front of their family.”

“How did you find out she was a farmer?”

“She told me. I was having my break from room duty this morning. I came out into the corridor and found her standing there in tears…”

Virgil was startled by the news. For as long as he could remember his grandmother had always been stoic and resilient and a source of strength to every member of the family. To think of her as weak and vulnerable…

“…The poor thing was sobbing like a child, so I took her into the break room to give her a cup of coffee and a chance to pull herself together. It’s breaking her heart to see her grandson so sick and the way it’s affecting the rest of the family. She’s very concerned about her son.”

“I’m worried too. I don’t know him that well, but in my opinion that’s not a man who’s coping.”

“None of them are. She begged me not to let them know that she’s just as bad…”

Virgil escaped outside to think. He felt guilty for not considering how Gordon’s illness had affected his grandmother, or anyone else in his family. All his focus had been on his brother. He resolved to at least to attempt to do something about it.

The question was what?

Devoid of ideas he returned to Gordon’s room.

Nothing had changed.

Virgil spent the rest of his time at the Willis surreptitiously observing his family and wracking his brains for the solution to his problem. But, when he finally left the Willis Institute that Sunday evening for another week working at ACE, he was no closer to an answer. He needed help and so he slipped a brother a note to call him.

He also had to agree that Alan was right. It was as though the hospital had sucked the life out of everyone.

Especially Gordon…

“John. I’m glad you called.”

“Well, you asked me to, Virgil. What’s up? That slipping me a bit of paper when you said goodbye was all very James Bond.”

“Sorry about that, but I didn’t want anyone else to know I’m worried.”

John frowned. “Aren’t we all?”

“No, I’m not talking only about being worried about Gordon. I’m talking about being worried about everyone… I’m talking about all of us.”

John’s response was a quiet “Oh.”

“I know it’s not the right thing to do, but I listened in on a conversation a couple of the nurses were having.”

John was surprised. “You listened in? You mean you eavesdropped?”

“Well, yes…” Virgil admitted, somewhat ashamed of his actions.

“Why? Parker’s the one whose nickname’s ‘Nosey’, not you.”

“They were talking about Grandma and I was curious about what they were saying…”

Now John’s own curiosity had been piqued. “And what were they saying?”

“One of them said that Grandma was crying on her shoulder.”

“Grandma!?”

“Yes.”

“Our Grandma?”

“Yes, John,” Virgil confirmed. “Our Grandma. Apparently Gordon’s twitching got too much for her.

So, after I heard those nurses talking I watched everyone else and I realised that we’re all falling apart.”

“Falling apart?” John frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Well… Apart from Grandma crying on total strangers’ shoulders; haven’t you noticed how old Father’s looking? He seems to have got a lot greyer over the last two weeks. And Scott’s losing weight… And I’ve realised that it’s affecting me too. I’m isolating myself from my friends. I’ve either been at the hospital or on the phone trying to find out how Gordon is.”

“Yes,” John agreed, looking thoughtful. “I see.”

“I’ve been wracking my brains, trying to think of a solution and I can’t come up with anything practical. Not when I’m so far away most of the time.”

“Why are you mentioning this to me? Why not Scott?”

“Because you haven’t had the life drained out of you yet.”

John appeared surprised. “Because I what?”

“You haven’t been there 24/7 for the last two weeks, but you’re going to be from now on. I want to make sure that you don’t start deteriorating like they’ve done, and I’m hoping that you might come up with a workable solution.”

John stared at him. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Virgil stated. “If I can help in any way, just say the word. Even if it means taking unpaid leave from ACE, I want to help.”

“You do realise that you’re asking me to tackle three forceful personalities, don’t you?”

Virgil sighed. “I know. But I don’t know who else to turn to.”

John shook his head. “Don’t let it ever be said that I’ll walk away from a challenge.” He gave a resigned sigh. “Okay, Virg. I’ll have a think about what you’ve said. But I’m not guaranteeing that I’ll be able to do anything…”

Monday morning.

Once a month, Hamish Mickelson would hold a staff meeting. It was an opportunity to give ACE’s employees a say in the running of the company, which in turn gave them a sense of ownership and encouraged their loyalty to the firm. It was also a chance to encourage good workmanship and to stomp out any unacceptable behaviour before it became an issue.

He had reached the end of what he’d laughingly called ‘his sermon’. “Has anyone got any questions?”

A female employee raised her hand. “Have you got any news on Mr Tracy’s son? The one who was in the accident...”

Her employer didn’t look at the young man sitting quietly at the back of the room. “You mean Gordon? I’m afraid that he’s still in a coma. Prognosis at this time is uncertain.”

“How is Mr Tracy holding up?” someone else asked.

This time there was a glance at Virgil as Hamish chewed on his lip. “You know how Mr Tracy values his privacy. He hasn’t given me any indication that this incident has impacted on his health or wellbeing. However he has insisted that the social club outing proceed as planned. He is sorry that he probably won’t be able to attend personally and trusts that Team Tracy will ensure that we have an enjoyable day out.”

“Mr Mickelson, will you tell Mr Tracy that he, Gordon, and his family are in our thoughts?” Lisa asked. “We’re all hoping for the best.”

Hamish Mickelson favoured her with a warm smile. “I will, Lisa. Thank you.”

Morning tea

Virgil checked the expected ‘no change’ text, sent one acknowledging that it had been received, and tucked the phone into his pocket. Then he walked out of the locker room and into the canteen.

Three surprised faces looked at him when he sat down. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi… er… Has something happened?” Bruce asked.

“No,” Virgil admitted. “I just decided that I should spend some time with my friends.”

“Oh...” Bruce looked at Lisa and Butch. “Okay… Ah… We were discussing the social club outing…”

“Yeah,” Butch agreed with an eager smile. “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

Lisa giggled. “He can’t wait to see Alan Tracy in the flesh. He’s Butch’s hero. Isn’t he, Love?” she teased, giving her husband a playful hug. “You’d have a photo of him instead of me in your wallet if you could get your hands on one.”

Butch turned pink and hung his head. “No, I wouldn’.”

Lisa laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You big softie.”

“I’m looking forward to going too,” Virgil admitted. “If I can, I always try to catch Alan’s races.”

Lisa giggled again. “What have we got here? The Alan Tracy fan club? Are you a member, Bruce?”

“Well, since he’s the boss’s son…” Bruce drawled. He raised a knowing eyebrow towards Virgil. “I’ll take any opportunity to get on the right side of the Tracy family. But are you going to be able to make it, Virgil? I mean… I know things have been tough.”

“I don’t want to miss it if I can help it,” Virgil admitted. “I know Alan personally,” he explained to the Crumps as Bruce shot him a surprised look.

Butch gazed at his friend open mouthed. “Ya know him? Will ya intraduce me?”

Lisa smiled. “If you do, Virgil, you’ll have a friend for life.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange.”

“Is that how you got your job here?” she asked. “Because you know the Tracy family?”

Keenly aware of the irony of the situation, Virgil nodded. “It helped.”

“Have you known them for long?”

Virgil couldn’t look at Bruce who was doing his best not to burst out laughing. “A few years.”

“Virgil’s father an’ Mista Tracy an’ Mista Mickelson was in the Air Force together,” Butch reminded his wife.

Her cheeks coloured with a light blush, accenting her beautiful features. “Oh, yes. I forgot. Sorry.”

“Virgil…” Bruce cleared his throat. “Ah… I know you were going to fly us there, but, if you don’t want to, that’s okay. You’ve got more important things to worry about. We can make other arrangements.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil reassured him. “I’ll hire a suitable plane, and I’ll take a day off on the Monday after so I can still spend two days at the hospital. And, if something happens which means that I won’t be able to fly the team out to the track, then I’ll arrange for someone to take my place.”

“Are you sure?” Lisa clarified. “We don’t want to cause you problems. This sick relative is obviously someone very special to you.”

That was the moment when Virgil made the decision that he was going to reveal his relationship with Jeff Tracy to the Crumps. He was tired of having secrets and telling lies. He opened his mouth to speak…

“So, Mr Tancy. Have you decided to come down to the level of your peers?”

Virgil looked up at Max Watts. “Excuse me?”

“We haven’t seen you in here in weeks. Obviously we are not worthy enough to be in your presence.”

“I’ve had things I had to deal with.”

“He’s been worried about a very sick relative,” Lisa protested.

“Oh yes…” Max Watts did not sound impressed.

“Virgil hasn’t been ignoring us,” she added.

“Didya want somethin’, Mr Watts?” Butch asked in a poor attempt at civility.

“I have a message for Mr Sanders. He has received a phone call.” Watts glared at Bruce, not impressed at having been relegated to the role of messenger boy. “Something about the social club outing.”

“Oh! Better get that,” Bruce exclaimed, and pushed his chair back until it hit the wall. “‘Scuse me, Virgil. I can’t get past.”

“Sorry,” Virgil vacated his chair and found himself face-to-face with Watts.

The supervisor didn’t move out of the way.

Sick of the man’s arrogant attitude and obvious lack of respect, Virgil squared up to his superior, stared him in the eye, and said nothing. Around the canteen all chatter ceased as his co-workers observed the silent challenge.

“Thanks,” with a nervous look between the two men, Bruce squeezed past. “Catch you guys later.”

Virgil reclaimed his seat.

The buzzer sounded.

“We are now in ACE’s time,” Watts announced. “We don’t want to be late back to work… do we?” His predatory grin suggested that the idea of putting Virgil on report appealed to him.

Virgil stood again. “No. I’ve got too much respect for Greg Harrison to do that. Excuse me, Sir.” He pushed past the older man and returned to his work station.

“John’s bought a house.”

Virgil stared at Scott’s image on his home videophone. “What!?”

“I said: John’s bought a house!”

“A house!”

“Yes. A house.”

“A house?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.” Virgil reflected that, while Alan’s decision to by an aeroplane seemed to be a natural thing to do, John’s decision to buy a house seemed, well… Odd…? Out of character…? Downright weird…? “What on Earth did he buy a house for?”

“I thought you might have some idea.”

“Me? Why would I have anything to do with a left field play like that?”

Scott frowned. “You honestly don’t know anything about this?”

Virgil shook his head. “No. I had no idea that he was thinking of going into property. What happened?”

“Yesterday, John’s first full day with the three of us: nothing. We were all sitting around watching and waiting as usual… Then this morning he disappeared.”

“He disappeared,” Virgil repeated, trying to make sure that he following the bewildering narrative. “John disappeared?”

“Yes. He was gone for hours. When he finally came back, well after lunch, he kind of took control. He started ordering us about.”

Virgil blinked. John ordering his elder brother, his grandmother and his father about was nearly as strange as his buying a house. “He did what?”

“I’ve been going for an hour’s run every morning,” Scott admitted. “It’s a chance to clear my head and prepare myself for the day. Then John goes and tells me that I’m to take Father for a walk along the same route to get him out of the place.”

“And Father said…”

“Basically ‘over his dead body’. Then John told him that if he didn’t use his legs more he’d be in a wheelchair before Gordon had a chance to get out of the bed.”

Virgil couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I didn’t realise that John had a death wish.”

Scott chuckled. “Then he called in the big guns. He got Grandma to back him up.”

“She did, of course.”

“Of course. Told Father that John was right and that it was high time that he got some fresh air. And John reminded us that he and Grandma weren’t going anywhere, so Gordon wouldn’t be left alone.”

“So you went for the walk?”

“Yeah. For half-an-hour. Father was not about to let one of us dictate what he should or should not do.”

Virgil laughed. “Did he enjoy the walk?”

“Yes, I think he did. Hopefully, now that he realises that Gordon’s not going to do anything rash while he’s not there, he’ll go for them more frequently.”

“Good,” Virgil approved. “But what’s this got to do with the house?”

“I’m coming to that. When we got back to the hospital, half-an-hour later,” Scott grinned, “the receptionist called me over. She said someone wanted to meet me in the foyer.”

“Who?”

Scott shrugged. “I didn’t have a clue at that point. Father didn’t hang around and went straight back up to Gordon’s room. Then Grandma came down.”

“Grandma?”

“One of the nurses had told her that she was wanted in reception. By now I’m totally confused…”

“I’ll bet you were.”

“Especially when the receptionist gave each of us an envelope. Mine had a map in it, Grandma’s had a key.”

“The key to this house?”

“Yes, although I didn’t know it at the time. By now we were both curious about what was going on, which I think is what John was counting on. He knew that it would take something pretty drastic to get us away from Gordon. We followed the map out of the Institute’s grounds to this house directly over the road from the front gate. Guessing that we were meant to see whoever was in the house, we walked up to the front door. There was a note pinned to it. Use the key it said.”

Virgil was listening to this tale, spellbound. “And did you?”

“Yep. I opened the door and we walked into this open plan lounge/kitchen area, completely devoid of furniture except for a single chair with some papers on it.”

Intrigued, Virgil leant forward. “What were the papers?”

“The top one was the deed to the house, in the name of John Tracy. The next one was a plan of the house. The lounge has three bedrooms opening up off it. One was labelled with my name, one had John’s, and the third had Grandma’s. Underneath this plan were a lot of bedroom furniture catalogues and cards from various stores.”

Virgil grinned. “Do you think he’s trying to tell you something?”

“I think so. I walked into ‘my’ room and there was this videophone and catalogues for gym equipment.”

“And the videophone’s operational? How’d he get a phone line connected so quickly?”

“Knowing John he probably wired up the phone himself and linked it to the Tracy network somehow. He’d left a lot of brochures for kitchen equipment and a videophone in Grandma’s room too.”

“He knows you guys too well. What’s in his room?”

“Bed, drawers, telescope.”

“Just the bare necessities then.”

Scott laughed. “Grandma and I were just getting our heads around this when there was a knock on the door. I opened it and there was this woman standing there saying she was from the Puriri Beauty Clinic. I’m looking at her blankly as she’s telling me that she had a four-o’clock appointment with Mrs Tracy, which Grandma didn’t know anything about. Then the lady showed us her booking sheet.” Here Scott paused. “The booking had been made by John,” Scott gave Virgil a sideways look, “and Virgil Tracy.”

Virgil started. “He used my name too?”

“Yeah,” Scott drawled. “Now try and tell me you know nothing about this.”

“I don’t,” Virgil protested. “Well, none of the details. I knew we had to do something to help you guys out, and I had mentioned it to John. But I didn’t know about his plans.”

“You guys are just…” Scott growled, and then stopped. “Someone’s at the door. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He was gone ten minutes. When he’d returned he was shaking his head in bemusement. “Furniture movers,” he stated. “Bringing in a dining table big enough to seat seven and a large screen TV.”

“He’s trying to make a home away from home,” Virgil pointed out. “He must have spent a small fortune. I suppose when you’re stuck on a space station there aren’t too many opportunities to spend your money.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “Except he was only up there for a month… I’d better go.” He gave his brother a pointed look. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

The two brothers had no sooner finished their telephone conversation when Virgil’s videophone rang. Not recognising the phone number, he answered it with a “Hello.”

“Virgil! Thank you!”

Virgil grinned. “You’re welcome, Grandma, but it’s John you should really be thanking.” He examined the image on the video screen. “You’re looking great.”

“And I feel wonderful. It was so nice to be pampered after all this time. Robyn did my hair and my nails and massaged my hands and my feet and gave me a neck rub. It was pure heaven.”

“And you’ve come out of it looking like an angel.”

“Oh, Virgil.” Grandma gave a girlish giggle. “I feel alive again. We had such a lovely conversation, and Robyn’s given me her card so I can book another session whenever I need one.”

“That’s good, Grandma. You deserve some pampering.”

“I won’t hold you up any longer. I just had to ring and say thank you before I start picking out what I need to furnish this kitchen. Bye, Honey.”

“Bye, Grandma.”

Virgil hung up the phone and chuckled. At least that was one person who appreciated John’s efforts.

He turned on his computer and typed out a text message. “You and I have some talking to do. Phone me when you’re free”

The phone rang two minutes later. John looked smug. “Did you want something?”

“A house! You bought a house?”

“Only a little one.”

“It has three bedrooms!”

“Well, you said we had to do something to put the life back into them,” John protested. “You also said you’d help out. I’ll send you the bill tomorrow.”

Virgil was expecting as much. “Okay.”

“Of course, we might be able to talk Scott into splitting it three ways.”

