Holding the toughened plastic to her wrist, Bonnie Barstow flipped over the watch to fasten the strap. Even on the final hole, the band was oversized, but then she had designed it to fit the measurements of a man's arm and not her own.

One man in particular. Michael Knight.

Bonnie huffed in frustration and pushed the comlink halfway up her forearm so that she could fine tune the display. Technician and driver had so far only met once, briefly, in Devon Miles' office, and she had found herself unaccountably flustered. He was a tall – very tall – man of about her age, with a lot of hair and surprisingly blue eyes. Kitt had already described him to her, of course, but his report was far from encouraging and lacked certain details that a computer would not consider important. Like how tactile the man was, lingering over a handshake and touching her shoulder, or the way he walked around with half his chest on show. But Kitt had briefed her on Michael's apparent success with women and his lack of respect for technology, which was all she needed to know.

'Are you going to fit me with my Dick Tracy watch?' he had asked her, his smiling eyes taking in every inch of her thankfully loose-fitting overalls.

'When I've finished putting the Knight 2000 back together.'

'Oh, Kitt'll be fine, he's tough,' he reassured her.

The casual use of Kitt's name coming from the man who had insulted, neglected and finally managed to damage the advanced prototype had brought a flush of rage to Bonnie's face.

'Yes, Kitt will be fine, with a different partner,' she had all but growled at him.

'The old man seemed to think it would work out,' Michael told her. 'And your boss told me that the car was designed for me.'

Who did he think he was, calling Wilton Knight 'the old man'? Even Bonnie had barely spoken to him during those first six months of her hectic employment, and she had been responsible for transferring Kitt's program into the Knight 2000 body.

'The car, yes,' she had replied, instantly regretting her words.

Knight smirked. 'What's the matter, Doctor Barstow? Afraid I'll break one of your toys?'

'Kitt is not a toy, Mr Knight.'

An electronic beeping brought Bonnie back to the present. She looked at the comlink, but the device hadn't been activated yet. A second beep drew her attention to the computer console, her only remote connection with Kitt now that he was installed in the car.

Tapping a key, Bonnie opened the channel. "Everything OK, Kitt?" she asked.

"My self-diagnostic routine has completed, Bonnie," Kitt's softly-spoken synthesised voice reported back over the computer's speakers. "Should I run a sub-system check?"

Bonnie smiled at the monitor. In other words, he was bored.

"No, not tonight," she told him. "Any problems to report?"

"No, Bonnie, everything's fine."

"Where's Michael?" she asked.

Bonnie had many different names for Kitt's driver, from 'the nut behind the wheel' to 'Sid', the nickname for crash test dummies, but she tried not to use them when talking to Kitt. Aside from still having to explain jokes and allusions to him, the last time she had slipped up and called Michael 'Stretch' in Kitt's presence, the computer had been surprisingly sensitive in jumping to the defence of his human partner. Bonnie marvelled at how eagerly Kitt was bonding with Michael, adapting almost overnight from detachment to devotion, without any apparent corresponding adjustment in his driver's attitude to the 'talking car'. Kitt's subservience was programmed into him, an Asimovian safety code to protect human from machine, but that hardly explained why the normally outspoken and determined personality of the Knight 2000 that Bonnie knew so well was now seeking approval from a blue collar playboy.

"I don't know," Kitt answered plainly. "He didn't bother to inform me."

"Well, at least he didn't take you with him," Bonnie said, imagining the sort of after-hours activity that a man like Michael Knight would probably have planned. "It's a lot safer if he returns you to –" 'To me', she wanted to say, "– the Foundation when he's not on official business, Kitt."

"Not for Michael," Kitt argued. "He could be in danger right now, and there's no way for me to know."

Bonnie ran her finger over the transmit button on the comlink. Did she really want to bring them even closer together? "I have a solution to that," she sighed. "Are you ready to test a new component, Kitt?"

Bending almost double in the driver's seat, her face pressed against the steering wheel, Bonnie felt blindly for the override control panel and engaged the switch. An electronic alarm sounded, low-pitched but insistent. Aware that Kitt was now at his most vulnerable, she gave her instructions quickly and clearly, watching the CPU status on the dash display.

"All right, Kitt, access your communications system," she told him.

"Yes, Bonnie," he acknowledged, and the LED gauge flashed green.

"Now, open a channel and set it to receive a private frequency."

