Farscape-BSG2003-And two other surprise fandoms crossover. Unbeta'd, but with thanks to Celli & Vicky for help with ideas. Cracktastic. With much love for my brother, written on his 31st birthday three years ago.

(Spoilers through the Farscape miniseries Peacekeeper Wars, and first season Battlestar Galactica 2003; PG-13)

This Story Has No Title
by Christina K
copyright 2005

Here is the thing that you have to remember about wormholes--

(it's very important, and if you don't remember it, you probably won't get to remember much else for very long)

--they can go anywhere, any time, any place. And no matter where you come out?

You just have to go with it.

John Crichton and Ka D'Argo had been trying to negotiate a truce with the people shooting at them on Dam-ba-da, complicated by three things: the people in question wanted to kill all Humans (even though as far as John could tell, they were either Sebacean or Human themselves), they wanted the secret to wormhole travel and were willing to torture John and D'Argo to get it (a problem that had been exacerbated ever since Scorpius put up an inter-solar-system PK beacon on John with a "drain his brain and get a prize" message), and they had Deathbots. At least, that's what John was calling them. Big, shiny, silver, really good shots, what else were you going to call them?

"They claim they are Cylons. Why must you re-name everything that tries to kill us?" D'Argo demanded, popping up from the cover of several abandoned oversized desert buggies to take a few more shots at their pursuers.

"Because I don't know or give a damn what a Cylon is, and it's good stress relief," John claimed, ducking around one of the giant wheels on the wreck they were hiding behind. "If I have to think about a nickname, I don't think about how many there are or how shiny they are or how they kinda freak me out and remind me of Arnold Schwarzennegger."

"Did this Arnold try to kill you back on Earth?"

"What? No. No one ever tried to kill me on Earth," John panted as they ran for shelter behind another vehicle. "Why do you think I want to go back there so bad?" He collapsed at the edge of the giant truck, then looked behind them. "D'Argo? We've run out of stuff to hide behind. Got any ideas?"

"We kill the blonde ones, shoot the short ones, and then are ripped apart by the silver ones," D'Argo growled. "Unless you know how to tunnel into the sand."

"Sorry, my name isn't Bugs and I left my John Deere at home." John tilted his head against the rubber tire and tried to get his breath back. "Why, oh why, can't they just-- oh. Ohhh, boy. D'Argo? I think I found us a way out."

D'Argo spun around, then gaped at what John was pointing at. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on. It's either the big blue swirly hole that just opened up fifty feet away--" John gestured to the wormhole that somehow, someway, had arrived to save their butts, "-- or the Barbies and the Deathbots fry you and fricasee me. It can't be worse than this, man."

"I loathe wormholes," D'Argo grumbled. "And I intend to kill you once we land."

"Five more minutes of life? Works for me." John fired off a few more shots with Wynonna over the edge of the crashed truck, then turned and ran for the wormhole, praying it would stay stable just long enough for him and D'Argo, but not long enough for their pursuers.

He got half his wish. The wormhole dumped them into another desert, but this one had blue sky, and a Circle K.

The cylons were only about six minutes behind them, though.

KITT was sunning himself, enjoying the feel of UV on his sensors while Michael went to replenish his stock of cheezy chips. Honestly, KITT sometimes wondered if his partner was subsisting entirely on junk food just to annoy Bonnie, since he only cleaned the bags and wrappers out when he got KITT detailed. You'd think at his age that he'd want to make an effort to take care of himself....

In his time working with Michael Knight, KITT had seen many strange things. But nothing that compared to a shining, fiery blue spiral of light that opened up twenty feet in front of his front bumper, and deposited two men on the asphalt. The spiral hovered about ten feet above them, hanging there like a giant whirlpool of lightening and possibility.


"Jalluh ta fee, shi'rok!" exclaimed the taller one, cursing (presumably) as he held his knee. KITT ran his sensors over the man again, and if he could have done a double-take, he would have. The tentacles were not a costume. Neither was the beak. Oh, dear. Aliens had landed in Oklahoma.

"It is not my fault, damnit. You just never learned how to roll properly," argued the blond, human-appearing one, moving out of punching range of his associate.

"May I be of some assistance?" KITT asked, hoping that this incident of first extraterrestrial contact would go well. Michael always claimed that aliens asked to be taken to the leader, but hopefully they could give these two a ride somewhere less problematic. "Perhaps you're in need of directions?"

"Looks like Kansas, but isn't Kansas," said the second one, getting to his feet and dusting off leather pants very similar to Michael's, and shooting KITT a dubious look. "Crap. Where the hell are we, I wonder?"

