A Dose of Sun and Surf
Part 2
By Gumnut
13 Jul/Dec 2004
The unbreakable broke.
The Trans Am ploughed into jagged rock; the front left wheel shearing off on impact, the left fender crumpling behind it. A ripple spread outwards across the mirror black hood, the moan of indestructible alloy a death cry halted only by the scream of shattering windshield.
The front end came to an inarguable stop, and the car's momentum propelled its backend skyward, forcing it nearly perpendicular. Its rear wheels spun uselessly, the explosive sound of tractionless boosters pounding the air as the tortured body teetered sideways before crashing to earth.
By some miracle it landed on its rear wheels and they held, but the excess energy rebounded through the mortally wounded Trans Am, and it shuddered, its crippled left side sliding towards the edge of the low escarpment where the waters of the Pacific eagerly awaited.
The screech of metal on rock.
The front fender dropped off the edge, a soft splash as metal met water, and the wreck shifted, following.
Suddenly a projectile shot out from the rear of the car and, with a clang, a grappling hook impaled itself into the cliffside, its rope stretching taut. The high tensile cable creaked, but it held fast and the mangled body teetered, trembling, before finally coming to a fragile rest
Salt water caressed the black paintwork.
And then there was only silence.
xxxxx
"I would also like to take this opportunity to introduce to you all the flagship team of the Foundation for Law and Government. Michael Knight and his partner, the Knight Industries Two Thousand."
Devon raised up his arm to gesture to his colleagues, only to find Kitt's engine rumbling ominously and Michael nowhere in sight.
What the-?
He scanned the crowd quickly and finally located the tall man over by the edge of the cliff. The eyes of the audience followed his, and Michael, sensing he was the centre of attention, looked up at the man on the podium.
Devon was briefly shocked by the worry on his friend's face before the sudden appearance of an armed man from behind his startled figure flung all other thoughts from his mind.
Oh, god.
The potential assailant said something gesturing in Devon's direction, and Michael's vehement "No" echoed across the silent grounds.
"Michael..."
His own voice sounded harsh in his ears.
"No." Michael forced himself in front of the waving weapon, blocking the gunman from Devon's line of sight.
God, no.
Devon hurriedly clambered down from the platform, making his way towards to two opponents. No.
And then the gun went off.
Devon was close enough to seen the shudder course through his friend. Red spattered all over the trampled grass, and Michael wavered.
God.
The weapon refocussed, its previous victim dismissed.
It aimed directly at Devon.
He froze, his breath caught in his throat.
And suddenly Michael was there again, the gun's aim distracted, the two men fighting on the grass. Kitt's engine roared and several people squawked as the Trans Am left its display podium, the AI rumbling across the lawn, heading towards his partner.
The assassin flung Michael away, and he stumbled into a tower of filled champagne glasses.
Kitt screamed out his driver's name, Devon moved to prevent the inevitable, failed, and the wounded driver plummeted over the concrete railing, disappearing to the long fall below.
Devon's heart missed a beat as an electronic scream echoed across the grounds, and his attention was stolen as Kitt, his shape altering as he moved, shot past terrified guests and launched himself after Michael.
Something in Devon froze and he found himself unable to breathe.
"Now, Mr Miles, I believe we have some business." The cold barrel of the gun appeared under his nose, a pair of equally cold eyes pinning him where he stood.
A heartrending crash of metal on rock echoed up from over the cliff.
And Devon's world collapsed around him.
xxxxx
Kitt felt like crying.
His body was still, frozen in its precarious position, but his soul was trembling.
He had caught Michael. His driver lay sprawled hard up against his dash, the angle of the car forcing his lax body from the soft security of the seats. One hand was thrust through the shattered windshield, red welts scarring pale skin where it had encountered the deadly shards of glass that was never meant to be broken. His head rested against the steering wheel, and one foot hung over the edge of the passenger side door.
Something wet and warm was leaking into the controls on the centre console.
Kitt felt like crying, but his purpose still remained.
And even though he had given everything, and it may not have been enough.
"Mi-cl."
His voice was full of static, slow, and an octave lower than its usual tenor. "Mi-c-l."
No response.
