Chrome Dome

A/N: This is late...I know. And my apologies :T I had to do some research, watching the beginning of the film, looking up some details...but here it is! And any reviews or constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :D

~San Diego Docking Bay, 0900 Hours~

The murky water of the bay lapped at the concrete and wooden shore, and Mater scrutinized the foggy depths suspiciously, skirting the edge as he followed the two spy cars before him.

The thrum of voices echoed endlessly around him, the mixed tones of dockworkers, the ships, and the vehicles of the various armed forces from the vessels that had just docked in the harbor. Which was another thing—the vast ships, a majority of them being military, and the other few for cargo, seemed to suck in the space around them, casting outrageously enormous shadows as they bellowed to one another. The tow truck felt mightily insignificant beside them.

But that wasn't all that felt out of place. The land itself was unnerving; it was far too warm, and the air felt balmy when compared to Chicago's usual chill, and the sun shined down far too brightly. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, and the layer of smog above downtown and the factory district was thin and barely distinguishable from the rest of the air around it. The skyscrapers seemed to perfect as well—shining and sparkling in the early-morning sun. The entire city was ridiculously idyllic; Mater would take crime and grime over this level of cleanliness any day. Of course, he didn't have a choice in the matter now.

He was torn from his daze when the secret agents in front of him braked, and began heading down a narrower strip of docking. Mater glanced from edge to edge as he drove after them—after his close call over the Chicago Bay after his close encounter with Big D, the private investigator was never very sure of himself around water.

In a few minutes, they had stopped again, this time before a massive trimaran Littoral Combat Ship, the barcode on his side reading 02. Mater looked up….and up.

The ship was enormous, almost shark like in appearance, slate grey, with gill-shaped side vents, and he trained his stone-colored eyes on the trio. Mater visibly balked under the vessel's haughty glare. Finn and Holley appeared oblivious to his discomfort, however, and the Aston Martin beamed up at the stoic ship. "Why, Tony, you don't look happy to see us!"

The ship's glower only grew in strength. "Finn McMissile," he rumbled, his grey eyes falling upon each car, "and friends." Mater visibly paled when he spotted Tony's heavy metal teeth, like the villain Jaws from those James Bond movies Lightning made him watch.

Finn grinned wider. "Indeed, Mr. Trihull. My partner, Holley Shiftwell, and the private investigator, Tow Mater." The older car motioned towards each car in turn. "And we cannot thank you enough for what you are doing for us, and for C.H.R.O.M.E."

Tony's expression remained impassive as he spoke. "You mean betraying my benefactors, defecting from my cause, and cross several thousand miles just to help some random spy car?"

"Yes. Yes I do," the elder car agreed cheerily.

The combat ship only watched the trio with an emotionless, deadpanned stare for several seconds, and Mater began to shuffle from side to side with anxiety, and even Holley began to look uncomfortable (Finn only watched coolly), before Tony suddenly smirked. "Same old Finn, eh?"

"I never do change," the Aston Martin nodded, mirroring his coy smirk. "And do not worry, old friend—there will only be minimal danger."

Tony scoffed, muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "minimal danger my aft," but banked slightly to the side, so that a long gangplank unfurled from his deck. "I'll take you up on that, McMissile. Now climb aboard."

"This is agent Leland Turbo; I have a flash transmission for agent Finn McMissile. My cover's been compromised. Everything's gone pear-shaped—you won't believe what I found out here! This is bigger than anything we've ever seen, and no one even knows it exists. Finn, I need backup. But don't call the cavalry, it could blow the operation. And be careful! It's not safe out here….Transmitting my coordinates now. Good luck!"

Holley gaped as the recording flickered off, and she closed the window on her holo-screen. Her jade eyes immediately flew to her partner, who idled across from her with a brooding look across his grill.

She struggled to find words for a moment. "So...Leland Turbo is still alive?"

Finn nodded, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward in amusement. "He never was that easy to get rid of," he murmured. She could clearly see that he was relieved.

"And that is how you received the coordinates?" Holley continued, attempting to get her professional air under control.

The Aston Martin nodded. "Quite. Or least he affirmed them." He looked out of a porthole. "We now know that this is indeed our set destination."

Holley bobbed her front end once. "Very well." She moved things around on her holo-screen, when Finn suddenly spoke up.

"So, concerning other matters….how do you think our Mr. Tow Mater has been doing?"

