The sky over Rusthaven stretched red and raw, a wound that refused to heal. Dust storms churned across the barren landscape, swallowing the horizon in a shifting haze. My ship cut through the choking air, a thin streak of stubborn life against an indifferent world. Rusthaven wasn’t built for beauty—just survival—but even by the galaxy’s fringe standards, this was bleak.

The comms crackled, the voice of my ship’s AI breaking through the static. “Approaching Rusthaven Outpost, Max. Estimated time to landing: five minutes.”

“Can you get me a visual?” I asked, leaning forward. The cockpit window offered little more than swirling red dust, but I scanned anyway. Old habits.

“Negative,” the AI replied. “Visibility: zero percent. Dust storm detected. Adjusting for turbulence.”

I sighed and tightened my grip on the controls. “Typical.”

Sarek’s voice cut in from the co-pilot’s seat. “Let’s hope this place doesn’t have the same reception as its atmosphere.” He leaned back, arms crossed, his sharp features etched with mild disdain. Sarek was a man who seemed perpetually unimpressed.

“Rusthaven’s not known for its hospitality,” I said, keeping my eyes on the flickering instruments. “But then again, neither are you.”

Sarek smirked. “Touché.” He glanced at the viewport, his expression tightening as the ship shuddered under another blast of turbulence. “You sure this rust bucket can handle the landing?”

“She’s tougher than she looks,” I replied, though the groaning hull made me sound less convincing.

The wind screamed as the storm hit full force. The first impact against the hull was soft, almost polite. Then came the turbulence—violent jerks that twisted my ship like a drunkard trying to find his feet. Warning lights flared on the dashboard.

“Brace for landing,” I barked, though the AI hardly needed reminding. Sarek gripped the armrests, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The ship hit ground harder than I wanted, the hull groaning in protest. I unclenched my jaw as the diagnostics screen stabilized—damage, but nothing catastrophic.

“Elegant as always,” Sarek muttered, releasing his restraints.

“You’re welcome to pilot next time,” I shot back, rising from my seat. “Come on, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

The ramp hissed open, and the storm greeted us like an unwelcome host. Sand stung my skin, and the cold gnawed through my jacket as I descended. Sarek followed, his dark coat whipping in the wind. The red haze reduced everything to shadows and suggestions. I adjusted my scouter, activating its flickering holographic GPS. A faint blue path appeared on the lens, jittering with interference.

Rusthaven’s outpost emerged through the storm like a mirage of rust and neglect. Low, metal structures hugged the ground, battered by years of wind and wear. They seemed thrown together from whatever scraps the miners could find—functional, but barely.

The gate was a makeshift barricade of corroded metal sheets, manned by silhouettes with hard eyes and harder stances. They didn’t move as we approached, their faces hidden behind masks or scarves. The air was heavy with suspicion.

“Max Ludger, Trade Federation Mining Inspector,” I called, raising my voice over the storm. My words hung there, unanswered, until the gate creaked open just enough for us to slip through.

The man waiting on the other side looked carved from the same stone as the planet—sharp features, weathered skin, and an aura of distrust. “You’ll want the Outpost Leader,” he said. “But don’t expect much.”

“Encouraging,” Sarek muttered, his hand resting on the hilt of his sidearm.

The path into the settlement was narrow and treacherous. The storm quieted slightly, but the outpost didn’t feel any more welcoming. Thin faces peered from doorways and windows, their gazes hard and unforgiving. This wasn’t just survival; it was desperation.

We were led to a central shack, its walls stained red from the omnipresent dust. Inside, a man sat behind a battered metal desk, his hands resting on its surface as though he needed the contact to keep steady. His dark eyes flitted from corner to corner, never settling on us.

“You Ludger?” he asked, his voice flat.

“That’s me,” I said. “and this is Sarek, Sent to oversee me investigate the productivity drop.”

“Ernie,” he said, almost grudgingly. “Not that it’ll mean much to you.”

