I'm not happy with the ending, but it's alright so far as they go. Standard disclaimers apply.

Seaweed, Amongst Other Things.

Seven thirty six am, and a new day is beginning at FLAG Technical Headquarters. Like most of their new days, this one begins with a rather loud explosion, followed by a spattering of smoke.

'Ach! What the—?'

'Damn it, Barclay!'

'Sorry, sorry, Bob told me he turned the power off!'

'Well obviously he didn't. Jesus, where the hell is the console? I can't see for all the smoke.'

They're intelligent people here. Harvard-Graduate and IQ of 150-type intelligent, every one of them, and they have their... eccentricities. Many of them were employed by Wilton Knight in the days before his death and his personal taste of technical staff is showing through. It's usually a busy department. The workers start at six-thirty, on the dot, every morning, and many of them don't leave the premises until at least ten pm. However, very few of them have ever been inside the semi and fewer still have worked directly upon KITT for long.

Today they have the opportunity to do both. That is if they can successfully organize their department before the Semi returns from its latest mission (somewhere over new Jersey, apparently. Nobody in this department is ever entirely certain where they're going).

The problem is...

'But I checked the temperature gauge, I swear I checked it.'

'Oh, certainly. Tell that to Doctor Barstow when she gets in.' 'Hey, Isn't that the new motherboard system for the Knight Industries Two Thousand currently smoking in the middle of the table? The one Miss Barstow has been waiting to arrive for weeks?'

'...Oh, god, I'm dead.'

...The problem is that organization really isn't on the top of their list today.

Anyone who has ever worked in a laboratory or a mechanics of any type will perfectly understand the term "controlled chaos" – namely, the type of organization which permeates every level of production and in which everyone works over everything with a fine tooth comb and knows exactly what they're doing, but from the outside it just looks like a bunch of people running around and yelling a lot.

Not that there is usually much yelling in the FLAG technical Department, but there is usually a great deal of running around. For one thing there is a new parts shipment which has just arrived this morning, and which one of their team mates has already succeeded in setting fire to during a check-test. There is also the fact that nobody is available to inventories the existing parts, and the fact that several people are trying to work on entirely different projects at the same time had resulted in their usual sense of controlled chaos becoming just a tad uncontrolled. And now Miss Barstow has called them in on a level Delta (aka the "it's urgent, but don't burst any brain vessels about it" level. Apparently she just isn't in any position to do the repairs herself), and they know they're going to have to fix something pretty big, if not mortal.

It must be reasonably big, if Doctor Barstow is calling the department in for it, after all, even if she is otherwise disposed.

'This is the last time we let you anywhere near those motherboards alone, damn rookie, you could've burned out the entire shipment.'

'Hey, it was an accident, alright? Even genius's make mistakes.'

'Well if they bring that car in and the one, single thing it needs is the burned out board you're holding in your hands, boy, don't expect me to cover for you.'

'I would expect nothing of the sort. Just hide me until Doctor Barstow goes away.'

'Oh for goodness sakes, when did you graduate, again?'

'Three months ago, why?'

'...Nothing. Never mind, I forgot who I was talking to, just... carry on.'

'Meh. Whatever you say, boss.'

They're remarkably busy as it is. They have no time for extra workloads or emergencies. So when the car eventually does arrive, none of them are really, honestly prepared for what they are about to see. All they know is that it's probably going to keep them here past midnight tonight.

They're right to think so. Actually, looking at the state it's in, a lot of them are rather surprised that the Knight Industries Two Thousand is capable of driving itself up the ramp into the workshop.

Doctor Barstow had given them only one instruction before its imminent arrival: 'Don't laugh.'

With some effort, no one actually does.

'Oh. Good. Grief.'

'What the living hell did they...'

'Tell me, a-am I imaging things or is that an actual, bona fide dent? Please, don't tell me that's a dent.'

'Okay, I won't tell you... Hey, there's a nasty scorching round here too, looks like somebody shot a high-power fraction laser at him.'

'I thought they took those things off the market?'

'They did. When did that ever stop the black market?'

