Thank you so much for the response to the first chapter. Whirlgirl, I'm so pleased you liked it.

Chapter Two

Virgil should have known that things wouldn't go according to plan. First of all, having dragged himself out of bed that Saturday, he'd been hit with the news that his brother's flying lesson had been postponed until the afternoon, Gordon having offered to help out with a swimming gala for the local scout group in the morning. Never at his best when he'd been unnecessarily deprived of sleep and deeply resentful of his needlessly early start, Virgil had tried to insist that they stick to their original plan, but their father had overruled him, pleased to have the time to make one or two vital business calls.

Jeff assured Virgil that he'd still have plenty of time to fix the van. If it came down to it, he promised, he'd finish the job himself the following day while Virgil played the piano for his grandmother. Virgil thought his father was just looking for an excuse to avoid spending several hours in the company of Grandma's church friends - and if he was honest, he didn't blame him. He hoped his grandmother knew just how much he loved her, because he wouldn't be doing it for anyone else.

At least the part he needed was safely at the airport in Kansas City awaiting collection and the faulty engine unit had been retrieved from the van. The upcoming road trip would probably be its final farewell - the vehicle had really been ready for the scrap-heap years ago, but the combination of Dylan's lack of funds and Virgil's mechanical expertise had kept it going. Virgil still smiled whenever he saw the psychedelic mural he'd painted on its sides. Dylan's father hated the thing - and for that reason alone, his son and his friends had done their best to keep it running for the past few years.

Gordon was late back from his gala, and of course he was going nowhere without any lunch, so it was mid-afternoon before Jeff taxied the plane along the runway and got it into the air. Not his prized private jet (with those little extra modifications) of course - Jeff wasn't going to let an amateur anywhere near that! No, this was the equivalent of a family runabout, the three oldest boys all having learned to fly in this very craft. There would be no worries about damaging a pristine interior for Virgil when he began work on the engine - years of transporting five boys had accounted for more than a little wear and tear on the seats and carpet. Jeff had often considered trading it in for a newer model, but all the family had a certain affection for the little plane and so he'd held onto it. He was thankful now, given his fourth son's slow progress in picking up the piloting skills that had come so naturally to everyone else. Anything more complex and the boy would probably have given up long ago.

After almost six months, Gordon still hadn't progressed beyond keeping the craft on course in the sky and Jeff was at a loss to explain why. Sure, Gordon's interests lay in the water, but even so, coming from a family of pilots, he thought that pride, if nothing else, would make his fourth-born keen to keep up with the others. Even Alan was desperately awaiting the day he could pick up his licence. If it wasn't for his grand plan, Jeff wouldn't have forced the issue. Not that he was going to insist that Gordon participate, but if he did, Jeff wanted his son to be as well-prepared as the others would be.

Virgil was also puzzled by Gordon's attitude. He liked to fly. He didn't love it the way Scott and his father did, but he enjoyed the technicalities of it, getting to know the particular idiosyncrasies of whatever craft he was flying. Okay, so he'd rather be up to his elbows in oil and fiddling with the engine, but testing out the work he'd done was good too. If nothing else, flying allowed him the time and space to think, to listen to music and to ponder a new audio or visual masterpiece - at least whilst the autopilot was engaged. A few near-misses during his own flying lessons had quickly cured him of that dangerous habit.

Gordon, however, simply saw it as a means to an end, and not a particularly essential one. He put up with his father's lessons, enjoying the chance to spend some time alone with the man, but he often managed to find an excuse to cancel the sessions that were booked for him with a local instructor.

"When I'm competing I'll be too focused on my swimming to think about flying," he'd said when Virgil had asked him about his lack of enthusiasm. "Anyway, I'd rather travel with the rest of the team, not go swanning around on my own like some spoilt rich kid. Some people think I've bought my way onto the team, you know - even my latest times don't convince them."

"But what about later?" Virgil had asked. "I mean, you're not going to be swimming forever, are you?"

Gordon had shrugged. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet," he'd said. "Maybe I'll become a coach or something. But I won't need to fly. I'd rather have a boat, anyway."

Virgil had said nothing, knowing that there were opportunities ahead that his teenage brother knew nothing of as yet.

"I don't get why you're so keen, anyway," Gordon had continued.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I get that you like the engineering side of it. Plus you always had to do whatever Scott did. No, don't glare at me like that, Virg. You know it's true."

"Didn't join the Air Force," Virgil had protested. "And I don't see Scott anywhere in Denver."

"Okay. So you're not a complete carbon copy of Scott. But anyway, you learnt to fly. I guess if you're going into Dad's business you'll need to jet all round the world like he does, anyway. But I didn't expect you to get so involved in it. I mean, why the helicopter pilot's licence? A jet's a lot more comfortable and practical for long-distance journeys. We haven't even got a chopper."

"Thought it would be useful." Virgil's non-committal reply had hidden a deeper meaning. He'd asked his father for the lessons for his eighteenth birthday in the belief that the more able he was to handle a variety of craft, the better it would be for him in the days ahead, especially given some of the discussions he'd been having with Brains about the most practical way of landing a king-sized aircraft. He couldn't tell his brother that, though. Nor could he suggest that Gordon take his flying lessons a little more seriously. Not without making him wonder why.

