Disclaimer: I don't own Knight Rider or its respected characters mentioned in this story. They were created by Glen A. Larson and are copyrighted to NBC/Universal.

Our Trusty Getaway Car

Chapter One

Personal Log: June, Thursday

. . . Finally, I win. As Isaiah Berlin put it; freedom for the wolves has often meant death to the sheep . . .

Sandulf

The sun slipped further down the mountainous horizon as twilight's bursts of fiery reds and oranges gave way to dusk's hues of soft purples and blues. The ivory moon was visible in the eastern sky and the first evening star made its appearance, winking down on the earth below; a picture of total calm. In contrast to the peaceful transition from day to night was the eastbound traffic of Interstate 70 trying to work its way into Denver. The change in lighting reminded some drivers to switch on their headlights though they wondered what good it would do them since they weren't going anywhere anyway. It had been bumper to bumper traffic for the last two hours and, with the accident crew still on scene, no end seemed in sight.

Most commuters on this Sunday evening were polite and patient, but, in accordance with any traffic jam, some motorists' tempers could run hot which gave way to the occasional nasty gesture, offensive word and hateful laying on the horn. Yet, amidst a sea of gridlock, exhaust and noise there sat something which appeared to line up with the serene skyline above.

An abnormally quiet, black Trans Am lifted its headlamps as it inched forward; surrounded by vehicles a fraction of its model's age and yet making the other cars seem like clunkers in comparison to its muted engine. The only sound emitting from this Pontiac came in the form of a hushed whir as if the wind were constantly rushing by it. There were other modifications to the car, such as the more pronounced front bumper and shortened height, but its most distinguishing feature rested just above its prow; a series of eight red fiber optic lights oscillating across its grill.

The lady passenger of a neighboring SUV wondered briefly why the driver of the eighties muscle car even bothered to turn on their lights. The dust and grime clinging to the vehicle's black finish gave the correct assumption it had been on the road for quite some time and given the amount of dirt on the windshield it seemed unlikely the driver could see. In fact, she thought the windows on the little pony car were tinted far beyond what was legally acceptable and that even if broad daylight were beaming from the headlights it would be impossible for the joker behind the wheel to see the road ahead. However, she had witnessed the car navigate flawlessly on the busy highway hours earlier so the occupant of the sports utility vehicle scooted ahead of the old classic not giving it any more thought, but the black T-top did.

More accurately, the sophisticated artificial intelligence system housed inside the Trans Am was giving the whole situation the utmost attention and the only thing old about this car was in facade alone. Through a vast array of advanced technology, the Knight Industries Two Thousand, or KITT, was uniquely qualified to maneuver down the interstate with or without lights. Through powerful sensory equipment, various scanners, massive memory modules, command of a vehicle possessing a virtually indestructible molecular bonded shell and a personality all his own this microprocessor was a miracle on wheels; a one of a kind, high tech marvel in disguise. However, something important was missing from the car; someone. He was driverless. It was by choice and that fact had his CPU in a spiral of confused processing for the better part of three days.

Impossible. Completely unfeasible and illogical! This whole affair is . . . it's simply impossible. I can't do this. Why couldn't they just listen? No, they didn't listen because they didn't care . . . they never did. No! That's not true, it's irrational. I'm being irrational, but that's . . . that's also impossible! Stop. The internal ranting was blocked at KITT's request. His friends had listened to him, and they did care; they just didn't understand him and he didn't seem to know what he was talking about either. He had already gone over this stream of reasoning eighty-seven times in the past seventy-two hours; he knew it lead to nothing; not a reason for his behavior or the solution to his problem. Still, it kept circling around, time and time again.

Why?

Because he knew they were in danger; he had to act.

How did he know?

There was the faintest inkling, more of a suspicion really, that he had the answer to that question within himself, but he didn't want to acknowledge it because that would mean it was true . . . and it couldn't be true. No, he didn't want it to be true. He just needed to review the data again; gain that perspective he was missing, but that threw another conundrum into his proverbial face. His memory banks had everything recorded and ready for processing, but those files felt haunted to him which was . . .