The technical department at FLAG, of course, is specially trained to deal with just about any possible situation that could arise in the active field. Though they know all about the few things which can make a dent in the Knight Industries Two Thousand's bumper (Doctor Barstow makes it a point to keep them up to date on every possible risk factor and repair job they might have to do at some point) they have had to deal with repair jobs to the car only a scarce few times. Normally repairs were carried out in the semi, en route to whatever mission was next on the agenda. The technicians try not to ask about it too much. They don't want to make their already complicated job any worse than it already is.

In this case, however, it's fairly obvious that something weird went down on the last assignment.

'Uh... guys, not that I want to make this sound any worse, but...'

'What?'

'What?'

'What is it now, Chris?'

'Well there's a starfish in the passenger seat. And the interior fabric is kinda... wet.'

'...Oh, you poor thing, he drove you off the pier again, didn't he? And with your windows open, too. Was the water very cold?'

'I don't think he can tell you, Claire. The vocal simulator's shot.'

'Oh dear.'

'Wait, wait... The computer's still working and he's sending me a typed response instead.'

'What does he say? Is he alright? Does he need recalibrating?'

'...He says he reserves his right to remain silent until we remove the clams from his engine. Also, the starfish's vital signs are currently stable and we should probably move it to a salt water container.'

'Oh, KITT.'

'Okay, people, I... think we'd better get to work.'

'You know, it's really starting to stink of—'

'Chris, shut up and bring me a recalibrating pack.'

Something weird. In a few hours, it's going to smell in here. And they have no idea if they can reconnect the damaged components necessary while the entire vehicle is covered in salt water and related detriment. A small search even reveals there is seaweed sharing engine space with the clams.

This is not the way the department had planned to spend their evening. Still, seaweed, lasers, starfish and high-speed impacts with materials that can actually dent a molecular bonded shell.It sparks the imagination, really...

'Hi, Bob, sorry I'm late, the traffic was terrible between here and the interchange, I hope I haven't missed much of this apparant emergency.'

'Hey Mary I think maybe emergency is too strong a word.'

'Yo, Mary, check this out, girl, look what Mike did to the car!'

'Oh dear... he smashed him up again?'

'He smashed him up again. Along with himself, I hear.'

'Oh, the poor thing, what's he done to it now?'

'You say that like he doesn't come in with as many bumps and nicks as his car.'

'Yeah but we don't have to fix him, and he always bounces back like one of KITT's internal dampeners anyway.'

'Says you, the poor guy's sitting there with a look on his face like he just accidentally killed a puppy... And Askew, will you please get back to your side of the car, this is delicate stuff I'm repairing here.'

'Really? Looks like you're picking shellfish out of a turbine, to me.'

'Oh, go back to graduate school.'

'Huh. Okay, fine, but I'm taking the starfish with me.'

'Don't forget to put it in salt water.'

'Vocal simulator is back online.'

'Yeah, I noticed. Hi, KITT.'

'Good morning Miss Ettison How's your Aunt?'

'Oh a lot better now she doesn't have to deal with the crutches anymore, thanks for asking.'

'Oh, Chris, guess what? He's going to need that 'board you just shot up with a welding gun.'

'Um... oops?'

'Oh, wonderful. Now I'll have to be a vegetable for another two-to-eight weeks, thank you very much, Mister Askew.'

'Hey, I said I was sorry. Sheesh, snarky...'

'Snarky, Mister Askew, and water damaged. I have the right.'

The Knight Industries Two Thousand can handle practically anything. Or at least, that's what they've always been taught. The few things which they know it can't handle are laser impacts, missiles, and salt water getting into the turbines. It just dealt with all three. The result is, for want of a better word, flabbergasting.

Actually, it had been converted once to float on water under direction of their previous replacement mechanic. That hadn't lasted for long. Apparently KITT never really took to it.

'So from the looks of it, what we're dealing with here is three points of laser penetration at high temperature causing basic engine damage, a high strength impact dent and uh...'

'...And one bad case of salt water damage after driving into an ocean.'

'Yes. There's... also that. Chris, please, wipe that grin off your face, it's not that amusing.'

'Heh heh. But man, the Knight Industries Two Thousand is gonna smell of fish in a few hours, you can't tell me that's not the least bit funny.'

'Oh, Askew, shut up. And go find me a high-powered water-vac. Think you can handle that? Go on, go find a vacuum...'

'Okay, okay, I'm going already...'

The starfish still needs water!'

'Alright, alright! Sheesh, damn talking, thinking car, thinks it runs the department...'