Gordon kept the plane in the air competently enough, though they didn't make the fastest of times. But they got to Kansas City without incident and Jeff talked Gordon through the procedures as he took over the controls and brought them in to land. Whilst Jeff replenished his caffeine levels and Gordon lost himself in some sports magazine, feet up on the console much to the despair of his father, Virgil headed off to pick up his engine part, grumbling about the time it had taken to get there.

"Be right back," he promised. But it was over twenty minutes later when the middle Tracy brother returned, a box in his hands and a look of irritation on his face.

"Don't worry, son," Jeff said, pulling the door closed and patting Virgil on the shoulder. "It'll be tight but we'll get you back in time. I'll take over if necessary."

"Don't bother rushing," Virgil told him, slumping into a seat. "Dylan called. The gig's off."

"What? Why?"

"Well, not the gig so much as the wedding."

Jeff dropped into the seat opposite his son. If anyone had told him that his expression right now was the image of the one his mother wore when the juciest piece of gossip was about to be revealed he'd have been mightily offended - even if he wouldn't have been able to deny it.

"Mindy ran off with one of the ushers."

"Well, your grandmother always said she was trouble," Jeff said. "Poor Carlton. Still, it probably saved him a fortune in alimony."

"Shame about tonight, though," Virgil said. "It might have been the last chance we ever got to play together."

"Well, maybe I can hold some function for the company before you all go back to college," Jeff suggested.

"Thanks Dad. You always save the day, you know that?" Virgil cheered up instantly.

"Well that's going to be your job soon. You and your brothers." Jeff's smile faded. "Some of them, anyway."

Virgil gestured towards the closed cockpit door. "You're not planning on telling him yet?"

"No." Jeff's expression grew serious. "When I first met Brains and realised that with his help my crazy idea might just have a chance of becoming reality, I hoped all you boys would come on board. But I never anticipated Gordon being so successful at his swimming."

"You should give him the choice, though," Virgil said.

"Oh, I will, but not just yet. Let him get the Olympics out of the way first. I don't want to distract him and I certainly don't expect him to follow my dreams at the expense of his own. I never looked back when I left NASA, but then I had you boys - well, Scott and John - plus your mother, and that was more than enough for me. A gold medal is different."

"Guess so." Virgil looked across at the engine unit which he'd dismantled on the flight down, ready to fit the new part and reassemble it all on the way back. "Well, I guess I might as well get on with this."

"Give me a call if you need a hand," Jeff said, smiling as Virgil rolled his eyes. His son was becoming an accomplished engineer, top of his class in Denver. He'd never get the public recognition some of his other sons would, but his value to the new organisation would never be in doubt.

A few minutes later and they were in the air again, Virgil humming one of his latest compositions as he began to reassemble the engine unit and Jeff wearily reminding Gordon of the appropriate protocol for talking to air traffic control. A lesser man would have given up, regardless of any secret plans, but Jeff had never been one to admit defeat and he refused to be beaten by a son. Not again, anyway - he'd discovered a nice set of bruises when he'd looked in the mirror that morning, courtesy of Virgil.

They were just over halfway home when an anguished yelp, followed by some cursing that would have scandalised Grandma, startled the pair in the cockpit.

Jeff leapt out of his seat and darted back into the cabin, throwing a quick command to Gordon to keep on course and not do anything on his own initiative!

"Everything okay?" he asked, relieved to find his son in one piece, though given the way he was sucking the side of his hand, there had apparently been some damage.

"Screwdriver slipped," Virgil told him, removing his hand from his mouth to do so.

Jeff reached into a locker for the first aid kit. "There you go," he said once he'd cleaned and dressed the wound. "It's minor."

"Hurt, though," Virgil told him.

"I'm sure it did. You want me to give you a hand?" Jeff asked. "It might be easier if I hold the thing in place."

Virgil admitted that this was probably a two-man job.

"I'll just set the auto-pilot," Jeff said, turning back to the cockpit door, only to be forced to grab onto a seat for balance as the plane suddenly juddered and lurched downwards.

"Gordon!" Both Jeff and Virgil dived for the cockpit where they found Gordon doing his best to pull the craft level.

"Birdstrike!" Gordon told them, the panic in his voice clear. "I couldn't avoid them, Dad. They came out of nowhere. I think the port engine's gone."

"Okay, son." Jeff was perfectly calm as he slid into the co-pilot's seat, only for a nervous tic to develop in the muscle of his jaw as he realised that the plane wasn't going to do what he wanted. "Virgil, take over from Gordon!"

Virgil did as he was told, Gordon hovering nervously behind them. Father and son managed to level the plane off, but it became clear that they needed to land - and fast.

"There's a field up ahead," Virgil said. "Room enough, I think."

"You're right. Gordon, get into the cabin and strap yourself in. Brace for an emergency landing."

For once in his life, Gordon did as he was told without argument.

At least, he tried to. As he reached the cabin the second engine gave out and he was thrown to the floor as the pilots once more battled to keep control.