Kirk lined up another charge and slid it into the explosive case of a live shell. There was dust rising just beyond the horizon. It hung in the air, not drifting.

The sound of an overloaded impulse engine in reverse made Kirk raise his eyes to the sky. He lifted a phaser rifle at the same time, but the shape was of an escape pod, not a robot delivery shell, so he took his finger off the trigger.

It landed beyond the rocky outcropping Kirk was using as a bulwark for his right flank. He went back to to installing charges. It was such an odd event that it could not be an enemy.

A figure appeared in a hooded tunic climbing over the rocks with agile ease. Kirk had his hand phaser on his belt. He left it there, still assembling as rapidly as he could. Directly ahead, just over the curve of the earth, there was the glint of metal between the brush and rocks. His heart began to pump harder. He could estimate the odds of surviving this and they weren't good given the amount of dust getting kicked up.

"There were more of you before," the figure said as it strode up to him. He pulled his hood back revealing Vulcanoid features. He stared off across the flats at the approaching robots.

"They didn't like the lost cause."

"May I assist?"

"You most certainly may." Kirk picked up the broken launcher and held it out. "Fix this if you can."

The Vulcanoid turned his attention to the device, eyes and fingers moving rapidly over it, moving the parts that moved, taking it in. He picked up a broken sling handle Kirk had been using as a tool and pried at the latch.

"What are you defending? May I ask," the stranger said.

"At this point?" Kirk loaded a launcher tube. The front robot was almost in range. There was no point in a warning shot with robots. "I'm probably just defending the deserters."

"Noble of you."

Kirk's heart thrummed so forcefully he couldn't think over the noise of it in his ears. "Remind me of that when we survive this." He raised the launcher. "Firing," he said. The force knocked him back so that he stumbled, but after a pause there was a burst of dust followed by the white flare of a powerpack getting ruptured.

"Good, they had to switch back to lithium. We just might have a chance."

He'd seen images of the dead from Hickory 5. Everyone in Starfleet had seen them. Limbs neatly sheared off. Slices of those limbs left in neat rows. Phasers cauterized blood vessels so this could go on a long while without dying, or even losing consciousness. Robots programmed to torture, just to make a point, to drive others to retreat. Which Kirk's comrades had done, so one had to give them credit for effectiveness.

The Vulcanoid picked up an already primed shell. "May I test this?"

"Sure." Kirk reloaded his launcher and waited for a good target. "These are supposed to be sling mounted but those are broken. Watch for the kick."

The stranger aimed high. Kirk almost mentioned that was unlikely to work, but remained silent. The kick wasn't nearly as bad at that angle or the Vulcanoid was better prepared for it. There was a whistle of a shell descending, then a much larger puff of dust.

"Missed," Kirk said.

The other stared off into the distance, as if in a trance. He snapped out of it. "No. I do not believe so."

"Do you have a name?" Kirk asked. He waited for a full glint of metal, led slightly ahead, tracked it, and launched another. The robot spun around, but there wasn't a flare.

Kirk didn't get an answer. More dust was appearing on the horizon. "How many are there? You had a view from above."

"One hundred fifteen at this point."

"That's not good." Kirk slid another charge into a shell. "I'm James. I need to call you something. Can you at least tell me why you can't tell me your name?"

"Because I should not be here." The stranger fired another and this time there were two white flares.

"Given your willingness to work with weapons you are either a Militant or a Romulan."

"I am neither of those. However, your association is obvious unless that starfleet lieutenant's uniform belongs to someone else."

"It's mine."

A minute later, Kirk said, "What shall we call you? 'Ears?' No, too obvious."

Kirk loaded and launched. 'Hephaestus?' You did just get thrown out of heaven."

He looked from the many glints of metal clearing the horizon down at his paltry array of shells. His rational mind was telling him this was it. Either come up with another plan or settle into the idea of death.

"Was your ship attacked?" Kirk asked.

"Not exactly."

"What are you doing here?"

The Vulcanoid put down the launcher and knelt before the case he had slung over his shoulder. "I need to capture one of the robots."

Kirk shot and missed. He was letting himself get rattled, which if he was going to die anyway, irked him all the more. "Capture? I'm going to call you 'Monastery' because you look like a white monk in those robes."

The stranger raised a brow and glared.

"Or tell me your name. Or any name." Kirk fired a direct hit this time, but they were minutes from being overrun. The entire horizon was full of advancing metal, and dust.