“Scott? How about Alan?”

“He’s just bought a plane,” John reminded him. “I think we can let him off this time. I was going to put your name on the deed too, but they needed your signature and I wanted to get all the paperwork done so we could take possession straight away. If you want we can rectify that next time you’re in town.”

“Whatever made you think of buying a house?” Virgil asked.

“Well, I sat there on Monday and I watched everyone and I thought about what you’d said. Then I realised that we Tracys aren’t designed for small enclosed places… Apart from those of us who work in factories…”

“Next time you’re in town I’ll show you around ACE,” Virgil informed him. “It’s one of the largest plants in the country.”

“And here I was thinking that you were the exception that proves my rule. Oh, well.” John gave a melodramatic sigh. “As I was saying: we’re used to being able to roam with no limits. We’re used to being able to gaze out over Kansas wheat fields, wide blue skies, the entire planet… The universe!” John threw his arms out in a grand gesture. “All we’ve got at the Institute is Gordon’s room, the attached unit, and the canteen. I decided we’re not made to be crammed into such a small area, and so I’ve expanded our horizons.”

“By buying a house.”

“It means that everyone has their own space where they can escape for a while when they need some time out.”

“I knew I could count on you to come up with a solution.”

“Words of praise are all very well, but I’ll wait to see the colour of your money.” John winked.

Virgil remembered his phone call of a few minutes ago. “You’ve made Grandma happy.”

The smug look returned. “I know. I got a big hug and a promise that the first meal she cooks in that kitchen is going to be my favourite.”

“What was Father’s reaction to being told to get out of the hospital?”

“Annoyed. He’s quite an intimidating guy when you’re facing off toe-to-toe,” John recollected. “Even with the couple of inches I’ve got on him. But I held my ground.”

“With Grandma’s help.”

“With Grandma’s help,” John admitted. “I told him that Grandma and I wouldn’t leave until they got back. Then I reminded him that both he and Scott had their mobiles and their watches and promised that we would contact them should Gordon so much as raise an eyebrow. I knew that Scott would make sure that he got a decent walk and I was also counting on Father to assert his authority and insist that they were back within the half hour.” He rubbed his hands together like a pantomime villain. “They all walked straight into my devious plan.”

Virgil was enjoying seeing his brother’s glee. “I would have loved to have seen Scott’s face when he saw the deed.”

“Me too.”

“Where is the place?”

“It’s right opposite the front gates. You may have seen it; it had a ‘For Sale’ notice on the gate.”

“Nope. But then I wasn’t house hunting.”

“At first I thought it was going to be a bit awkward with only the three bedrooms, but I know we’ll never get Father out of the Willis until Gordon’s on the road to recovery, so he can stay in one of the rooms in the attached unit. You or Alan can have the unit’s other bedroom and if you’re both visiting at the same time I’ve ordered one of those chairs-that-convert-into-a-bed things for the lounge. You can toss a coin to see who uses that.”

“What are you planning to do with the house when we no longer need it?”

John shrugged. “Sell it? Set up a trust so that others in our position can use it? I’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Virgil gave a wry shake of his head. “You never fail to surprise me, John. I just start to think that I know what makes you tick and then you pull something new out of the hat.”

“Meet you at home,” Alan had said. “I’ll fly you to the Willis in my new plane.”

Virgil mounted the steps that he’d climbed so many times as a boy and a man and, out of habit, let himself through the back door. In time gone past, entering the house this way had meant being greeted by Grandma and a host of cooking smells… and the opportunity to pilfer something freshly baked to eat.

Now the room seemed desolate. His grandmother would be horrified to see the dust collecting on her pristine kitchen surfaces. Depressed by the neglected feel of this most warm and familiar of rooms, Virgil passed through into the hallway. “Alan! Are you here?”

There was a crash from somewhere in the region of the lounge.

“Alan?”

“Ah… I’ll be right with you, Virg.”

Virgil turned towards the source of the voice. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Another crash and a stifled curse.

Virgil walked down the hallway. “It doesn’t sound like nothing…”

Alan barrelled through the lounge door, pulled up short in front of his brother, and, in an act of studied nonchalance, shoved his hands into his pockets. “Hi, Virgil.”

Any curiosity Virgil had towards what had been going on in the family lounge was overtaken by his impatience to get away. “Are you ready?”

Alan smiled. “Yes… No!” He dashed off down the hall in the direction of his bedroom.

Virgil sighed and considered checking out the damage to the lounge. His plans were thwarted when Alan ran out of his room; a small, locked box held in an iron grip. “Are you ready? Let’s go.” He dashed out the back door.

Virgil gave another sigh, this one an outward expression of his exasperation, and followed his kid brother.

---F-A-B---

“Well? What do you think?” Alan indicated his new pride and joy.

Virgil cast a critical pilot’s eye over the aircraft. “It’s a bit small, isn’t it?”

“Less resistance. She’s built for speed, so I’ll spend less time in the air and more time with Gordon.”

Virgil could understand Alan’s logic, but wasn’t sure that his brother’s methodology was entirely sound. “I wish you’d got Scott to help you choose.”

“Why?” Alan’s lower lip jutted out in a pout. “And have him tell me what I need when he’s really got no idea?”

“He is one of the best pilots in the business,” Virgil reminded him. “He’d ask for your advice if he wanted to buy a car.”

Alan called his bluff. “No he wouldn’t.” And Virgil had to, privately, admit that his brother was right.

The cabin was tiny, and Virgil had to wait until his brother had secured the mysterious box in a compartment under the pilot’s seat, before he could squeeze into the cockpit. “Does this thing come with a tin opener to let us out?” he asked.

Alan stared at him in amazement. “Did you just make a joke?”

Virgil, already irritated by the hold up, his youngest brother’s secretive behaviour, the way he was shoehorned into the aeroplane’s seat, and the prospect of another weekend brooding over an unresponsive brother, was not looking forward to the upcoming flight. He glared at Alan. “Let’s get moving, shall we?”

They’d been in the air for some time when Alan next spoke. “How long have we been doing this?”

Virgil shifted in the uncomfortable seat. “Feels like days,” he grumbled.

“No, not the flight. How long since the accident?”

“Let’s see,” Virgil counted off on his fingers. “One week at Marineville and, let’s see... Two at the Willis?”

Alan nodded. “I think so.”

“So that makes three weeks.”

“They all run in together, don’t they?” Alan mused.

“Yes,” Virgil agreed. “And it looks like they’ll be running together for some time yet.”

The flight was relatively quick, but not comfortable, and as soon as they’d touched down on the tarmac, Virgil released his safety harness and grasped a handle jutting out from the roof to pull himself out of the seat.

“Hey!” Alan protested. “We haven’t finished taxiing yet!”

“Taxiing,” Virgil responded. “What a good idea. I think I’ll catch a taxi home again.” He sat back down and tried to rub the cramped feeling out of his legs.

Alan treated him to another pout. “We got here quicker than we would have in your crate.”

“True,” Virgil conceded. “But at least with my ‘crate’ you’re guaranteed to be able to walk when you get to your destination. I was seriously thinking about calling ahead and asking the Willis Institute to have an ambulance waiting for us.”

“This is a performance craft.”

“…For aerobatic dwarves!” Before Alan had a chance to retort Virgil hauled himself out of his seat. “Come on. I want to get going.”

“To see your new house?” Alan snickered. He reached under the seat and retrieved his box.

“What have you got in there?” Virgil asked.

“Ah,” suddenly Alan lost his cockiness. “Candy… To suck on… While we’re in the hospital.”

“Then why the locked box?”

“So Scott can’t get at them.”

There was a ring of truth to this and Virgil gave up on that line of questioning. Trying to coax his legs back into life, he staggered out of the plane; stopping just outside the door to flex his legs and wait for an aggravating little brother who seemed determined to make them late for the hospital. “Come on!”

“I won’t be a minute.”

Virgil stuck his head back inside the aeroplane. “What’s the hold up?”

“Nothing.” Alan climbed out of the pilot’s seat, scrambled for the door and jumped outside, wincing when he landed on the hard concrete. He jammed his hands into his pockets.

Virgil noticed that something was missing. “Where’s your candy box?”

“I… ah… I left it in the plane. I decided that it wouldn’t be fair on the others if I was eating them and no one else.”

“I thought you’d share them about.”

“Nah… They’ll get sticky with the hospital’s central heating and then everyone will leave fingerprints all over everything.” Alan withdrew his left hand from its pocket then pulled his right hand out with more care, zipping the pocket shut before he locked the aeroplane’s door. “Are you ready?”

Virgil decided that there was something suspicious about the ‘candy box’, but he was too impatient to worry about it now. “Let’s go!”

When they got to the hospital, they were greeted with smiles, a marked improvement on last week. “Good flight in the new plane?” Scott asked.

“No,” Virgil growled.

“Yes!” Alan said perkily and took Gordon’s hand from his grandmother. “It’s Alan, Gordon.”

“No?” Scott looked puzzled.

“He’s purchased a flying pretzel maker.”

“Huh? What type of craft is it?”

“A motorised mosquito,” Virgil griped.

“It is not!” Alan complained. “It’s a SW-137 Culiseta!”

John snorted a laugh. “Good guess, Virgil.”

Virgil, bemused by the comment, could only manage a “Huh?”

“Culiseta is a genus of mosquito,” John explained.

Virgil barked out a laugh as his kid brother started sulking.

“A SW-137 Culiseta?” Scott raised his eyebrows. “The civilian version of the MP-137 Culex. Fast, manoeuvrable, and, according to most critics, let down by its cockpit which, by all accounts, is the size of a coconut.”

“A small coconut,” Virgil agreed. “I’ve seen bigger ones on the island… My turn, Alan.” He took command of the unresponsive hand, shocked by how bony it felt after only three weeks of inactivity. “Hi, Gordon. It’s Virgil. You won’t believe this plane that your little brother’s bought. It’s tiny.”

There was no response from Gordon.

“I thought you would have chosen a MS-736 Lutzia, or maybe an AP-384 Sabethes,” Scott said, showing off his encyclopaedic knowledge of things aeronautical. “They’re supposed to be just as good, but more comfortable.”

“Or a TA-5798 Cynomya,” Jeff suggested. “Built by Tracy Aviation.”

“Even better,” Scott approved.

John made a tutting sound. “Are you telling us that you haven’t even supported the family business, Alan?” he teased.

“The Cynomya’s a brilliant plane,” Scott continued, enjoying his recitation. “It’s nearly as fast as the Culiseta, but has enough room to carry four people, and their luggage, in comfort.”

“Alan’s plane isn’t big enough to carry one person in comfort,” Virgil told Gordon. But Gordon’s open, unseeing eyes stared out at nothing.

Alan shoved his hands into his pockets and retired to a corner to sulk.

“Stand up straight, young man,” Grandma scolded him. “The wall’s not there for you to lean on. And take your hands out of your pockets!”

His face showing that he was feeling picked on, Alan complied, but when Virgil relinquished Gordon’s hand to Jeff, he noticed that his youngest brother’s right hand had retreated back inside his jacket. Feeling sorry for him Virgil suggested a trip over to see John’s latest acquisition.

“In a minute,” Alan replied. “Dad? Can I slip in there for a moment?”

Jeff gave him a quizzical look “Slip in?”

“Hold Gordon’s hand.”

“If you want.” Jeff stood, but didn’t relinquish his grip until Alan was ready to take his place.

Alan picked up his brother’s right hand in his left. “Hey, Gordon,” he said softly, focussing on the red-head’s pale face. “It’s Alan… But you know that, don’t you… I have something of yours...” He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and held it before dull eyes before releasing something. It fell until it was suspended by the brightly coloured ribbon looped around his fingers. Dangling from the ribbon was a gold disc.

Gordon’s Olympic medal. The one that had resided in the cabinet in the family lounge.

It hung there spinning slowly; catching the light as it turned. Alan moved his hand and it swayed to and fro.

Gordon’s eyes followed the movement.

Everyone caught their breath, cramming together close to the head of the bed.

“You know what this is, don’t you, Gordon?” Alan stated, his voice still soft and placid. “This is your medal.”

Gordon’s lips moved. “Mmm-dl.”

It was a croaky whisper and the word was nearly unintelligible, but to Virgil no music could match the beauty of that sound.

There was a hushed “nurse,” from Jeff Tracy.

Alan smiled, but showed no other outward signs of excitement, continuing to concentrate on his bedridden brother. “Do you remember when you won your medal?”

“Mmmdl.”

“Remember all the hard work you did? Do you remember swimming lap after lap, getting faster and faster?”

The door to the room opened and Mr Millington stepped inside with a questioning look to the nurse, who held a finger to her lips and indicated the bed.

“Do you remember us doing everything we could to help you win this medal?” Alan was saying. “And we’re going to help you again. We want to help. All of us. Dad will help and Grandma will help. So will Scott, John, Virgil and me. We are going to help you get better.”

Previously lifeless brown eyes moved: shifting from one face to another. Pausing to gaze on each member of his family before moving on to the next. “Ou’ mmdl.”

“No,” Alan corrected gently. “Not ours. Yours. You did the hard work. You were the one who competed in the Olympics. You were the one who swam the fastest you’d ever swum. You were the one who stood on the dais and received this medal. Remember? This medal belongs to you.”

Gordon’s hand, the one with the thumb that had twitched with a life that its owner hadn’t seemed to possess, flinched and Alan released his grip on it. The hand moved towards the dangling medal until the backs of the fingers rested on its surface. “M’ mdl.”

“Yes, Gordon. Your medal. Do you want to hold it?”

The eyes shifted to Alan briefly before settling back on the gleaming disc. There was the tiniest of nods and Alan pressed the Olympic gold into Gordon’s hand and curled unresisting fingers around it, before tying them together with the ribbon. “There you are. That’s your medal. Keep it safe.” He placed Gordon’s hand, now clutching his medal, against his brother’s chest.

The corner of Gordon’s mouth turned up a millimetre and he closed his eyes. His breathing became soft and regular.

Virgil was surprised to realise that he had tears in his eyes. Looking around his family he discovered that he wasn’t the only one.

“Excuse me, Alan,” Mr Millington moved the young man out of the way. He bent over Gordon and prised open an eyelid, shining a torch into the eye that no longer seemed cold and dead. Gordon made a sound of complaint and moved as if he were trying to escape the light. The doctor chuckled. “All right, Gordon. I’ll let you sleep for the moment.” He straightened and signalled that everyone should leave the room. “Nurse,” he whispered. “Keep an eye on Gordon for us, would you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

There was total silence until everyone was in the corridor and the door had been closed behind them.

Then the Tracys erupted. Whoops of excitement, shouts of joy, cheers of jubilation, tears of happiness flooded out of the family. There were smiles, laughter, hugs, and back slaps. Everyone was talking and no one was listening. Jeff Tracy, overcome by the elation of the moment, gave Alan a bear hug that lifted the younger man off his feet as he planted a big kiss on his son’s cheek. Alan, unused to such overt expressions of affection from his father, looked around to check that none of the nurses had seen and tried to wipe the residue off. He was foiled when his grandmother grabbed hold of his face and planted a similarly elated kiss on the same spot.

When things had subsided to a sea of delighted smiles, Mr Millington spoke. “I don’t need to tell you that Gordon is no longer in a grade three coma. Judging by the way that he responded to you, Alan, I would say that if he isn’t now grade 15, then he is very close to being so... Of course I shall have to make tests to confirm this.”

“When do you think he’ll wake up again?” Jeff asked, breathless after the exertions of his celebrations.

“Give him time, Mr Tracy. Remember this is only another rung on a very long ladder. Now that Gordon is showing signs of consciousness I will be able to ascertain what, if any, brain damage he has sustained and then decide on treatment. In the meantime I’ll ask that you don’t get too far ahead of yourselves.” He paused. “Was that a real Olympic medal?” He gave a bashful grin. “Do you think Gordon would mind if I examined it later? I’ve always wanted to see one...”

Chapter 14: A Quiet Trip Home

Virgil hadn’t wanted to make the Sunday evening journey home, and no one had tried to stop him from staying. Instead he’d waited until late Monday when, at long last, he’d said a grudging goodbye to every member of his family. He would have been much happier staying at the Willis Institute with them all.

Especially with a fully conscious Gordon.

