As the Black Aegis sped through the vast currents of warp space, Vargas leaned back in his seat, fingers tapping rhythmically against the console in front of him. He gazed out at the swirling void beyond the cockpit's reinforced glass, a kaleidoscope of colors and energy storms rushing past them as they made their way toward Triton I. His mind was already working through how to handle their next step—Beirut.

Investigator Beirut had been in the game for almost as long as Vargas, known for his exceptional record solving high-profile cases, but something had gone wrong. Reports started filtering back to HQ about Beirut's questionable alliances with alien factions. It was enough to warrant an internal investigation, but Vargas had to play it carefully. If Beirut had truly gone rogue, outright confrontation could make things worse.

Vargas pulled up the communication interface and composed a message for Beirut. He kept it short and professional.

________________________________________________________________________________________

To: Investigator Beirut

From: Investigator Vargas

Subject: Arrival on Triton I

Beirut,

I hope this message finds you well. My team and I are en route to Triton I to investigate some old cases flagged by HQ, which intersect with a few of your recent operations. We thought it best to collaborate and share intel when we arrive.

ETA: 12 hours.

Looking forward to catching up.

Vargas.

________________________________________________________________________________________

He hit send, the message disappearing into the ether. It was vague enough to keep suspicion at bay but clear enough that Beirut would understand they were coming. Vargas knew that if Beirut had truly turned, he'd be wary of their arrival, but there wasn't much else to do. They'd find out the truth soon enough.

Nera's voice broke the silence. "Message sent?"

Vargas nodded. "Yeah, Beirut knows we're coming."

Ralo, sitting in the corner as usual, glanced up from his datapad. "You think he's gonna make a move before we land?"

"It's possible," Vargas said, "but we're being cautious. This isn't a confrontation—yet. We just need to gather intel."

Keera turned her chair slightly, watching the starry expanse outside. "I don't like it. If Beirut's in deep with alien factions, he's not going to just sit back and wait for us. You think he'll bolt?"

Vesik crossed his arms, his metallic hand tapping against his leg. "Or set a trap."

Vargas smirked. "Maybe. But if Beirut is still loyal to the Bureau, this should go smoothly. If not... well, we're always ready."

Nera tilted her head, her usual calm expression shifting slightly. "And what's the plan if we find out he's turned?"

Vargas leaned back, eyes narrowing. "Then we handle it. Quietly."

The crew nodded, understanding what "quietly" meant. If Beirut had betrayed the Federation, they'd deal with him like any other threat. Vargas hated the idea of taking down one of their own, but he couldn't let personal feelings interfere. The Brood had already rattled the team enough; they didn't need more surprises.

After a long silence, Ralo spoke again, this time with more focus. "I've been digging through some of the case files linked to Beirut. There's some strange patterns. Missing persons, but no bodies found. Some planetary defense records were wiped clean after his investigation ended. It's like he was covering something up."

"Good work, Ralo," Vargas said. "Keep digging. We need every detail."

"On it," Ralo replied, his fingers flying across his datapad again.

Taris, leaning against the bulkhead of the ship's main room, gave a low whistle. "You ever wonder why you keep your team so small, boss? I mean, other investigators run with entire battalions, and you stick with the same handful of us."

Vargas looked over at Taris, giving a sheepish smile, the kind that could disarm the most hardened criminal. "What, you don't like the personal touch?" he quipped, deflecting the question as usual. He liked his crew tight-knit, focused. He didn't need the bloated support teams that other veteran investigators relied on.

"Just seems... odd," Taris replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, the stuff we deal with... the Brood, cabals, old alien tech... it wouldn't hurt to have more boots on the ground."

Keera, already prepping the Black Aegis for their next jump, glanced up from her console. "You know Vargas. He likes to keep things... manageable," she chimed in with a smirk. She knew the drill by now—Vargas always had a reason for everything he did, even if he didn't share it outright.

Nera, freshly recovered from their last mission, stepped into the room. "So, Beirut," she said, her eyes serious, as usual. "Are we really going in just to ask questions, or is there something else you're not telling us?"