His vital signs monitor spat nonsense at him, and Kitt frantically hunted through the little sensory information he was still receiving seeking information on his driver's health. He had little. Michael's body still gave off heat, but was painfully still. Finally Kitt was able to focus a visual sensor on his chest desperate to detect movement.
A twitch.
A shallow in drawn breath.
A faint mist of heat as the breath was expelled through his driver's mouth.
Kitt whimpered.
xxxxx
The wine glass slipped from her fingers and fell with a soft sigh to the grass at her feet. Red wine splashed on her pantyhose.
Between the heads of the crowd surrounding her, Bonnie's eyes caught Devon's as Michael's murderer wrenched the older man's arm and turned him towards the crowd. Her heart beat in her throat, emotional agony nibbling at the edge of her vision.
Michael...
Devon groaned, the arm thrust up behind his back obviously painful, and something inside her snapped.
A breeze picked up from the cooling ocean as she took a step forward.
xxxxx
He woke to the sound of muffled crying.
Something drifted through his hair, teasing it, and it took a moment for him to realise it was simply the breeze.
Where was he? His body was sprawled on something soft and something hard both at once. He tried to move, and regretted it immediately.
"Mi-cl?"
The voice was familiar but mangled. Something was seriously wrong. "Ki-?" His own voice wasn't much better, the sharp tang of blood and he spat, a tooth falling to the cabin carpet.
He was inside Kitt. In the car.
And it was raining.
Raining?
A drop of water landed on his cheek and he flinched. It ran across his skin, its trail chilled by the breeze that continued to tangle his hair. Salt tingled on his tongue.
Seawater.
"Mi-cl, d-n't moove."
He would have liked to obey his partner, but something obviously wasn't right, and he hurt where he was. His right shoulder was tangled in the steering column, and the gearshift was millimetres away from impaling him through the stomach.
And his hand...shards of something tinkled through his fingers...something...oh, god.
With a moan, his forced himself onto an elbow. The resultant fireworks in his chest were even more than he expected.
"Ack!" He squeezed his eyes shut, his free hand reaching for the source of the pain and encountering the warm mush of clotting blood.
He'd been shot.
Paxton. The name came to him in a rush. Billy Paxton. Shit. Devon!
A voice intruded. Another name. His own.
"Ki-tt!" Something rose up from his chest and attempted to strangle him. His body responded, a hacking cough throwing him forward, yet more blood spattering on the beige upholstery. Bonnie was going to be so pissed.
"Mi-cl! Pleeeeeez k-p still."
Perhaps that wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Glass rained onto the cabin floor. God, Kitt. He let his head drop onto the upholstery, finding his face where his buttocks usually sat. The material was worn and a disconnected part of his brain was surprised. It was his place. He'd sat here for so long, it was where he belonged.
Worn.
And sprinkled with seawater.
"Kitt? Status." His own warm breath bounced off the seat and clouded in his face. He tried to ignore the flecks of red.
There was a whirr and a short spray of sparks spat from under the dash. Michael jumped, his heart landing somewhere between his stomach and his throat. "Kitt!"
Mistake.
His throat convulsed and he found himself struggling under the throes of another coughing fit, his body shaking him until spots danced across his vision. When it finally passed, he was limp, his face once again buried in the soft fabric that coated Kitt's interior.
Kitt had caught him.
"Kitt?" His voice was little more than a whispered exhalation.
There was no answer for a moment, and he despaired. God, Kitt.
"I'm...I'm s-rry, Mi-cl. D-ta unnnnnvailabl-" There was a lone spark and something sizzled.
Michael closed his eyes.
xxxxx
"What do you want?"
"What do I want? Oh, great executive director of the Foundation for Law and Government, since when does anything involve what I want?" Devon squirmed as his arm shot pain through his system, the man's hot breath on his neck. "You took all chance of me getting what I want the day you took my father away from me."
FLAG's CEO flinched, memory suddenly supplying the missing pieces.
William Paxton.
Son of Judge Paxton.
Lyndhurst Flats.
One trumped up misdemeanour that became life threatening.
A
nick-of-time rescue by Michael and Kitt. It had been the first time he
had realised the value of what Wilton Knight had created in that
partnership. Nothing like seeing the black Trans Am charging to your
rescue to alter your perceptions.
He instinctively glanced at the edge of the cliff where the partners
had fallen, his eyes skittering over the frightened faces of the people
in front of him.
