Chapter 2.

Gordon squinted as he scanned the line of power boats, his eyes landing on the yellow one.

He'd been assigned blue, but was hoping for a trade. His good friend, Sam Burnside, had dibs on the yellow one according to the register, but that didn't mean an exchange was guaranteed. The race mechanics were nearly finished with their safety checks and most of the other competitors were already donning their suits and helmets. Negotiating a last-minute boat swap was a cheeky request, but Gordon knew Sam well enough to know that he'd understand.

The Honolulu Water Show was one of the highlights of WASP's social calendar. Members from every department competed against each other in a good old-fashioned show of sportsmanship. Individuals were selected based on their service history, skill, and whether or not they required a kick up the ass. It was also an opportunity for everyone to take some well-deserved shore leave. Families got free admittance and discounted rates at local hotels, and many competitors used the day as an opportunity to catch up with parents, spouses, and children.

Or, in Gordon's case, his army of brothers.

Water sloshed at the wooden piles of the jetty as he worked his way down the line-up of boats, his helmet stashed underneath his arm. He passed a couple of saturation divers he recognised and raised a hand in greeting. Finally, one from the end, he saw Sam.

"Fancy swapping?" Gordon yelled, cupping a hand around his mouth, "I know you're always open to bribery."

Sam rolled his eyes good-naturedly, "Should have known you'd come looking for your yellow fix, Tracy. What colour are you?"

"Blue," Gordon replied, grinning broadly, "You know I've got a reputation to maintain, right?"

"Whatever," Sam drawled, vaulting over the gunwale, "You got family in the stands?"

Gordon nodded and jumped to balance atop the bow, "All four of my brothers, my grandmother, and a family friend."

"Well, you'll be hard to miss in this little lady. Word in the woods is that Warr from Logistics is the favourite to win. This is his third time here, and he's out for blood this year."

"Oh yeah?" Gordon challenged, dropping into his seat.

Sam nodded, "He's a tough one."

"Well, he may be tough, but I'm a whole new lane on the freeway of madness."

-x-

Virgil frowned from his seat inside the viewing gallery.

From his rather privileged vantage point he could see the entire course. The tight bends, the long straights, the buoys that marked the start and finish lines, and the ambulances parked on the beach. He counted eight competitors and four paramedic teams, which wasn't exactly comforting when the race in question featured boats that travelled half the speed of sound.

"I see him," Scott exclaimed, squinting through a pair of binoculars, "He's just swapped boats with Burnside. He's now in boat number seven, which just so happens to be yellow."

John nodded in approval and helped himself to a fistful of Kayo's popcorn, "Staying true to form. Lane seven has a wider bend arc, meaning he'll be able to carry his speed better towards the end. Don't be fooled, he's thought that trade through."

Over on Kayo's other side, Alan kicked his feet in boredom, "Why doesn't he go for the red one? Red makes everything faster."

A collective hush fell over the group as Virgil mimed for silence. He wasn't usually irritable, but the sight of Gordon getting strapped into his seat by a team of mechanics was far from reassuring. On paper the risk was low, but in practice things were different. A whole host of variables could quickly make mincemeat of him, and there wasn't a single thing Virgil could do if one stray factor decided to buck the trend and lay waste to his little brother.

The variables at play for Gordon weren't as dramatic as his family feared. The water was warm, wind intensity was a mere five knots, and they were tens of miles away from the nearest shipping lane. He was wearing a full-face fibreglass helmet, a reinforced thermoregulatory wetsuit, and had the quick reactions of youth on his side. All eight competitors were adept at handling power boats, and if the expression on Gordon's face was anything to go by, he was truly living his best life.

"They'll be starting any minute now," John commented, "The winner gets the honour of field-testing the buoyancy compensators on the new lifejacket model. Apparently, it's a pretty big deal."

"Is it red?" Alan queried, his mood mellowing when Grandma reached over and handed him a cookie that was only half burnt.

Before John or anyone could reply, Gordon started his engine. Water began to froth and foam around the hull of his power boat as he idled on the starting line, the water disturbance causing his craft to bob up and down slightly.

"Take your marks!" the announcer instructed, miming for the mechanics to clear the area.

Virgil leant forwards in anticipation, his eyes glued to Gordon's lane.

"Get set…"

Scott and John began to fight over the binoculars.

"Go!"

Like a freshly broken horse, Gordon's boat reared up before exploding away from the starting line in a spray of water. The underwater foils made easy work of slicing through the sea and in no time he was reaping the full benefits of his drag-less propulsion system. His colleagues were within gnawing distance behind him, but he had a half-second time advantage on them thanks to the same exceptional reflexes that had seen him through the Olympics.

Up in the stands, Scott frowned as he swept his gaze over the seven other competitors. Most of them were falling back, courtesy of the water displacement left by Gordon's boat, but Sam had aligned himself so that he was sat on Gordon's tail and benefitting from the resultant slipstream. It was a clever tactic, but one that carried a lot of risk. Sam would lose valuable time and power when he eventually pulled out to overtake Gordon, and the risk of both boats clipping each other as their pilots jockeyed for position was high. Bumps and scrapes were normal in any race, but a collision of any kind, no matter how minor, would be catastrophic at the speed they were travelling at.

Thankfully, Gordon was fully aware of Sam's actions and angled his boat slightly so that he was accelerating on a slight angle. Movement of any kind when you were travelling at breakneck speed was nigh impossible, but Gordon possessed a rare kind of skill when it came to handling any kind of watercraft. Skill which Sam lacked, much to the delight of Scott and Virgil, who'd been watching the proceedings in disgust. Now that Gordon had angled his slipstream slightly, it was impossible for Sam to continue drafting him and the gap between them slowly began to widen.