"Ready," Kitt confirmed almost instantly.

"Standby."

Bonnie clicked the adjustment dial to the right and then straightened up in her seat, leaving the control panel open. Resting her left wrist over the top of the steering wheel, she pressed the transmit button on the comlink to activate the device. 'Calibrate' scrolled in blue letters across the digital readout beneath the speedometer, then changed to 'searching'. When 'frequency' flashed up, Bonnie glanced at Kitt's voice modulator.

"Have you established a channel, Kitt?"

"Yes, Bonnie. Transmitting at 5 MHz," the computer reported to her. "Do you need the channel designation and frequency modulation?"

"Not for this connection, Kitt," she said, busying herself with unnecessary adjustments. "This is your private link to Michael, not the Foundation."

The comlink's private carrier frequency was a two-way channel between the Knight 2000 and its driver. Bonnie would stay in contact over the secure connection used for transferring data packets between Kitt and the FLAG mainframe, which Michael could also tap into. She was not being pushed out exactly, but Kitt's alliance with Knight was gradually replacing his dependence on Bonnie as technician, which was to be expected. Wilton Knight would be satisfied with the result, she knew, but handing over the keys was proving harder than she thought.

"A communicator built into a wristwatch," Kitt said, considering the concept. "Practical, convenient, and unobtrusive, Bonnie," he added in high praise. "How do I refer to it?"

"It's a comlink," Bonnie told him, slightly embarrassed by the name after Michael's 'Dick Tracy' reference. "Communications linkage," she explained.

"Does it have other functions?"

"The comlink is an extension of you, Kitt," she told him. "Not only can Michael communicate with you within a fairly extensive radius, but he can also remotely access most of your capabilities, from audio and visual recording to infrared scanning. Most important, I guess, is the inbuilt homing device – now you'll always know where he is."

"Or where the comlink is, at least," Kitt observed drily.

Bonnie pressed the function button on the watch face and scrolled through the settings. "There is a way to tell if Michael is still wearing the link, and if he's OK," she explained. "Access your medical scanner, Kitt."

Kitt silently scanned the device. "Bonnie, I'm reading a pulse rate, slightly elevated," he reported hesitantly. Bonnie glanced at the plastic strap on her wrist and smiled to herself: betrayed by her own invention. "Is that coming from you?"

She nodded. "There's a small electrode in the watch band that acts like a basic EKG monitor. Whenever the comlink is attached to anything with a pulse, you'll receive a signal."

Kitt took a second to process this information, then said simply, "Thank you, Bonnie."

He sounded so openly grateful to have a permanent connection with his driver that Bonnie couldn't find the words to acknowledge him. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and started to unfasten the strap.

"Stop, Bonnie," Kitt interrupted her. "What about the transceiver? We haven't tested the main function of the comlink yet."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Anything to escape the garage," she said, smiling.

Being transplanted from a computer mainframe into a sports car with a powerful engine had generated a very human sense of wanderlust in the artificial intelligence. After two years confined to a static system, Kitt now identified himself with the Knight 2000, adapting quickly to the increased autonomy and mobility of driving on four wheels. Inherently curious and exploratory, he was constantly seeking to expand the parameters of his awareness, and Wilton Knight's car allowed Kitt unlimited scope for learning. Unfortunately, so did his new driver.

"What did you have in mind, Kitt?"

"A field test, of course."

"Then I'll have to stand in for Michael Knight," she joked, getting out of the car.

Bonnie sighed. She wasn't the agent, she was the scientist. Instead of locking onto her heartbeat to make sure she was safe, Kitt was going to leave her waiting behind in the garage, while he tested the range and signal strength of the comlink.

She doubted this would be the last time.

Chewing on her lip, Bonnie watched Kitt reverse neatly onto the concrete apron in front of the garage bay. His scanner was pulsing quickly from side to side in the early evening shadows, and the empty cabin glowed with soft light from the dashboard. She followed him outside, listening with a practiced ear to the distinctive sound of the Knight 2000, and paced after his effortless manoeuvre into the tight space next to the FLAG mobile unit. Pointing in the right direction, Kitt flicked on his foglights.

"Signal me at the end of the drive," Bonnie prompted, "and I'll answer you on the comlink. If the transmission is clear enough, head towards the track, and we'll repeat the test every quarter mile."