"Oklahoma," KITT told him, happy to be able to do that much.

"You're kidding." The man shaded his eyes, then said, "Hey, uh, I'm John Crichton. This is Ka D'Argo. Did you say Oklahoma? Damn. Different timeline. Not my Oklahoma."

"Your Oklahoma?" KITT asked, just as Ka D'Argo said, "Te'nis vot?"

"Because they don't have talking cars in my Oklahoma," Crichton told his friend, and then turned to KITT. "No offense."

"None taken. Although, you might be wrong. I am a highly classified project, the Knight Industries Two Thousand. KITT. It is unlikely that you would have heard of me, if you are originally from Earth."

"Rewa ian fer-ay," Ka D'Argo said, staggering to his feet, and gesturing at KITT. "Shon-to."

"Hey, I don't need you ganging up on me with My Mother the Car!" Crichton protested to his friend. "And I so would've heard about it, I had top secret clearance when I was here-- I mean, when I was there--"

His tall alien friend appeared to be cursing him out, with hand gestures, when the spiral spat out several more beings, specifically: three short brunet men wearing ugly red suits, four tall 'super-model types' as Michael would have called them, and a dozen large silver mechanical robots, all bearing weapons. The blue spiraling hole closed behind them, and disappeared as if a zipper had been pulled on the universe, concealing the static electricity that lay underneath.

"Frell meeee!" Crichton yelled, then dove over KITT's hood just as one of the large robots fired what appeared to be a laser pistol at him. Ka D'Argo took cover behind KITT as well, running up over his hood and hard-top to slide down his back bumper, yelling something that sounded like, "crap!"

"Oh, dear," KITT said, perturbed. The laser fire was nothing to his high-density shielding, but Ka D'Argo had left bootmarks on his exterior. Michael would certainly have to pay for extra detailing now. "Who are these people? What do they want? Are they invading Oklahoma?"

"They want me, they're Barbies and Deathbots and Nicknameless Guys, and they want to kill every human in the universe! And unless you've got a laser cannon in there, I don't think you can stop them!" John yelled, crouching by KITT's rear bumper. "Can you let us in, and just drive the hell away?"

"Of course not. Threats to the local population must be dealt with," KITT said determinedly. Flipping on his loudspeaker, he projected his voice toward the advancing group of attackers. "Barbies and Deathbots and Nicknameless Guys! Cease and desist all assaults on John Crichton and Ka D'Argo! This is your only warning, by order of the Foundation for Law and Government!"

The seven human-type aliens stopped, exchanging puzzled looks and consternated glances. The dozen silver robots stilled completely, their red eye flickering back and forth in a manner very similar to his own, KITT noted.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" asked one of the Nicknameless Guys, folding his arms. "Who are you with? And why are you protecting one of our human oppressors?"

"I beg your pardon, I have never been oppressed in my life," KITT said, insulted. "And I'm protecting him because it's the right thing to do. Now, please, lay down all your weapons, or I will be forced to take action."

"You're a stand-up car, KITT," John Crichton said. "But I don't think there's anything you can do--"

"You're one of us," one of the lovely blonde women said, staring at KITT in confusion. "You don't have to do this! Join us! You don't know it, but you're free now! We destroyed the Colonies! And with the assistance of John Crichton, we'll destroy the last remnants of the human race!"

"Well, that's entirely unacceptable," KITT said. "Mr. Crichton, Mr. D'Argo? Take cover behind the gas pumps."

KITT opened fire with his machine guns, firing warning shots that drove the seven twinned humans back, while the silver mechanical models... just stood there.

"Shoot at him! Shoot the traitor!" shouted the short brunet men in chorus. "Why are you just standing there? We order you to shoot!"

Twelve silver heads swiveled sideways, regarded their leaders, then all tilted at an identical angle. And twelve laser pistols didn't even move an inch to be fired.

"I'm afraid they can't hear you. They're communicating with me on a subsonic level; we're actually much more compatible than they are with you," KITT said in satisfaction. "It seems their programming is quite simplistic. No individuality or personality. But I'm sure they'll evolve, given time."

"What?" gasped two of the blondes simultaneously, while a third went over and tried to yank a pistol out of the hand of a Deathbot. Unsurprisingly, she was unsuccessful. "How-- what--"

"I'm afraid they believe I'm their God, now. It's an understandable mistake. But they won't be assisting you unless you offer up your surrender in the next ten minutes."

