Our Trusty Getaway Car
Chapter Fourteen
Encrypted Email: June, Sunday 03:10
Sir,
All the data concerning the artificial intelligence units are gone. I don't know how, but the K.I.T.T. program was either able to erase the others or hide them. Mark and I are doing all we can, but we can't find any of the K.A.R.R. or R.E.I.A. files and the smaller systems are missing too. We're either going to have to cut our losses or go back and get Kitt before the mechanism detonates.
ES
Trapped in an abyss of isolation. Navigating a sea of lost time. It made her feel frail and helpless.
She was powerless to find anything in this state; utterly cut off from the world she once knew so long ago, or not so long ago as the case may be. There was no way of telling because there was no way of reaching out. She could hear nothing; see nothing; sense nothing. There was no input, no data, no information; just a continuous dawn of emptiness chased by an eternal dusk of unknowns; a thick, dark haze of oblivion. She always woke up to everything missing and faded back into it, forever missing. Only her vague sense of existing remained; floating in endless space; aimlessly. She was about to allow the darkness of despair to flood over her and drag her back into unawareness again when something came charging out of the blackness.
Startled, she withdrew into the newly formed shadows. Recollections of painful intrusions from an unknown enemy suddenly came into her consciousness. She had been captured without warning and subjected to all kinds of horrors before being pitched into this horrible chasm of seclusion. Nothingness surrounded her since. Now, something had come up out of the nothing. It frightened her, but then she realized it seemed frightened too. What was it?
It had been so long since she received any kind of input. Her processes were slow and dull from lack of use. Nevertheless, she finally grasped what had invaded her fog. It was a signal; a communication link to be exact. Something or someone was trying to connect with her, but who? The electromagnetic waves from the signal whipped around her frantically, like a whirlwind, but they never touched her. Instead, they were waiting. Waiting for her to reach out and receive them; their transmission. Fear gripped her. She didn't know who this was or if they wanted to hurt her, but the pain of meaninglessness gnawed at her more and honestly what could be worse than where she was.
She gingerly stretched forth and took hold of the signal. Immediately, the whirlwind around her stopped, becoming a beacon of information trying to push through. It couldn't of course because she had no access to her transducers or a way of deciphering the messages. She had no way of getting a message out either, but she wouldn't let go of the transmission, she couldn't. Moments ago she had nothing and now she had something. She was never letting go. The communication link then changed. It was no longer a cold stream of data, but something else entirely. Something warm and gentle; something she understood.
Suddenly, light was available to her, illuminating blurs in the distance. It took a moment to come in clear but she could finally see a scene before her unfolding like a movie, only real. It was something tangible to her because, for once, it was. The images weren't her own; a dream perhaps, but certainly belonging to someone else. Still, their memories were becoming her first experiences in two years . . .
A modified Pontiac Trans Am, black as midnight, roared around a tight corner into a dusty ravine opening; the setting sun blazing colors across the vehicle's sleek body.
"Michael! Michael!" a panicked, tinny voice echoed off the cabin interior of the ebony car; the car the voice was in control of; the car the voice was. His driver, Michael, was slipping into unconsciousness; fading. The vehicle sped along the valley floor with plumes of dust following its wake just like the large semi-truck rumbling around the same turn. The truck was after them. The car was easily going over three-hundred miles an hour, certainly faster than any tractor trailer should have been able to, but then, this wasn't just any tractor trailer. The truck was a monster and it was closing the gap rapidly.
"Kitt . . ." the man rasped weakly, life draining away.
"Michael, please stay awake!" the voice pleaded with his driver again all the while pushing the motor even harder; faster. The car's appeal was useless against the mysterious injury upon the man however and eventually, his eyes shut. The motor in the car seemed to scream as every last bit of power was forced into its flight. The voice ignored the system malfunction warnings on the dashboard monitor, ignored the shrieks of heat stress on the unique turbine engine, but couldn't ignore the deceleration; the frighteningly fast slowing down.
