Chapter 4.
"Greece!"
"Afghanistan!"
"Albania!"
Gordon clicked his fingers like an experienced pianist and rolled his shoulders, excitement consuming him as he listened to the announcer belt out the names of the first few competing countries along with their nominated flag bearers.
"Why is Greece first?" Jessamine hissed, tugging nervously at the sleeves of her Team USA jacket, "I know the host country enters last, but what's so special about Greece?"
"It was the birthplace of the Olympics," Gordon replied, mentally thanking John for being the source of the information he was regurgitating, "The flame for the torch relay is always traditionally lit in Olympia."
Jessamine made the appropriate 'ooh' and 'aah' sounds as Gordon recounted the bits and pieces he could recall from his impromptu history lesson with John. Despite the differing demands of their respective training schedules, they'd spent the majority of their free time together over the past two days, with Gordon forgoing the final two syllables of his new friend's name and adopting 'Jess' over 'Jessamine'. Happy to return the favour, Jess had retaliated with 'Gordo', arguing that she'd once had a teacher called 'Mr Gordon' who had well and truly tarnished the name for her.
"Guilt by association," Gordon lamented, listening to see which country was being called out next.
"Belgium!"
A sigh. The distance between B and U suddenly felt equivalent to the real-life mileage that separated the Cockpit of Europe from Uncle Sam.
"Hey, Gordster!" a familiar voice suddenly piped up. Twisting his neck from where he'd been eyeballing a couple of his fellow swimmers, Gordon pivoted and was surprised to see Sam weaving his way through the crowd towards him. Protocol dictated that coaches weren't allowed to partake in the Parade of Nations, however a couple had managed to worm their way backstage to quickly touch base with their proteges. The stewards and security personnel seemed indifferent to their presence, aware that the P and below countries still had a long wait ahead of them.
"You good?" Sam asked, slapping Gordon on the back and smiling encouragingly, "Enjoy this moment, kid. Nothing in this life or the next is guaranteed, so make sure you soak up everything tonight. The lights, the noise, the excitement…you've worked hard for this, and there's no way of knowing for sure if you'll ever get a chance like this again. All the hard work and money in the world can't prepare us for what life sometimes has in store, so wear that jacket with pride and know that we're all incredibly proud of you."
"We?" Gordon queried, his bashfulness over Sam's rare display of emotion overridden by excitement as he scanned the bodies surrounding him for any sign of his brothers, "Are my family here?"
Sam nodded and checked his phone, "Got a message from Scott with their seat tiers and numbers. Looks like the Korean alphabet to me, but he said you'd be able to locate them if I gave you a map of the stadium for reference. Apparently you possess 'exemplary' cartography skills for a kid your age. High praise coming from a guy who asked to look at my high school diploma when I first offered to take you on."
Gordon flushed pink at his eldest brother's praise and took the disposable paper map that Sam was offering, his eyes narrowing as he began mentally dividing the stadium into sections. In less than a minute, he'd narrowed down his family's location to a cluster of seats bordering the perimeter track on the far west side.
"Done already?" Sam asked, exhaling through his teeth, "You're a freak of nature, kid."
Several feet away, Jessamine paused her conversation with a steward to snort out a giggle.
"I just need to know which general direction to wave in," Gordon countered, shrugging offhandedly as he passed the map back to Sam, "You said that Scott's here, but what about Virgil? And Grandma? And-"
Sam tapped the side of his nose and began walking backwards towards the door he'd just entered through, "Knowledge is power, kid. I'll see you at breakfast."
"Bolivia!"
"If we've even been called by then…"
-x-
"Tonga!"
"Trinidad and Tobago!"
"Tunisia!"
Gordon sighed and stamped his feet to get the blood circulating again, wondering absently if it was medically possible to die from boredom.
It had been over an hour and a half since the country parade had started, and some of the younger members of the nations who had yet to be called out were starting to get impatient. Granted, backstage had everything they could either need or want in the food and drink department, however it went without saying that getting caught with a full bladder while marching across the world stage wasn't top of everyone's Olympic bucket list.
Jess and Gordon had passed the time chatting about their school lives and post-Olympic aspirations in-between lectures from the overworked and underpaid stewards. Every team member had been given a miniature flag to wave if they so wished, but weren't required or expected to interact with the crowd if they didn't feel comfortable doing so. The main crux of the lectures had been to remind the athletes to smile at all times (for the benefit of the TV viewers), and to not flip off any spectators flying the flags of rival countries.