Not that everything was right with the young man. That Gordon’s mind was as quick and alive as it had always been there was no doubt. That his body had a long way to go before it was fully recovered was also obvious. Even without tests it was clear that the hydrofoil accident had inflicted damage to the parts of Gordon’s brain that controlled his motor skills, leaving his left side paralysed, and the right only slightly more mobile. Even more disconcerting, the auburn-haired Tracy, when he’d felt well enough to try to communicate with his family, could only make sounds that vaguely resembled the words he was trying to form.

Nevertheless, when Virgil returned to the Willis the following Friday evening, he was in a happier frame of mind than he had been in weeks. “Hi, Everyone,” he beamed when he entered the room. He received a variety of greetings in reply.

“How was the flight?” Scott asked.

“Good. I flew here in my own plane.” Virgil claimed the seat beside the bed. “How’s it going, Gordon?”

“Shlala,” Gordon replied. “Haa aa ya?”

Virgil didn’t understand a word his brother had said. Fortunately his father came to the rescue. “We all know it’s going to take a long time for you to get better, Gordon, but you’ve only been conscious for less than a week. We can’t expect to be able to rush these things.” He turned back to Virgil. “How are you, Son?”

“I’m great. I’ve been itching to get back here since I left. As soon as I got home on Monday I rang the Mickelson’s to tell them all about Gordon’s recovery. They weren’t very happy.”

“Weren’t happy?” Grandma exclaimed. “Why ever not?”

“I was so excited that I’d forgotten what the time was. They didn’t appreciate getting woken up at midnight.” Virgil grinned down at the invalid. “Are you trying to get me into trouble with my boss?”

“Na ma faal ya gan de de di.”

Hoping that this was the right response, Virgil said, “They didn’t mind once they’d woken up enough to realise who was ringing and why. In fact they were so thrilled that Aunty Edna said they were going to have a celebratory cup of hot chocolate in your honour, Gordon.”

“Ya. Sa sum fa mi.”

Virgil glanced at his father hoping for a translation. The paralysis had almost completely immobilised the left side of Gordon’s face, meaning that only half of his mouth appeared to be operational. It made understanding what he was saying next to impossible.

But Jeff didn’t seem to be finding it all that difficult. “I’ll tell Edna that one of the first things you’ll want to have when you’re eating again is one of her hot chocolates.”

“And some of her biscuits?” Grandma asked.

“Ya,” Gordon replied, his eyes shining. “An sum a ya affa di.”

She beamed back at him. “Of course I’ll make you some of my apple pie.”

“Dan ya.”

“You’re welcome.”

Feeling lost, Virgil tried to rejoin the conversation. “Where’s John?”

“Ad ya hoa.”

Those three words may as well have been Martian for all the sense they made to Virgil, but Scott smiled. “Like Gordon said, he’s over at your house. The place needs a spruce up and he’s making a start on some of the preparatory work. I was going to head over when you got here… I don’t think you’ve seen the place yet, have you?”

“No,” Virgil confirmed. “John’s got my money, but I haven’t seen the goods.”

Scott stood. “Come on. I’ll take you over there and you can have a look around. Is that okay with you, Grandma?”

“Of course it is, Honey. I leave my room tidy.”

“Anla ya,” Gordon said.

“I know it’s a mess, but I haven’t worked out where I’m going to put everything yet,” Scott rejoined. He leant on Gordon’s bed so that he could look down on his brother. “I’ve had more important things to worry about. Now, do you mind if I borrow Virgil for a bit?”

Gordon looked at Virgil and the right side of his mouth twisted up in a strange smile. “Na taa lan.”

“No. Not too long,” Scott agreed. “I’ll send him back as soon as he’s had a look around. Come on, Virg.”

The two men left the room and started the hike through the hospital corridors. “I didn’t understand a single word he said,” Virgil admitted. “How come you guys didn’t seem to have any trouble?”

Scott put on his sunglasses as they stepped out into the autumnal sun. “Don’t worry, we still struggle, but after a time you kind of get an ear for what the various sounds mean. Between that and a bit of intelligent guesswork you get a fair idea of what he’s trying to say.”

“It all sounded the same to me.”

“Believe me, we had a frustrating few days at the beginning of the week,” Scott said as he strode down the driveway. “But it was worse for Gordon. He was trying to tell us stuff and we couldn’t understand him.” He stopped and pointed through the front gate, across the road to a plain wooden house. “There’s your place.”

“Only mine? John was going to try to talk you into going thirds.”

“Really? He didn’t mention that to me.” Scott’s eyes were hidden behind his glasses, leaving Virgil guessing at the truth of the statement. “Come on,” he said, stepping off the footpath and on to the road. “We’re going to need some of your artwork and colour sense to brighten the place up.”

“Great. You don’t only want my money; you want my talents as well.”

“Yep,” Scott chuckled. “While we’ve got you here, we’re going to bleed you dry.”

They reached the house. Above the door was a neat sign: The Satellite. John had chosen the name because he hoped the house would be a small cocoon of life that orbited a stationary body (Gordon). Alan had heard about the acquisition and, showing his usual disregard for his brothers’ belongings, had instantly dubbed it: The Witless Substitute.

“Ah, ha,” John greeted them as they entered the building. “About time you got here, Scott. I was getting ready to send a posse out to hog tie you and drag you over here.” He wiped a grimy hand on his shirt and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I see you brought an extra pair of hands.”

“Nope. Virg is only here to check out his investment. He’s under strict orders that he’s got to head straight back.”

John grinned. “Is Gordon ordering you about already?”

“Apparently,” Virgil replied. “At least that’s what everyone was telling me he was saying.”

“Don’t worry,” John reassured him. “He knows that he’s not very clear at the moment, the thing is to keep patient and listen.”

“You know me, I’m a patient guy.”

“That’s why we’ve got no concerns over you,” Scott admitted. “Alan on the other hand…”

“When’s he due back here?” John asked.

“Monday,” Virgil informed him. “He’s got some charity event on this weekend. I think he said they’re supporting a trust set up to help road accident victims who have suffered neurological injuries. Under the circumstances he couldn’t really refuse to take part.” He looked around him taking in the lounge, the new furnishings, and the wall paper that had been stripped off the walls. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to start this before you bought the furniture?”

“Of course it would have been easier,” John admitted. “But at the time we moved in we were all more interested in staying over at the hospital.”

Virgil gave a wry grin at the irony of the statement. “And you’re not now that Gordon’s awake?”

“Okay, I’ll admit that came out wrong.” John replied with a matching grin of his own. “While Gordon was unconscious we needed to all be there so that we could talk between ourselves and he could hear our voices. Otherwise it was a bit hard holding down a one-sided conversation. Now that he’s conscious, so long as at least two of us stay with him to keep him company, the rest of us are free to get out and do things. Scott and I decided that while you and Alan were here, we’d have a go at cleaning this place up.”

“You could always employ someone to do it,” Virgil suggested.

“We could, but this is giving us an activity we can get our teeth into that doesn’t involve the hospital,” John noted. “And since it’s our place, we can leave it whenever we want to and come back to it.”

“Yes,” Scott said. “And we figured that if we improved the décor, we’ll increase the value of our investment.”

Virgil’s ears pricked up. “Our investment?”

“He’s coughed up,” John said. “And he’s promised me that his payment won’t bounce.”

“It won’t,” Scott confirmed. “I haven’t bought any planes lately…” A wistful look crossed his face. “Though I would like to have a go at flying Alan’s Culiseta.”

“You’d have a broken back before you’d left the runway,” Virgil informed him. “Okay. Who’s going to give me the guided tour?”

“Me.” John handed Scott the scraper. “It’s time you did some work.”

After he’d been shown around, had offered his advice on what colours would look the best, and had taken some measurements for picture sizes, Virgil headed back to the hospital alone. When he arrived, he discovered that Gordon had some extra company.

Jeff made the introductions. “This is Rose. She’s Gordon’s speech therapist. You’ll meet his physiotherapist, Catherine, later. Rose, this is one of my two missing sons, Virgil.”

“Hello, Virgil.” Rose smiled.

“Hello, Rose. Do you mind if I sit in?”

“I don’t if Gordon doesn’t?

“Ya ca sda.”

“Good. Why don’t you sit on the other side of the bed, Virgil?” Rose focussed her attention on her patient. “Let’s start with a challenge, Gordon. Let’s see how well you can say Virgil’s name.”

Gordon fixed his eyes on his brother. He moved those muscles of his mouth that responded and made a sound. “Oooodl.”

Virgil tried not to frown. That hadn’t sounded much like ‘Virgil’ to him.

“Try again,” Rose prompted.

This time the vowel-sound at the beginning was much shorter. “Oodl.”

Rose shook her head. “I know that the ‘V’ sound is hard to make, but you can do it.” She sounded out the consonant a few times. “Say the letter ‘V’.”

Gordon’s ‘V’ sounded more like a ‘B’ to Virgil’s ears.

“Now try to say Virgil.”

“Oodl.”

Virgil turned to his father who was sitting unobtrusively at the foot of the bed. “Why didn’t you call me something simple like Gus?”

Jeff chuckled. “I can’t imagine you as a ‘Gus’, Virgil.”

“No,” Grandma agreed. “That’s not you at all.”

“‘Us.”

Virgil looked back down at the invalid. “I don’t mean that you can start now,” he growled. “Come on, Gordon. You can do it. Vir-gil.”

“Oo-dl.”

Rose sighed. “Your name is a hard word to say, Virgil… I’m sorry, but we’ll work on it.”

“Hold on, Rose,” Virgil had spotted something that only a close family member would have picked up on. “Don’t give up just yet. He’s teasing us… or more correctly he’s teasing me. Aren’t you, Gordon?”

“Mi?”

“Yes, you.”

Rose looked confused. “What?”

“He’s playing with us,” Virgil repeated. “You can always tell when he gets that twinkle in his eye.”

“Twinkle?” Rose looked into her patient’s eyes.

Virgil stood and, taking care not to put his full weight down on the bed, placed both arms on either side of his brother so that he was leaning over him and would have been pinning him down if Gordon had the mobility to escape. “Listen to me, Gordon Tracy,” he said dangerously. “If you don’t stop calling me ‘poodle’ and at least make an attempt to say my name properly, then…” He lowered his voice to an even more threatening level. “I’ll tell Rose what the kids used to call you at elementary school and she can make you say that.”

There was laughter from the foot of the bed.

The gleam in Gordon’s eyes had disappeared to be replaced by a panicked look. “Nao!”

“Yes,” Virgil reinforced. “Now say my name.”

The panicked look disappeared. So did the impish twinkle. Both were replaced by a frown of intense concentration. “Brrr...” Gordon stopped, thought, and tried again. “Brr…” He hit his bed with his good hand in frustration. “Brr…chill.”

Virgil sat back with a satisfied smile. “Close enough.”

“Nao.”

“It is after three weeks in a coma, Gordon,” Rose reminded him. “It was a tough one to start the day with. Let’s move on to something easier.”

The session lasted an hour and by the end of it, although Gordon didn’t appear to be making much progress, Virgil was developing an ear for the meaning of each individual sound. He was beginning to feel more confident that he’d be able to hold down some semblance of a conversation with his younger brother.

Then the physiotherapist arrived. Catherine was introduced to Virgil and explained what her session would entail. “Our goals,” she stated, “are to continue to prevent muscle atrophy and loss of mobility in his joints and, now that he’s conscious, to increase his motor control in his right arm so he is able to do things for himself. Right, Gordon?”

“Ri.”

“Now. Let’s see how much movement you’ve got today.” Catherine held her hand ten centimetres above Gordon’s. “Can you touch my hand?” Gordon, face twisted in dogged determination, raised his arm until it was touching the physio’s. “Well done! Now, push against my hand… That’s it,” she smiled. “Five... Six... Seven... Keep going. You’re doing great!”

Gordon, his body shaking and his face contorted with the effort, complied before letting his arm drop back onto the bed.

“Wonderful. That was longer than yesterday. Maybe tomorrow we’ll get up to double figures?” Catherine praised as she made some notes on a clipboard.

“No’ ez-yr.”

“It’ll get easier,” Jeff reminded his son. “At the moment it’s a matter of taking one day at a time. Right, Catherine?”

“Exactly,” Catherine agreed and put her clipboard aside. She took the weight of Gordon’s arm. “Now. Let’s see those biceps!”

Virgil couldn’t help thinking that Gordon’s formerly impressive biceps would do little to attract anyone as his brother bent his arm.

Catherine, however, seemed more than happy with what she saw. “That’s an improvement on yesterday too. Now let’s see how much more flexibility you’ve got in your wrist than you had. Bend it forward… Good… Now back… Excellent! Now, can you rotate it to the right…? Now the left…”

Gordon, his veins standing out on his forehead with the effort, did his best, but still Virgil had to resist the impulse to get some oil to lubricate those seized joints.

“Excellent!” Catherine, seemingly unable to be anything other than positive, congratulated her patient. “Now make a fist - let’s show this body of yours that we’re not going to let it dictate what you can or cannot do.”

Virgil watched as Gordon, his face straining with the effort, attempted to draw his four fingers in. His thumb twitched and moved inwards, nearly touching the palm, as the whole hand formed a claw before collapsing back onto the sheet. “Nao.”

“We’ll have to work on that. Are you using that squeeze ball I left you?”

Gordon grinned, the impish gleam back in his eye again. “Go’ summin’ bedder. Werezid, Dad?”

“Here.” Jeff held up a small, red, spherical object. “This arrived in the post yesterday afternoon. A gift from my youngest son.”

“Alan?” Catherine queried. “What is it?”

His lopsided grin even more delighted, Gordon accepted the ball from his father. He squeezed it and a sound, not dissimilar to a whoopee cushion, filled the room.

Virgil laughed and Jeff tried, unsuccessfully, to smother a grin.

Grandma sighed. “It’s a man thing, Catherine,” she explained. “They never grow up.”

“Tell me about it.” Catherine commented as she made another note. Then she looked up at the newcomer. “This is where you and your brothers can help, Virgil. Gordon needs to keep exercising that grip until he can hold things unaided. If you can encourage him to keep practising, it’ll help his recovery.”

“I don’t think Gordon will need much encouragement,” Virgil said. “Right, Gordon?”

“Ri.”

“But if I can help, I’ll be glad to.”

“Good… Now, Gordon, let’s work those muscles of yours.”

Grandma stood. “Before you begin, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things I need to do back at the house. Do you mind if I leave you for a little while, Gordon?”

Gordon tried to smile at his grandmother. “K.”

Virgil glanced at his father who, with a concerned frown, was watching his mother leave the room. Grandma’s tone of voice had suggested that her reason for leaving was more to do with what was about to happen than any concerns about the house.

“See you later, Mrs Tracy,” Catherine called after the departing lady. Then she began her work in earnest and Virgil started to get an idea of what had upset his grandmother. For as long as he could remember, Gordon had always seemed to have a swimmer’s physique, with the muscular build that went with swimming lap after lap of the pool. But now Gordon’s limbs were sticks; bones with tightly stretched skin barely concealing each knobbly joint. As he realised how much his brother had deteriorated, Virgil felt sick… And determined to do all he could to reverse the process. As he sat and watched Catherine put Gordon through exercise after exercise, a plan slowly formed.

At last the physiotherapist had finished. “There, that’s that,” she said, as she packed away her equipment. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Goodbye, Gordon.”

“Bi.”

“Goodbye, Mr Tracy.”

“Thank you, Catherine. See you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Virgil.”

“Wait, Catherine,” Virgil leapt out of his chair. “I have something to ask you.” He walked with her out the door.

When he arrived back a few minutes late with his plan crystallised and approved, he realised that Grandma had returned and was watching him with interest.

“Wahn’s th’ da’?” Gordon asked.

Virgil stared at him, wondering if his newfound confidence in his ability to understand his brother had been misplaced. Gordon hadn’t just asked him when’s the date, had he? “Huh?”

“You took off after Catherine so quickly that we thought you might have been going to ask her out,” Jeff explained.

“What?!” Virgil stared at him. “No. I thought of something that I could do to help Gordon get some exercise and I wanted to run it past her. She thinks it’s a good idea.”

Gordon gave him a cock-eyed look that showed he wasn’t sure about the sound of this. “Wa?”

“You can wait and see.”

