Dusk (Dusk 1) by J.S. Wayne Read Free Book Online Page A

given up his shot at Paradise to satisfy his curiosity about why this junior Marine officer had been dispatched out to the Rim.
    To be honest, he would have liked more information about that himself. Neville had abruptly ended the interview, saying he had other business to attend to. The only thing the tight-lipped bastard would tell him was that he’d get full mission details on shipboard.
    He grunted noncommittal thanks at the executive officer of the Fallujah and turned away, then turned back. “How long will it be until we hit Dusk?”
    “We expect to make planetfall in thirteen days, three hours, twenty-six minutes, forty-one seconds.”
    Pete raised an eyebrow. “Think you could be a little more vague?” he joked.
    The Iraqi native’s face betrayed no emotion beyond a little more darkening of his complexion. “No, Captain. I do not,” he retorted stiffly.
    “Okay. Sorry I asked. Look, which way’s my stateroom?”
    Sadaaqi relaxed minutely. Most Naval types wouldn’t even have noticed the difference. “Your stateroom is two decks up, one corridor to the right, at the end of the corridor. We have given you diplomatic quarters, so you will have absolute privacy. Our orders are not to disturb you in any way until Ambassador Al-Aziz joins us on Unicron III. You may take meals in your stateroom or in the crew dining facility, whichever strikes your fancy. We have a senior warrant officer standing by with orders to accommodate you when necessary and leave you alone otherwise. You need only to input this code --” A slip of paper appeared in Sadaaqi’s dark hand with the suddenness of a meteor strike. He shoved it at Pete briskly. Somehow, he managed to cling to the paper without fumbling it. “-- And Warrant Kozlowski will see to your needs.”
    Pete nodded approval. “Can you let Kozlowski know I’d like a couple of steaks in my stateroom? I have orders to read.”
    The other officer stiffened, his face pinching in on itself as if a particularly severe cramp had just gripped his guts. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Captain. You see, I have sealed orders of my own to read. Just input the code and your request will route directly to Kozlowski.”
    Pete grunted. “Okay. How long before we clear Sol?”
    “We will pass beyond the outer orbit of Pluto in approximately three hours. I would suggest you try to get a nap.” Without another word, the XO turned on his heel in an about-face that would put most Devil Dogs to shame and marched away from the airlock. The double doors leading away from the shuttle bay whooshed closed behind him.
    With a grumbled oath, Pete followed.
    * * *
    “Okay, was it one up and two over, or two up and one over?”
    Forty-five minutes after Pete had left the shuttle bay, he was well and truly lost. The Fallujah’s corridor-marking system was laid out solely in Arabic, which Silva had never learned to read, not that it would have done him any good anyway. If the Fallujah was going to be a permanent billet, he’d have loaded the schematics and studied them for a half-hour or so before the shuttle raised, but since it wasn’t, he hadn’t bothered. He’d asked a number of enlisted types in Naval black, but all of them seemed surprised even to see a Marine on board. Not a single one of them had a clue (or so they claimed) as to where his assigned quarters were or how he should get there.
    A couple of times, he’d thought he heard the squids break into snickering fits as soon as they were around the corner. The last time, he’d considered chasing them down and chewing wholesale ass, but decided there was no profit in pissing off people he’d have to be locked in this tin can with for the best part of two weeks. Instead he ambled around, looking for a corridor that looked like it might be the right one.
    If the Fallujah had been a proper frigate or drop ship, Pete would have known more or less exactly where to go. Combat ships were laid out on a common hull design with