In the co-pilot's chair, Sarn said nothing.
"Planning. Foresight." Tuarak stood. The scars on his cheek were livid. "I am alive to every contingency, Sarn. You should recognize that fact. It is that which qualifies me to be an Overseer of the Supremacy."
Sarn still made no answer.
"That, and discipline," Tuarak added. "Discipline is essential. Discipline must be maintained at all times." He moved to the shuttle's hatch, checked the environmental readouts. "Pressure equalized. Yes. I will obtain assistance from Nessick, now. He will not disobey me." He shot another glance at the silent shape in the co-pilot's chair. "You understand that, now. Discipline must be maintained. And you, you will know better than to criticize me again...." He unsealed the hatch and clambered out.
Behind him, in the shuttle, Sarn said nothing. He had been dead long enough, now, for the blood to have dried around the gunshot wounds in his chest.
---
The light was different. Tuarak peered around him in confusion. The light in the docking bay was wan and greenish, and there was a metallic scent to the air.
"Nessick?" he called out. "Nessick, have you been redecorating?"
No answer came. Tuarak shrugged. It would have been appropriate, of course, if the Octanti scientist had come to meet him when he docked - but Nessick was probably up to his antennae in some project or other, oblivious to the real world. No matter. Tuarak would command his attention, now.
He strode across the bay, towards the doorway that led to the interior of the station. It failed to slide open at his approach, and he frowned. He found the command access panel, tapped in the entry code. The door opened. Beyond it -
The corridor was dark, lit by only occasional green lights. The walls were rough, blackened, covered with an encrustation of circuitry. Tuarak reached out, touched one wall, then drew his hand back with a curse. Something had stung him. Even through the heavy leather of his gauntlet, he had felt it -
Ahead of him, down the corridor, something moved in the dimness.
"Nessick?" said Tuarak. "Nessick, what are you playing at? I am in need of assistance."
The figure moved closer. It was not Nessick.
Tuarak shouted, a wordless cry of outrage, and drew his gun. The massive shape of the Borg drone lumbered relentlessly towards him. Tuarak levelled the gun and fired, once, twice, a third time. Each shot was on target. The drone, half its head blown away, still took another step forward. Then it stopped. It stood in the passageway, apparently pondering whether it was dead or not. Slowly, slowly, it slumped to the floor.
There was a terrifying buzzing in Tuarak's ears.
"Nessick," he whispered. "Oh, you have been careless, Nessick - you should never have used that Borg device -"
He turned around. The shuttle's warp drive was adequate, still, to reach a Vaadwaur base. There would be problems - the bureaucrats, the petty time-servers, they would present difficulties - But he was Tuarak of the Vaadwaur, he would not be balked.
Except that the buzzing in his ears was getting louder and louder, and there was a strange tingling in his hand.
Behind him, he heard slow footsteps; more drones, moving down the corridor. He could kill them - but the damned Borg would adapt, too quickly, to his weapon - and the buzzing in his ears was making it hard to think, as was the tingling numbness in his hand -
He drew off his gauntlet, and stared in mounting horror at his hand, at his bleached fingertips, at the dark lines of circuitry spreading beneath the skin.
"No," he whispered, and then shouted, "No! I am Vaadwaur, I am Tuarak of the Vaadwaur, I am - we - I - I am - we are -"
The voices in his head rose up and swallowed him. He had one last instant to realise all that he had lost.
Then, a hundred metres away, the molecular acid ate its way through the antimatter core's shielding. Normal matter and antimatter met, and the whole asteroid flared into sun-hot vapour, then faded away into the dark.
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