"Yes, Bonnie."

Kitt's reply seemed to come from her pocket. Barely audible over the grumble of the idling engine, he sounded faint and flat, a reduced imitation of his usual rounded tones. Bonnie lifted her arm and stared at the comlink. A red LED was flashing steadily in the corner of the display.

Pressing the transmit button, Bonnie raised the watch to her lips. "Do you read me, Kitt?" she asked, catching a reflection of her oversized Knight Industries overalls in the tinted side mirror. Turning away, she waited for him to answer.

"You could almost be standing next to me, Bonnie," Kitt's voice, slightly louder and clearer, came back over the link.

"Very funny, Kitt," she said, smiling to herself. "The speaker on the comlink needs amplifying, but otherwise reception is good. Let's try it from the drive."

"Ready when you are, Bonnie."

She heard the transmission drop into gear and Kitt set the car in motion, switching on the stronger sunken headlights before he turned into the drive. Again, she walked after him, routinely checking that the car's stoplights came on when they should. She couldn't help it. Kitt was smarter, stronger and faster than she was – even better-looking, Bonnie thought wryly – but he brought out the protective, even possessive, side of her nature. He was still so unprepared for working with people, too eager to please and ready to be hurt, that Bonnie felt sick every time he left the garage.

Even Michael Knight was an unknown quantity, open-minded enough to be partnered with a computerised car yet defensive of his independence. He was human, Kitt was a machine; Michael gave the orders, Kitt carried out his instructions; one 'partner' existed to serve the other, and Kitt was prepared to accept those conditions. They were a curious combination of equal but opposite personalities, working towards the same objective from different angles, and Bonnie didn't know what to expect. Kitt could be difficult to work with, but he was the dependent variable in the experiment – Michael Knight was the one who would determine the result of Wilton Knight's vision, and the course of Kitt's development.

The Knight 2000 navigated the familiar route with fluent ease, reading changes in gradient and topography like a virtual contour map. Kitt's tires purred over concrete and crunched across gravel until he reached the rhythmic pattern of paving stones that lead in a curve to the circular drive at the front of the mansion. He had a parking space of his own here, 'reserved for Foundation employees', where Michael knew to look for him when they were engaged on an urgent case. Of course, Kitt would now be able to drive to Michael when he called on the comlink, meeting his partner halfway.

He followed the path around the circular fountain, turning his steering wheel in a neat arc, and then opened the throttle into the straight line of the drive. Kitt enjoyed Michael's company, but there was an unmistakable satisfaction in being allowed to control his own body. No driver, however skilled or experienced, could ever know the Knight 2000 like the computer at the heart of the powerful machine. Kitt didn't just pilot the car, he was the car; his programs and perceptors were integrated into every mechanical instrument and electronic component that made Wilton Knight's creation so incredible.

Sweeping the immediate area with his scanner, Kitt mapped an accurate layout of the Foundation grounds, searching for any potential obstacles by matching the real world against the control points of his navigation system.

The figure leaning against a tree, for instance, was an attribute that Kitt had not expected to find but could now vector into his virtual landscape. Caught in the wash of the car's headlights, the man turned towards the drive, and the computer was forced to update his algorithm yet again, because he recognised him instantly.

Michael Knight jogged across the grass to meet his partner. "Kitt?"

"Yes, Michael," Kitt replied evenly, scanning his partner's laboured breathing and unusual apparel.

"Erm – where are you going?" Michael asked, in a delayed reaction to the driverless car.

"The test track," Kitt told him. "Where have you been?"

Michael held his arms out from his sides, indicating his perspiration-soaked sleeveless t-shirt and corresponding sports attire. "Running. I need to keep in shape somehow, now that I spend every day sitting on my backside while you clock up the miles."

"That's what cars are for, Michael."

"I know it, Kitt," he said, leaning against the roof while he stretched out his legs, "that's why I have to push myself." Michael frowned in at the side window mid-lunge. "Did Bonnie OK this test run of yours, or were you making a break for it?"

"Of course not, Michael," Kitt answered him seriously. "Bonnie is monitoring my progress from the garage."

"Huh," he panted. "What are you testing?"

"A new component."

"A new one? I didn't think there was room." Michael held onto Kitt's side mirror while bending one leg up behind his back. "What now, a donut dispenser?" he laughed.

"Hardly, Michael."