The last point had been accompanied by a stern glare directed at Gordon and a couple of the other teenage boys on the team. Much to Jess's amusement, Gordon had taken great offense at the assumption and proceeded to argue with the steward about how the last person he'd flipped off had been his annoying younger brother, and that the action had been fully justified because said younger brother had stolen his phone and then dropped it in the sink.
Speaking of phones, it had come as a shock to all athletic personnel when they'd learnt that electronic devices were banned from the parade. Previous Opening Ceremonies had allowed participants to record footage on their cameras during the parade, however the decision had been made this year to strip all competitors of their electronic gadgets before they entered the stadium. The reason for the decision hadn't been made public, however a smear campaign had already been started against the organising committee for their failure to consult with the people who'd invested sweat, blood, and tears into the careers that had brought them to said stadium in the first place.
Gordon had panicked upon hearing the news, simply because it meant he wouldn't be able to liaise with his brothers. Sam's intervention with Scott's message had brought him some much-needed relief, however it was still annoying to know that his family were somewhere in the same building as him, yet incapable of getting in touch.
A hand on his sleeve jolted him out of his brooding trance.
"There's someone at the door asking for you," Jess informed, surfacing from her glass of orange juice long enough to point in the general direction of the fire escape.
Frowning, Gordon stood on his tiptoes and squinted, his heart rate accelerating as he scanned for a familiar head of brown, black, or red hair.
Alas, he was instead greeted with the familiar greying head of his coach instead.
"Sam?" Gordon hissed, glancing at the clock and sweating slightly when he realised that the USA's scheduled time slot was only twelve minutes away, "What now?"
Ignoring the firm insistence from one of the stewards that he leave at once, Sam hurried over and handed his phone to Gordon, scowling in irritation when a burly member of the security team repeated the request for him to leave.
"I'm his coach," Sam stated, his voice brokering no room for negotiation as he mimed for some privacy, "I need him for two minutes maximum. Urgent family business."
For the briefest of seconds it looked as if the security guard was going to reprimand Sam for his failure to consider the implications his actions could have on Gordon's ability to participate in the parade. Thankfully, salvation came in the form of one of the badminton players complaining that someone had stolen her jacket. With a stare that held more than just the woes of a nine hour work day, the guard motioned for Sam and Gordon to take their conversation to a less crowded section of the room, lest their shenanigans distract the athletes who'd waited over an hour and a half for their country's name to be called.
"What's the matter?" Gordon asked, his blood pressure blasting a hole in the roof as he grabbed Sam's arm and squeezed nervously, "Is someone hurt?"
Sam shook his head and extended the hand that was clutching his phone, one finger tapping the screen to accept an incoming video call as he pressed it into Gordon's own hand, "Be quick."
Before Gordon could so much as ask what was going on, Sam had ducked past the same security guard who had up and downed him mere seconds ago and disappeared back out the door. Tilting his head in confusion, Gordon glanced down at the device in his hand and blinked at the slightly grainy image that was rapidly coming into focus.
Nothing could prepare him for the raspy familiarity of the voice that came through the speaker.
"Hey, kid."
A heart and a pair of lungs dissolved into jelly as Gordon raised the screen and locked his gaze onto the familiar blue eyes staring back at him.
"Dad?"
Jeff Tracy smiled and adjusted his own phone so that it was propped on the dash of the console he was sat behind, "How's Olympic life treating you, son?"
Gordon swallowed hard and fought to keep the wobble out of his voice, "Pretty good. The food here is amazing, and everyone's been super friendly."
"Always about the food with you, isn't it?" Jeff chuckled, the helmet on his head drowning out the worst of his laughter, "Have you made friends yet? A medal is just fine and dandy, but it won't be there for you when you're stranded on a chunk of space rock two hundred thousand miles away from your family with nothing but recycled air and canned beans for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Ain't that right, Lee?"
"Don't be listenin' to yer old man, Graham," Lee Taylor admonished, floating into view behind Jeff with a wrench in his hand, "We ran out of beans last week. It's been canned sardines for the last three days."
Gordon grimaced in disgust, opting to ignore Lee's habit of continually forgetting his name. While he was definitely the most adventurous brother when it came to trying different types of cuisine, canned fish did little to trigger his appetite.
"There's no guarantee I'll win a medal, Dad," Gordon reminded, panning the camera out so that a decent fraction of his team were visible in the background, "We've got a very solid line-up though, so our chances of getting on the medal table are good."
Jeff smiled and glanced briefly at Lee, who was trying to establish a connection with one of the many channels broadcasting the parade live, "They're just lucky that they've got you on side. Anyway, I'd better skedaddle and let you get back to business. I would have called sooner, but we had an impromptu meteor shower and the ODDM had an EMP fart and nearly conked out on us."