"Outrageous. I'm not supposed to feel anything at all much less haunted by my own memories," he verbalized through his voice modulator. He routed the disturbing sensation aside, accessed the information he needed quickly and began to analyze what he knew to be the facts.

The Foundation for Law and Government, also known as FLAG, was currently undergoing the most difficult transition in all its' years of operation and KITT being the property of the organization was unfortunately placed in a complicated position. He was expensive to maintain and he knew this; one of the reasons he was still with FLAG instead of . . . well, anyway, the Foundation's ownership of him had been the necessary bane of his existence over the past decade. Funding had steadily dwindled down over the years and now it was at a drastic low. Along with this, FLAG's main benefactor, his namesake, Knight Industries, wanted to move in another direction with no interest in dragging along old legal programs. Ten years prior, the Foundation had been financially stable due mostly to the efforts of its late director Devon Miles.

The AI instantly noticed several other memory files opening in attachment to the stately man's name. His processor slowed in distress. He couldn't manage this right now, so he swiftly took the recollections and stored them elsewhere while continuing his original examination.

Devon had been skilled in the art of negotiation and better versed in fundraising. He was the pillar that seemed to hold Wilton Knight's dream in place on all fronts. The Board of Directors at Knight Industries had respected him, government and law enforcement agencies had appreciated his cooperation and the man never did cease to amaze with the number of strings he could pull in a crisis. It shouldn't have come as any surprise when Devon passed away his position would be difficult to fill and the man himself sorely missed.

Beep! Beep!

"Ah!" KITT started as a chorus of car horns blared from behind him. His scanner lights swept back and forth frantically as he saw that there was a good distance between him and the car ahead. He was appalled that he'd been so distracted. The one thing he didn't need to do was draw attention. After all, he was currently a runaway; a rogue artificial intelligence unit on the loose; possibly classified as a renegade machine no better than KARR or, or . . .

"Enough! . . ." he said, quieting his own CPU with the rationale that he had not violated any of his basic programming; stretched, perhaps, but not violated. No one ordered him to stay and as long as he didn't receive a command to come back, he didn't have to.

He pulled up to the bumper of the car in front of him and stopped, redirecting his thoughts back to his original task

Devon's replacement was nothing short of disappointing. Things had changed and KITT didn't like change. Now, it was nothing against the middle-aged lawyer who took over the position, but, then again, it was. KITT had never seen the new director, not even once in the whole ten years since Mr. Miles' death. Scott Wellington didn't give out missions directly, didn't reside at FLAG headquarters and barely met with staff let alone the sophisticated computerized car. The man just simply didn't come around, unlike Devon who had lived and worked alongside him and the agency's operatives. Oh, the operatives . . . there had been so many drivers and technicians.

"Perhaps this isn't the best way to review the facts," he strained as a flow of overwhelming requests pushed against his server demanding attention.

Over the past ten years he had built up a gradual uneasiness towards the Foundation and, though he had always found the sentiment unreasonable, something had now pushed him over the threshold of apprehension into fear and he didn't know why. Fighting against the information had forced him to repeat his inquiries over and over, but allowing the records in wouldn't be easy, considering it led up to- "My ridiculous, impossible behavior."

He removed the divider and braced his mainframe for the onslaught of input.

At present, he didn't have a driver with the Foundation due to the fresh negotiations and latest budget cuts which, incidentally, also left him without proper maintenance. Terry Hall had been his most recent driver of two years, not an entirely bad man, but terribly impatient; had a dreadful habit of sucking air in through his teeth which drove KITT nuts. Evelyn Williams was in charge of his repairs at the time. She wasn't as good as . . . well, no one was as good as her, but she was a fine technician as far as the profession went. She was employed before Terry Hall when Dennis Cook had been his pilot, a fairly large man with an infectious smile, so everyone said. Before him, was Eric Louis. Good, quiet Eric who was hired on before Evelyn when April Curtis had actually come back.

