Commander Torren Vex stood on the bridge of the Vindicator, his hands clasped behind his back, the cold steel of the deck vibrating faintly beneath his boots. The Star Destroyer hung in orbit above Korrith, a desert world of cracked dunes and whispering winds, its surface a dull amber smear against the void. Torren’s gray eyes flicked to the viewport, then to the crew—helmsmen, gunners, comms officers—all moving with the mechanical precision he demanded. He trusted none of them. Not since the mutiny on the Eclipse, when his own lieutenant had turned a blaster on him, costing him his ship and half his soul. Betrayal lingered like rust in his veins.
“Distress signal, sir,” Ensign Lora called, her voice sharp over the hum of consoles. “Korrith’s surface. It’s faint—something about an attack.”
Torren’s jaw tightened. “Play it.”
Static crackled through the speakers, then a voice, broken and pleading: “—unknown vessel—please, they’re taking—” The words drowned in a shriek of interference.
“Scan the system,” Torren snapped, stepping closer to the tactical display. His fingers twitched, itching to double-check the readings himself. Trust was a luxury he’d lost years ago.
“Object detected,” Lora said, her brow creasing. “It’s… massive. Cuboid. No Imperial signature.”
Torren’s gaze snapped to the viewport. There it was—a dark, angular monstrosity, three kilometers wide, hovering like a predator over Korrith. Its surface was a lattice of black metal, pulsing with green light, silent and wrong against the stars. The air on the bridge thickened.
“Raise shields,” Torren ordered, his voice low. “Hail them.”
Darth Kaelith emerged from the shadows near the command chair, his black cloak trailing like spilled ink. The Sith overseer’s yellow eyes gleamed, his presence a blade pressed against Torren’s spine. “Strike now, Commander, or I’ll have your head,” he hissed, his gloved hand flexing as if choking an invisible throat. Control was Kaelith’s obsession—years under Sidious had stripped him of it, leaving him a puppet desperate to pull strings.
“I’ve lost enough to fools like you,” Torren muttered, turning to the comms officer. “Send the warning.”
The officer nodded. “Unidentified vessel, this is the Imperial Star Destroyer Vindicator. State your intent or be fired upon.”
Silence stretched, heavy as the ship’s hull. Then, a chorus of voices—mechanical, layered, chilling—filled the bridge: “We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ship. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own. Resistance is futile.”
Torren froze, the words clawing at his mind. Kaelith snarled, “Fire everything!”
“No,” Torren countered, his voice steel. “We don’t know them. Full scan—now.”
The Sith’s hand shot out, Force gripping Torren’s throat. “You will obey.”
Gasping, Torren rasped, “Scan… first.” Kaelith released him, fury simmering, but the order stood.
“Polaron beams detected,” Lora shouted. “They’re probing us!”
Before Torren could respond, the cube unleashed a salvo—plasma beams lancing through space, slamming into the Vindicator’s shields. Alarms screamed. The deck shuddered, consoles sparking as the shields flickered.
“Return fire!” Kaelith roared, shoving past Torren. Turbolasers blazed, painting the void with crimson streaks, but the cube absorbed them, its hull regenerating like living flesh.
“They’re adapting,” a gunner yelled, panic edging his voice. “Shields at forty percent!”
Torren’s heart pounded, memories of the Eclipse flashing—his crew turning, blasters raised. He scanned the bridge, half-expecting treachery. “Target their weapons,” he barked. “Ion cannons—disable them.”
The ship jolted again, a cutting beam slicing into the hull. A section depressurized, sucking screams into the vacuum. Kaelith ignited his lightsaber, red blade humming. “They dare challenge us?”
Then they appeared—drones, pale and mechanical, materializing on the bridge in green shimmers. Their arms whirred, nanoprobes gleaming at their tips. A lieutenant lunged, vibroblade in hand, but a drone seized him, tubes piercing his neck. His eyes dulled, skin graying as he turned, voice joining the chorus: “We are Borg.”
Torren stumbled back, breath ragged. “They always turn. Every last one.” His nightmare reborn—betrayal in flesh and steel.
Kaelith swung, severing a drone’s arm, but another struck, nanoprobes grazing his wrist. He roared, Force lightning crackling, frying the machine—but his arm trembled, veins darkening. “I… control… this,” he gasped, defiance fraying.
“Shields down!” Lora cried. The viewport flared as the cube’s tractor beam locked on, tearing at the Vindicator’s flank.
Torren’s mind raced. Stay, fight, lose everything—or flee with something to warn the Empire. “Abandon ship,” he ordered, voice hollow. “Shuttle bay. Now.”
Kaelith whirled, eyes blazing. “Coward!”
“We die here, they win,” Torren snapped, shoving past. “Move!”
The bridge dissolved into chaos—drones advancing, crew falling or fleeing. Torren grabbed Lora, dragging her toward the turbolift. Kaelith followed, saber slashing, his steps unsteady as nanoprobes gnawed at his will.
They reached the shuttle, a dented craft barely spaceworthy. Torren punched the controls, the bay doors groaning open as the Vindicator buckled. Kaelith slumped into a seat, clutching his arm, muttering, “I’ll bend them yet.”
The shuttle lurched free, debris pelting its hull. Torren glanced back through the cockpit glass. The cube hovered, unyielding, its beams carving Korrith’s surface—cities vanishing, people beamed aboard in shimmering streams. More cubes emerged from transwarp, a silent hail of doom.
“Send the signal,” Torren said, voice flat. Lora’s fingers flew across the console, transmitting: “Unknown enemy—Borg. Assimilate all. Extreme threat. Coordinates attached.”
The shuttle’s engines whined, hyperspace coiling ahead. Torren stared at the fading planet, the weight of his choice settling. He’d saved no one—only intel. “No one’s worth saving,” he murmured, the words a shield against the ache.
Kaelith’s breath rasped, his arm now half-metal, eyes flickering between rage and surrender. “They’ll… answer… to me,” he whispered, a lie to cling to.
The stars streaked as they jumped, the silence roaring louder than the cannons. Behind them, Korrith died, and the Borg’s chorus echoed—an anthem of inevitability.