"He's going to win!" Grandma exclaimed, rising from her seat in excitement, "My darling boy is going to win! John, be a dear and pass me those binoculars. Quick!"

A trill of excitement travelled around the gallery as the more vertically challenged spectators stood up to get a clear view of the finish line that Gordon had just blasted over. The entire Tracy clan erupted into thunderous applause as their aquatic representative turned his boat in a victory arc, his arm raised in triumph as he killed the motor and let his boat glide back to a more manageable speed.

Virgil frowned and forwent the high-fives the others were sharing, his gaze fixed on Sam's hydrofoil. He seemed to be having great difficulty slowing down and was signalling his difficulty to the race mechanics, who were yelling instructions for him to snip the ignition wire. Naturally Sam heard nothing, courtesy of his helmet and the waves being kicked up by his boat. A klaxon was sounded and a warning issued for all competitors to restart their engines and evacuate the area. Down on the beach, spectators snatched up their picnic blankets and scurried up towards the safety of the viewing galleries.

Gordon, who'd yanked his safety harness off in a display of premature celebration, had less than a second to react as Sam came speeding at him. His friend managed to scream a warning before his bolting boat ricocheted off Gordon's stationary one, the resulting impact sending Gordon crashing into the sea.

The on-duty paramedics were quick to mobilise, however their reaction time was nothing compared to the Tracys. Scott led the charge and vaulted clean over the safety railings, Virgil and John on his heels. As a unit they charged across the sand, their combined gaze fixed on the unmoving form of Gordon as he floated in the water next to the splintered remains of his wrecked hydrofoil.

"Get a backboard!" Scott barked, throwing himself into the water, "And have a pain cocktail ready to go!"

Virgil and John broke off and relayed Scott's instructions to the nearest paramedic, who'd anticipated the request and had a collapsible board tucked under her arm. A series of guttural screeches echoed down from the gallery as Alan howled into Kayo's shoulder like the world was ending.

Scott swore as he clawed his way through the water towards Gordon. The Pacific Ocean was comfortably warm this time of year, so they weren't working on a timer as far as temperature was concerned. There was no blood marbling the water around Gordon's body either, which was a relief. An open wound in a dirty ocean would be a true recipe for disaster.

Upon reaching Gordon's body, Scott quickly checked his airways and felt a rush of relief when he saw his brother's nostrils slowly dilate. Gordon's suit and helmet were thankfully intact. His suit had automatically inflated the moment he'd made contact with the water, immobilising his body and keeping his head afloat. The distribution of the air pockets meant that he was tilted slightly backwards, which reduced the risk of him floating face down. Calm seas or not, it only took forty seconds for an unconscious adult to drown.

Back on the beach, Virgil and John watched anxiously as Scott seized one of Gordon's arms and began to tow him back towards the safety of dry land. They hadn't even reached the shallows before Virgil and John splashed out to meet them, their faces tight with worry. Slowly, with the same amount of care as if they were disarming a bomb, they looped their arms underneath Gordon and transferred him to the backboard, careful not to bend him.

"He's breathing," John rasped, securing the straps over Gordon's deflating suit, "Barely."

"I'll go with him to the hospital," Virgil announced, "The rest of you meet us there. I'll relay developments as they happen."

The pain cocktail that Scott had requested was put on standby as Virgil loaded Gordon into the ambulance with the help of two paramedics. One sliced Gordon's suit open to allow better access for an oxygen mask, while the other began monitoring his heartbeat.

"Ask for Dr West," Scott implored, his wet hair a stark contrast against his white face, "He's the best in the business. Dad used to work with him."

Virgil nodded and squeezed his brother's arm before climbing into the ambulance. John had re-joined Alan, Kayo, and Grandma in the gallery and was making a series of wild hand gestures, no doubt relaying the details of Gordon's condition to them. Grandma, seemingly having heard enough, quickly made her way down to the ambulance and said something to the driver, her voice muted. Virgil wondered briefly if she'd ask to see Gordon with her own eyes, but wasn't surprised when she returned to Kayo and Alan. She'd barely gotten over the loss of Jeff, and now Gordon's life was hanging in the balance as well. It was too much.

"Is he allergic to anything?" one of the paramedics asked, nodding down at Gordon, "Penicillin, anticonvulsants, or antibiotics?"

Virgil shook his head. WASP required its members to undergo regular medical examinations while on active duty. The results were all logged on a central database, access to which was tightly policed. Virgil knew what blood group Gordon belonged to and which bones he'd previously broken, but only WASP had access to his full physical schematics. Thankfully, his Commander had had the foresight to send a copy of his data home several days before the race. WASP had dubbed it a gesture of goodwill, however Virgil suspected it had more to do with an interfering grandmother who also happened to be a retired doctor.

As the ambulance roared to life and began to chart a course towards the Honolulu Trauma Center, Virgil glanced down at Gordon. Both his eyelids were bruised, giving him the look of a disgruntled panda. His lips were blue, his skin was cold, and his cheeks were devoid of blood. As such it came as a shock when he cracked an eye open, his gaze locking clumsily onto the familiar outline of Virgil's face.

"V-Virg?"

"I'm here, don't worry."

"Leave...d-don't."

"I won't. Just hang on, Gordo. Please."