Out of all the vehicles parked in the sweltering California lot, only one was truly unique. Sure, the cars in the lot could perform their basic functions but a particular 1982 Trans Am could beat them on their best day. This Trans Am could think for itself, reach unimaginable speeds, and was indestructible (to a point). The Trans Am in question was the Knight Industries 2000, after all.
So why did the artificial intelligence within it feel inferior?
"Dad, this car is so cool!"
The AI had been observing this child for a few minutes, unbeknownst to him or his father, who was clearly miserable in the heat. The child was raving on about a cherry red 1993 Trans Am, too excited to care about the blazing temperature.
"Yes, it's a very nice car. But it isn't ours so don't touch it." The dad wiped his forehead as best as he could while carrying their beach equipment. He cast an admiring glance at the black 1982 parked adjacent once he was sure his child wouldn't touch the 1993 with his sandy fingers.
"That car is in great shape for its age. It looks like it just rolled off the showroom floor."
The child's eyes left the red machine to follow his dad's gaze. "Eh, that one is alright. This one is better!"
Much to Kitt's relief, the father-son duo took their leave with promises of ice cream. He redirected his attention and pondered over the 1993. The supercomputer quickly scanned this abhorrently red car, curiosity getting the best of him. He overlaid the resulting schematic with his own. The differences were clear; the 1993 had less harsh lines and greater curvature.
Kitt frowned internally and cast the diagram away to a far corner of his CPU. What was this feeling that was ravaging his circuits and diodes? It wasn't anger or sadness… was this jealousy?
Hey buddy, you want anything from the food stand? The voice of Kitt's partner rang out via their commlink connection, dissipating Kitt's thoughts.
The computer responded nonverbally with an eyeroll. "Are we done being at the beach, Michael? I'd like to leave this lot."
Hold your horses, I'll be there in two shakes.
"Michael, while I have horsepower, I do not have horses. And how long is "two shakes"?"
Eventually, Kitt caught visual of his human partner approaching with a fat hamburger in hand. Kitt had accepted long ago that Michael's dietary preferences would never change, despite his warnings. These days, he tolerated his driver's food choices with only mild disapproval.
Kitt watched him amble the rest of the sidewalk until he was at the prow of the Trans Am. His partner was without his signature leather jacket and had donned a lone short sleeve button-up. He remained in pants however, being that he strongly disliked exposing his legs. Kitt had learned many strange things about Michael through the passing years.
The tall man remained standing at the front of the car, an odd smile breaking across his face as his eyes traversed the black skin of the vehicle. The setting sun was perfectly lined up with Michael's back, creating a glow around his figure and crown of curls. Kitt met his gaze but true "eye contact" was impossible for the computer. Kitt waited for Michael's eyes to wander toward the newer Trans Am, but it seemed he only had eyes for his partner. A feeling of unease provoked Kitt to break the staring contest.
"Michael, why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?"
"You look good in a sunset, buddy." Michael shrugged but maintained his grip on his beloved hamburger. A few passing people shot him odd looks, clearly questioning his sanity. He paid them no mind; publicly responding to Kitt felt no different than to another person.
A cheerful hum of the scanner reflected Kitt's invisible smile. Michael's adoration was unwavering after all these years, and Kitt appreciated it more than he'd ever know.
"Michael, I always look good." The driver's door popped open, a not-so-subtle reminder that the sentient vehicle wished to leave.
Michael chuckled in response and stepped off the sidewalk. He trailed his fingers along the hood and quarter panel as he approached the driver's door. Michael sighed with content as he settled into the seat that was well-molded to his body. The door clicked shut as he took the first bite of his hamburger. "Why don't you drive us home, Mr. Always-Look-Good?"
"Gladly, I'd rather not have ketchup on my steering wheel."
Kitt stole one last glance at the red Trans Am as they passed. "Michael?"
"Yeah, Kitt?" The words barely escaped Michael's full mouth.
"Would you ever consider a newer model for the Knight 2000?"
Michael had his response in the chamber; the 1993 had not gone unnoticed. "Absolutely not. Kitt, you are a fine wine. You only get better with age."
Kitt pushed the throttle in response, streaking along the sunset-soaked highway.