Vargas shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "I'm not hiding anything this time. Just gathering intel. Beirut's been under the radar for a while now, and we need to know if he's crossed any lines. And if he has..." Vargas trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. His team knew what that meant.

Keera tapped a few more buttons, and the ship's engines hummed to life. "Coordinates are locked in. We're heading to Triton I," she announced.

As the hours passed, the hum of the ship's engines became a familiar lull. The team busied themselves preparing for the mission, each member lost in their thoughts.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The tension from the Brood encounter still lingered, especially since Vargas had used his technique. Though no one had said anything, he knew they were rattled. His power was something they rarely saw in full effect, and its aftermath was never pleasant—for anyone involved.

Finally, the comms system crackled to life.

"Triton I, orbital station control. You've been cleared for landing. Welcome to Triton I, Investigator Vargas."

Keera adjusted the controls and guided the Black Aegis into the planet's atmosphere, the ship shaking slightly as they breached the upper layers. Triton I soon came into view, its surface a frozen wasteland dotted with industrial outposts and cities covered by massive, domed habitats.

As they descended, the orbital station came into view—a sleek, floating city in space, suspended above the icy world like a sentinel. It was both a refueling station and a place for trade and bureaucracy. And for now, it would serve as their rendezvous point.

The Black Aegis touched down on one of the docking platforms, the landing smooth and uneventful. Vargas unbuckled his harness and stood, straightening his coat.

"Everyone knows the drill," he said, glancing at his crew. "Stay sharp. We'll meet with Beirut, assess the situation, and figure out our next move."

Vesik was already strapping on his weapon holster, his cybernetic arm flexing. "I'm ready for anything. Let's see what this Beirut is really up to."

Nera gave a slight nod, her usual calm mask back in place. "We'll handle it."

Keera glanced at the controls. "I'll keep the Black Aegis prepped in case we need to make a quick exit. Something about this whole thing feels... off."

Vargas turned toward the ramp. "Let's hope it's nothing. But be ready in case it's not."

They moved as one, the veteran crew slipping seamlessly into their roles.

The Black Aegis docked smoothly at the Triton I spaceport, its sleek, dark form cutting through the station's metallic architecture like a shadow. As the airlock hissed open, Vargas stepped out first, followed by his crew, their eyes scanning the surroundings with their usual caution.

Waiting for them, near the hangar's edge, was Investigator Beirut and his entourage.

Beirut stood tall, his bronze skin catching the harsh light of the spaceport's artificial atmosphere. He had the rugged, chiseled look of someone who had seen more battles than meetings, his black beard neatly trimmed but lending him an air of authority. His smile, however, was warm. It was a smile that could put anyone at ease, a facade of trust that Vargas instinctively questioned.

"Vargas!" Beirut's voice boomed across the hangar, his arms outstretched as though greeting an old friend. "It's been far too long, my friend."

Vargas returned the smile, although his was a shade more reserved. "Beirut. Good to see you," he said, clasping the man's outstretched hand. There was strength behind Beirut's grip, the kind of strength that didn't fade even in his years away from the frontlines.

As Vargas exchanged pleasantries, his eyes shifted to the woman standing at Beirut's side. His wife, if he remembered correctly—Alira. She was beautiful, no denying that, with her prim black hair perfectly styled and her posture elegant. Her skin was pale, almost unnaturally so, like porcelain brought to life. But it was her smile that caught Vargas off-guard. There was something off about it, something in the way her lips curled just a little too wide and her eyes held an odd, vacant gleam. It was a smile that might be charming on the surface, but lurking beneath, there was an unsettling edge, as if she were mimicking emotions rather than feeling them.

Alira stepped forward, her voice melodic but somehow too slow, like she was savoring every word. "Investigator Vargas, it's such a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you," she said, her gaze lingering on him for a beat too long. Her tone was friendly, but there was a strange hollowness in her cheerfulness that made the back of Vargas' neck itch.

It reminded him of a creepy scene in a horror film, the kind of unsettling friendliness that hinted at something darker lurking beneath the surface.