“Tll mi”

“You don’t need to worry. It’s only something that involves a few lengths of steel and a bit of welding. Nothing major,” Virgil teased. He pretended to take a few measurements. “Do you mind if I head off to do a bit of shopping?”

Gordon replied with a wary and weary, “Nao…”

“Thanks. I’ll try not to be gone too long.” Virgil looked at his watch. “I’ll aim to be back in time for lunch, okay?”

“K.” Gordon’s eyelids were drooping.

“The morning tires him out so he usually sleeps over lunch,” Jeff whispered. “It gives us an opportunity to slip away and grab something to eat.”

“Yes,” Grandma agreed. “It doesn’t seem right that we should eat around him, while he’s only being fed by a drip.”

“Alin nid ere,” a sleepy voice said.

“I don’t think your brother will appreciate being called a drip, Gordon,” Grandma scolded.

But she may as well have saved her breath as Gordon had fallen asleep.

Virgil had made a few enquiries at the front desk as to the whereabouts of various shops and returned in plenty of time for lunch and with an armload of packages. These he dumped at The Satellite before surveying the stripped down walls. “You guys have been busy.”

“What have you got there?” John asked, pulling on a clean, dust-free shirt.

“Something to help Gordon’s right hand get some exercise,” Virgil replied. “Hey! Get out of that bag!”

Not the slightest bit ashamed at being reprimanded, Scott looked at him. “Sketch pads? How’s that going to help? He wasn’t much of a drawer before the accident. He’s going to be terrible now.”

“Catherine seems to think it might help and it won’t hurt,” Virgil explained. “And it means I’m able to at least try to do something useful while I’m here.”

“I think just being here and being a change of face probably helps,” John said, running his fingers through his hair. “Are you ready, Scott?”

“You bet. After all that work this morning I’m starving!”

“You’d be hungry if you’d been sitting about all day,” John retorted.

“You’d know all about sitting about all day.”

“Excuse me. I’d done a full morning’s work before you arrived!”

“You’d done one strip of paper. I’m the one who did that wall single handed.”

“Leaving me to…”

“Hey!” Virgil shouted, getting his bickering brothers’ attention. “You two can stay and continue your discussion if you want, but I’m ready for something to eat. I’ll tell everyone else to start without you, shall I?” He started walking towards the exit.

As he’d expected he was beaten to the door.

“Do you feel up to exercising that arm, Gordon?” Virgil asked. He’d reduced the many parcels he’d brought home to one and this he placed on the table at the end of Gordon’s bed.

“Ya. Wad?”

“You’ve got us all curious, Virgil,” Jeff said.

“Can I be nosey?” Grandma asked, poking her nose into the bag.

“You’re as bad as your oldest grandson!” Virgil scolded. “Now… How does this thing work?” he examined the hospital tray, managing to get the tray top to tip up so it was nearly on the vertical. He then slid the whole unit along the floor until he was able to slip it under Gordon’s bed, within the patient’s reach.

“Wad dad fo?”

“You are going to do some drawing.”

“Dworwin?”

“Drawing,” Virgil confirmed. “Can I have the bag please, Grandma… Thanks.” He pulled out a large sketch pad. “You are going to draw on this and I’m going to help you.” Flipping back the cover of the pad he revealed a light pencil drawing of an underwater scene. This he placed on the tray so that Gordon could see it.

His brother’s eyes lit up. “Fiss. Gwopa.”

“Peacock grouper to be exact,” Virgil confirmed. “I bought a couple of books so I could copy the pictures. You can look at them later.”

“But if you’ve already drawn the picture, Virgil,” Jeff asked, standing at his son’s shoulder so he could see what was going on, “what is Gordon going to do?”

“I’ve only done the outline. It’s up to Gordon to fill it in.”

“But he can’t reach over his body,” Grandma pointed out.

“I’ll hold his arm in position,” Virgil said. He looked down at the figure on the bed. “You’ll have to hold the crayon and do the actual drawing. Okay?”

Gordon nodded. “K.”

Virgil reached into the bag again and pulled out a box. From this he removed a fat brown crayon. “Here,” he said, holding it next to Gordon’s hand. “Can you hold this?”

Gordon’s thumb and fingers attempted to close around the crayon, but the digits couldn’t constrict enough to allow him to grab hold. With an exasperated sign he let his hand flop back onto the bed. “Nao goo.”

“We’re not beaten yet,” Virgil stated. “I thought there was a possibility that we might have problems.” He pulled a bit of rag from out of his pocket and started wrapping it around the crayon. “I stole this from Scott and John,” he grinned as he tied the rag in place with a rubber band. “There. Try that.”

This time Gordon’s fingers were able to hold the crayon. He smiled, happy that he’d achieved this one small victory.

“Right.” Virgil’s smile matched his brother’s. “Do you mind if I guide your arm to start with?”

“Nao.”

Virgil pulled up a chair beside the bed and then decided that it was too low. “Any problems with me sitting on the side of your bed?”

“Nao.”

Moving carefully, Virgil sat on the edge of the bed so he was leaning on his left arm and his body was twisted so that he could reach across easily. He picked up Gordon’s arm. “Ready?”

Gordon looked up at him with that familiar twinkle. “Cozi?”

“I’m comfortable enough,” Virgil rejoined. “What do you want to draw first?”

“Dal.”

They started on the tail. To begin with Virgil supported Gordon’s arm, moving it horizontally as was necessary and letting his brother take care of the up and down motion. After a short time he could feel Gordon’s hand start to tremble with the effort. His own right arm was starting to feel the stress of holding the same position with little movement and his left arm was starting to fall asleep.

He was considering how he could change position, but still keep the activity going, when half-way through completing the fish’s tail, the crayon fell from Gordon’s grasp. “Nnuff.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed. He climbed off the bed, taking care to place Gordon’s arm gently on the bedclothes. Then he rubbed his own arm. “We’re going to have to think of a better way of supporting your hand. My one’s gone to sleep.”

“A leas u can uz yor odder won.”

Virgil stopped flexing his arm. Gordon sounded spiteful and peeved. “I’m only trying to help. I’ll see if I can weld up a frame this week. If you can think of anything else that’ll help, let me know.”

“U cn leev mi lon.”

Virgil looked to his father for clarification. To him it sounded as if Gordon had just told him to leave him alone.

Jeff appeared to be of the same opinion. “Why don’t you go and see how your brothers are getting on decorating your house, Virgil?”

“Ah… Okay…” Virgil said reluctantly. He packed away the sketch pad and crayons. “Catch you later, Gordon.” There was no response and with a heavy heart he walked out the door of his brother’s room.

He was part way down the hall when he heard someone call his name. “Virgil.”

Virgil turned back. “Grandma?”

His grandmother hurried over to him and wrapped him up in a protective embrace. “It’s all right, Darling. He gets like that sometimes. It’s not you he’s mad with: it’s his own body.” She took a step back so she could look her grandson in the face. “He gets tired and frustrated and he takes it out on us. And then he feels guilty. Trust me, he’ll have a sleep now and the next time you see him he’ll apologise.” She lightly brushed Virgil’s hair off his forehead. “Are you okay, Honey?”

Virgil managed a smile. “I’m okay.”

“Good. Don’t take it to heart. I think that was a brilliant idea of yours.”

“Thanks.”

“And I’m sure he’ll want to have another go when he’s feeling better.”

Virgil nodded. “I’d better get over to The Satellite. John and Scott are probably at each other’s throats by now and they’ll need a referee… Or at least someone to wipe their blood up off the floor.”

She chuckled.

Over at the house things were quieter than Virgil had predicted. The four walls of the lounge had been stripped and his two brothers were poring over a newspaper. Scott, his face grave, looked up when his brother entered. “Hi, Virg.”

“Hi. What are you reading?”

“Earthquake in Japan,” Scott explained. “Hundreds of people are trapped. We were just discussing how International Rescue could have helped. We couldn’t have saved everyone, but we could have done something…” He made a helpless gesture. “If we were ready.”

Suddenly Virgil’s problems seemed insignificant in the global scheme of things. “We will be able to help one day soon.”

“Yeah. Soon being the operative word…” John slammed the paper shut. “How’d your plan go, Virgil?”

“Fine. He managed to fill in most of the grouper’s tail.”

Scott eyed his younger brother up. “What are you doing here?”

Virgil attempted an unconcerned shrug. “I’ve been kicked out.”

“He got tired, huh?” Scott guessed. “Don’t worry. He’s kicked us all out at some point or other. The trick is to give him some time to have a nap and get everything back into perspective.”

“Well, I’m giving him some time, which is why I’m here. What do you want me to do?”

“What every artist does.” Scott gave a wicked grin and handed Virgil a wide brush and a tin of paint. “You can start painting that wall over there.”

The three brothers called it a day at four o’clock. They got cleaned up and then headed back over to the Willis Institute.

Scott flopped into a seat. “That’s us done for the day. I’ll be happy if I never see another scrap of wallpaper.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, rotating his shoulders. “I’ve discovered a whole lot of muscles I never knew I had.” He grinned. “Maybe we should get Catherine to wheel you over there for a workout, Gordon?”

Whether by accident or design, the only chair left available for Virgil was by Gordon’s bed on his brother’s good side. Wondering what reception he was going to get, he sat down.

Gordon looked over at him. “Sss.” He stopped and prepared himself for another attempt. “Ssszorwi,” he said.

Virgil patted him on the arm. “That’s okay.”

With a speed that surprised him, Gordon grabbed his arm and held it as tightly as he could with his crippled fingers. “Dan q, Brrdchill.”

Virgil placed his hand over Gordon’s. “That’s okay. If you want to have another go, just tell me.”

“K. Layda.”

Virgil smiled. “Yes. We’ll try again later.”

Two weeks later and Virgil found himself mounting the steps of the Tracy homestead again. But this time was different. As he pushed open the back door he was greeted with a host of aromatic smells. “Mmn. Grandma. I feel like I’m in a dream.”

Looking very much as if she were in her natural environment, Grandma Tracy turned from the kitchen sink. Flour down the front of her apron, the piles of dirty plates and dishes, as well as the odour of fresh baking, all spoke of her industrious efforts. “Hello, Honey. What was that?”

“Last time I walked in here the place seemed deserted. I was almost expecting the same this time.” Virgil opened one of the containers that stood invitingly on the bench. “Chocolate chip cookies!”

“You can have one and only one,” she warned. “But not from that tin! They’re for Joel’s Garage.”

Virgil bit into the still warm biscuit and gave a sigh of contentment. “I hate to say it, but I think it’s just as well that you’re not joining International Rescue. With you around cooking for us full time, we’d be lucky if we could fit into our uniforms.” Grandma laughed and Virgil surveyed the kitchen. “You look like you’re not going to be ready to go any time soon.”

“No,” Grandma agreed. “I had hoped I’d be finished before you arrived, but this kitchen was such a mess. It took me ages to clean up before I could begin baking.” She turned to face Virgil as he started removing some of the dishes from the dishwasher. “I’m sorry; I know you’re in a hurry to get to the Willis. If my plane hadn’t broken down I would suggest that you go without me.”

“That’s okay,” Virgil responded. “I know Gordon appreciates you doing this.” He eyed up the cakes that were being removed from the oven. “What better way to say thank you than to give some of your baking.”

He made a grab for a cake, but his grandmother, well practised in avoiding the thieving fingers of one husband, one son and five grandsons, deftly moved the tray out of reach. She rapped him over the knuckles with a wooden spoon for his effort. “If you’re a good boy and help me give these out then I’ll save you some for later.”

Virgil grinned. “You know I’d help without you resorting to bribery.” He inhaled deeply, enjoying the aromas that meant that he was home. “It helps though.”

Most of the town remembered the cheeky-faced young red-head who’d made them proud, and it seemed that everyone had at least sent a get well card. Virgil and Grandma visited Gordon’s old schools, leaving tins of baking for the staffs’ tea breaks. They went to the shops Gordon had frequented, the clubs he’d belonged to, the companies where he’d had after-school jobs, and the local pool, leaving Gordon’s thanks for the messages of support that had been sent out from each institution.

They’d finished their deliveries, having just come out of an old family friend’s house, with hopes that Gordon would make a speedy recovery still ringing in their ears, when they nearly bumped into a group of young men lounging by the gate. “Hey! Steady on, Bud. You ‘n the old lady had better… Oh, hiya, Virgie. Mrs T.”

“Marrin,” Virgil acknowledged.

“How are you boys?” Grandma asked in an insincere attempt to remain polite. None of the baking she’d done had been for Gordon’s ‘friends’.

“Great!” Marrin responded. “The band’s got a gig at the ‘Waistland’. We’re playin’ from eight till ten every night this week. Come and see us. You like music, don’tcha, Virgie? You’d be in for a treat.” He gave Virgil a playful punch on the shoulder, which made Virgil’s skin crawl.

Virgil frowned. “The name’s Virgil, Marrin.”

“Whatever.”

Trying to maintain some kind of civility, Virgil asked, “What’s the Waistland?”

“Where’ve you been, Virgie… ah, Virgil? The Waistland’s a top club. Must be the only place in town not owned by your father.” Marrin gave Virgil another skin crawling punch, guffawed, and his cronies obligingly joined in.

Virgil folded his arms and glared at Marrin who seemed unperturbed. “Where I’ve been is working… when I haven’t been visiting Gordon.”

“We ain’t seen him for a while. Is he still with that WASP crowd?”

Virgil fought not to let his anger surface. “No, he’s in hospital. He was in a high speed crash and was in a coma for four weeks.”

“Oh, yeah.” Marrin scratched his greasy head of hair. “I think I remember hearing somethin’ about that. He’s got brain damage, hasn’t he?” He looked at his friends for confirmation and some of them gave dumb nods.

It seemed as if he was the only member of this group who was capable of speech and Virgil couldn’t help thinking that it was this gang of idiots who had the brain damage. “Gordon does have some problems. But we’re hopeful he’s going to improve.”

“We’re leaving to go to the hospital when we’ve finished here,” Grandma said. “Perhaps you’d like to come with us to visit Gordon? I’m sure he’d like to see some of his ‘friends’.”

The sarcasm in her voice went straight over Marrin’s head. “No can do, Mrs T,” he raised his voice, “Like I said we’ve got a gig tonight. That means that the ‘Off the Rails’ are performing… Tonight… You know…? Music?”

Grandma’s lips were thin angry lines. “I am not deaf, Marrin.”

“Ain’tcha? I thought you hadn’t heard me say that I was busy this week.”

“I’ll be coming home again next week. You didn’t say you were working then, so you could always fly back to the Willis Institute with me,” Grandma offered.

“Willis Institute? Is that the funny farm Gords is at?”

“It is the top neurological establishment in the country, young man. NOT a ‘funny farm’.”

Marrin fixed Mrs Tracy with an ingratiating smile. “Steady on, Mrs T. It’s just a sayin’.”

“Well,” she huffed, as annoyed with herself for letting him get under her skin as she was with Marrin, “it’s not in good taste.”

“Whatever.”

Virgil could tell that it was against her better judgement, but Grandma was still willing to put her injured grandson before her own sensibilities. “The offer still stands. I can fly you out to the Willis next week.”

Marrin gave her a sideways look. “You fly?”

“Yes.”

“A plane??”

“Yes, Moron… ah, Marrin.”

Marrin stared Mrs Tracy up and down. “Us fly? With you?” The unspoken addendum to the sentence was, “But you’re old!”

“Yes. My plane is being fixed at the moment, which is why I’m relying on Virgil for transport, but I’m confident I can take you…” she gritted her teeth, “in perfect safety.”

“Uhh.” Marrin’s few working brain cells correctly deduced that Mrs Tracy wouldn’t appreciate anyone impinging on her piloting abilities. “I don’t think so, Mrs T.”

Grandma glared at him. “Why not?”

“Well… You know… What if he’s a bit psycho?”

Virgil nearly said something then. With an effort he held his tongue, not trusting himself to speak. He balled his hands into fists and counted to ten to try to cool down.

But his grandma was like a wildcat when it came to protecting her grandsons. “Gordon is not ‘a bit psycho’. He is the same loving, caring, intelligent boy that he always was. His only problem is that he is suffering from a slight bout of paralysis and can’t talk properly.”

“But if he can’t talk properly, why would we visit him?”