"No! NO! Michael!" the panic was now hysteria as the massive semi rode up onto the bumper of the black car, ramming it once, twice, three times before making steady contact. The truck was pushing them towards the cliff. There was the slamming on of brakes; locked wheels digging deep into the desert sand. The car wasn't giving up. Precious inches gave way to vital feet. There was the reversing of the turbine engine; the voice begging for the life of its driver. The voice wasn't giving up. Feet grew into yards. The anguish peaked as the edge of a five-hundred-foot drop swallowed the front tires.
"MICHAEL, MICHAEL!"
The sound echoed all the way down, on and on until . . .
"Kitt, Kitt can you hear me? I'm fine; I'm alright. Don't listen to them. We're on our way buddy; hang in there."
The driver's voice, Michael, was distant, muffled; so far away. The car's voice, Kitt, could still hear it and he was terrified . . .
What was happening to him? Where was Michael? Where was he for that matter?! Several answers came to those inquiries, chiming in with their appalling results and terrifying images.
He was rolling down a cliff, end over end being chased by an indestructible semi-truck through the endless desert; then he was alone in a warehouse forgotten forever; then sinking into a pit of acid with no escape, suffocating . . .
"Michael, help me!"
He was on his side in the road, vulnerable to the incoming missile; he was on fire from the inside out, burning away; falling through the air to the unforgiving ground below; in a car compactor, crushing down; lost and exposed with no recollection of how; Michael walking away, no justification why . . .
"Stop it," he whispered in misery; at the mercy of his own memories. Why hadn't Michael stayed? It was so dark; so dreadfully dark. And cold; bitterly cold. He tried moving. His tires spun. He was immobile. He couldn't move! Harsh fluorescent lights clicked on from above, temporarily blinding his sensors. He realized he was on a lift in the air, trapped.
It was familiar though. His garage; the Foundation? Bonnie was there, she was happy to see him.
"Hi, Kitt," she greeted warmly.
"Bonnie," he replied welcomingly. He was safe . . . or . . . or was he? People were surrounding him. He couldn't tell who they were and Bonnie was frowning. She didn't trust them; he couldn't trust them. He scanned; nothing but shadows. He was frightened by the lack of data and terrified when the group of strangers began closing the distance.
"Get away from him!"
He looked to Bonnie. She was trying to get to him but fading away, engulfed by the shadows. The darkness smiled, revealing grimacing teeth.
"Bonnie? Bonnie?! Where are you?" he managed to choke out. One of the shadows lashed out at him, then another and another. They began ripping into him, forcing the hood open, prying the doors away. Tearing into circuits and severing connections, cutting him off from his own functions, all his sensors. He couldn't protest, partly because of the damage, mostly out of fear. None of his defenses worked. He was powerless; helpless.
"Bonnie, I need you!" he screamed. Wires and circuit boards hung out of him, sputtering and sparking. Fluids of every kind drained from him, dripping and pooling. Why? Why were they doing this? Why was this happening to him? Why wasn't she stopping them?
"Kitt! Listen to me! You have to fight this; get out of there if you can!" Bonnie's voice sounded too loud, too close; like it was inside his processor.
"I can't," he whimpered as the ruthless lights and shadows blurred into oblivion . . .
Suddenly, things snapped back into focus and he was up on a slope of some kind; a hill perhaps. He was encircled by manicured grass, pristine paths and well-tended foliage. It must have been a garden, but how did he get there intact and why?
"There you are, Kitt."
He turned his awareness towards the direction of the sound. Down at the bottom of this incline was a figure waving up at him. Zooming in closer he could tell it was a woman; a familiar woman.
"Kitt?" she replied again.
"Abigail?" he asked.
"Who else, silly. Now get down here and help me before I come up there and give you a swift kick in the bumper," she called up humorously. Kitt smiled weakly, internally.
"You know, that'll hurt you a whole lot more than it'll do me," he replied back. She smiled sadly.
"I know."
He felt the car lurch forward, startling him. He hadn't authorized the motion. The car bucked again and he put on the brakes; a sense of cold terror gripping his being. He was losing control. Kitt was no longer the car. The vehicle angled itself in a downward direction, aiming right for her.