"Yeah, they're getting ready to call us out now actually," Gordon added, glancing up to see Jess making throat slashing gestures while miming frantically at an imaginary watch on her wrist.
"We've got the live feed sorted, so will be keeping our eyes peeled for you," Jeff enthused, his expression morphing into one of fatherly tenderness as he picked his phone up and raised his finger in preparation to hang up, "Son, you go and show the world what they're dealing with. And know that as of right now, I've never been prouder of one of my boys. I love you."
In true military fashion, the Tracy patriarch severed the connection before Gordon could either give in to his tears or retaliate with something equally as sentimental. Jeff was a doting father, but the demands of his job had forced him to learn to keep his emotions in check. While he often came across as emotionally distant to outside eyes, Gordon knew that his dad was the kind of person who showed affection through actions instead of words. And nothing spoke louder than tuning in to watch your son on live television fresh off the back of a meteor storm.
"Are you okay?"
Gordon snapped out of his internal monologue and glanced up, flushing with embarrassment when he realised that Jess's outline was smudged and blurry.
He was crying.
And right before he had to walk across the world stage, no less.
Cheers, Dad.
"I'm fine," Gordon replied, dragging a sleeve under his eyes and resetting himself with a loud sniff, "Just my dad calling in. I haven't seen him in several months and wasn't expecting him to call. The shock just got to me a bit."
Jess nodded sympathetically and dove into one of her pockets and fished out a clean tissue. Gordon had always marvelled at how girls always came equipped with such things.
"We've still got three minutes to go," Jess reassured, patting the malfunctioning Tracy on the shoulder and offering him one of the two USA flags she was holding, "Here, I saved you one. We're allowed to keep them as souvenirs after the parade. Do you need a hug?"
Gordon hiccupped and gave a reflexive nod upon hearing the word 'hug'. He was still forbidden from liaising with his family and with the exception of Sam (who was about as physically affectionate as a porcupine holding a cactus), his options for getting his daily quota of hugs were severely limited.
"You'd better not get snot on my jacket," Jess warned, opening one arm and pulling Gordon in with surprising strength, "I heard one of the gymnasts complaining about how the lettering started to peel off on hers when she put it through the wash."
A strangled laugh managed to briefly override the tears Gordon was just about managing to keep at bay. Hugs were one of the things he missed the most about home.
The way Virgil was always warm, irrespective of environmental temperature.
The way Alan hung off his neck like a monkey.
The way John insisted on hugs lasting for at least twenty seconds to maximise oxytocin production.
The way Scott rested his chin atop his head.
The way Kayo always acted as if hugs were a waste of time, yet never said no when one was offered.
The way Grandma always followed a hug up with a kiss to the forehead.
The way his dad's embraces always stank of aftershave.
Hugs were underrated and underused in Gordon's humble opinion. And unfortunately, rare in the environment he currently found himself in.
Nevertheless, the way Jess was gently rubbing his back as he swallowed his emotions in preparation for their grand entrance was a decent substitution.
"The United States of America!"
-x-
There came a moment in everyone's life when they thought, 'this right here is enough.'
For most people it came with the arrival of children, their wedding, the day they bought their first house, or the moment they (or a loved one) were given the all-clear following a health scare.
For Gordon however, it came in the form of roaring applause, blinding colours, the smell of freshly extinguished fireworks, and the sight of the Star-Spangled banner being carried aloft in front of him and his teammates as they marched out into Nairobi's Olympic Stadium.
It was an atmosphere like none he'd ever experienced before. Tendrils of electrified excitement radiated from his toes to the tips of his hair as Team USA stepped onto the perimeter track and began the brief trek around the stadium, the cheers of the crowd increasing tenfold from what they had been for the previous country.
The United States had by far the biggest team, giving Gordon ample time to wallow in the knowledge that his face, along with several dozen others, was being broadcast live on television screens across the world.
And, with a little bit of luck, a holoprojector onboard Moonbase Shadow Alpha One.
"GORDON!"
"OVER HERE, BRO!"
The familiarity of his brother's voices was enough to cut through the wall of sound that was damn near splitting Gordon's eardrums in half. Instinctively, he did a three hundred and sixty degree pivot, his eyes screwed up in concentration as he tried to orientate himself enough to remember which side of the stadium was west.
"ON YOUR RIGHT, BRO!"
Aborting his stunted attempts at mental cartography, Gordon swung his gaze over to the stands. Shouldering his way past a couple of his teammates under the guise of needing the space that came with being on the edge of the track, he began scanning the spectator seating for a familiar flash of red, blond, black, or brown.