“To talk to him! To let him interact with someone different! To let him know that his ‘friends’ care about him!”

“But what if he… you know… dribbles or somethin’.” Marrin screwed up his face. “I can’t handle that body stuff. It’s disgusting.”

Grandma Tracy drew herself up to her full height. “My grandson does not dribble.”

Virgil stared at his grandmother. This was an outright lie. Gordon’s facial paralysis meant that he did indeed drool. This was a source of embarrassment and frustration for the young man since he wasn’t always aware that he was doing it, and when he was, he was unable to wipe it away. Virgil didn’t care. He took the view that this was further evidence that his brother was alive. He was also aware that he’d probably come across worse things when International Rescue was operational.

In the meantime Grandma seemed happy to ignore the fact that she’d just told a falsehood. “Well, Marrin? What other excuses are you going to come up with?”

“Look, Mrs T. Me and the band are just too busy. Gords will understand.”

She fixed Marrin with a steely glare. “I don’t think he will.”

“Whatever. Anyway, we gotta be goin’.” Marrin and his pals started to saunter away. “Say hi to Gords for us,” he mumbled over his shoulder.

“Whatever,” Virgil muttered.

Grandma huffed. “Well!”

Virgil turned to face her. “Who are you and what have you done with my grandmother?”

Grandma glared at him. “What!?”

“If I heard you correctly,” Virgil said, “you said that Gordon doesn’t dribble.”

“Oh.” Grandma glanced at him and then looked away. “I may have done.” She straightened her skirt and picked a microscopic speck of dust off the material.

Virgil pretended to stare at her in amazement. “But that was a lie. My grandma doesn’t tell lies.”

“No… Well… Maybe … Oh, all right!” she exploded. “I’ll admit that I did tell a lie… Just a little one!” She held up two fingers to show how small. “It was the wrong thing to do, but that boy made me so mad! Gordon thought he was his friend and he just doesn’t care!”

“Calm down, Grandma. He’s an idiot. He’s not worth bursting a blood vessel over.”

“But he’s got no respect for others! No respect for me. No respect for you. No respect for your father. No respect for Gordon! To talk about him in that way…! Psycho indeed…! And to call me ‘Mrs T’… The cheek of it! Now, I don’t mind your friend’s calling me Mrs T, Virgil. I understand that you’re trying to keep your identity secret and they’re nice people and I told them they could. But for that… that…” Words failed her. “That moron to call me ‘Mrs T’… It’s unforgivable!”

“Calm down, Grandma.” Virgil repeated and gave her a hug. “That jerk’s only one guy out of the whole town. Look at it this way; he may not realise it, but he’s already been punished.”

Grandma looked at him, face creased in confusion. “He has?”

“Yes. He’s missed out on getting some of your baking. If he knew that he’d be kicking himself. And, as far as I’m concerned, I call that a fair and just punishment.”

“Thank you, Honey.” Grandma sighed. “I’m glad it was you with me. If it’d been Scott, well… I dread to think what he would have done. And Alan would have been worse.”

“Don’t think I wasn’t tempted to say something, but I thought you were handling the situation so well that I decided that I wouldn’t butt in.”

“You’re a liar too, Virgil Tracy. I handled that situation very badly. I should never have let him get to me.”

“Forget it,” Virgil advised. “I think Gordon’s got brains enough to realise that that bunch of dead-heads aren’t worth wasting time on.”

“But he needs more social interaction,” she insisted. “Having your family about 24/7 is all very well and good, but it’s not the same as being with your friends, and the WASP boys don’t get leave often enough.”

They’d been walking along the road towards their home as they’d held this discussion and neither of them had been taking in their surroundings. They were therefore surprised when they heard their names called out. “Mrs Tracy! Virgil! Wait!”

They stopped and turned. A young couple waved at them from the other side of the road, and then, dodging traffic, ran across to greet them. “Mrs Tracy!” The young woman exclaimed. “How are you?” She threw her arms about the older woman.

Grandma returned the hug. “I’m fine, thank you, Diane.”

“Virgil,” the young man greeted him. “How’s it going?”

“Fine, thanks, Rick.” Virgil shook his hand and then accepted a hug from Diane. “You’re both looking as troublesome as you ever were.”

Diane and Rick Bailey had been Gordon’s childhood friends and the three of them had been inseparable. They’d gone to school together. They’d played together. They’d got into trouble together… That was until Gordon had won his medal. After that he’d fallen in with Marrin’s crowd and although he’d never been rude or ignored the siblings, he’d never encouraged their friendship either.

Diane laughed. “It was always your brother who got us into trouble,” she giggled. “How is Gordon? We’ve been so worried about him.”

“He’s only been out of the coma two weeks,” Grandma told her. “He’s as cheeky as ever but he’s got a long recovery ahead of him.”

“But he will recover?”

“We hope so.”

“And how’s Mr Tracy?”

“He’s coping. He hasn’t left Gordon’s side since the accident.”

“I didn’t think he would. Didn’t I say that, Rick?”

“You did,” Rick agreed.

“And how’s the rest of the family? How are your brothers, Virgil?”

“They’re fine,” Virgil smiled. He’d always liked these two, even if sometimes he’d been on the receiving end of their practical jokes.

“We were going to send Gordon a card,” Diane continued, “but we’re no good at writing…”

“Get it out of your bag, Diane.”

“What? Oh, yes!” Diane reached into her overly large handbag and rummaged about. “Like I was saying, we’re terrible at writing, but we wanted to do something special for Gordon, so we came up with… Oh, where is it!” She dug deeper.

Rick winked at Virgil. “Women’s handbags,” he grinned.

“If I’d left it for you to look after, you would have lost it,” she grumbled. “We didn’t want to write a card, so we thought we’d come up with something more… Ah!” She emerged from the handbag. “…Personal!” In her hand was a disc. “So we made a video! Well Paul did. He’s a video editor so he got his company to make it properly for us, with all the effects, and fades, and credits, and everything. That’s why we haven’t sent it yet. He’s such a perfectionist that he wouldn’t burn it until he thought it was just right. We were going to post it, but when we heard that you were in town we thought it would be much better if you were to deliver it. You know what the postal service is like.” She pressed the disc into Mrs Tracy’s hands. “Will you give it to Gordon from us please?”

“I would be delighted to.” Mrs Tracy looked at the disc as if she’d been awarded the winning prize in a lottery.

“Tell him we were hoping to visit him,” Diane said. “But the hospital’s so far away…”

Grandma seized the opportunity. “We could fly you there. We’re leaving soon.”

“Oh…” Diane’s face fell. “I can’t.”

Grandma retained her poise, although Virgil could almost see ‘here’s another one’ in her eyes. “That’s all right, Dear. I’m sure Gordon will understand.”

“I’ve got to work tonight,” Diane explained. “I’m on shift duty.”

“And I’ve got to work too,” Rick added. “I took some time off when I heard you were in town, but I’ve got to head straight back.”

“When are you free? I could come and pick you up if you would like” Grandma asked, not expecting a positive response. “That’s if you don’t mind an old woman piloting the plane.”

Diane laughed. “I’d love to meet an old woman who’s still spunky enough to be a pilot. But until we do we’ll fly with you, Mrs Tracy. Right, Rick?”

“Right, Diane.”

Grandma glowed at the compliment.

“When are you in town next?” Diane asked. “I’ll try and arrange my shifts around it.”

“I’m flexible,” Grandma explained.

“We know,” Rick teased. “We remember that limbo competition at Gordon’s birthday party.”

Virgil was astonished to see his grandmother blush. “When are you both free?” he asked.

“I’m off shift next Wednesday and Thursday,” Diane replied. “What about you, Rick? You’ll be working won’t you?”

“I can make up time over the weekend so I can make sure that I’m free on either of those days,” Rick responded. “What day would suit you, Mrs Tracy? Wednesday or Thursday? Or if it’s easier, we could spend the night there and that would give us more time with Gordon.”

“You might not want to spend two days with him,” Grandma warned. “He’s not talking very clearly at the moment.”

Diane gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “That’s all right. You know I talk too much anyway.”

“That’s true,” Rick agreed.

Diane gave him a playful push. “You don’t talk enough.”

“Growing up with you I never got the opportunity. Besides,” Rick favoured Mrs Tracy with a disarming grin, “if I’m not saying anything it’ll give Gordon a chance to practise his talking on me.”

“He, ah,” Grandma hesitated. “He also… because of his paralysis… Gordon… Has a tendency to dribble a little bit.”

Diane laughed. “Are you trying to put us off? I’m a nurse, Mrs Tracy. That’s nothing.”

“Yeah,” Rick agreed. “We’ve seen Gordon do worse that that. Right, Diane?”

Diane rolled her eyes. “I’ll say. So is it a date for Wednesday?”

Grandma nodded. “I’ll give you a call Tuesday night to finalise arrangements.”

“Great,” Diane beamed. “You’d better take Rick’s number; he at least gets to work civil hours.”

Rick Bailey gave Grandma his business card. “I’d better be getting back. Gotta make sure that I’m up-to-date for next Wednesday. Bye, Mrs Tracy. See ya, Virgil.”

“Bye, Rick,” Virgil said. “Great to see you again.”

Diane looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go too. See you Wednesday, Mrs Tracy.”

“Goodbye, Diane. I’ll call you on Tuesday.”

When the siblings had gone, Grandma sighed. “I hate to say it, Virgil, but your brother doesn’t deserve friends like them.”

“I know what you mean, Grandma. But he’s got them and they’re going to stick with him; and that’s what he needs right now.”

“Yes.” She smiled. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

It was late in the day when Virgil and Grandma finally made it to the Willis Institute. “Sorry we’re late,” Grandma apologised. “It’s my fault, Gordon. I had to clean the kitchen, before I could start baking. Then Virgil had to help me deliver all the gifts.”

“‘Elb ya ea dim do.”

“I did not eat them, Gordon,” Virgil protested.

Jeff raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Oh, yes…?”

“Well,” Virgil felt his cheeks grow hot. “Maybe two… or three…”

“Ow fur.”

“Or five,” Grandma added, her cheeks dimpling.

Virgil hurriedly changed the subject. “Where are Scott and John?”

“That’s what we were wondering,” Jeff said. “John’s been missing for much of the last two days. Scott says he’s been hanging out in his room and has gone to drag him out of there. They might be some time yet. How’re things at home?”

“We saw Marrin and his gang,” Virgil said. “They’ve actually managed to score a gig this week at the “Waistland”.”

“That place is a bit of a dive,” Jeff grunted. “They’ll be lucky if they receive their pay cheque.”

“Ow r dey?”

Virgil had anticipated the question and had prepared his reply. “Just the same as they ever were.”

“We’ve got something special to show you,” Grandma said, retrieving Diane and Rick’s video from her bag. “Would you like to see it now?”

Curious, Gordon’s eyes were fixed on the disc. “Yi, peas.”

Grandma slotted the disc into the machine. “We ran into a couple of people who insisted that we deliver this to you in person. Right, Virgil?” she hinted.

“Right,” Virgil agreed. “But there might be some things on here not intended for general consumption.”

“Knowing them, you are probably right,” Grandma granted. “Do you want to wear headphones?”

“K.”

When the headphones were comfortably installed on Gordon’s head, Grandma pressed play and Diane and Rick Bailey appeared on the video screen that was suspended above Gordon’s bed. His face lit up in joy when he saw his two oldest friends.

The rest of his family retired to the attached unit to allow him to enjoy his video card in peace. “That’s cheered him up,” Jeff stated. “What else happened?” He raised an eyebrow. “That was an evasive answer you gave, Virgil. Just what did Marrin and his cronies have to say?”

Virgil opened his mouth to speak, but an angry Grandma got in first. “They hadn’t even remembered that Gordon had been injured!” she huffed. “I asked them if they’d like to visit Gordon; I even offered to fly them here and back, but they had ‘more important’ things to concern them. They couldn’t care less about him!”

“You’re surprised?” Jeff asked.

“She was getting so wild with them that I nearly had to pull her off Moron,” Virgil grinned. “If I’m ever in another fight with the Skulz I want Grandma in my corner.”

“I was so annoyed that I was ready to storm out of town then and there,” Grandma admitted. “To heck with the lot of them! But then Rick and Diane came running over. They want to visit Gordon and I’ve agreed to go and pick them up on Wednesday and take them home again on Thursday. But we’re keeping it secret. We want it to be a surprise.”

“Good,” Jeff approved. “He needs a change of scenery and if anyone can perk him up it’s those two.”

It wasn’t until after Virgil and Grandma had detailed everything else that had happened at home that Alan, Scott and John made an appearance.

“Hello, Alan,” Jeff greeted the young man. “Have you been spending time with your brothers?”

“No,” Alan responded. “I just happened to bump into them… and that!” he pointed to a large parcel under John’s arm, “in the lobby on my way up here.”

Virgil eyed the parcel up. “What is it, John?”

The blonde smirked. “Something so our younger brother can communicate with the wider world.”

“I assume you’re not talking about me,” Alan sniffed.

“No, we’re not,” Scott responded. “John’s had me driving around town all afternoon; checking out its range.”

“Checking out what’s range?” Virgil asked.

“If it works,” John grinned, “one of Tracy Industries newest developments and the latest addition to my portfolio. After all I’ve got to pay off my share of the house somehow… Why are you all in here and not with Gordon?”

“He’s watching a video from Rick and Diane,” Grandma explained. “We thought he’d appreciate a little privacy.”

“A video, huh?” Scott said. “I thought it was odd that he hadn’t heard from them. I might have guessed that they’d come up with something different.”

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense.” Grandma indicated John’s parcel. “What have you got in there?”

John started unwrapping the mysterious object. “What’s that one part of Gordon that works perfectly… well, reasonably well when he’s not tired?”

“His brain,” Virgil guessed.

“True, but not what I’m thinking of.”

“His funny bone?” Jeff suggested.

John laughed. “Also true, but wrong. Keep guessing.”

“His thumb,” Grandma stated.

“Jackpot! Give a prize to the little lady in the corner,” John grinned. “And for what method of communication do many people use only their thumbs?”

“SMS,” Virgil said. “Text messaging from cell phones.”

“And second prize goes to the man with grease under his fingernails and Grandma’s baking under his belt.”

Alan pulled at the pile of packaging. “So you’ve got a cell phone in there?”

“Not a standard cell phone,” John corrected. “I’ve designed one that won’t create any radiation issues and operates at a frequency that won’t cause interference with hospital equipment. It’s only got a range of a few hundred metres, but we’ve set up a booster over at the house. It plugs into the video screen and I’ve tried to arrange the buttons so they’re within his range of movement. With any luck he’ll be able to communicate with anyone, any time.”

“The video must have finished by now,” Jeff said. “Let’s go try it out.”

The video had finished, and Gordon had tried to remove the headphones. He’d managed to shift them so they had uncovered his right ear, but were still sitting crookedly on his head as if he could hear through his nose. “Finizd.”

“Is it clean? Can anyone watch?” Jeff asked as he relieved his son of the cumbersome headgear.

“Ya.”

“How’d you like to chat with them now?” John asked.

Gordon’s face lit up. “Ya?”

Grandma looked at her watch. “Diane’s probably on duty.” She pulled a business card out of her wallet. “There, that’s Rick’s number.”

“Hang onto it for a moment, will you, Grandma?” John asked as he finished unpacking the ‘phone’. He plugged one end of a cable into the screen on which Gordon had been watching the video, and the other into a black box. The box had two sets of buttons and John slid it over Gordon’s fingers so that it was resting on the bed, but Gordon’s thumb had full access to one keypad, while his fingers could reach the four other buttons. “There you go. It works like a standard SMS service, but you’ll read what you type and any replies on the screen. Your thumb operates the keypad and you press those other buttons with your fingers to send, receive, reply, and chat, so you’ll be getting a full workout at the same time as you’re holding down a conversation…”

“C’n I uze id do cheng DB ch’nnl?”

Surprised, John looked at his brother. “Change TV channels? I hadn’t thought of that.” He shrugged. “With a bit of tweaking I don’t see why not… But in the meantime we’ll concentrate on getting you ‘talking’ to Rick. We’ll start by programming his number into the speed dial. Press ‘save’… Now Rick’s number…” He read out the number on the card. “Now push ‘save’ and 10 and ‘save’ again… Good. Now, when you want to send him a message, all you’ll need to do is type 10 and push ‘send’ and then you can type your message. Once you’ve finished that, press ‘send’ and it’s gone. Easy?”