It had been a very welcomed reunion, even though it was only a short-term internship for the lively woman. Prior to April, Ms. Raquel Gomez had been his main mechanic, so to speak, and he had been happy to see her go along with the corresponding driver Joshua Brooks, whom he dubbed 'the brawler'. Before them was Brian Cunningham, a technician who managed to keep his systems up and running in that tough first year, and the wonderfully amazing Abigail Morton, a partner who had befriended him much the same way . . . well, he didn't like to think about what happened to her. Before them, Mrs. Tabitha Benson had been head engineer. She had always been resourceful and smart while her predecessor, Kimberly Jenkins, was terribly shy, but well mannered. One driver, Mr. Mark Edwards, was all protocol while another, Frank Nelson, liked to be called Frankie. Driver Robert Harris was kind-hearted and easy enough to get along with, but poor Sam Miller was unfairly first; judged too severely by the AI because he could never fill that empty role.

All came and went over the last fourteen years, usually leaving the position after a couple years of service, sometimes less. None of them looked back. He had been as hospitable and sociable with them as he possibly could, but that's all it ever was, good manners and talk; in the end, they always left. He couldn't say that he enjoyed all the constant changes, in fact, he despised it. Even with a dreadful operative or second-rate technician, he liked things to remain steady, if not a bit predictable, it was consoling. Having a new driver in the seat every season or so was jarring and a fresh technician under his hood made him feel violated. At least for the first four years of major adjustments he had Devon to fall back on, but these last ten were disconcerting at best. Someone was always saying goodbye to him one moment and then introducing themselves the next. In spite of all this, however, there was some solace . . .

Michael and Bonnie.

Finally, calm settled over the frantic pace of KITT's processor.

The two had been there since his beginning in 1982; a standard to go by. They had worked with him for eight years straight creating a stability he had cherished; a constant in rough times. They didn't just see him as the Knight Industries Two Thousand or an acronym for a supercar, he was Kitt; a sense of belonging.

They had both moved on since those times, either to retire from the action or pursue other career interests, but it was at least on understood terms this time. He had to admit, at first, he had perceived complete abandonment; surely he would never see or hear from them again. It had been to his shamefaced surprise when Bonnie had stayed in touch with the Foundation and him. It had been an even bigger shock and comfort when he received a correspondent from his old partner. Michael hadn't called often or anything, but it meant the world to KITT.

However, last year, these two significant people stepped back into his hectic existence more actively. Michael and Bonnie had moved back into the Los Angeles area. They could visit and they did, often. It was an appreciated reprieve from all the inconsistency in his life; a proverbial calm in the midst of the storm. Grant it, the visits were entirely too short and they did have to leave eventually. Their partings were so bittersweet. It was nice to see them again, but so much time had passed and with it, the comfort he used to draw from them. He knew they would come back, but every occasion they left was like reliving the first time; always draining on him. That's why what transpired over three days ago was so-

No! He was a computer and couldn't have the logic inhibiting emotions that human's possessed; he couldn't. He couldn't feel sentiment or experience nostalgia and he certainly couldn't suffer pain.

"Hey! Wake up, Moron! We're moving!" the angry shout of a motorist once again prompted KITT to pull the Trans Am forward, closing the gap of five yards.

"Some people. Maybe it would be best to wait until I have a little more privacy before continuing this train of thought, as they say," he reasoned. But then, what was he to occupy his processor with?

At least if he were cruising down the highway he would have driving the car to focus on, not that it was much of a distraction, but this stop and go traffic was monotonous torture which made the temptation of delving back into his suffered musings almost appealing. Normally, he could center on debriefing his driver on mission details, mapping out destinations or playing video games when things became too tedious, but if he could do those things he wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. Besides, he wasn't much for gaming; he always won anyway. His destination was a subject approached with trepidation; he didn't know where he was going. And there was no driver to debrief; he was alone. That in of itself was alarming enough, but the reason behind being alone was even more upsetting for the AI.