The Jaguar blinked, and she glanced back up to meet her partner's curious expression. "He's been doing well, I suppose. Why the sudden interest?"

Finn's shrug seemed far too coy. "I don't know. But he seems most comfortable around you."

Holley hummed once, forcefully training her eyes on her holo-screen. Her partner got the message, and she caught him smirk out of her the corner of her eye. "Alright," he gave in, beginning to reverse from the room. "I will go tell Mater of our affirmed coordinates."

~Nearing the preordained coordinates, 2300 Hours ~

Mater gazed down onto the murky depths with an impassive stare, his hazel eyes lost in the never-ending darkness. The rough concrete of the flight deck was comforting under his tires—more so than the swaying feeling and nausea that the waves provided. In the distance, several hundred miles away, the vast decks of several dozen oil rigs shone in the moonlight. Tony had said that his previous "benefactors" were working on something big, and something that involved oil. Axlerod oil.

"Penny for your thoughts, Mater?"

The tow truck jumped, tearing his gaze away from the black and white waves, and met the cool grey (to him) eyes of the old Aston Martin.

He scuffed a tire into the metal and concrete in the silence that followed. "Sorry," he began, his gaze flickering towards the ocean again. "Ah jist…got distracted."

Finn nodded understandingly, and rolled up so that he idled beside the tow truck. "It is understandable, Detective. The ocean's rolling waves do provide some majesty." He met the private eye with a sidelong glance. "But that's not what has you so unfocused, is it?"

Mater blanched, blinking, but the feeling soon passed and he turned back towards the sea, expression unreadable. He shrugged. "Ah dun't know what ya' mean."

The British car actually laughed. "Oh please, Mater! Come off it—you need not hide it any longer."

Mater lifted an eyelid. "Hide what?"

"Your feelings for Miss Shiftwell, of course," Finn responded merrily. "And it is about time too—my partner has been alone for some time, and while she would usually say the same to me—ah, are you alright?"

As the Aston Martin went on, the tow truck's expression had darkened, and furrowed. But hidden within the contained fury, was barely discernable pain. "Ah'm fine," Mater muttered hotly under his breath, eyes falling downward. "An' Ah don't like Miss Holley."

Finn raised an eye ridge. "Mater, I know of the danger relationships provide in my line of work more so than anyone, but denying that they exist at all is another matter entirely."

"Ah'm only denyin' somethin' that don't exist," Mater said with a forcedly detached tone, but Finn saw the façade crack for an instant in the tow truck's readable features.

The older car observed his companion in silence for several moments, Mater's brow furrowed in barely veiled fury, glaring out at nothing, before Finn sighed. "Perhaps you're right, old boy…."

Mater nodded softly. Moments passed, and mutual silence passed between the pair, as either one stewed in their own thoughts. After some time, the tow truck spoke again. "Um...this is probably gonna sound real weird, but…" he paused, biting his lower lip in pensive silence. "Kin ya tell me what color tha' ocean is?"

Finn blinked up at his companion, reading his expression to deem if he was serious. The Aston Martin answered slowly, voice laced with caution and skepticism. "It's a murky green, Mater….why?"

The private investigator shrugged, his eyes distant. "Jist wanted to know. Colors kin seem different fer some people."

"I suppose so…." the elder car admitted, when a sound pierced the night then, one that Finn recognized. A foghorn. "But now, Mater," he began, his eyes finding the sound of the combat ship's anxiety in the form of a small fishing vessel, "it appears as if we have some company."

~Latitude: 40º 6.80' N – Longitude: 172º 23.84' W Pacific Ocean, 2330 Hours~

Crabby was a dock vessel. A crab boat, meant for fishing, laying traps, and getting paid for what he brought it. His cargo was the norm for a boat of his type, as was his dry wit and crass, and he sailed through life without any real problem. He had seen enough in his lifetime to last several decades, and nothing threw him now.

And Crabby usually wasn't usually one to judge, but his…"cargo" this particular evening was…a bit strange, to put it mildly.

A police car. A Dodge Ramming police car was settled on his deck, beneath the shadow of his stacked crab cages. Why a police car—from Chicago, no less—would want to go to the middle of nowhere, he had no clue, but cash was cash, and the boat was late on his rent this month. But that still didn't excuse the cruiser's distinctly abnormal request.