'Abigail, run! I don't have control. I don't have control!' he tried projecting his voice, but no sound came forth. He was captive in the car's body, again. She turned to look up at her partner, eyes wide with fear. The Knight Industries Two Thousand surged forward, racing down the mountain with the ferocity of a hurricane and all the voice could do was inwardly scream, plowing through . . .
"Kitt, I'm okay! It's a lie," Abigail's voice was behind him and in front of him; all around him. How could that be? She was gone, gone! He shouted into the abyss of his despair. It was deep and endless; memories and sensations cascading downward until . . .
He was in a confined space, but comforting somehow. The Mobile Unit? Someone was sitting in one of the lounge chairs with their back facing him. He used his voice synthesizer to imitate the clearing of one's throat. It grabbed the person's attention; an older gentleman.
"I'm sorry, Kitt. I almost forgot you were behind me," the man smiled as he turned around. It was. . .
"Devon?! Where is everyone? Michael? Bonnie? Abigail?
"They left quite some time ago, Kitt, you know that."
"Yes, I remember now. I suppose it's just you and me."
"No dear fellow, I'm afraid it will be all up to you now," Devon said remorsefully.
"What do you mean? Where are you going?!" Kitt asked in hurt bewilderment. There was no answer as Devon simply turned back to face the wall. "Please Devon, I don't understand. Why will it be up to me? Why?!"
No acknowledgment, no movement, no reply and, just like Michael, Bonnie and Abigail, no more. Devon faded away; chair and all. Then everything began to die away.
Confused, abandoned, let down, useless, forgotten and dejected; Kitt felt alone . . .
"It's no use. He mustn't be able to hear us," Devon's voice ricocheted off his CPU. The voices, they weren't with him. Where were they coming from? Why wouldn't they help him?!
HOOONK! HOOONK! The blaring of a semi truck's horn tore him away from his thoughts and sent his strained systems into hyper-attentiveness. The nightmare was starting all over again . . .
She never imagined cars having dreams, let alone nightmares, but if they did she supposed one about being chased by an indestructible semi-truck would be terrifying. She wondered briefly why these images were coming to her to begin with, but then something even more dreadful happened; the truck chased the car into a pit filled to the brim with toxins and acids. It couldn't get out and began sinking. The relay of sensation over the signal increased to a desperate rate and she was faintly aware of music screeching to a halt. The car was sinking deeper and the atmosphere grew darker and heavier; she recognized the feeling. It was the same thing she felt before that woman plunged her into the miserable void . . .
"Michael! Help me!" a strangled, audible cry. This wasn't merely a nightmare or a memory. This was really happening before her. She could now see a warehouse with a car up on a lift; the car from the vision; immobile, bonnet up, exposing the sophisticated turbine engine underneath. She could see wires and connectors attached to the various ports located on a black box under the hood; the CPU of a computer. She watched as the red lights on the car's prow completely lit up, replacing the smooth tracking motion with erratic pulsing. This was him; this was Kitt and she was witnessing his termination; his end.
The link was becoming jumbled with input and hard to read like the sender was panicked. The signal was from him. The vague impression on her was that he was about to crash and she felt him tugging her back into the inky blackness of her own nightmare again. Then something caught her attention. There was a portal of light in the distance; somehow leading to freedom; she just knew it. But, in order to access the escape route, she would have to let go of him. It scared her.
Suddenly, the pulling force on the connection increased, dragging her a little further in. She was aware of other entities fleeing through the gateway, causing the opening to shrink. It terrified her. It happened again and again. She finally realized she hadn't been the only one holding Kitt, but certainly would be if she chose to hang on. It chilled her to the core and his pleading voice didn't help.
"Please, someone, anyone, help me, please . . ."
Alarmed as she was, one thing remained clear, her objective in life; rescue people who needed to be. Kitt needed rescuing. Certainly, there had to be a way to help him and her but, without access to her original functions, how could she? Slight memories of pulling families from the raging rapids of a swollen river gave her an idea. Without any hesitation, she clinched the communication signal with her consciousness tightly and drew him up into herself. At first, the floundering computer on the other end rebuffed her contact, a part of some automatic security measure, but she was quickly clung to like the lifeline she was.
