Crime Scene

"Thunderbird Two on final approach to Tracy Island," Virgil commed. "John, is anyone still in the house?"

High above the island, John skimmed the holographic display with expert fingertips. "I've got one lifesign," he confirmed. "It's Brains." His sea-green eyes fluttered shut for a moment in both relief and horror. "He's all right, but Grandma and her assailant are gone."

Virgil swore and settled TB2 on the pad. Still in his blues and bristling with gear, he pounded up the stairs and tore through the house. When he got to the kitchen, he skidded to a stop at the edge of the pool of blood where his grandmother's first assailant lay. He gaped at the figure in the wetsuit for a split second before his training kicked in. "Damn."

"I'm guessing you've found our body," John mused in Virgil's ear.

"'Body?'" Scott's voice climbed as he, too, settled his craft on approach to the island. "As in a dead body?"

Virgil carefully skirted the gore to kneel at the side of the body as Brains peeked around the corner. "Yep, he's dead," the medic confirmed. He tapped the control panel on his forearm and did a scan of the bloody figure. "Blunt force trauma to the frontal lobe; his skull is split like a melon."

Brains, who had been edging closer to peer over Virgil's shoulder, turned an alarming shade of green and clapped a hand over his mouth. "Brains, I forbid you to puke, especially all over me," Virgil warned. "If you're gonna honk, do it outside."

The engineer fled into the South Pacific twilight to do just that. When he returned a few moments later, he was a shade paler than normal, but under control. "G-grandma hit him in the f-face with her frying p-pan," he informed the room, his stutter more prominent than usual.

Scott, also still in his blues, appeared in the doorway. "That thing weighs a ton; I'm surprised the guy's head is still on his shoulders."

Brains made a nauseated little noise and went another shade paler, but instead of bolting for the door, he retrieved his holopad and scanned the blood-spattered cookware. "F-five point three pounds, to be exact. Grandma weighs one hundred and t-ten pounds, so she'd have to swing it at a velocity of-"

Scott laid a hand on Brains' shoulder. "It's okay, buddy. We get the idea."

The engineer's face crumpled. "No, it's n-not okay," he protested. "She w-was defending m-me." He dropped heavily into one of the chairs around the dining table. "It should be me, Scott." He removed his glasses and dashed tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "I just s-stood there and let him t-take her."

Virgil looked up from his examination of the body. "He pulled a knife, Brains. He wasn't playing around." He gestured to the dead man. "This could have been you."

"I know, I just-" Brains slumped in the chair, tears sliding off the end of his nose. "I'm s-sorry."

"They're the ones who'll be sorry in the end," Scott gritted. "As soon as we find out who 'they' are, there's not going to be anywhere they can hide."