He needed to move, put a diversion between him and his thoughts, but the congestion was so frustrating! Now he understood why Michael . . . oh, forget it. This was exhausting. Could computers grow tired? After three days of non-stop calculating with zero results, his circuits were worn out. He needed tasks he could solve. With that in mind, he ran a diagnostics on his systems as well as the functions of the car and felt some relief when concrete results came in.

There was still enough power in his packs for another day of operation even with all the extra demands he was placing on his CPU. Some schemes were running slowly. He really wished he could have had Bonnie recalibrate them before he left, but he would just have to make do with a self-issued readjustment instead. Thanks to the preceptors installed in his engine block and most of his internal systems he could feel the pressure of dirt and grime clinging to parts he didn't want to think about. He truly was filthy from all the one-thousand-plus miles he had traveled and every particle of dust on his black frame seemed to mock his already fragile ego. And the traffic around him was . . . starting to move again!

Finally, there would be a break; an interruption to this madness. Unfortunately, a new dilemma had been revealed by his analysis. The fuel tank was nearing empty.

Last Thursday Morning

A middle-aged Caucasian woman with auburn hair wearing a teal semi-casual dress was more than a little upset with herself as she made her way over to the trail that would take her down to FLAG's garage. She was running late and it was for a meeting she had arranged for personally; an unforgivable mistake in her mind. Then again, it was only ten minutes after nine; she wasn't that late. Besides, one of the persons she was supposed to meet with wasn't known for his impeccable timing. Heck, he might not even be there yet. That thought cheered her up a bit and so did the scenery around her. The Foundation always brought back memories; some good and some bad. She had already been up to the organization's grounds fourteen times since moving back to Los Angeles last year, but it still held a certain nostalgic charm for her and probably always would.

A small, sad smile came to her face as she remembered her old position as the lead engineer. She recalled the team she used to work with, the time she spent at the mansion before finally leaving and how heartbreaking it was to hear about Devon's passing. A frown shadowed her features as she thought about the former director, her old boss and friend. Devon Miles had been sort of a second father to her, considering her real father was still bothered by her choice in programming over medicine. Devon had always been encouraging in her pursuits, even when it ultimately meant her leaving. Such bittersweet memories were best left untouched for now, bearing in mind her current dilemma, but her thoughts were soon drawn elsewhere.

"Please."

"Come on!"

Her brow furrowed upon nearing the garage as she noticed the door was open; two voices drifting out, animated by a charged discussion. Michael and KITT. Remembering those two most of all, she stopped in hesitation.

It wasn't that she was scared of going in to see them; quite the opposite, she liked visiting with the two as often as she could. This would be a reunion of sorts; a long overdue get-together for the three members of a somewhat odd family. She couldn't rightly remember a time they had all been together like this; years perhaps, but their company certainly wasn't the cause of her reluctance.

Her fear stemmed from the reason she set up this meeting to begin with. Guilt and worry swirled around her, but she began walking towards the open garage door again. Catching the tail end of a conversation between the two old friends, Bonnie smiled. Seated upon a metal workbench was a tall middle-aged Caucasian man with slightly graying dark brown hair wearing a light purple polo shirt and blue jeans. Next to him was parked a black 1982 style Firebird, modifications obvious.

"I don't think I'll ever understand you, Michael," stated that bemused voice of KITT's she remembered so well.

"Nor I you, Kitt. So, let's just agree to disagree; fair enough?" replied that easy-going voice of Michael's she remembered all too well.

"I suppose so," KITT said, relenting on whatever quarrel they were having, at least for the moment.

"Hi, Guys," she said in greeting, trying to hold on to the atmosphere of familiarity in the room. KITT's whole scanner bar flashed once brightly.

"Hello, Bonnie," he said with a recognizable lightness in his tone. The AI was happy to see her and she was glad for it.

"You're late, Dr. Barstow," Michael stated in a mock scold. Bonnie rolled her eyes causing the tall man to laugh. She gave a small snort.