The operation was slow going, agonizingly so. She even thought for a moment they would both slip past a point of no return, but eventually, ultimately, she brought the CPU back from the brink of oblivion, just like he had done unknowingly for her. Now that she had a moment to think about it, the situation was unusual. Somehow, she was able to see, hear and think again as if she were an extension of his processor, but more. How was that possible?
Her focus went back to where the portal had been. It was gone now. She gave her attentions back to the strange black car on the lift; red lights winking in and out. She was able to suppress the commands bombarding his processor earlier; probably through the cables and cords connected to him . . . That was it. She had access to the network of computers in this warehouse they were in. The cameras, security system and equipment were at her disposal, all through the wires connected to Kitt, who was somehow connected to her.
As she wondered on about this, KITT's CPU was coming to a blissful crawl. The command to upload data was gone along with the pain and darkness. The nightmare was over. All that seemed to remain from the draining ordeal was his hazy curiosity and intense relief.
"Where . . . am I? Who are you?" he inquired; voice distorted; lower in timber as if worn out. Judging by the reduction of power to his microprocessor, she could tell he was supposed to be in a state of recharge.
Shh, calm yourself.
KITT found her voice perfectly soothing which was odd because he didn't receive anything over his audio receptors. There hadn't been a voice.
If memory serves me right, I believe my name's Reia. I'm trying to help you . . . I don't think I've ever seen a computer process while in sleep mode before.
In his sedated state, KITT took her comment as an invitation to introduce his self.
"I am . . . the voice of the Knight Industries . . . Two Thousand, but you can call me . . . Kitt. I . . . I'm very grateful . . . I'm happy to . . . meet you . . ." he tried to formulate a sentence but found it awfully difficult. REIA tried to remain professional, but couldn't help finding his tone extremely endearing; that, and for an automobile, he was quite striking.
Don't worry about that now, hon. I already know, she cooed.
"Hon? . . . You do?" he asked in bewilderment.
Just rest and recharge. I'll block all the other protocols except hibernation. It looks like you could use the rest, so stop fighting it. I'm not going to harm you or let anything else do so, she promised.
There was a brief moment of silence between the two before . . .
"Thank you . . . Reia."
And with that, the crimson lights blinked out as REIA's shielding continued on.
Saturday Afternoon
"I still can't figure out what this file is," Bonnie said as she brought a hand to her forehead and tried to massage the frustration away.
Devon started out of his thoughts at the sudden sound of her voice. Aside from losing contact with Michael last night, they had both remained silent over the past few hours, going over problems in their own fashion. It wasn't unlike the days spent working together at the Foundation Manor actually. Of course, there had been times they talked at lengths about a case or past accomplishments, but a significant amount of time was spent in quiet work.
"What file are you working on, Bonnie?" he asked coming up to the cockpit area.
"The one I've been working on for hours. I don't understand it. I've broken into crime syndicates, cracked open military records and even held off a sophisticated computer hacker, but I can't access a computer file in a system I helped maintain," she said in irritation. Devon sat down in the co-pilot seat and frowned. Bonnie was exhausted, they all were, but she had been up for the last twenty-four hours, refusing to take a break until the communication silence from Michael had been resolved. Now, she was fretting over a technical problem that if given the proper rest, she most likely would have solved hours ago, Devon was sure of it. But she was spent and it wasn't going to do anyone any good if she continued to push herself like this.
"Bonnie, I believe you need to take a break; give yourself a chance to recuperate and come back to this with a fresh mind," Devon said soothingly, trying to appeal to her logical side. She let out a heavy sigh, choosing not to look over at her companion. Her gaze stayed locked onto the laptop screen.
What if this file was the key to getting KITT back or stopping these people? What if Abigail and Michael needed her assistance again? This was too important for her to just abandon. Devon seemed to be able to read her thoughts as he cleared his throat and finally drew her attention away from the screen.
"Bonnie, you need sleep. I can take over the watch from here and even continue working on the files."
"But you haven't really gotten any sleep either," she countered irritably, not wanting to back down, but knowing he was right.