He didn't have to look far. Instead of his brother's hair, he was greeted instead by five large yellow placards spelling the word Y. Behind them were the faces of Scott, Kayo, Virgil, John, and Alan (who was having to stand on his seat to make up for his lack of height). Sat next to them and clapping like a sea lion on speed was his grandmother, her expression luminous as she seized the arm of the stranger sat next to her and began pointing at Gordon and screeching that he was her grandson.
Upon realising that they'd been spotted, the four brothers plus Kayo put down their placards and began to cheer as if their very lives depended on it. Scott hoisted Alan onto his shoulders so that he had an uninterrupted view of his favourite brother as he walked past, while Virgil and John looked seconds away from ripping their shirts off and spinning them above their heads.
"Uruguay!"
Gordon squealed excitedly and began to wave with both his arms, jumping to get extra height. The convoy was moving at a brisk pace, so he knew he'd soon be out of range of his family. His heartstrings ached when he realised that he wouldn't be able to rendezvous with them after the parade (lest he incur Sam's wrath), but he was nonetheless thankful that he'd been able to see them and that they had all (including his dad) turned out to support him. Though he'd never admit it out loud, the pride of marching behind the flag of his country was nothing compared to the pride of marching in front of his family.
"Gordo!" Jess called, inhaling deeply in a bid to make herself as thin as possible as she wormed her way through the bodies separating them, "Look!"
Gordon ceased craning his neck to try and keep Scott and Alan in his line of vision and twisted to inspect whatever it was that had Jess gripping his arm tightly enough to rob it of both feeling and blood.
He wasn't disappointed.
The athletes from every participating country had been herded en masse into the centre of the stadium, the combination of one hundred and ninety three different uniforms blending together to create a kaleidoscope of colour. Stewards and musicians parted like the Red Sea as Team USA were inducted into the ranks against the backdrop of Kenya entering the arena.
"Smile, guys!" a cameraman bellowed, panning backwards as he and several photographers scurried alongside the procession. Gordon didn't need telling twice and began bellowing shout-outs to his brothers, father, grandmother, Kayo, Lee Taylor, and Brains. The photographers in particular were treated to golden footage when he and Jess started an impromptu competition as to who could pull the most ridiculous face. Needless to say, Gordon's crossed eyes and puckered lips won hands down.
"You know that's going to probably be plastered across the front page of every American news channel in the morning, right?" Jess yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth in a feeble attempt to amplify her voice.
"This pleases me greatly," Gordon replied, apologising loudly when he accidentally bumped shoulders with one of their immediate neighbours.
A sudden hush descended over the stadium as the lights dimmed to a climactic shade of blue and the president took to the microphone, "Ladies and gentleman, the Olympic Torch is about to enter the stadium. Carried by Nadia Mwangi, today we celebrate the one hundredth anniversary of women being allowed to compete in equestrianism."
Jess clenched her hands and gave a small hop of excitement.
"As well as the fiftieth anniversary of women being allowed to compete in wrestling," the president proudly declared, "To the athletes competing here, we honour your sacrifice and struggle, and implore you to continue your duty of acting as shining beacons of hope and inspiration to the next generation. This is your event and your moment. Munga akupe kheri daima."
Gordon hadn't the faintest clue what the tail end of the president's official welcome meant. All he did know was that it had clearly had an effect on the domestic members of the crowd, for the applause that commenced as Nadia started her journey around the track with the torch was nothing short of deafening.
The entire spectacle felt like it was over before it had even begun. Nadia traversed a quarter of the track before handing the torch to another woman who'd represented Kenya at London 2012. It was then handed to another native woman who'd secured two gold medals at Paris 2024 and Los Angeles 2028 respectively, before being relinquished to the head of the IOC Review Panel, who happened to be a former volleyball player from Kasarani.
Gordon felt his heart swell as the background music hit a particularly inspirational note. He could recognise Ben and Nick Foster's handiwork anywhere, and could only imagine how violently Virgil would no doubt be fanboying over a track from his favourite composers acting as the acoustic backdrop to both the Olympic cauldron igniting and rising into the air.
"Ladies and gentleman," came the president's voice, "This concludes the opening ceremony of the games of the thirty third Olympiad."
Unable to contain his excitement in a way that was a hundred percent socially acceptable, Gordon reached over and seized Jess's sleeve in a grip similar to the one she'd had on his arm earlier.
He'd never forget this day for as long as he lived.
Friday the twenty-fifth of July, two thousand and fifty three.
"On behalf of the people of Kenya, we wish all athletes the best of luck. Thank you, and goodnight."