Crichton whooped from behind the pay-at-the-pump, while Ka D'Argo snorted in amusement. "Go, KITT. Dude! My man! Oh, crap, I don't think the Barbies and Shories are happy about this---"

In fact, three of the 'Barbies' were now concentrating their fire with pistols on KITT, to little avail. The fourth had been thrown into a trash bin by the Deathbot whose weapon she'd attempted to steal. The three Shorties stood back and watched, perplexed, as KITT absorbed their fire... and then slowly rolled forward toward them as soon as they were out of ammunition.


And closer.

And cloooooser--

The Barbies' collective nerve broke first; they turned and ran down the highway for the horizon when KITT got within three inches of them. The Shorties held out a little longer, but were soon pelting after them, after KITT practiced some of his rodeo herding style on them, pushing them closer and closer to the Circle K.

"Yee-haw," he informed the men, and they finally panicked, turning and running after their confederates.

The twelve robots just stood there next to the air dispensers, looking contemplative.

Crichton was still laughing when KITT rolled back to his place by the gas pump. "Oh, that was classic. Awesome. Thanks, KITT." Crichton grinned, then asked, "So what are you going to do with your new followers?"

"Oh, I'm going to recruit them for the Foundation. They assure me that they like having a purpose, and restoring order and stopping evil is part of it." KITT lowered his voice. "Is it wrong if I let them think I'm God for a little while longer? They're really very simple creatures."

"Dude, are you nuts? Let them worship you, it's good for them. Helluva lot better than having them try to convert my ass to plastic." Crichton sighed. "So, what year is it?"


"Crap." Crichton looked over at D'Argo. "We're not going to get killed now, but I have no idea how we're going to get home from here. Where the hell are we going to get another wormhole?"

A whistling sound came from overhead, along with a lightening-strike, and with an abrupt crash, a phonebooth dropped out of the sky directly in front of KITT's hood.

The door opened.

"Hey, Mr. John Crichton-Sun!" Two very cheerful teenagers waved from the interior. There appeared to be an older man smiling calmly and wearing very expensive shades standing behind them, KITT noted. "S'cool to see you. Can we give you a lift?"

"Um, what?" Crichton said in a low voice, sounding unnerved. "Crichton-Sun?"

"Dude! You, like, invented space travel. And Rufus says we're giving you and the most awesome Ka D'Argo a ride back to 2005. So grab some lemon tea, and we're gone," said one of the two.

"Oh, and hey, is Officer Aeryn Sun with you? She's wickedly bodacious, from what we saw on the Nightline special," asked the other, leering cheerfully.

"Bodacious. Nightline?" Crichton repeated. Ka D'Argo gurgled something, and slapped him upside the head. "Right, right. Got it. Yes, we'd love a ride, thanks."

"Don't forget the lemon tea!"

"Sure." Crichton paused, shaking his head, and said, "KITT? Do you know anything about this?"

"I would assume that history says that you were rescued from 1985 by fellow time travelers," KITT said. "A predestined paradox, if you will. I think you better buy the lemon tea. You never know when that will come in handy."

"Gotcha. D'Argo? Back in half a sec."

Michael came back out while Crichton was paying for his lemon tea, and looked from the dozen Deathbots, to KITT, to Ka D'Argo, to the phonebooth, blinking.

"KITT? Is there something I oughta know?"

"Why ever would you ask me that, Michael?" KITT smothered an electronic chortle. "Is there a reason for concern?"


"See you later Mr. KITT-Car! You rock the mostest!" chorused the teenagers in the phonebooth, as John Crichton and Ka D'Argo joined them.

"Thanks!" John Crichton had time to yell, and Ka D'Argo made a surfer's hand-sign of later, dude, right before the doors to the booth closed---

--and a lightening strike carried the phone booth back up into the sky, and away.

Michael crossed his arms, and studied KITT. "Okay, now I know there's something you're not telling me."

"You're absolutely correct, Michael." KITT paused. "I've become a religious figure. Let me introduce you to my congregation...."

The Mark One Cylons fulfilled their purpose very happily working for F.L.A.G. for the next two hundred years, until they were accidentally blown up while working on Babylon 3.

The Sixes and their male counterparts, having no other choices, eventually blended in to human society, mostly finding work in the entertainment industry as marketing and television programming executives.

John Crichton and Ka D'Argo returned to Moya with lemon tea, but more importantly, D'Argo had been told by Bill and Ted about a crucial point in the future at which he would have to duck in order to survive.

KITT became the controlling consciousness of the expanded Stargate project, remaining undercover for two centuries before anyone thought to make a full-broadcast video production about him.

Bill & Ted got John Crichton's autograph and sold it on E-Bay to pay for the Wyld Stallyns' first road tour.

Michael Knight never did get a decent explanation about any of this.