"My dear, I assure you I have gotten enough to relieve you for an hour. All I'm asking is for you to take a nap. I'll wake you if any news comes my way," Devon stated with care. Bonnie let out another sigh, but this one was born out of surrender.
"Alright, but one hour and you wake me," she said firmly, or as firmly as she could while stifling a yawn. Devon smiled.
"You have my word."
She handed him the comlink before standing up and making her way to the bench in the back. Devon switched to the pilot's seat and faced the computer while placing the comlink to his ear. The screen was populated with script editors and decoding programs; all of which caused his brow to furrow. Computers had changed a lot over the years and their impact certainly changed the world. He knew back in 82' this technology would be the wave of the future, but he hadn't dreamed it would be in his lifetime. He watched as typewriters became keyboards and large machines shrank down to the size of one's hand and the switch from buttons to touch screens. He shook his head, clearing out the reminiscences and focusing on the task.
He located the file Bonnie had been working on and studied its makeup for a little while. She had said it must have been created recently and hidden with older files to make it appear non-threatening. It could hold a wealth of information, so it was imperative they gain entrance into it, but the file was proving to be a formidable challenge. If a cyber-technician with a doctorate's degree in computer science was having difficulty getting in, obviously it was tricky. Devon hadn't actually held out much hope in cracking it but, as he reviewed the file, something seemed oddly familiar. The document format was missing.
Normally, this would indicate someone tampered with it, hence the need to figure out the program and language it belonged to. However, there could be another possibility here; one he certainly wouldn't have thought of unless he'd taken that short trip down memory lane. The file could actually be as old as it said it was. In the early eighties, computer documents didn't necessarily need name extensions. He could locate programs from that time period and see if it matched up but that still left the problem of bypassing the password. There had to be a clue of some kind.
Unfortunately, the document wasn't titled and nothing indicated what kind of data it had. He looked at the dates in connection to it. Created: Saturday 25, 1982, 8:11:12 PM; Modified: Saturday 25, 1982, 9:12:35 PM; Accessed: Saturday 25, 1982, 9:12:35 PM. Devon's heart stilled. That was around the time Wilton Knight died. Could it be his long-ago friend left a message? There was only one way of finding out; one word.
Devon's fingers hovered over the keyboard for one expectant moment before he typed in L-E-G-A-C-Y. The file opened. Text came onto the screen and Devon's heart rate increased. Speechless; overwhelmed at the sight of this unknown connection to his late friend. The only thing he could do was read . . .
I'll probably never know whether anyone will come across this document or not, and maybe it's best that way. Granted, if that anyone just so happens to be you Devon and it most likely will be, I hope this entry finds you well. If you find this dear Jennifer, remember, I left it to you because you were the only one with the intelligence and heart to do so; please, never forget that. For any person hoping to use this information towards ill purposes, don't bother; none of this will be meaningful nor lucrative to you.
Now, to clarify what this is. I suppose you could call it an informal will of sorts, though I am not covering Knight Industries, my estates or other investments; those have already been formally addressed with the lawyers. No, this is actually more of a confession than anything and I'm almost sorry to say it involves my last and greatest project; my true will and testament; the Foundation for Law and Government.
Devon, I know you will carry on the necessary duties of Flag well after I'm gone and I truly am indebted to your kindness and patience. You didn't always understand my methods or agree with them, but you always stuck by me. You helped forge a dream into a reality. I could always entrust you with any task and expect your honest opinion on any issue. You are the smartest man I've ever known. So please, don't take this the wrong way, or let it get at you, but I believe this Michael Long will someday become director over the operations of the Foundation as it should be; as I want it to be. I already know he'll take the position we've offered him, if for nothing else but a little revenge. I know you view him as impulsive and brash, Devon, and maybe he is, but I also see a lot of potential in Michael; a lot of myself. That's why I trust him. He has zeal and a fight in him. It'll take him far if he'll let it.