Kirk muttered, "All that machinery just to kill a few humans on the wrong planet."

"Let one get close."

"I don't have any choice. In a moment you can have a hundred of them."

"A hundred is not desirable. One is."

Kirk laughed. He felt maniacal standing here against these odds. He fired again, trying to hit more than one at a time. With the dust he couldn't tell if he'd hit anything at all.

Two smaller robots were approaching more rapidly, cantering while firing. Phaser fire struck the rock before him. Just luck it didn't strike any of the shells because that would have been the end. Kirk fired from between the rocks. Phaser fire streaked across the opening, striking the launcher. He jerked back, dropping it. It had been reduced to slag. He scrambled to pick up the other one, loaded it. He could barely feel his hands he was so hyped up with fearful energy.

"Well, Monastery, been nice knowing you."

The stranger took the phaser off Kirk's belt and aimed it.

"Their plate armor is impervious," Kirk said, jerking his head back as another well-aimed shot came between the rocks.

The stranger fired, low, right at a rapidly moving joint that exposed inner workings for a split second as it articulated. One of the cantering robots fell.

"Take down the other," the stranger said, skirting low and fast around the rocks protecting them.

He was actually going to run onto the field, completely exposed. Kirk leapt up, laid himself across the shells and fired, point blank, at the robot galloping straight at him. The blast singed his hair, deafened him.

Kirk raised his head. The stranger kicked the robot's stabilizer with enough force to make a ringing sound, sending its phaser fire to melt a snake of glass into the dirt. He had the phaser aimed but crouched to fire with high precision with one foot on the robot's torso. The robot's legs jerked like an animal. Kirk loaded again, looking for the next most useful target. He assumed the Vulcanoid wouldn't make a mistake no matter how much chaos was going on, and fired. Another satisfying white flare went up.

The stranger reappeared beside him, dragging the thrashing robot behind him.

"You weren't joking," Kirk said.

With surgical precision, he cut off the robot's remaining limbs. He had the access plate off and was pulling out circuits. He pulled out wires and plugged those into the box he'd brought.

Kirk kept loading and firing. Two hundred meters. Unlike humans who sometimes hesitated when their comrades went down, robots just kept coming.

One hundred meters.

Twenty robots would be on top of them in seconds. A flash. Make that nineteen robots. What a demeaning way to go. Kirk wished for a knife, and an enemy he could sink it into.

Two robots came over the rock, scattering the uncharged shells and makeshift tools. Kirk swung with the launcher at the side of one, but the limbs had hold of him, his wrists. He kicked. They had hold of his ankles. He couldn't spare a glance to see how his companion fared. He was suspended, slung by his arms and legs. He arched his back, thrashed. Metal grippers cut into his wrists. He was pulled upward, shoulders straining painfully. He could hear the whine of a phaser powering, felt the heat of a powerpack burning his thigh, felt a searing pain on his hand and the scent of cooking flesh.

Then nothing. Kirk had squeezed his eyes shut without intending to. He peeled one eye open, then the other. He had an underside view of three bots, their armored limbs and the glint of actuators within. The orange light of the local star glared off everything, blinding. Silly, they really should be painted matte. A charged phaser coil glowed red just above Kirk's hand, slicing. The back of his hand smoked. The images from Hickory 5 seared across Kirk's inner vision. He thrashed again, helplessly.

Kirk was released so suddenly he thought falling was a death blow. But the rocks he landed on hurt so badly, he knew better instantly.

He looked up into the coffee brown eyes of Monastery, bent over his equipment, wires and flashing status lights snaking around his hands. He seemed strangely unmoved.

Kirk looked over his shoulder at the frozen bots straddling him. Around them, at the field of frozen bots. Some had fallen like toy figures, lacking active orientation circuits.

"You took control of them?" Kirk felt an overwhelming sense of disbelief about where he was and his bodily wholeness in that place he couldn't believe he was.

"Not precisely."

Kirk stared. "Vulcans don't have brown eyes."

Monastery shifted his head in surprise.

Kirk smirked. The robots were starting to move again. Kirk scrambled to pick up a phaser rifle, but the bots walking rigidly in the direction they had been heading before, passing them by. Unaware of them.

"What did you do?"

"I released a virus on them."

"That's been tried."

"It is not an ordinary virus, and I released it on the scout bots providing guidance to the local swarm. That made them more susceptible. They transmit code, but only under certain circumstances."