“Nice to meet you, Ernie,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “Now that we’ve exchanged pleasantries, maybe you can tell me why production’s tanked.”

Ernie leaned back, his chair creaking ominously. “You don’t waste time, do you?” His mouth twisted into a joyless smile. “Well, I’ll save you some: this planet’s killing us faster than we can mine it. Dust sickness, broken tools, bodies too tired to care.”

“Sounds convenient,” Sarek said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “But you’re leaving something out, aren’t you?”

Ernie’s gaze flicked to Sarek, then back to me. The man looked like he’d been on this rock too long—skin weathered, eyes sunken, movements careful, like he was conserving what little energy he had left. But his words didn’t match the nervous energy he exuded.

“That’s the story you’re sticking to?” I asked, leaning forward slightly.

“It’s the only story there is,” he shot back, but his eyes betrayed him. They flicked to the corners of the room, as if checking for someone—or something—watching.

“Come on, Ernie,” I said, dropping the pretense. “This isn’t my first rodeo. You’re scared, and it’s not just of a Trade Federation slap on the wrist. What’s really going on here?”

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For a moment, I thought he might crack. His jaw worked, like he was grinding his teeth, and his hands clenched into fists on the desk. Then he sighed and shook his head.

“You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I replied. “Knowing is literally my job.”

Ernie’s laugh was short and bitter. “Your job’s to tick boxes and file reports. You’ll do that, they’ll ignore it, and nothing will change. Meanwhile, we keep dying out here.”

“And disappearing,” Sarek added, his tone sharp. Ernie stiffened.

I leaned forward. “Disappear how?”

Ernie shook his head again, his eyes avoiding mine. “Just… gone. One minute they’re here, the next they’re not. And if they do come back…” He trailed off, his face pale.

“If they do come back?” I pressed.

“They’re not the same,” he muttered. “Not human anymore.”

The room felt colder, the storm’s howl outside muffled but insistent. I didn’t believe in curses, but I knew fear when I saw it. Whatever was happening here, it wasn’t just bad luck or poor management.

“I’m not your enemy,” I said, rising to my feet.

“You’re also not my friend,” Ernie smirked.

“If you want to keep hiding the truth, that’s your choice. But you’re not just keeping me out of the loop. You’re keeping the truth buried, and that’s going to hurt more people than you can imagine.”

Ernie didn’t respond. He just stared at his desk, his shoulders slumped like a man carrying a weight he couldn’t bear.

“We’re done here,” Sarek said, his voice clipped. He opened the door, letting the storm’s rage pour in.

The door slammed shut behind us as we stepped back into the dust. The storm’s howl swallowed my thoughts, but Sarek’s voice cut through.

“This isn’t just some corporate failure,” he said. “Something else is going on here.”

I nodded, gripping the scouter tighter. “Let’s find out what.”

Sarek pulled his coat tighter against the wind and turned to me. “I’m going to find somewhere to set up for the night. If I’m going to deal with this mess, I’d prefer to do it rested.” His tone was brisk, but there was an undertone of concern.

“Alright,” I said, scanning the storm-battered buildings. “I’ll keep digging around tonight. We can regroup in the morning.”

“Try not to get yourself killed,” Sarek said with a faint smirk before disappearing into the swirling red haze.

The storm continued its relentless assault as I walked through the outpost, boots sinking into the dust-coated ground. Sarek’s silhouette disappeared into the haze, and I felt the weight of the settlement’s hostility pressing down on me. These weren’t people eager to cooperate. They were clinging to life on this barren rock, and outsiders like me weren’t part of their equation.

I needed information, but I also needed to blend in—if that was even possible. Somewhere in this rust-stained maze, there had to be a place where miners drank away their misery. People were less careful with their words when there was liquor involved.

The faint hum of voices and the flicker of dim lights guided me to a squat, crooked building at the edge of the settlement. A battered metal sign hung precariously above the door, its faded letters spelling out “The Miner’s Refuge.” The name felt apt, though whether it referred to the bar or the planet as a whole was anyone’s guess.