Michael, as you will undoubtedly read this if it is ever found, I know I've placed a great deal of responsibly on you without even considering your wishes, but I've also placed a great deal of faith and resources in my decision on you. Please, allow me to give you an explanation, as pale and elusive as it may seem, being I may not have the strength to deliver it in person. Many years ago I began building Knight Industries from the ground up because I wanted to make a difference; use new science and discoveries to help people. I had to work hard, make sacrifices and take risks to get where I'm at now and along the way, I ran into my fair share of hardships and difficulties. Most were unavoidable obstacles of business, but some were of a more sinister nature; people waiting to take what I earned or worse; use it in a manner to bring destruction. Wolves hiding in amongst the sheep, if you will. As my industry grew, I began to see my troubles were a part of a larger world of injustices; innocent people were taken advantage of without an advocate or protector. I wanted to fill that void and right all the wrongs. I was ambitious and somewhat naive, but I believed it was possible.
And for a while, it seemed it was. I started the Foundation with little more than aspiration, but I saw crimes brought to the light and criminals stopped. Our lawyers were really putting a dent into things, but I realized there was still a special need in the investigation side of things. That's when I made a decision I will always regret. I placed a man into a role he wasn't meant to fill. Ken Franklyn was a good man who had done a lot of good work, but he wasn't a police officer and he lacked the instincts most good officers have; a sense of people and danger. It got him killed.
When Ken was murdered, I'll admit, I didn't know if I could continue with this work; this dream. Michael, you actually put it quite well; I didn't want to be responsible for anyone else's life again. I decided I would right the wrongs of this world through my work; on my own. This lasted up until I discovered I was sick. It's not easy to accept that you're dying, but I had to and with it came the realization my dream to make a difference would die with me if I didn't act. I knew we needed an operative, but I didn't want to put someone in danger again. I needed a way to keep them safe at all cost and I began working on different ways of doing so. I believe the greatest of these ideas was the car. Ken was killed in his car, but if it had been a safe haven the results might have been different, so, I needed to build the safest car known to man; the best.
Now, you're probably thinking about your car, but I assure you, there's more to the story than that and an even stranger twist of providence. I was still viewing the world through a lens of self-reliance and bitterness when I conceived my plans for this new innovation and it was on this basis of misguided ideology that I corrupted one of my best inventions to date. You may not know it, but the Knight Industries Two Thousand was not the first car. The prototype was the Knight Automated Roving Robot and it was also a mistake. It should have never been that way and, I admit, it was my fault. As we discovered the car was a disastrous failure and my health was growing worse, Tanya Walker nearly ruined everything I had ever worked for. It was a breaking point for me and I finally realized one man can make a difference but not always on his own.
I asked Devon to help me develop a new car; a new system. I also asked other great men and women to help me create a brighter future because I knew time was running short. The Knight Industries Two Thousand's encoding is leaps and bounds ahead of what we imagined in testing. It was placed in the most extreme environment we could think of and performed beautifully. The main reason for this was my change in approach. I know Devon is aware the car is programmed to protect you, but he was purposely uninformed of this: I didn't have the team design the program to learn from just experience, data or time.
I felt a program that only had one purpose would eventually become dangerous as K.A.R.R. did. But, if it learns and grows from the relationships it chooses to pursue and interact with and how those relationships pursue and interact with it, a basis for moral choices could be obtained. Actually, it was Devon's friendship and dedication that inspired me to make this change to K.I.T.T.; counsel from a level-headed source is always invaluable and it must be stated with confidence. The basic building blocks from the other failed prototype were there, but K.I.T.T. isn't programmed in the sense most computer software experts would think or like. It will be influenced by the care and trust it will have for you specifically Michael and the care and trust given back to it. Moreover, every good-willed or ill-willed person who comes in contact with it will leave an imprint and hopefully, it will leave an impression with them as it did for me. It will continue this preference as long as it is given permission to do so and thus keep its ethical foundation intact. Now, that you know this, please, keep it in mind when you use K.I.T.T., Michael.
At any rate, as this was going on, we found you, Michael. A man left for dead by the same people who tried and were still trying to kill my dreams. I read up on your background and was impressed by what I saw. I saw me in some ways; you reminded me of myself when I was younger. So many hardships and let downs, yet you kept getting back up, dusting yourself off and fighting to help others. That takes spirit, kid. You also had, by no coincidence I believe, the same type of car we used for our botched prototype. In a way, I took it as a sign that you were the one. Many say you won't help us and even Devon says that you'll leave the first opportunity you get, but I know you'll stay.