Kirk crabwalked backwards to get out of the way as a larger sentinel robot came over the rocks. It too moved on. Kirk crouched in the dust, feeling like a small child at the circus watching large predators harmlessly pass by in a parade.

Kirk pulled out his communicator, switched hands, shaking his right one which stung like hell. "King, Morton. Respond." After a pause. "Anyone."

There was nothing.

Kirk said, "You have a scanner I can borrow?"

The stranger handed over a small device with a long handle, with an interface in Vulcan.

"At least you have Vulcan equipment," Kirk said. He could read a few words on the screen and pressed the button for area scan. The bots showed up as static at ground level, and as he rotated the aim, he thought he could pick up the bunker. But he couldn't figure out how to change the scan frequency to check for life signs. He pressed a few buttons, but only a small blip appeared and then disappeared again.

He handed it back. "Can you find the nearest life signs? That way. Might be blocking."

The stranger studied him closely as he accepted the scanner. While he scanned, Kirk picked up the unused shells and chargers, blowing dust off the ones that fell on the ground before bagging them, uncharging the unused one's he'd assembled.

"There is only one weak life sign. In a structure in that direction."

"Let's hope their blocking is working." Kirk started walking.

"Unlikely. I accounted for that. I disabled my own blocking momentarily to verify."

Kirk turned back when the Vulcan stayed put.

"We should stick together. You are going to need a ride out."

"That might be difficult on a Starfleet vessel."

"I'll take care of it," Kirk said. "Come on."

Kirk hurried, pushing through fatigue and pain. The Vulcan took some of the equipment, which helped and he didn't seem to notice the weight.

At the bunker clearing, the Vulcan stopped, stumbled. His face showed expression for the first time, a mixture of alarm and shock. Emotion made his face look much younger, boyish. Kirk realized he had no idea how old he was.

"Stay here," Kirk commanded. "Actually back up and find some cover, just in case."

The pile of containers was knocked down, split open. Bot delivery shells lay scattered in the dust around the debris. On the other side by the doorway were craters and scattered bot limbs and cracked torso plates and lots of rods and cables.

Kirk slid his gas mask on. The smell was muted but still bad. The inside of the bunker was entirely blackened by phaser fire, likely how they had made it habitable, by carbonizing everything. Three bodies in starfleet uniforms lay propped against one wall and the fourth, Morton, had fallen where he crouched in the middle of the room. The body in the corner was torn up badly, blood blending with the carbon on the floor.

Lehner was alive.

Kirk wanted to carry her out, but she was too tall for him without using a fireman's carry which given her torso injuries would likely kill her.

"It's Kirk, can you hang on?"

She made a throaty noise. And after some encouragement, started speaking. "The bots blew up. You cut them down and they blew. Took out King."

She moaned. Kirk found the medkit and gave her a dose of the idiot mixture that anyone in the field could give, which was tri-ox, painkiller, cell rejuvenator.

There was no sign of bots getting inside.

Kirk said, "Ship's coming in a few hours, hang on."

She nodded. "He missed."

"Who?"

"Morton. Said it was better this way. There were hundreds coming."

She faded out then. Sometimes the painkiller did that. If he really wanted information he should have held back, but he couldn't do that.

Kirk stepped back from her and studied the room. His strategic mind told him what happened but he traced it out three, four times before admitting it was correct. Morton had executed the team to keep them from being tortured.

Kirk shouldn't have left them. Or, more accurately, they should have stayed with him. Although, who knows how that would have played out. One of them might have shot the escape pod out of the sky and they'd all be dead, or worse, still alive.

Kirk crouched before Lehner again. Terrified of the scent of death or not, he'd have to get the Vulcan to help carry her out.

She wasn't moving. He found the scanner in the medkit and confirmed her heart had stopped. If the ship were here they'd have eighteen minutes to save her. Kirk looked at the scanner's chrono. They had six and a half hours before pickup. Kirk tried his communicator anyway.

Nothing.

He patted her shoulder and stood up. He took phasers and kits, waited the remaining minutes beside her, then departed.

The Vulcan stepped out of the shade of a hollow saying, "I beg undeserved consideration for my weakness."

"It's all right," Kirk said.

"The life sign ceased while you were present."

"I gave her a painkiller, but sometimes that depresses the system too much. She wouldn't have made it until the ship returned." He started walking, in no particular direction. Just away. As he walked he worried that the Vulcan thought he'd killed the last of them. Well, he had, but not intentionally.