Title: War of the Bots (#7, The Drabble Bin)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Crack!fic, obviously. In which something not-so-good happens to Jim.
Previous Drabbles: The Old Four | Those Neighborhood Hoodlums | Trapped | A Cage of His Own | Of Perky Starfleet Bottoms | An Hour Past

“Oh my good god!” a man dressed in a blue-and-black uniform gasps. His announcement rings with the kind of finality that means he expects any other words would not as poignantly express his horror.

The tall being at his side, also in a blue shirt and black pants, remains unmoved to words. Perhaps this is because he too knows there is little to be said to change whatever fate is about to arise but, unlike his companion, derives no comfort from superfluous exclamations.

One can only guess. Certainly, Zek*sief!l—known to his family of mesobots simply as Zek—has made a quick study of the situation and found the visitors to his planet to be a complex algorithm his programming cannot easily decode. Guessing is the best he can do to understand their behavior. He rolls forward to eavesdrop further upon their conversation, though it is mostly one-sided and consists of the shorter man gesturing wildly with his hands.

The one with better control of his limbs opens a handheld device, splitting it into two halves. “Enterprise,” he calls.

Zek positions himself just behind a large boulder, an angle where they cannot see him, and stares raptly at the device, for his receptors tell him it is mostly metal: 77.643% metallic alloyd, 19.182% semi-synthetic solid, and a remainder of something elusive Zek cannot yet quantify. All-in-all, a delectable object it is. And it makes a kind of fuzzy noise too.

The device squeaks, “Mr. Scott here. Have ye found the Capt’n, Commander?”

“Affirmative. However, delay the order to beam us aboard the ship, Mr. Scott.”

The tall one surreptitiously puts the device out of range of his companion, for that companion begins to shriek, “Is that all you can think to say?”

“Doctor McCoy, please calm yourself.”

“Calm? How can you talk about calm when—”

“We must think rationally.”

“Logic cannot explain THIS, Mr. Spock!”

The device makes muffled, urgent noises at the oblivious, arguing pair.

“…until we can determine the nature of the Captain’s ailment…”

The shorter man throws up his hands, saying, “Are you blind or just sadly optimistic? Look at Jim, Spock – HE’S A ROBOT!”

The device falls silent for three seconds before it comes alive again, jabbering anxiously. The tall being slowly lifts it to chest-level. “As you have no doubt surmised, Mr. Scott, Captain Kirk is not himself. Therefore we cannot risk returning him to the ship until we have thoroughly examined his condition. Doctor McCoy and I will remain on the surface until such time.”

The other man is muttering to himself and turns to look at a figure moving in a tight circle, making confused whirring sounds. Zek beeps to catch its attention. The figure stops circling to beep back at him, alert and intrigued. They communicate for a minute on a sub-frequency, until Zek is satisfied that this bot does not belong to his clan. It seems unhappy—and un-bot-like, despite its shiny metal shell—and Zek feels a keen sympathy for it.

But then again, there is a sign in front of the Temple for Mesobots, some one or two kilometers away, warning against trespassers. This particular visitor, it seems, did not heed that warning.

The two non-bot visitors are having an intense conversation. Zek, no longer interested in them, focuses on the device, which has retreated into slumber. He thinks about how tasty alloyds are, and how exotic this alloyd would be. Perhaps he isn’t careful enough to suppress his projections of hunger because the new bot—the Kirk bot, one of the beings said sarcastically and with a hint of panic—picks up on the signal and suddenly rolls forward to snatch the device from the tall one, who freezes at the contact.

Zek, seeing his snack being taken away, rolls out from behind the outcropping of rock and beeps his discontent and asks if they can share it.

“There’s another one!”

Kirk-bot, ignoring the request, eats the device with a great grinding crunch. In the background, one of the visitors makes a noise of surprise and alarm and backs away from the Kirk-bot, forcibly tugging the other along with him, who is speaking futilely to the bot.

Well, that was rude, thinks Zek. And he had asked nicely too.

Lifting his weapons arm, he fires at the Kirk-bot, who wheels backward from the blow in a billow of smoke. But apparently it adapts fast, because it fires back at Zek with only a ten-second delay. They quickly engage in a somewhat less-than-friendly battle, turning large chunks of rock into dust and denting each other mercilessly.

Because he is focused on his adversary, who has finally been manuvered into a vulnerable position, Zek does not expect the clunking blow to the back of his metal case. Zek rotates his head around, sees the tall being with a rock in his hand, and beeps in dismay.

“Desist your attack.”

Zek tries to communicate that it is a matter of honor (and disappointment at the bad etiquette of rogue bots) but the shorter being, standing slightly behind his partner, overrides Zek’s clicks-and-clacks with his own noisy speech.

“Do you see a power switch?”

“Negative.”

Zek swivels around to look at the Kirk-bot, stretched out on its back and fruitlessly spinning its wheels. One more blast would have destroyed the bot’s defense system.

“Well, don’t stand there, Spock—break its phaser arm or something! It’s gonna kill Jim!”

The tall one gives Zek’s metal extenders a considering look. Zek, having just realized he might be in a spot of trouble, opts to put distance between them. After all, he doesn’t know anything about these creatures, except that they make manner-less mesobots.

But because pride is pride no matter the automaton species, while rolling past the still pathetically prone Kirk-bot Zek beeps something akin to I own these parts, don’t come around here no more. He has never appreciated other bots stealing his food.

The Kirk-bot, angry, spins its wheels faster. A laughable challenge, really. Zek, mollified by his obvious victory, is content to leave Kirk to the visitors. They’ll figure out what to do with him. And if they don’t…

Zek decides to alert his clan to that possibility as well.

-Fini

The Best Substitute

Related Posts:

• A Cage of His Own (#4, The Drabble Bin) – from February 29, 2012
• Trapped (#3, The Drabble Bin) – from February 21, 2012
• Those Neighborhood Hoodlums (#2, The Drabble Bin) – from February 4, 2012