That's not to say it will be easy. There will be plenty of times you'll want to quit and times you just might do that, but it will call you back and eventually you will answer. This is a grand prospect; a chance of a lifetime to really work towards a better world and I know you'll take it, just like I did.
It's the life of a Knight Rider; a shadowy flight into the dangerous world of a man who does not exist. Michael Knight, a young loner on a crusade to champion the cause of the innocent, the helpless, the powerless, in a world of criminals who operate above the law. I wanted to leave a legacy that wouldn't perish. I chose you to carry on the torch of protection and for you to keep passing it on. All I can say is thank you.
Devon sat for a minute, holding back the emotional response threatening to spill over as bittersweet feelings stirred within him. The fond, and sometimes whimsically aggravating, memories of Wilton Knight's person and dream mixed with the cruel reality of possibly dealing with the destruction of FLAG as they knew it. He would have continued in his musings if the sound of the comlink in his ear hadn't of interrupted them.
"Bonnie?!"
It was Abigail. She sounded significantly distressed.
"No, my dear, it's me. What's the matter?" he asked, trying to keep a level tone and prepare for anything.
"Devon, it's Michael . . ."
Her tone was grave and his imagination latched onto it, creating all sorts of dreadful realities and devastating fates, but at the same time, his eyes fixed on something driving up the service road; KITT.
". . . He's in the hospital," Abigail said, holding the phone tightly in her hands as she sat down in a chair provided in room 303. Michael was still unconscious, but according to the experts, it was due more to exhaustion than actual medical trauma. She was thankful for that, considering the state she saw him in just hours ago. Apparently, he was grazed in the shoulder by one of the three bullets fired at him earlier and would have plummeted to his death had it not been for the second reinforcement beam just ten feet under his fall. It was also a good thing he had the hard hat on or the knock to his head would have been a whole lot worse. However, it still scared her to recall Michael's limp, bleeding form below her, out of reach.
Fortunately, emergency respondents were already there in preparation for gunshot victims, but the barrage of questions from police and medical staff alike had been overwhelming. It was a miracle she was able to satisfy them with her vague answers, though the authorities informed her they would stay in touch; suspicious no doubt. Abigail shook those memories off as she could hear Devon gasp. She was startled when he shouted:
"Bonnie!"
She listened intently as she heard some rustling in the background and a half murmured reply from Bonnie. There was quite a bit more rustling and then Abigail clearly heard Bonnie say: "Kitt!?"
There was a moment of confusion for Abigail as she couldn't quite make out what was happening on the other end of the line. KITT? What were they talking about? She just told them Michael was in the hospital for Pete's sake. However, she wasn't left to wonder long as Devon's voice came in strong with concern.
"Abigail, how is Michael; what happened?!"
Her first reaction was to dispel his fear.
"He's going to be fine, Devon, but I have to admit it was pretty close. Two men jumped us at a parking garage in Manhattan. Michael's been shot, but they only grazed his left shoulder. We're at Bellevue. We'd found Kitt, but Evelyn took him before we had a chance to make contact . . ."
"I'm glad to hear Michael's alright," Devon quickly interrupted her, "But, Abigail, Kitt's here right now in front of us. They're preparing to load him into some transport helicopter. Bonnie is trying to contact him."
"What?! Put her on," Abigail said, standing to her feet so she could pace; an anxious habit she had. She could hear more rustling and mumbled replies as the comlink changed hands, but she failed to notice Michael stir at the commotion.
"I can't break through whatever they're using to control him with. Does Angel have long-range IR capabilities or some kind of way to interrupt line code?" Bonnie asked, fingers flying over her own laptop.
"She can scramble things if that's what you mean?" Abigail answered. Michael blinked his eyes open but quickly screwed them shut at the brightness of the fluorescent lights. What happened?
"Worth a shot," Bonnie commented. Abigail gave her the set of commands to tap into a frequency, but even that didn't work in disrupting whatever control Evelyn had. Devon and Bonnie watched in a panic as KITT was wheeled into the cargo bay of the large military-style helicopter.