"If you saw the traffic I had to go through to get here, Mr. Hatton, you wouldn't be laughing," she said, still finding it hard to use the man's new surname even after all these years.

"I guess, but I made it here on time."

"Please, there have been times you were several hours late . . ."

"Sometimes days," KITT added quickly, causing Bonnie to laugh. Michael gave the Trans Am a hard look before standing up.

"Thanks a lot, pal."

The red scanner lights undulated while Bonnie watched Michael lean up against one of the garage's worktables. In the past, the man would have chosen to rest against KITT's side or hood. Just another small testament to how distant they all had become.

"So what were you two talking about?" she asked casually.

"The finer tastes in music," Michael said in a mock polished voice.

"Or the lack thereof in your case," KITT added sardonically.

"Hey, hey. Agree to disagree remember. Besides, I was only trying to keep you entertained while we waited for, Late Kate, over there."

"I'm only late by ten minutes, Michael," Bonnie said a little more defensively than she meant.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't the one who called you up at six in the morning to meet here at nine. I doubt this was just a social call, so what's this about anyway," Michael asked curtly. Bonnie sighed. It was always right down to business with Michael when he was suspicious about something and, unfortunately, he had a reason to be. What she needed to discuss concerned KITT, but she didn't necessarily know if she should have the conversation in front of said AI.

"Well, gee, nice to see you again too," she stated hotly. She knew she was stalling but she needed the time to gather herself and form a strategy.

"Sorry, Bonnie, it's been a long week for me," Michael sighed, looking down at his hands tiredly. Bonnie looked away. She felt bad for making him feel bad. This situation wasn't entirely his fault, though she was going to place some of the blame there. Still, if anyone should be apologizing it was her. Her silent turmoil was noticeable.

"Are you alright, Bonnie?" KITT asked with concern; a tribute to his compassionate nature and another reason Bonnie reconsidered talking with Michael alone. They had been so negligent. She looked up.

"I'm fine, Kitt. It's just, I received some news about the Foundation that I thought you two would be interested in hearing," she said in partial truth; feelings of remorse and anxiety revisiting her mind.

"You mean the fact that never show up Scotty is coming here today?" Michael asked with a glint in his eye. Bonnie was mildly surprised.

"How did you know that?"

"You aren't the only one still plugged into the old grapevine," he said with a smirk. Bonnie gave a sideways glance to the car's windshield.

"So, Kitt told you," she said flatly. Michael's grin grew.

"Yup. I told you I got here on time."

A part of her wanted Michael to take this seriously, but at the same time she didn't want to cause . . . harm. She wished this could just be a pleasant meeting among old friends like it should be. She needed to stall a little longer.

"And how did you know, Kitt? Don't tell me you hacked into the scheduling mainframe?" she accused in that authoritative tone she knew the sensitive computer wouldn't be able to resist rebutting.

"Of course not, Bonnie; I would never do anything like that without due cause. I simply overheard the groundskeeper chatting up one of the program assistants yesterday and I wasn't eavesdropping either. They were loud enough for the whole estate to hear. In fact, they talked for an hour and a half. So much for company time, which reminds me, how can the Foundation still afford a gardener but not a decent mechanic? It's beyond me . . ." KITT supplied.

"Oh," Bonnie replied as KITT continued to speak his peace. There must have been something in her tone as she noticed Michael frown at her.

"Whoa, hold up there, buddy," the man said as he pushed away from the table and stepped closer to her. KITT hushed. "That's not all you wanted to tell us was it."

Bonnie gave him a pensive look, a sign she was thinking over the situation. She felt silly for acting this way, so professional and stiff. It wasn't like they were co-workers still working for F.L.A.G anymore, but it had always been difficult for her to just be casual. In fact, the whole reason for being here was that she thought it would be easier to talk with Michael in person at such a familiar work setting rather than over the phone. Now, she wished she hadn't. It was too close to the issue; an awkward site. What was she thinking?

"Well, I also know why Scott is coming here today," she stated firmly, hoping he wouldn't notice her unease. The look in Michael's eyes told her he wasn't buying it, but for whatever reason, he didn't press the matter.