He closed his eyes.
"Don't you dare ignore me, Executive Director!" His arm was shoved higher and he felt something give, agony sparked. At the groan he could not suppress, his captor snarled in his ear. "Is that nice? Are you enjoying yourself?" Devon didn't answer. "No? Well, welcome to my life." The cold metal barrel of the gun bit into his throat.
"Who are you and what do you want?" The new voice startled both of them.
Devon looked up to find Bonnie standing in front of him. God, no. She stared at him, something in her eyes, red-rimmed though they were, spoke of anger. "No, Bon-"
"Who said you could speak!" William yelled into his ear, spittle landing on his cheek. The man was unstable, that much was clear.
Bonnie moved in closer. "I said 'who are you and what do you want?'" She was carrying a wine bottle in one hand.
"Who wants to know?"
"Someone with a vested interest in the man whose arm you are attempting to break." And those who had just been taken from them. The unspoken wafted through the silence.
Apart from the occasional whimper, the crowd behind her was silent. Staring.
Bonnie, please.
A sharp scream from beyond the cliff shattered the silence and his arm was wrenched beyond design. Something snapped and suddenly he was falling.
xxxxx
Water.
It had to be water.
His shell had been compromised and water was leeching into his systems. A not-so-pleasant way to be deactivated, but worth it nonetheless.
Michael was still alive and that was all that mattered.
And he had to find a way to keep him that way.
That was his purpose.
His only purpose.
His driver's eyes fluttered occasionally. He was still conscious, and Kitt kept talking, drawing his driver's attention as much as possible to keep him awake, while he accessed all his available systems, cataloguing what he could and could not do.
His communication equipment had survived the fall for the most part, and an urgent signal was sent to the coast guard and air rescue, but the majority of his scanning systems were down, the vulnerable front scanner corrupted by seawater.
"Devon?" It was more breath than voice, but fortunately Kitt's audio sensors hadn't died as yet.
"I'm sssssorry, Mi-c-l, I c-can't reead him." His voice box warbled, bouncing in and out of his normal range as his diagnostic systems struggled to feed him what little information they could garner.
"Damn."
There was a silence for a while, the only interruptions the irregular roar of the surf. Kitt had been aware of the waves and the danger they presented from the moment he had settled here. Fortunately there were rocks further out that broke up the breakers, giving them some small amount of protection, but it was still a serious concern. He still had access to the winch that held them fast to the cliffside, but probability calculations did not lean in their favour regarding the possibility of losing his precarious hold on the rock should he attempt to pull the Trans Am higher up onto the ledge. He wasn't willing to risk losing all for the chance of a small gain in purchase.
He had tried to raise the roof to at least protect Michael from the water that splashed erratically on him and the upholstery, but had no success. He was still trying to assess whether it was an electrical fault or a mechanical one.
"K-Kitt, why?" A simple question.
A simple answer.
"Nooo, choice." There was a spark in his diagnostic array and several sensors spat static at him. Hurriedly he disconnected the affected circuits, corralling the damage, and saving the survivors.
"But-" A shudder shook his driver and for a moment, he thought Michael had lost his battle to stay awake, but his eyelids continued to flutter, and then , "Thank-k you."
Kitt didn't have a heart, but what made him what he was clenched in pain. Michael. If you only knew.
All thought was interrupted as a particularly large wave crashed against the front fender of the Trans Am. Kitt didn't see it coming and flinched as his engine compartment filled with water. More circuits fell, his mad scramble to disconnect prone systems and protect himself almost failing.
Michael groaned, the strength to scream already taken from him, as salt water soaked him and the upholstery he was lying on, catching his injuries in all its acid-like glory.
Kitt grabbed again for the controls to raise the roof, but they still did not respond. The Knight Two Thousand, the most indestructible car on the planet, currently didn't even have the ability to protect his driver from the sun, much less the surf.
Kitt swore.
The water receded, but Michael had stopped moving.
"Mi-cl?"
The handful of sensors he had left, he trained on his driver. Please, Michael.
He painfully searched for signs of life, breath, movement, anything.
Anything.
"Mi-cl!"
Nothing.
"Mi-" His voice box sparked, the current caught, the circuit looping to burnout.
And the Trans Am screamed.
xxxxx
End Part 2