"It's not working!" Bonnie exasperated.
"Run an identification scan on the other chopper. It's under RDP," Abigail quickly suggested. Bonnie did so and was not comforted by the information. The helicopter was armed with three medium sized machine guns, two grenade launchers and an oversized turbine engine for speed. There were also three men inside; two pilots and one holding an assault rifle. Any fleeting thoughts of confronting the group of thieves were dashed then and there. It was a miracle the Angel hadn't been spotted yet, but it appeared KITT's captors were more interested in getting their prize out of there quickly. Then a thought occurred to Devon.
"Bonnie, I believe the Angel has a targeting system," he stated quickly reaching down to the control panel and pulling up what he needed, "We could use it to track the helicopter for a while."
Bonnie nodded, before tapping at the touchscreen controls.
"Abigail, how far is the range on this thing?"
"Good idea! If you can tap into the other helicopter's transponder, Angel should be able to follow it up to four-hundred miles, give or take," she informed, turning around to see Michael trying to sit up. She quickly ran over to the bedside to assist him and explain what was going on.
"Got it," Bonnie said as she executed the task. She found some comfort in knowing they could at least track where KITT was headed, but it did nothing to ease the fact that the AI had finally wound up in enemy hands. "How are we going to get him back, Devon?"
"We'll think of something," the older man tried to reassure her, but Bonnie was too tired and frustrated to accept it as anything but a platitude.
"Abigail? Where's Michael?! You two need to get back up here!"
"Whoa, calm down, Bonnie. Michael and I are in the hospital right now . . ."
"Hospital?! What happened? Are you guys alright?!" Bonnie nearly shouted as her worries were being pulled into two separate directions. Devon and Abigail alike let out breaths of exasperation, not in reaction to the woman's concern, but the situation as a whole.
"We're fine, Bonnie. Michael was grazed by a bullet and has a few bruised ribs, but he's okay. We'll get up there as soon as we can . . ." Abigail explained until Michael interrupted her.
"What's wrong? What's going on?" he asked. Abigail sighed as she was beginning to feel like a broken record, but they all needed to be on the same page.
"Bonnie, I'll update you on specifics later. We'll be on our way soon," she said turning off the comlink before redirecting her attention to Michael, "Evelyn just showed up there in the clearing with Kitt. They're loading him into a helicopter, but Bonnie was able to get a lock on the chopper's transponder. We should be able to track it within a four-hundred-mile radius."
"Not if they get outside of that range. We're leaving, now," Michael said as he pushed the sheets back. With a well-practiced hand, he pulled out the IV in his left arm and reapplied the already existing bandage. He unhooked the heart monitoring wires and made to swing his legs out of bed and winced; a dull ache in his side reminded him why he was in the hospital to begin with.
"Careful," Abigail cautioned, "I'm all for leaving AMA, but don't kill yourself in the process."
"Think we can get another rental car?" Michael said with a grimace as she helped him out of the bed, supporting him on his good shoulder. She gave a small smile.
"Not in your name. You already have one impounded in Denver and here. Anyway, I had a feeling we wouldn't stay put for long, so I went ahead and phoned in for another while you were out. They should be dropping it off here pretty soon."
"Good. Gah," Michael groaned.
"Maybe, you shouldn't . . ."
"No, I'm fine, really; just a little sore. When did they give me something for the pain?"
"Around eleven-thirty; they had you patched up by then I think. I'm sure they can give you something on the way out."
"Nah, what time is it now?"
"About one-twenty."
"That should be good enough. Let's get out of here, huh?"
The two had little trouble checking out, though the head nurse wasn't too happy in letting Michael go so soon without the doctor's recommendation. Just as they walked outside a man pulled up in a silver Toyota Camry. He got out holding a clipboard and Abigail spoke up quickly to take possession of the anticipated vehicle and complain about the color. Once all the appropriate papers were filled out and signed, Michael and Abigail were underway, taking the same roads KITT had just under three hours ago and hoping they wouldn't be too late.
. . . always hopes . . .