I pushed the door open, and the storm’s howl was replaced by the low murmur of conversation and the clink of glassware. The interior was dimly lit, with a haze of smoke hanging in the air. A handful of patrons sat scattered at worn tables, their faces lined with exhaustion and suspicion. The bar itself was a patchwork of scavenged metal and mismatched wood, manned by a burly figure whose scarred hands worked methodically to clean a glass.

The bartender glanced up as I approached, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Don’t recognize you,” he said, his voice gravelly.

“Max Ludger,” I replied, resting my hands on the bar. “Got a contract with the Trade Federation. Just landed.”

His expression didn’t change, but I caught the slight tightening of his jaw. “Don’t get many visitors out here. What’ll it be?”

“Something strong,” I said. “And a meal, if you’ve got one.”

He nodded, turning to a shelf lined with bottles of dubious origin. “Food’s simple—stew and bread. Won’t win any awards, but it’ll keep you alive.”

“Alive’s good enough for now,” I said, taking a seat at the bar. I let my gaze wander, noting the patrons. Most kept to themselves, hunched over their drinks or engaged in quiet conversations. One or two cast wary glances my way, but none lingered.

The bartender placed a chipped glass of amber liquid in front of me, followed by a steaming bowl of stew. The smell was sharp and metallic, but hunger overruled my hesitation. I took a sip of the drink first—it burned on the way down but settled warm in my chest. The stew was thick and gritty, the kind of meal that stuck to your ribs whether you wanted it to or not.

“You here to fix things?” the bartender asked, breaking the silence.

“That’s the idea,” I said. “Been hearing some interesting stories already. Disappearances, equipment failures. People scared of something they won’t talk about.”

The bartender snorted, his hands busy with another glass. “Rusthaven’s always been a hellhole. Storms, sickness, accidents. People disappear because they get tired of this place and run, or the dust takes them. Simple as that.”

I studied him for a moment. His tone was dismissive, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of unease. He knew more than he was letting on. “And what about the ones who come back? The ones who aren’t the same?”

The glass in his hand slipped slightly, catching on the edge of the bar. He recovered quickly, but not before I saw the tension in his shoulders.

“Superstitions,” he said gruffly. “Miners get sick, they act strange. This place messes with your head. That’s all it is.”

“Right,” I said, not bothering to hide my skepticism. “And you’ve never seen anything strange yourself?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might shut me down completely. But then he sighed and leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Look, I’ve been here long enough to know when to keep my head down. You want to dig up ghosts, that’s your business. Just don’t drag the rest of us down with you.”

“Fair enough,” I said, taking another sip of my drink. “You got a room for the night?”

He nodded toward a narrow staircase at the back of the bar. “Couple rooms upstairs. Nothing fancy, but the beds don’t bite.”

I finished my stew and slid a few credits across the bar. “Appreciate it.”

He pocketed the credits without a word, his expression unreadable. As I made my way to the stairs, I felt the weight of the room’s gaze on my back. These people were hiding something, and whatever it was, it had them terrified.

The upstairs hallway was dim and cramped, the walls streaked with rust and grime. My room was at the end of the hall, barely more than a closet with a narrow bed and a small desk. A single flickering bulb cast harsh shadows on the walls. I dropped my pack onto the bed and sat down, the mattress creaking under my weight.

The storm outside had quieted, but the unease lingered. Ernie’s words echoed in my mind, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was walking into something far bigger than I’d anticipated.

I pulled out my datapad and began jotting down notes, trying to make sense of everything I’d learned so far. Disappearances, fear, and a vague sense of something wrong beneath the surface. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

As I worked, the wind picked up again, rattling the window in its frame. The sound was almost like a whisper, faint and insistent. I glanced toward the window, but there was nothing outside—just the endless red haze of the storm.

I shook my head and returned to my notes, forcing myself to focus. Tomorrow, Sarek and I would dig deeper. For now, I needed rest. But as I lay down and stared at the ceiling, the whispers lingered, just beyond the edge of hearing.