Gordon nodded, pressed 1 – 0 on the keypad and then ‘send’. Then he typed: Hi, R. It’s Gordon. Thanks 4 the vid. He pushed ‘send’.

“That seemed to work,” Jeff commented.

“You can programme our numbers in later,” John suggested. “I thought you’d want to keep one to six free for us; that’s why I made Rick’s speed dial ten.”

There was a beep from the black box. “Incoming,” Scott joked.

Gordon looked at John. “Pwes ‘seef’?”

“Yes. Press ‘receive’ and the message will come up on screen. To reply, just press ‘reply’.”

G! That you? How are ya?

Okay. Gettin tired. Talk later.

Look forward 2 it. D sends best.

Gordon let his hand relax on the bed and smiled up at John. “Dan q.”

John smiled in return. “You can also use it to talk to people here. Press ‘chat’ to initiate the conversation and then ‘chat’ again when you want a new line.

Gordon pressed ‘chat’. Thank you, John. He typed and then pressed ‘chat’.

Thank you, everyone. ‘chat’

I’m a lucky guy. ‘chat’.

Chapter 15: A Quiet Day Out

Virgil ‘Tancy’ was in the process of enjoying one of his favourite tasks at ACE, flirting with the office ladies: officially known as handing in the paperwork.

“Oh, you’re wonderful, Virgil…” one of them began.

“Have you only just discovered that?” he teased.

Her cheeks reddened, but she continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. “If only you could teach the other guys the importance of filling in these forms correctly and handing them in to us on time…” She gave a meaningful pause. “Especially your supervisor.”

“They drummed into us the importance of keeping stock levels correct when I was at Denver,” Virgil admitted. “But Greg’s an engineer through and through. Great with his hands, but without the temperament or inclination to do paperwork.”

“It doesn’t make our job any easier,” she grumbled. “Especially when he complains because we haven’t ordered enough stock to cover the job he’s doing. Usually the reason why we’re out of stock is because he hasn’t told us that he’s used extra material to make up a jig or something, and so we haven’t corrected the stock in the computer!”

Virgil nodded sympathetically. You could always tell when Greg Harrison had been forced to do some paperwork, because then he would become irritable and could been seen hunched over a desk in the office pulling at his hair. Virgil now understood why Jeff Tracy had not installed Greg in the Production Manager’s role and felt guilty that it was because of him that his supervisor had been forced to take on more administrative tasks.

“So this is what you do all day: chat up the ladies,” a familiar voice said.

Virgil turned from the counter and smiled at his boss’s youngest son. “Alan? What are you doing here?”

“Showing off,” Alan Tracy grinned. “Come and see this new car I’ve got! She’s beautiful.”

“Can you wait ten minutes? Then it’ll be time for afternoon tea and I’ll be free.”

Alan frowned and looked at his watch. “But I thought it was ten-to-three now.”

Virgil inspected his own timepiece. “Nope. Twenty-to. Your watch is fast.”

Alan tapped his watch’s face. “That’s the problem with John. He’s great with communications, but lousy with timekeeping.”

“Either that,” Virgil didn’t hear the door behind him open and someone enter the room, “or he knows that you like to do everything quicker than everyone else.”

“I wasn’t aware that afternoon tea had started already, Mr Tancy.”

Virgil looked over his shoulder. “I was just heading back, Mr Watts. I’ve finished explaining to Alan that it’s not time for a break yet.”

“Sorry. It’s my fault that Virgil was held up,” Alan declared. “I thought it was ten to, but he tells me my watch is fast.”

Max Watts smiled his predatory smile. “You had better be careful in future, ‘Alan’. You wouldn’t want your friend to lose his job because he was slacking off with you, would you?”

It was too good an opportunity for Virgil to resist. “Have you two met, Mr Watts?” he asked. “This is Alan Tracy… Jeff Tracy’s son.”

The effect on those about them was immediate. The ladies in the office started an excited whispering amongst themselves, while Max Watts blanched before offering Alan an ingratiating grin. “Pleased to meet you, young Mr Tracy.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr Watts,” Alan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you from my father… and from Virgil.”

“Oh.” Watts glanced at the employee in question before he looked at his watch. “I see it’s nearly time for afternoon tea, Mr Tancy. In fact it’s so close that it won’t matter if you don’t return to work and you and your friend continue your conversation.” He made an awkward bow in Alan’s direction and retreated back into the factory.

“Crawler,” Alan said.

“He’s also an excellent engineer,” Virgil informed him, “but thanks for sticking up for me. I’ll meet you outside when the bell’s gone. Do you mind if I bring a couple of fans of yours along to meet you?”

Alan laughed. “Fans? Of mine?”

“Yep. You’re a bit of a hero to some of these guys.”

“In that case, bring them along. They can be amongst the first to see the new road version of my race car.”

The horn heralding the ten-to-three break had no sooner sounded when Virgil was leading Bruce and Butch outside. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

“Yeah?” Bruce asked, taking a drink from his water bottle. “Who?”

“A good friend of mine.”

Alan had been leaning against the side of his car while he waited. Now he was walking towards his brother. “Hi, Guys.”

“Alan,” Virgil began the introductions. “This is Bruce Sanders and Butch Crump. Fellas, this is Alan Tracy.”

Butch’s eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped. “Alan Tracy? THE Alan Tracy?”

Alan was grinning. “Well, I don’t know of any others.”

“The race car ace?”

Alan shrugged and tried to appear modest. “I do race cars for a living.”

Bruce snickered. “The ace son of the ACE boss. Nice to finally meet you, Alan.”

“You too, Bruce.”

“Oh, man!” Butch enthused. “You’re primo. You’ve got Victor Gomez shakin’ in his shoes.”

Alan laughed. “If you think that then you haven’t met Gomez. It’ll take more than some rookie driver to scare him.”

“Rookie! You’ve got the championship wrapped up, no sweat.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me.” Alan indicated the highly decaled car. “Would you guys like to see the road version of my race beast? It’s going to be released onto the general market to coincide with the final race, so you’ll be amongst the first in the world to see it.”

“Wow!” Butch’s eyes were gleaming. “Oh, wow!”

“I think you can take that as a yes, Alan,” Virgil grinned.

“Great! But first, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to ask you all to sign these confidentiality forms.” Alan held out three pieces of paper. “They’re nothing too technical, just a promise that you won’t reveal any of Team Tracy’s secrets to anyone else… especially Team Gomez.” He winked.

“Do I have to sign one?” Virgil asked, itching to get his hands on the latest example of precision automotive engineering.

“You’ve got to sign two,” Alan chuckled. “Sign there… and there… Great!” He indicated the car. “Knock yourselves out.” He stood back and watched as Virgil and Butch hustled forward. “Just wait,” he whispered to Bruce. “In five seconds Virg’ll have the hood up. In ten he’ll be covered in grease.”

The hood went up.

“Told you,” Alan grinned. “So, Virg. What do you think?”

Virgil wiped his hands on his overalls and then rubbed his cheek leaving a dark smear. He smiled at his kid brother. “She looks like a rocket.”

“Goes like one too.”

“I hope you’re planning on putting on a good show on Saturday,” Bruce said. “You’re going to have most of the ACE workforce in the crowd.”

“I know,” Alan admitted. “Our boss has instructed me that I’m to make sure that you all have a good time. Afterwards I’ll take everyone for a burn around the track… If you can get them to limit their alcohol intake. I’m not planning on cleaning up the cockpit after anyone.”

“I’ll swap their beers with your grandmother’s fire water,” Bruce joked and then ducked his head. “Oops… Where’s Butch?” He was relieved to realise that the other man was happily examining the rear of the race car and hadn’t overheard. “Whew. I nearly let the cat out of the bag.” He gave Alan a sheepish grin. “Your big brother would have been very angry with me.”

Alan laughed. “I’ve only ever seen him go volcanic once, and that was this year; when Dad made him come back to work after Gordon had had his accident.”

“So you didn’t hear him rip into Scott when he was told that Gordon had been rushed into surgery?”

“No. I was too busy ripping things up myself.” Alan gave a rueful grin. “I guess we’re more alike than we realise… Come and have a look at the car.”

The four men were exclaiming over the finer points of the vehicle when Lisa Crump exited the factory. “So this is where you boys are.”

“Lisa!” Virgil grabbed Alan’s sleeve and pulled his brother over so that he could meet his friend. “I’d like you to meet Alan Tracy. Alan, this is Lisa Crump.”

Alan, already aware of Lisa’s beauty through her nephew’s video, managed to keep his eyes inside his head. “Pleased to meet you, Lisa. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’d hazard a guess that it’s not all good,” Lisa replied, glancing at Virgil and then back to Alan. “So you’re the man my husband would run away with if he had the chance.”

“What!” Alan looked astonished.

“I told you Butch was a fan,” Virgil chuckled. “One of your biggest.”

“Oh.” Alan mimed wiping his forehead in relief.

“How long have you two known each other?” Lisa asked looking from Alan to Virgil… Then she looked back at Alan… Her smile froze and she looked back at Virgil. “Uhh…”

Alan took a step backwards. “I’d better go check on the car,” he said. “I don’t want, er, greasy fingerprints on the paintwork.” He shot an apologetic look at Virgil before hurrying away.

Lisa watched him go with astonished eyes, before turning back to her friend. “He…? You…?”

Virgil couldn’t stop smirking. “I always knew you were an intelligent woman, Lisa.”

“You’ve got oil on your face. Let me get rid of some of it…” Lisa pulled a rag out her pocket and stepped closer to Virgil, wiping the smudge away from his cheek. “You sneak!” she hissed. “Alan Tracy is more than a friend to you.”

Virgil pretended mock indignation. “I thought you’d know by now that I’m not like that!”

“That’s not what I mean,” she scolded quietly. “You two look alike enough that you’ve got to be related. What is he? Your cousin?”

“No.” Virgil took the rag from her and tried to remove the oil from his face, succeeding in spreading it further. “Has it all gone?”

“There’s a bit on your nose… Well?”

Virgil rubbed at the spot. “Is it still there?”

“Oh! You…” Lisa frowned at him. “You’re deliberately teasing me, aren’t you? Now tell me, Virgil Tancy! If Alan Tracy’s not your cousin then…” The penny dropped along with her jaw. “Your name’s not Tancy, is it?”

“No.”

“It’s Tracy!?”

Virgil nodded. “That’s right. Alan’s my youngest brother.”

“You’re Jeff Tracy’s son?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to receive any special treatment, so I’ve been working incognito.”

“Working…” Lisa shook her head. “Who else knows?”

“Bruce, Hamish Mickelson, Louis, and Greg.”

“But not Mega Watts?”

Virgil chuckled. “Do you think he’d treat the son of his hero the way he treats me if he knew who I really was? I was going to tell you and Butch the truth other day, but then he butted in.”

“I wouldn’t tell Butch,” Lisa warned. “He wouldn’t give you away on purpose, but he does have a tendency to blurt out things that are better unsaid.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Virgil admitted. “If the rest of the staff don’t know me well enough by now to treat me like everyone else…” He shrugged. “Then it’s their problem, not mine.”

Lisa shook her head in amazement. “I can’t believe it… Jeff Tracy’s son…” Her hand flew to her mouth in horror. “Then Mrs T is…?”

“My paternal grandmother.”

“We’ve being discussing our marital woes with our boss’s mother?!”

“Afraid so.” Virgil smiled at her consternation. “I think she’s enjoyed playing cupid. Her grandsons don’t give her much of an opportunity.”

“Oh, heck.” Lisa held her hands against her cheeks as if she was trying to hide the fact that they were glowing red. “I feel so embarrassed.”

“Why? She’s the same person whoever her son is. And I know that she hasn’t told Father what happened.”

“Including finding me in your apartment?”

Virgil laughed. “I can see the headlines now. Married woman found naked in billionaire’s son’s bed. You could blackmail Jeff Tracy to keep it out of the tabloids.”

“I wasn’t naked in your bed. I wore my nightie,” Lisa huffed. “I can’t believe this… You’re Jeff Tracy’s son!”

“And proud of it,” Virgil admitted. “I’m proud of him. I haven’t enjoyed denying our relationship.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” An intrigued look crossed Lisa’s face. “This is being nosey, so tell me to butt out if you want to, but… is he really a billionaire, or is that some story and he’s just your common garden millionaire?”

Virgil laughed. “I haven’t seen his bank statement lately, but he is the real MacCoy.”

“Lisa!” There was a shout from over at the car. “Come and look at this.”

“Coming, Honey!” Lisa turned back to Virgil. “Do you trust me with your secret?”

“Of course I do. I trust Butch too if you decide you want to tell him.”

The pair of them walked over to the Team Tracy car. “I may do,” Lisa mused, “but not until after the social club trip…” She smiled at her excited husband. “Having fun, Honey?”

Alan sidled up to his brother. “Sorry, Virg. She’s guessed our relationship, hasn’t she?”

“Don’t worry about it, Alan. It’s a relief to be able to tell someone… Now, show me this car.”

The four men and Lisa leant on the edge of the automobile’s body to get a closer look at the engine. “What do you think, Lisa?” Bruce asked. “Is the welding up to scratch?”

“Let’s see…” Lisa always got a kick out of showing men that she wasn’t just a pretty face. “That bit there’s a bit ropey. They haven’t cleaned away all the spatter. And…” she leant closer. “See those craters in the weld? They’ve used too much gas.” She straightened. “I’d be ashamed to produce a weld like that, and there’s no way that ACE’s quality control would let that pass.”

“I’ll tell our Q.C. and see what he says,” Alan responded. “Apart from that one weld?”

“Looks impressive.”

“Come and look at this, Lisa!” Butch dragged his wife around to the far side of the car to explain some of its finer features.

“You’re flying out to the track on Saturday, right?” Alan asked. “Do you think I could hitch a ride back?”

“I don’t mind,” Virgil said, “but Bruce is the organiser. You’d better check with him.”

“Not a problem,” Bruce responded. He checked to see the Crumps were out of earshot. “Are you both going to fly to the Willis afterwards?”

“I thought it’d be easier to travel with Virgil than make my own way there,” Alan admitted.

“What happened to the Culiseta?” Virgil asked. “I thought you’d want to take your new baby.”

“She’s, ah, developed, um, a few faults,” Alan stammered. “If they can’t fix her then I’m going to swap her for something…”

“Bigger?” Virgil enquired with a smirk.

“I was going to say more reliable.”

“Oh, the Culiseta was reliable enough. You could rely on it to break your back.”

“The Culiseta is a precision aircraft!” Alan pouted. “You’d know that if you’d tried flying her.”

“Flying her? Getting into her was enough of a challenge!”

“You never gave her a chance. You’d made up your mind that you didn’t like her before you’d even attempted to get into her…”

“Guys!” Grinning, Bruce held up a hand to interrupt the bickering brothers. “I hate to break this little discussion up, but afternoon tea’s over. If we don’t want Watts on our tail we’d better get back.”

Virgil looked at his watch. “Time flies when you’re having fun. Sorry, Alan, but I’ve got to go.”

“No worries. I’ll see you all on Saturday”

Virgil was the first at the airfield early on Saturday morning. His initial stop was at the office to sign all the necessary paperwork to enable ACE to hire a turbo-prop aeroplane for the day.

He ran into Bruce as he was leaving the building. “Hiya. I’ve finalised everything and that puddle-jumper over there’s ours.”

“Puddle-jumper?” Bruce cast a critical eye over the aeroplane. “It’s bigger than I thought it would be and a lot bigger than yours. Are you sure you’re capable of flying it?”

“Have some faith.” Virgil reached into his wallet and pulled out a small piece of plastic. “That’s my licence. They wouldn’t let me hire the plane if I didn’t have the qualifications.”

“Single-engine land, multi-engine land, single-engine sea, multi-engine sea. Rotorcraft… Powered Lift… Glider…” Wide-eyed Bruce looked back at his friend. “Is there anything you’re not qualified to fly?”

“Space rocket…” Virgil grinned. “But I’m working on it.”

“Space rocket!? Is that a joke?”

