Conflict

Part 3, Chapter 14

The constant rush of the wind outside the jet served as a source of ambient, steady noise as the Chrysler corporate jet leveled off at cruising altitude. The plush interior of the airliner would seem fit for royalty any other time, but that day it only served as a reminder of how small they were in the grand scheme of the manufacturer's political business.

Strip struggled to stay awake as the white noise filled the silence in the cabin. His left side ached. He and Izzy had to convert out of their flight modes to enter the aircraft, and his crumpled, scorched panels had made it impossible to do on his own. Izzy had been forced to tear them off so the undamaged panels could move properly. The bare wire ends and exposed manipulation equipment felt raw and unprotected, but he was too tired to care. That sort of pain seemed an old friend, a reminder that he was still alive.

Next to him, Izzy stared absentmindedly out of a window, taking a brief moment to meditate and clear her mind. Hasty decisions were rarely good ones, she knew that, but she still questioned her choices that morning. She tried to approach it logically, but could come to no clear answer. Instead, she elected to take a breather and save it for another time. She supposed it didn't really matter at that point, anyhow.

Lightning sat facing them, unsure what to do. The two older cars seemed a bit detached, but he didn't blame them. He thought about what the King had told him earlier that morning, before they confronted Chick. He glanced at the damage they'd both taken on protecting him. It didn't look comfortable in the least, but yet they didn't show any emotion one way or the other. What had they been through that made them so numb? Lightning tried to reconcile the fact that a seven-time Piston Cup champion had spent his life fighting some forsaken battle, but despite being mere feet away from the King, it still didn't make sense. The two just didn't seem to fit together.

Behind the rookie, Chick sat cattycorner toward the plane's cockpit. They'd haphazardly shoved him up inside the aircraft and tied him down with ratchet straps so he wouldn't roll around during takeoff and touchdown. While Izzy's electroshock tool had promptly knocked him out and rendered him unconscious, it seemed to have left him in more of a dreamlike slumber than an out-cold, anesthetic sleep. Every five or six minutes, the Buick would inhale an unceremoniously loud snore and mutter a few indistinct words before growing quiet again. Every time they thought he'd finally stopped, he'd do it again.

Hhhnnnkk.

Izzy's eyelid twitched in annoyance.

"I swear, if I have to hear that one more time, I'm gonna blow a gasket," she said in an alarmingly calm tone.

"Maybe you should zap him again," Lightning offered. "Worked pretty well the first time."

"Can't," she said disappointedly. "No sparks on an airplane."

Strip looked over at her. "Where'd you get that, anyway? I don't have one."

"Built it," she answered shortly. "Got bored and needed something to do. Regular Tasers just don't do what I want them to. This one delivers a dose of anesthetic and the electricity accelerates the effects on the body."

Lightning tightened his lips, subtly trying to conceal his reaction to her intimidatingly concise explanation. She had said it as nonchalantly as one could about inventing a new sort of weapon. He figured he should respond in like manner.

"Wow," he nodded a little in approval. "That's terrifying."

Izzy cracked a smile. "Thanks, I thought so."

A silence settled over them once more. Lightning shifted uncomfortably. Though things had calmed considerably, his predicament still troubled him. He'd had enough.