"That was a joke, Kitt," he explained, switching legs. "Can I come along for the ride, or would that interfere with whatever you're testing?"

The driver's door popped open, bumping Michael's knee. "Not at all, Michael," he said. "In fact, quite the reverse."

"Why, what's the problem?" Michael asked, dropping down into his seat. "Oh, that's better," he groaned, reclining against the plush upholstery.

"Michael, what are you doing?"

"Cooling down," he sighed, closing his eyes. "I'll let you do the driving."

"Thank you, Michael," Kitt answered, moving forward. "Actually, Bonnie and I are testing a new communications device –"

"Oh, the Dick Tracy watch?" Michael interrupted, opening his eyes.

"The comlink, Michael," Kitt corrected his partner.

"Yeah, the comlink," he said. "It's ready?"

"Yes, Michael," the computer confirmed. "Bonnie was going to explain the different functions to you tomorrow, but why not tonight?"

Michael Knight was silent for a second, surprised by Kitt's enthusiasm. "Tomorrow's good enough for me, Kitt," he said carefully. "I'm tired, I need a shower, and it's getting late. I'm sure Bonnie doesn't want to hang around the garage all night, either."

The car coasted to a stop near the gates. "Then I could show you how to use the comlink," Kitt suggested, aware of the antagonism between his driver and technician.

"Kitt, I think I could figure it out for myself," Michael told him. "We used lapel mikes and earpieces all the time –" He gave a quick sigh and stopped talking, a gesture that Kitt was starting to understand.

"When you were working undercover," he finished for him. "The comlink works on the same principle, Michael: constant communication. I can only protect you when you are inside the car, but the nature of our work – and your reckless disposition – means that my armoured shell will all too frequently be proved redundant. Unless, of course, you have the means to contact me when you are in danger."

"I know, Kitt, and I appreciate it," Michael said. He rested his hand against the curve of the dash. "There were a couple of times in Millston when I could have used your help sooner," he admitted.

Kitt said nothing, but his overriding memory of their first mission in Silicon Valley seemed to support his driver's retrospective analysis: being impounded in the Comtron building until Devon Miles instructed him that Michael was in danger, and waiting for his wounded driver to return to him after detecting gunshots. In both instances, the comlink would have saved them both considerable time and trouble.

A signal from the communications panel caught Kitt off guard, but he quickly located the source. "Kitt, where are you?" Bonnie's voice filled the car.

"I'm sorry for not responding, Bonnie," he answered her. "Michael's here."

Silence. Kitt checked the channel, but they were still connected.

"Oh," she said after a second. "Hello, Michael."

"Uh – sorry for fouling up your test, Doctor Barstow," he announced.

"There's no need to shout, and call me Bonnie," she said. "Kitt, come on back, reception is fine. You can carry out a more in-depth field test tomorrow, with Mr Knight."

"And every day after that, partner," Michael added.

"I'll ... leave the comlink in the garage for you, Michael," Bonnie told him. "Kitt, I have to finish up in the lab. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thanks, Bonnie," Michael called out.

"She's gone, Michael."

"Your technician doesn't like me much, does she?" he asked, moving his hands to the wheel.

Kitt processed the question. Bonnie's perception of Michael Knight, the man chosen by Wilton Knight to pilot the Knight 2000, was certainly less than favourable, but then Kitt's initial assessment had also been discouraging. He hoped that Bonnie would think more of Michael when she got to know him better, like working together in Millston had finally united Kitt with his driver.

"She doesn't know you," Kitt said. Michael turned his eyes to the flickering panel of the voice modulator. "She will," he added confidently.

Michael smiled. "Any insider information you want to share with me, buddy?"

"Praise her work, not her appearance," Kitt suggested. "Respect what she does. And don't damage this car. I wouldn't care to repeat her exact words when I was towed home from Millston."

"I think I can guess," Michael laughed. He took the car out of auto cruise, and slipped the transmission into reverse. "Let's go marvel at Doctor Barstow's technical genius, pal."

Bonnie stripped off the wristwatch and set it on the workbench, ready for Michael to find when they came back. The thick strap had pressed into her arm, leaving an imprint. She massaged the skin impatiently before rolling down her sleeve. With a final glance around the empty space, checking the instruments and wheel ramps that Kitt would use overnight, she shut down her console and turned off the main bank of fluorescent lights overhead. Her part was done.