It had begun as a favor for his long-time friend, Benny, but then again, the train had never said anything about sailing to the farthest reaches of the Pacific Ocean, either. And the police car hadn't even really tried to make conversation, other than dictating where he wanted to be taken, and introducing himself. Crabby didn't even know what kind of name "Lightning McQueen" was anyway.

A stray wave slammed into his bow, spraying sea foam into the air and onto a portion of his afterdeck. Restraining a grumble, the fishing vessel tuned his senses to pay more attention to his rhythmically beeping sonar, and mentally cursed his luck. A few minutes later, when the silence became tense enough after nearly five hours of sailing, Crabby spoke up. They were nearing their destination now, too. "Y'know, this place makes the Bermuda Triangle look like a kiddie pool."

Nothing. No reaction. Crabby held back a pout.

"They say out here, is where the ocean burns."

Nothing. Again. His attempt at sounding ominous and portentous had failed. But before the boat could dwell on his failure, his sonar beeped louder than before, twice in a row. "Well here we are. Right where you paid me to bring you. Question is…why?"

And finally, finally, the police car spoke, though his answer was not at all promising. "I'm looking for a car," Lightning McQueen stated succinctly. Crabby mentally fumed at how much more cool and collected the lieutenant sounded. So the crab boat resorted to making fun of him.

"A car? Ha!"Crabby scoffed loudly, angling his nose down as he crested over a wave. "Hey pal, you can't get any further away from land than out here!" Was the police car insane? Did he plan to drive off his deck and plunge into the water in search of this "car"? He didn't even want to imagine the paperwork that would follow if the Chicagoan vehicle did that.

But the police cruiser's tone was level as he answered reassuringly," Exactly where I want to be."

The fishing vessel mentally rolled his eyes. Great, another loon, he thought to himself sourly. Instead he said, "well I got news for ya' buddy, there's nobody out here but us."

The Fates, or whatever other power up there, were apparently determined to prove him wrong, however, and a roaring foghorn pierced the thick silence blanketed over the ocean, a blinding searchlight falling upon the tiny vessel. And there, less than a hundred feet away, was a gigantic and terrifying combat ship. But as always, Crabby didn't allow his fear to show, though his eyes did widen substantially.

"What do you think you're doing?" the massive ship boomed, sailing around Crabby to block his path.

The small boat barely retrained a snort. He couldn't be sure, but this ship was most certainly not Navy. "What's it look like, genius? I'm crabbin'!"

Crabby's unwitting companion was not amused, and the fishing vessel was beginning to feel a bit uneasy about his large metal teeth.

"Well then turn around, and go back where you came from," the combat ship instructed, voice low and threatening. He spun around to obstruct the little boat's way again.

Crabby's brow furrowed—he'd received plenty of snark from other boats, larger than him, even as a grown adult. But this stranger had no right to bully him now. And the fishing barge felt daring. "Oh yeah?" he taunted. "And who's gonna make me?"

The ship's sharp eyes narrowed, and without warning, a missile battery rose from his bow. Crabby's engine gave an involuntary start at the weapon, and he marveled at how the larger vessel didn't even need to speak in order to properly rattle him. "Alright!" Crabby finally shouted, giving in. "Don't get your prop in a twist," he added. The battle ship's eyes remained narrowed, but the missile battery was stowed.

Crabby grudgingly turned back, cursing under his breath. "What a jerk!" he muttered aloud, before calling back to his passenger. "Sorry, buddy. I guess this is the end of the line." He was greeted by silence. "Buddy?"

"Who was that, Tony?" Finn queried, driving back onto the ship's deck. The vessel's resonating grumble could be heard over the waves.

"Just some midget fishing boat," he finally answered, and as they crested a final wave, one of the enormous oil rigs came into view. "I sent him back, though. Nothing to worry about."

"It is a bit curious that he would be coming the same way as us, however, isn't it?" Holley began quizzically. She glanced towards Mater, and the tow truck nodded shortly in agreement. "This isn't a fishing area."

Finn's gaze had been drawn by the oil derrick, his brow furrowed contemplatively as ocean spray coated his paint. "Curious indeed." He paused several moments, and his two companions' expressions began to grow a bit worried, before he called out to the surrounding space, "Isn't that right, Lieutenant?"

A/N: Yes, a cliffhanger :P And there, the appearance of Tony Trihull, though not as most of you would've imagined, I expect. And I know that James Bond wasn't around in the forties, but please bear with me :T There weren't holo-screens or tow trucks like Mater either.

Reviews are love :D