“You sound like my brothers. What do you think?” Virgil laughed. “Hello, Uncle Hamish.”

“Morning, Virgil. Bruce.” Hamish Mickelson had abandoned his usual work suit for something more casual. “Is this our plane?”

“This is it.” Virgil confirmed. “Isn’t Aunty Edna coming?”

“No. She has a headache and didn’t think a day around loud engines and exhaust fumes would be particularly beneficial. She’s disappointed that she won’t get to see Alan race though.”

“We’ll have to get the pair of you tickets to his final race,” Virgil said. “Ready to co-pilot today?”

Hamish grinned. “I’m looking forward to it. It’s been a long time since I’ve flown anything bigger than a Citation.”

Bit-by-bit, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in groups, the staff of ACE and their partners arrived at the airport and Virgil took advantage of the wait to do his checks of the aeroplane. Inside and out he confirmed that the craft was fully operational and well-maintained. Satisfied, he joined the rest of ACE. “She’s ship-shape. We can leave whenever we’re ready.”

“Is he qualified?” Paul asked Bruce.

“Trust me, he’s qualified,” Bruce responded. “If anything he’s over-qualified. Okay, everyone. All aboard.”

Talking excitedly, everyone boarded the plane and took their seats. They seemed to be divided into three camps. The first was headed by Max Watts: those who, either through loyalty to ACE or a desire to keep on Jeff Tracy’s good side, supported Alan. The second group, including Butch Crump, genuinely liked Alan Tracy’s abilities, fancied his chances, and therefore supported Team Tracy. Virgil found himself torn between these two camps. The third group, a minority, were those who had always supported another team and refused to change for anyone. Even their boss.

Virgil slid into the pilot’s seat and smiled at Hamish who claimed the co-pilot’s seat. “Ready?” He started his final checks.

“I’m ready whenever they are.”

Bruce was making the announcements. “Okay! Everyone listening, please… Quiet… Shush down the back… I have a few announcements that I must make.” He consulted his card. “This is mainly a non-smoking aircraft. Anyone who absolutely, positively must have a drag can retire to the smoking section… which is through that exit door over there and 20 metres behind the port wing.” His audience chuckled. “No drinking on the flight and I have been advised by Alan Tracy himself that he will take any interested parties on a ‘burn’ around the track after the race,” there was a buzz in the cabin, “providing they haven’t had too much to drink. So make the choice during the flight. Imbibe or ride? I’ll be sending around a list so if you want to book your seat now, sign the pledge.” He handed a clipboard to the first passenger. “Anyone caught behaving in an unacceptable manner designed to cause damage to this plane or discomfort to people travelling therein, will be summarily escorted off the plane by flight-attendant Butch…” He produced a jaunty cap and placed it on the big man’s head. Butch good-naturedly turned in his seat and waved to the assembled company.

A voice came from the back of the aeroplane. “And anyone caught behaving themselves in an acceptable manner will receive a kiss from flight-attendant Lisa.”

Butch lost his sense of humour and glared in the general direction of the voice’s owner.

“Followed by a kiss from flight-attendant Butch,” Bruce joked; relieving the sudden tension. He finished giving out his instructions and then took his seat. “We’re ready back here, Virgil.”

“Final check before we start the engines,” Virgil announced. He climbed out of his seat and walked down the plane’s aisle to reassure himself that all safety restraints were done up and secure. “Okay, everyone. The weather for the flight’s looking good. It should be a smooth trip so relax and enjoy yourselves. Any questions you can ask me or my co-pilot, Mr Mickelson.”

As Virgil had predicted, the flight had been smooth and uneventful and they arrived in plenty of time to claim their allocated seats at the race track.

Virgil settled into a seat in the far rear corner of the grandstand out of the way of more dedicated race devotees. He pushed his sunglasses back up his nose, pulled his Team Tracy hat down low, and withdrew a sketchpad from his bag.

“With all this testosterone about, I want to make sure I’m safe.” Lisa took the seat beside him and pulled her husband down so she was sandwiched between the two men. “There. That’s better. Now I’m protected on all sides.”

“So you think you can trust me, do you?” Virgil teased.

“I know I can trust you,” Lisa replied. “I know too much about you, Mr Tancy.”

Virgil’s cell phone vibrated. He pulled it out of his pocket and showed Lisa how the body of the phone was glowing orange. “It’s a text message from Gordon. If it was blue it would be from Scott, purple from John, white from Alan, gold from Father and green from Grandma.”

“And if they all send you a text at once?” Lisa asked.

“It turns into a rainbow.” Virgil read Gordon’s text message. How’d you manage 2 score a seat next 2 the luscious Lisa? “Huh?” He pulled his hat down lower and looked about for a camera, glad he was wearing his sunglasses. “We must be on TV.” He pointed to a large video screen on the far side of the track, and then indicated his phone. “Gordon knows I’m sitting next to you.”

“He does?” Before he had a chance to react, Lisa had grabbed Virgil’s phone. She read the message and giggled. “I think I like your brother.”

“You didn’t like him last time you met,” Virgil reminded her.

“Was he the one who visited you at ACE and…”

“The red-head.” Virgil nodded. “That’s him. He hasn’t been able to goose anyone in weeks.”

Lisa’s face registered horror, as the pre-match entertainment started blaring through the speakers. “He was the one who had the accident?” she asked as she got her microphone connected earmuffs out of her bag. She tuned them into Virgil’s frequency. “How badly was he hurt?”

Virgil had donned his own earmuffs so that they could continue their conversation without being overheard. “Bad enough that he only has limited mobility in one arm. But his mind’s just as sharp as it ever was.”

“He still has a sense of humour?”

Virgil laughed. “It’d take more than a boat crash to knock that out of him.”

“Well… In that case, maybe I can get some of my own back.” Lisa began thumbing something into Virgil’s phone. “Be-cause… I… chose… to… sit… be-tween… the… two… hand-som-est… men… at… A.C.E.” She pressed send.

“You’ve just sent him a challenge,” Virgil said. “He’s not going to let a comment like that slide by.”

The response arrived a minute later. Is that you, Lisa? You can’t mean Virgil. You’ve never seen how he looks when he’s just got out of bed.

“Oh, he’s cheeky.” Lisa entered something into the keypad. “Should I send it?” she giggled, holding the phone so that Virgil could see the message.

Virgil read the screen. It was only a three word reply, but he knew those three words would send Gordon into a frenzy of curiosity. He’s seen me. “You’re wicked, Lisa!”

Her finger hovered over the send button. “Yes? No?”

“Well…” Virgil thought quickly. “They say you should never commit to hard copy anything that you’d be ashamed to show your grandmother. But, since Grandma was there, I can’t see any harm…”

Lisa had already sent the message on its way. She handed the phone back to him with an impish grin. “How long before you’ll get a reply.”

Virgil’s phone sparked into life. A kaleidoscope of orange, blue, green and purple lights flashed and for good measure his watch chimed its own insistent chord. “Now look what you’ve done.”

“Haven’t you told them what happened?”

“No,” Virgil shook his head. “I don’t very often get the chance to tease them.” He grinned. “They’ve done it often enough to me over the years and a little retribution never hurt anyone.” He scrolled through his messages. “Spill the beans, Virg:that’s from Scott.” He brought up the next message. “You’ve done what?!!! Three exclamation points. Now you’ve got to tell us all what happened. That’s from John. He’ll always use any communication device to the max. And the Hello, Lisa, dear is from Grandma.”

“What does Gordon say?” Lisa asked.

“His message is for you.” Virgil handed her the phone.

Tell me. I’m the soul of discretion. If easier get V 2 give you my #.

“Soul of discretion,” Virgil snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“What is his cell number?”

Virgil looked at her. “Do you really want it?”

“I’m sure he won’t start stalking me if he gets my number.”

“Okay.” Virgil gave her Gordon’s number, sent a couple of quick, deliberately irritating, nondescript replies to his elder brothers, a general greeting to his grandmother, and then settled down with his sketch pad.

“What are you doing?” Lisa asked as she waited for a reply.

“When Alan wins the title,” Virgil explained, “I’m going to give him a painting of him receiving the checked flag. I’m using the warm up races to get a few rough sketches so I’ve got a feel of the scene.”

Lisa’s cell phone beeped. She read Gordon’s response and then showed Virgil. “Does he mean it?”

I owe you apology, Lisa, for the way I treated you when we met. Sorry.

Virgil read the message. “I think he does. I hope the accident’s knocked all the arrogance out of him.”

Lisa sent a reply; I forgive you, and waited for the response.

Thank q I hope someday I cn apologie face to face

It was quickly followed by another text message.

Thats if you cn ber talkin to a dribbly cripple

“Oh,” Lisa exclaimed. “That’s so sad.”

Virgil read the message over her shoulder. “He’s getting tired, and he’s getting frustrated, and he’s making mistakes. You’ve got him to exercise his fingers on that keypad a lot more than we’ve been able to.”

Lisa sent her response. Of course I want 2 meet you, & you’ve already apologised, Gordon. You don’t need 2 do it again.

Thank q

Are you tired? Do you want to stop texting?

Yes Sorry

That’s okay. Txt me anytime.

Lisa put her phone away. “What’s his long term future?”

Virgil shrugged. “We don’t know. We’re still hopeful.” Then he started working in earnest on his sketches. Several races passed by and, without getting too caught up in the excitement of them all, he did his best to capture the atmosphere on paper.

“Hey, Virgil!” Bruce Sanders pushed his way past his work colleagues. “Have you got any of your grandmother’s firewater going spare?”

“Yes.” Virgil reached into his bag. “Why? Do you want some?”

“Yeah.” Bruce opened the bottle and sniffed it suspiciously. “I need something with a bit more of a kick in it than O.J., but without the alcoholic effects.” He took a tentative sip, before attempting a longer swig. “Hey, not bad.”

Virgil grinned. “I could have told you that. What’s with the change of heart? Are you planning on letting Alan take you for a tour of the track?”

“I doubt I’ll have time,” the social club’s co-ordinator declared. “No, I need something to fortify me so I can wrangle this lot,” he indicated his workmates, “but I need a clear head so I can…”

“Wrangle this lot,” Virgil finished and reached into his bag to retrieve a second bottle. “Have another.”

“No, I can’t drink all your stuff.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil said. “I can make do with orange juice.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive…”

“And now,” the tannoy announced, “it is time for the feature race of the day.”

“Good!” Virgil put his sketch pad away.

“Better get back. Catch you later, Virgil.” Bruce pushed his way back to his designated seat.

“There’s Alan,” Virgil told Lisa, pointing to the familiar helmeted figure striding out to his race car.

Alan listened to his manager and nodded several times. Then he turned, waved to where ACE’s staff members were sitting, and climbed into the car positioned at the front of the pack in pole position.

“Didya see that?” Butch enthused. “He waved at us.”

The noise from the cars grew deafening and Virgil was glad of his earmuffs. He sat forward straining to catch the moment when the flag would drop and Alan’s penultimate race would begin.

His phone vibrated. “You can wait,” he muttered to the instrument. “You must know the race is going to start!”

The flag dropped and the competitors were off; Alan and Victor Gomez already in a dog-fight to see who would lead through the first bend. The winner was Gomez; showing his greater experience as he snuck through underneath Alan’s car.

“Don’t worry,” Butch told Lisa. “He’ll get back in front.”

With the lead cars only visible on the big screen TV, Virgil checked his text message. Instead of glowing to tell him which family member wanted to talk, the phone had remained a neutral grey. He was not happy to see that it was an alert from the local weather service to warn him of an approaching storm. The front was about four hours away, so he dropped the phone back into his pocket and scanned the horizon for the first signs of trouble.

The skies were blue and clear.

“Here they come!” Butch yelled.

The volume of noise had increased again. People were on their feet yelling and cheering as the lead cars surged into view; Alan still hot on Victor Gomez’s tail. They flashed past the start/finish line, roared along the straight and disappeared out of sight.

Virgil didn’t have to check his texts again during the race; a sign that the weather office didn’t have further concerns about the storm. He watched on the TV screen as Gomez and Alan roared along the back straight towards a corner and Alan drew closer to the older man’s car… Waiting for the moment to pounce…

Either unnerved by, or unaware of, the young upstart on his tail, Gomez approached the bend too wide leaving Alan’s car with more than enough space to be able to slip past. The Team Tracy car made its move, drawing level with the leading car’s rear wheel… Before dropping back, allowing Gomez to round the corner unmolested and still in front.

The ACE grandstand was abuzz as they passed judgement.

“He’s lost it.”

“Yeah. Tracy’s just lost the race!”

“He could have taken Gomez then and there and clinched it.”

“There’s no point in watching now. The race is Gomez’s.”

“…And the series.”

“I could have driven m’ bus through that gap!”

“What’s he doin’?” Butch howled, on his feet in anguish. “He coulda overtakin’ easy! What’s wrong with ‘im?”

Virgil was wondering the same thing. It was a simple manoeuvre that Alan normally would have made without fuss or stress. Even his Grandma wouldn’t have had kittens if Alan had overtaken at that point. Something was clearly wrong and Virgil wondered if it was with the car or its driver.

“Will Alan Tracy get another easy chance to overtake Victor Gomez?” the tannoy asked.

“We’ve got three laps to find out,” his associate replied. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I’ve noticed that ever since Alan’s brother was nearly killed in that well-publicised accident,” the first voice said, “that young Tracy has been less aggressive in his driving style.”

“Do you think, somehow, the accident’s preying on his mind?” commentator Number Two asked. It was a question that Virgil was asking himself.

“He missed one race to stay with his brother,” Number One recollected. “Maybe Alan’s head isn’t where it should be… on the track.”

Lisa leant close to Virgil. “Are you okay?”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I wish they’d shut up about Gordon though. They’re probably broadcasting what they’re saying over the TV. He’ll be hearing them, and if I know Gordon, he’ll be blaming himself.”

“Do you think that’s what’s wrong with Alan?”

“Could be. He’d never admit to it though.”

It was the final lap and Alan was still chasing his nemesis. “Come on…” Virgil muttered; every muscle in his body desperate to get down onto that track to make his kid brother drive faster. “Come on, Alan! You can do it. Do it for Gordon!”

The two cars were on the final straight, Gomez in front; Alan close behind; and ahead of them both, the tail of the race waiting to be lapped. As a courtesy, one of those cars moved over to allow the two faster vehicles through.

Gomez moved up to overtake…

The last placed car blew a tyre. It slewed across the track to the safety of the gravel on the other side, narrowly missing Victor Gomez who had to take evasive action to avoid a collision. He spun out, turning 360 degrees, stopped, gunned his engine, and took off towards the finish… and second place.

The ACE grandstand erupted into cheers when the winning car crossed the finish line, and Virgil breathed a sigh of relief.

“He did it!” Lisa squealed, giving Virgil a hug of delight and then planting a jubilant kiss on her husband’s lips. “He did it! He won!”

“And, despite a major error earlier in the race, Alan Tracy has managed to secure a much needed win,” the tannoy burbled. “This puts him neck-and-neck with Victor Gomez in the championship race. The final races promise to be a real showdown with the winner taking all.”

Alan may have won, but he wasn’t behaving like someone who’d managed to tie the score with his main rival. Instead he clambered out of his car and wandered over to Victor Gomez. The two men spoke quietly and without emotion, then Alan retreated out of sight into the Team Tracy headquarters.

“The presentation of race honours will be held in five minutes on the podium,” the tannoy announced.

“Come one, everyone!” Bruce yelled to his colleagues. “We’ve got ringside seats booked down there.” The ACE workforce surged forward, each individual eager to gain the best vantage point to catch a glimpse of the man who’d won the race.

When Alan did make an appearance to mount the dais, he was wearing a Team Tracy baseball cap pulled down low to conceal most of his hair, and his large sunglasses hid much of his face. He accepted the winner’s bottle of champagne with good grace, but Virgil had the feeling that it was with the air of someone who didn’t really believe that he deserved the accolade. This impression was reinforced when Alan pulled a surly Gomez onto the winner’s podium beside him and offered him the bottle.

As soon as the award ceremony was over, Alan disappeared again.

Virgil pushed his way through a noisy celebratory ACE party and sought out Hamish Mickelson. “I’m going to go and find Alan,” he shouted into the older man’s ear.

“Okay,” Hamish agreed. “Try not to be too long. The food’s just arriving.”