"Alright, why?" he said frankly.

"You know how the Board has been debating on whether or not to keep the Foundation funded? Tonight is the final meeting to make that decision."

There was a heavy pause, filled with the uncertainty of that statement.

"Are they all coming here in person?" Michael asked with a frown.

"That's what I thought, but according to my source it's just going to be a conference call," Bonnie replied.

"So what; Scotty's office phone is broken and he's going to borrow the mansion's instead?" Michael asked with no small amount of mistrust. He never did like Scott Wellington all that much. He always felt the man was hiding something.

"I also don't understand, Bonnie. Mr. Wellington has never visited the Foundation campus before. Not even for previous negotiations. Why would he come here now after all this time?" KITT asked, sounding truly confused. She bit her lower lip in an unconscious attempt to stop the information she already knew from coming back to remembrance. This next subject was the crux of her distress.

"Kitt . . ." she stopped while staring at the black vehicle, red scanner pulsing at the speed of her own heart. In that moment, she wanted for the AI to run; run far away from here and never look back. They're going to destroy you!

"Bonnie?" KITT asked gently.

"Kitt, I . . ." she paused again, shutting her eyes. How could she have been so careless? When she opened them again it was obvious that she was very upset. She witnessed Michael's countenance change as the realization must have hit him. It was all too much. She turned around quickly and began to walk back out of the garage; dampness coming to the corners' of her eyes.

She could hear KITT turn over his engine and roll forward maybe a yard or two.

"Bonnie, wait!" he stated in a flustered tone. She quickened her pace, tears rolling down her cheeks. She heard Michael laying a hand on the car's hood.

"I got this, Kitt."

She was already halfway down the drive, knowing she was being pursued. It didn't take long for Michael to catch up to her nor did it take much time for her to dry her tears. He stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her path.

"What's going on here?" he asked, pointing back to give emphasis. She looked up at him with a mixture of anger and sadness.

"Bonnie, please, you have got to fill me in here. If it concerns Kitt I want to know."

"That's just it, Michael. It all concerns Kitt now and it didn't have to. How many times could we have intervened and we didn't?! We just sat back and let this happen to him. I just let this happen to him. Now it could be too late. We were so careless," Bonnie said in a voice laced with guilt. She could see the heaviness reflected in the middle-aged man's eyes. She continued in a hushed tone.

"Rumor has it that Knight Industries is going to cut funding completely. Scott is having a tow truck brought in tonight and a staff meeting at the hotel tomorrow. If all this is true, Michael, Kitt could be on his way to being decommissioned, sold or worse."

Michael frowned, as she placed a hand over her forehead and eyes, trying to hide her anguish again. She hadn't fully realized how much this had been affecting her; how much KITT meant to her. She knew if anyone saw her agonizing over a car she'd be deemed unfit.

"I had a chance to buy him away from Flag five years ago; not the car, but Kitt. There was enough equity in my private investments at the time, but I didn't do it because . . ." she couldn't finish. He gripped her by the shoulders gently and she lowered her hand to look at him.

"Listen, huh? It's not your fault. Even if you had gotten him what would you do with him, store him in the school basement to count ceiling tiles or install him in a tractor to herd cattle on the ranch?" he asked humorously. Bonnie couldn't help but give a small, tired laugh. Michael continued.

"We didn't know all this was going to happen."

She gave him a hard look.

"Didn't we?" she said curtly. He sighed.

"Alright, you have a point about us being careless. There were times I could have spoken up. We should have seen this coming and done more, but right now we need to focus on turning this around," he said releasing her as he continued, "Even if I have to steal him and take a slow boat to China we are not going to let anything happen to him, okay?"

She nodded slowly. Even though she knew there was little they could really do the idea of Michael trying to explain the boat metaphor to KITT brought a small smile to her face.

"Do you have any real ideas in mind besides China?" she asked, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand.

"Maybe one, but I don't know if you'll like it."

. . . Love is patient . . .