"And this must be your team," Beirut said, his arm sweeping out to encompass the others behind Vargas. Keera gave a polite nod, her eyes scanning the area warily, while Nera stood silently, her own professional demeanor firmly in place. Vesik, with his usual gruffness, managed a slight smile, though his eyes never left Beirut's men, already sizing them up as potential threats.

Vargas couldn't help but notice how Beirut's team carried themselves—military posture, sharp eyes. They were skilled, no doubt about it, but there was an edge of weariness there, as though they had seen too much too quickly. He caught one of them, a tall man with scars running down his face, casting quick glances at Alira, as if she unnerved him too.

"So," Beirut said, turning his attention back to Vargas. "What brings you to Triton I? Business or pleasure?"

Vargas chuckled lightly, matching Beirut's casual demeanor. "Business, mostly. There were a few cases that needed follow-up, nothing major."

"Of course, of course," Beirut said, his smile still strong. "But while you're here, you'll have to let us show you around. Triton I has its charms, even if it's just a backwater post these days."

Alira leaned forward, clasping her hands together in an exaggerated gesture of excitement. "Oh yes, you simply must stay for dinner one of these nights. It would be delightful." Her voice had that strange lilt again, like she was trying too hard to sound enthusiastic.

"Sounds… intriguing," Vargas replied, flashing a brief smile, though he couldn't quite shake the creeping sensation growing in the pit of his stomach.

As they exchanged further pleasantries, Vargas' mind was already spinning. Something was off here—Beirut's overly friendly demeanor, his wife's eerie presence. There was something hiding beneath the surface of this picture-perfect greeting, and Vargas knew he would have to keep his guard up.

As Beirut and his entourage turned to lead the way, signaling for Vargas and his crew to follow, the atmosphere shifted subtly. The easygoing warmth that Beirut radiated only moments ago felt distant, replaced by an almost suffocating tension. His team walked with disciplined, synchronized movements, their silence unsettling.

Vargas fell into step behind them, gesturing for his crew to do the same. Keera, Vesik, Nera, and Ralo exchanged uneasy glances as they walked, each feeling the strange air around them.

Keera leaned in slightly toward Nera, her voice barely a whisper. "Anyone else feeling like we just walked into a holo-thriller?" Her tone was casual, but the concern in her eyes was evident.

Nera gave a subtle nod, her gaze flicking to Alira's retreating figure. "That woman… something's seriously wrong with her. I can't put my finger on it, but she's not normal."

"I don't like it either," Vesik grumbled, his deep voice low enough to keep the conversation between them. "The whole thing feels wrong. I get the feeling we're being set up for something."

"Relax, big guy," Ralo interjected, though even he looked uneasy. "Maybe she's just... you know, eccentric. Rich people tend to be weird."

Keera scoffed. "That wasn't eccentric. That was creepy. And what's with her eyes? Did you notice how they never really blink?"

Vesik shrugged his massive shoulders. "Hey Ralo, you ever seen that old movie where the girl with long hair walks out of the data pad and kills the people who see her?"

"What?", Ralo gave Vesik an incredulous look, not understanding the reference.

"Ah, never mind. I don't trust that husband either, too friendly. He's doing too much",

"Keep your heads," Vargas said in a low, firm tone, his voice cutting through their hushed conversation. "We're here to gather information, not draw attention to ourselves. Stay sharp, follow my lead, and don't let on that anything feels out of place."

His crew fell silent, understanding the gravity of the situation. They trusted Vargas implicitly, and if he said to stay calm, they would do their best to act normal, even if everything around them felt anything but.

As they walked through the narrow corridors of the spaceport, following Beirut and his unsettling wife, the oppressive feeling only grew stronger. The lights flickered slightly above them, casting long shadows on the walls, and the metallic hum of machinery echoed faintly in the background.

Up ahead, Beirut glanced back at Vargas with that same charming smile. "We've set up accommodations for you and your crew while you're here, Vargas. We'll be arriving shortly."

Vargas offered a nod.