Using his Team Tracy pass, which he’d been careful to hide from his associates, Virgil was allowed past the heavy security to his brother’s trailer. He tapped on the door.

“Come in.”

Virgil opened the door and stuck his head inside. “Congratulations.”

Alan was sitting on the edge of his bed nursing a bottle of water. “What for? Congratulations on managing to avoid snatching defeat from the jaws of victory?”

Virgil helped himself to some water from the fridge and took a seat. “What happened?”

“I had him. All I had to do was slip past and I would have held the lead for the rest of the race. It should have been easy and I blew it.”

“Not necessarily. You might have got caught up in the action at the end and Gomez might have slipped through and won,” Virgil pointed out.

Alan had a swig of water. “I was lining Gomez up and thinking how stupid he was to leave a gap that big when he must have known I was on his tail. And then...”

“And then?” Virgil queried.

“I had this sudden vision of Gordon lying there, helpless...”

“Ah.” Virgil sipped his water and waited to see what was coming next.

“He’s not getting better, is he?” Alan asked, and Virgil had to admit that he hadn’t noticed any improvements in his brother’s condition lately. “He knows, doesn’t he?”

Virgil cast his mind back to the last time he’d been at the Willis Institute. Weeks earlier he’d decided that Gordon needed an appropriate painting at the foot of his bed, so that he’d have something other than a blank wall to look at. Initially Gordon had been keen on the idea, especially when Virgil had insisted that they work on the painting together; Gordon feeding him thoughts on what should be in the picture, and Virgil working to Gordon’s designs. At first it had gone well. Gordon enthusiastically suggesting a split scene picture, with Tracy Island as the backdrop of the top third and the bottom section comprising of an undersea scene. Virgil had brought in books on aquatic flora and fauna, so that Gordon was able to indicate which species of marine life to include. All was going swimmingly, as it were, until Virgil had suggested painting a snorkeler in the background.

Gordon had negated the suggestion.

The next day, after working for about ten minutes, Virgil had suggested a swimmer, wearing a face mask, peering through the seaweed.

Gordon had suddenly become tired.

During last weekend’s session things had been progressing well until Virgil suggested a scuba-diver’s flippered leg protruding from behind a rock.

Gordon had kicked him out.

“Yes,” Virgil agreed. “He does know.”

“Like I said, I saw this vision of Gordon and I realised that I don’t want to end up like that.”

“None of us do, Alan.”

“I can see now why Dad was worried about my driving style. He didn’t want to see any of us hurt. Gordon’s accident is practically killing him.”

“So you’ve become extra cautious?”

Alan nodded. “Have you thought about how dangerous International Rescue’s going to be?”

“Of course I’ve thought about it,” Virgil admitted. “But I’ve also thought that we’ve got some pretty darn good safety equipment and lots of fail-safes built in.”

“But something could go wrong!” Alan insisted.

“True,” Virgil acknowledged. “Something could go wrong. We could blow a tyre like that car today.”

Alan looked at him with an earnest expression. “Have you considered that you’re most likely to be the one above that tyre?”

“Yes. And I’ve also thought that you’re the one most likely to get burnt up on re-entry, and John’s the one most likely to be hit by a meteor shower, and Scott’s the one most likely to get hurt trying to get one of us out of whatever situation we’ve got ourselves into.”

“But doesn’t the danger worry you? Could you accept ending up like Gordon if you knew that you could have prevented it now by deciding not to join International Rescue?”

Virgil stared at his bottle as he rotated it in his hands. He took a drink before answering. “I wouldn’t want to end up like Gordon. In fact I would hate to end up like Gordon. But then I don’t want to sit back safe in a dead-end job and not achieve anything. Even if the payback was that I ended up like Gordon or worse, so long as I had saved one life, then I’d think it was worth it.”

Alan stared at him. “Really?”

Virgil nodded and looked his brother in the eye. “Yes, really.”

Alan dropped his head. “I wish I was sure,” he whispered.

“Look, there’s still a month until Thanksgiving,” Virgil stated. “You’ve got plenty of time to think about whether or not you want to be part of International Rescue. No one’s going to think any less of you if you decide you don’t want to be part of the team.”

Alan gave a derisive snort. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. We wouldn’t!”

“Maybe you wouldn’t, but the others would. They’ll think that I’m just a little kid like they always do. A scared little kid.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Virgil protested.

“Of course they would. Can you imagine what Gordon would think of me? He’s got no choice! He’s stuck in a hospital bed, trapped by his own body, unable to do anything, and here’s me: too chicken to do anything.”

“Trust me, Alan. He wouldn’t think that. He’d understand.”

“Would he?” Alan put his bottle on a table. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to have to follow in the footsteps of four overachieving brothers?”

“No,” Virgil admitted. “But I do know what it’s like to have an older brother who was awarded a medal for valour, another who’s written an award winning book, a younger brother who’s won an Olympic gold medal, and another who’s going to win a world championship. Alongside you guys, I’m a failure.”

“No, you’re not,” Alan rebuked him. “You graduated top of your year from Denver.”

“Yeah, but to most people that means nothing.”

“It’s the top school of its type in the country!”

“True, but it’s not an Ivy League School like Yale or Harvard.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re stupid,” Alan protested. “Far from it!”

“Thanks. But most people haven’t even heard of the Denver School of Advanced Technology.”

“You’re not a failure, Virgil,” Alan reiterated.

“I know I’m not,” Virgil agreed. “And I think I’m adult enough to recognise that while I may not have done anything really outstanding on the world stage, I’ve achieved enough to be happy and to be recognised as an individual by the people who are important to me: my friends and family.”

Alan looked at his elder brother. “How come you’re so confident and I’m not?”

“I had enough years as a child being teased for who I was and what I am. I don't intend to let it bother me as an adult. So I take the opinion that if anyone doesn’t like Virgil Tracy then too bad! This is me and they’d better accept it.”

Alan managed a wry grin. “And this is from a guy who’s lived the past year under an alias?”

“Touché.” Virgil chuckled. “But I haven’t enjoyed that side of my life. Do you think I wanted to introduce you to Max Watts and Lisa and Butch as Jeff Tracy’s son, instead of as my brother? I’m like all of us in this family: proud of you and proud of what you’ve achieved so far. And if you decide that you’re not going to join International Rescue, then that’s not going to change how I feel about you. You might be my kid brother, Alan, but I know you’re not a kid. You’re adult enough to make the decision that’s right for you.”

Alan mumbled “thanks,” as someone knocked at the door. As if he were trying to hide his embarrassment he quickly got up to answer it.

A mechanic was standing there. “The car’s ready for you, Alan.”

“Great. Give me a moment to get changed,” Alan acknowledged before looking over his shoulder. “Do you mind hanging around for a couple of minutes, Virgil?”

“No, and I’ve no problems hanging around until Thanksgiving either... Whatever the outcome.”

Alan had the quickest of showers before changing into jeans and a Team Tracy polo-necked sweater. “Come on,” he said as he pulled on a Team Tracy jacket. “I promised our boss that I’d give ACE a good time, so I’d better make sure they do.” The two brothers left the caravan. “You know,” Alan said, zipping up his jacket against a cool breeze that had sprung up. “You still haven’t told me the full story of what went on between you and Lisa.”

“Nothing went on,” Virgil responded.

“Come on, Virg. You said she was naked in your apartment.”

“Did I say that?” Virgil feigned ignorance.

“You promised to tell me what happened,” Alan whined.

“I said I’d tell you if you rang me. You never rang, so I don’t have to tell you.”

Alan got his cell phone out of his pocket and punched a speed-dial number.

Virgil’s phone rang. “That doesn’t count… And don’t pout. You’re not a little kid, remember?”

They entered the garage.

Alan’s steed stood ready and waiting, her paint gleaming and her wheels polished. Virgil gave an appreciative whistle. She looks like she’s doing 100 standing still.”

“She’s all right,” Alan acknowledged, giving his car an affectionate pat on the bonnet. Then he took two helmets down off a shelf. Keeping the monogrammed one for himself, he threw the other at his brother. “Catch!”

Virgil caught the helmet and looked at it askance. “Just what do you have planned?”

Alan gave a wicked grin. “Me? Nothing. You’re going to drive her and I want all the protection I can get.”

“What?!” Virgil stared at him as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “Me!”

Alan got into the passenger seat. “Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to be a tarmac jockey.” Virgil looked at the driver’s seat as if it were a nuclear reactor about to explode. “Come on! It won’t bite.”

“Are you sure I’m allowed to do this?” Virgil asked. “Isn’t there some race rule against allowing non-team members to drive team cars?”

“Oh, there is. But you’re a team member. That was the second piece of paper I got you to sign when I was at ACE the other day.”

Virgil stared at him. “You got me to sign a form under false pretences?”

“You didn’t have to sign. Besides, you’re the one who didn’t read the document first, so you’ve only got yourself to blame.” Then Alan became serious. “I wanted you to sign it because it means you can work on the engine too.”

Virgil was stunned. “I can?”

Alan looked down and twisted his fingers together. “I figured it was the least I could do since I ignored you on your birthday.”

“Alan, I…”

But Alan didn’t want to listen, perking up again instead. “There’s the ignition button. Push that and hear this baby roar.”

Virgil decided that there’d been enough talking done today and that it was time for some action. He pushed the ignition switch and felt a quiet thrill as the car rumbled into life.

“Good,” Alan approved. “Now, she’s just like any other car, only more responsive and way more powerful. Drive out that door, turn right, and let’s see what you can get out of her.

It was an adrenaline rush as they sped around the circuit, Alan giving instructions as to when to brake and when to accelerate. They only slowed down when they went past ACE’s party so that Virgil’s workmates could see who was driving the car.

After one full lap of the track, they pulled up to applause, catcalls and laughter from ACE’s employees.

Alan pulled himself through the car’s window so he was sitting on the sill, facing the crowd. “How do you think he did?”

There were teasing jeers in reply. “My grandmother could drive better than that!”

“Just as well you’re quicker flying the plane, Virgil; else we’d only just be arriving.”

“No chances of you getting any speeding tickets, Veggie.”

Alan grinned, enjoying the banter. “Should I show him how a real driver operates?”

“Yes!”

“Right,” Alan swung out of the car and slid across the bonnet to the driver’s side. “Out you get, Virg. Time for a professional to show you how it’s really done.”

Virgil walked around the car and got into the passenger seat. “Why do I have a suspicion that this isn’t a good idea?”

“Relax… You’ll enjoy it.” Alan set off in a cloud of smoke, to the sound of screeching tyres and cheers from the crowd left in their wake.

‘Unnerving’ was how Virgil described this circuit. Not that he had a chance to articulate his thoughts as Alan kept up a running commentary on the course, and the merits of his car. “She can turn on a dime,” he said as if he was partaking in polite dinner party conversation; one hand resting casually on the edge of the window as the other manipulated the steering wheel. “And she brakes like she’s hit a brick wall,” he added as they drove, full speed, towards what looked to Virgil like a brick wall. As Alan applied the brakes, turning way after what Virgil considered to be the point of no return, he added, “She’s a dream to drive.”

Virgil decided that this particular run was more like a nightmare and wasn’t altogether unhappy when, with a 180 degree handbrake stop, Alan pulled up outside the party. “Do you want to go around again?” the younger Tracy asked.

“No, thanks,” Virgil said, and got out of the car before Alan had a chance to take off again.

A group was coming towards them. “What colour’s green, Virgil?” Bruce teased.

“Green?” someone from the paint department asked. “I thought he was white.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed. “You’re looking a bit unsteady there, Veggie.”

“I’m okay.” Virgil handed his helmet to Bruce. “Your turn.”

It’s was Bruce’s turn to pale. “What?”

“Nothing to it,” Virgil bragged. “You just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“Come on, Bruce,” Alan said. “Get in.”

“But… But… I’ve got to make sure everything’s…” he was pulled over to the car and pushed into the passenger seat. “Under control,” he finished lamely as his safety harness was buckled up.

Virgil patted him on the shoulder. “Any last requests?”

“Yeah. That Butch sings My Way at my funeral and Lisa sheds thousands of tears on my casket.”

Virgil laughed and shut the car door and stood back as the car roared away.

“I put my name down to have a ride,” Lisa commented. “I’m beginning to have second thoughts.”

“I thought I was over motion-sickness, but after that trip I’ve got my doubts,” Virgil admitted. “So, with your stomach, I wouldn’t recommend it” He grinned. “But Alan would probably go easy on you.”

“No, I won’t chance it.” Lisa shrugged elegant shoulders. “Butch is keen. He can have my turn too.”

It seemed that not everyone was keen to go out for a spin with Alan. The young women who’d been hired by the race organisers to add a bit of glamour to the meet had joined the party, much to the pleasure of a good many of the younger men. There was plenty of food on hand, but it appeared that some members of the ACE workforce were more interested in the women and alcohol that was available.

“I think I’m going to have to close the bar soon,” Hamish Mickelson said. “Some of these guys are going overboard.”

“I think you’re right,” Virgil agreed, looking around to check that no one was watching before crossing one of his workmates’ name off the ‘pledge’ sheet. “He was drinking during the warm-ups. There’s no way Alan’s going to want him in his car. I’ll warn Bruce when he gets back.”

“Here he is now,” Hamish responded. “How was the ride, Bruce?”

“Hair-raising,” Bruce responded. “Are you going to have a ride, Mr Mickelson?”

Hamish chuckled. “I think I’ll leave that to you younger people.”

“You’d probably enjoy it,” Vigil rejoined. “Imagine you’re in the cockpit of a fighter jet.” He turned to Bruce. “Some of the guys are disqualifying themselves from having a ride.” He pointed to a name. “I’ve already crossed him off.”

“He’s out too,” Bruce said, adding a mark of his own. “You’re going to have to have a ride, Mr Mickelson, else Alan’ll think we don’t trust his driving.”

“Who’s he got now?” Virgil asked.

“Butch. You should have seen the grin he had on his face when he got into the car. You’d think it was his birthday, Christmas, and the day Lisa agreed to marry him all rolled into one.”

“This I’ve got to see,” Virgil said, and led the way down to where Lisa was standing by the edge of the track.

Butch must have been enjoying himself, because instead of pulling up after one circuit, Alan kept going on a second lap. When the car finally halted the big man shook his hero’s hand before getting out of the car, a huge smile almost splitting his face in two. He grabbed Lisa and, elated by what he’d just experienced, spun her around. “Wow!” he kept exclaiming. “That was primo!”

“Come on, Uncle Hamish,” Alan called, leaning across the passenger’s seat. “Your turn.”

“Ah… No, thanks, Alan. I don’t think so.”

“Get in,” Alan cajoled. “I’ll go easy on you.”

“Well…” Hamish Mickelson wavered.

“Go on,” Virgil prompted. “I’ll hold your glass.” He took the orange juice out of the older man’s hand.

“Well…” Hamish repeated. “Okay.” He got into the car and Alan made a fuss over him to ensure that his safety harness was done up tightly and that his helmet was secure but comfortable. Then, to the accompaniment of cheers and whistles from his employees, ACE’s General Manager was on his way.

When he returned, after a double lap, his grin was almost as big as Butch’s had been. “I haven’t had that much fun since I was in the Air Force,” he admitted as he accepted his drink back from Virgil. “I’m only glad that Edna wasn’t here. She would have had kittens!”

Virgil’s cell phone vibrated and he retrieved it from his pocket, unhappy to see that it was a uniform grey colour. He read the screen and then showed it to his boss. “We’re going to have to start moving.”

Hamish nodded, his ebullient mood gone. “You’d better tell Bruce. If need be I’ll make it a company directive.”

Bruce was lost in the crowd somewhere and Virgil had difficulty locating him. He eventually found his friend chatting up one of the racetrack beauties. “Sorry, but we’ve got to shut the party down.”

Bruce looked dismayed. “But why? Things are just starting to get,” he glanced at his new girlfriend, “interesting.” She giggled.

“We need to leave now to make sure we get home safely.”

Bruce looked confused. “Safely? Why wouldn’t we be safe?”

Virgil pointed to an ominous black line across the sky. “That’s why. That’s a major storm that’s been brewing all day and I’ve just received word from the airport that it’s heading in our direction. If we don’t leave now, it could hit us before we’re halfway home…”

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