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

minor cosmetic differences to allow for their unique battle support roles. The Fallujah , being a diplomatic packet ship, was constructed along entirely different lines intended to grant it superior speed and maneuverability at superluminal velocities without compromising the delicate balance of the Alcubierre-Fermi drive fields.
    He should have known better, and his frustration only grew with every step he took.
    Finally, he found a commpad on a facing wall near one of the lifts. Consulting the paper, he entered the six-digit call code. The pad gave two sharp pings. A broad-faced, good-natured-looking man with thinning brown hair and hound dog eyes peered out of the screen at him. His Naval black uniform was so crisply pressed Pete could imagine cutting himself on one of the seams.
    “Senior Warrant Officer Kozlowski, sir. How can I help you?”
    “Warrant, this is Captain Silva.”
    “Yes, sir. I can see that.” Neither Kozlowski’s voice nor face gave any indication of anything but the most perfect military neutrality.
    “Warrant, do you know where I’m at?”
    Kozlowski looked down for a second, and then back up. “If I had to guess, Captain, I’d say you’re lost . You’re one deck down and to the left from where you should be, if you’re looking for your quarters, sir.”
    Pete bit back a surly reply and tried his damnedest to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. “Well, if you’re not too busy, Warrant, would you shoot a line and take me in tow?” He thought briefly about asking Kozlowski for those steaks, but decided against it.
    “Yes, sir. Will the captain be wanting food in his quarters, sir?”
    Solves that problem .
    “Very much, Warrant.” He detailed what sounded best to him.
    “Very good, sir. Stay right where you are and I’ll be up to collect you in a few moments.”
    Without another word, the warrant broke the connection.
    Just for contrariness’ sake, Pete moved five feet to the left and two feet backward.
    “ Collect me,” he muttered. “Collect this , squid.”
    Five interminable minutes later, the lift doors whooshed open, revealing Kozlowski in the flesh. He bore a huge plastic tray covered with a clear dome in his Kodiak bear-sized arms. Compared to the hulking warrant officer, the tray looked absolutely tiny.
    “Captain Silva, I’m Senior Warrant Kozlowski.” He nodded to the tray. “I’d offer to shake hands, sir, but…”
    Pete smiled as graciously as he could manage. “That’s fine, Warrant. If you can just get me where I’m supposed to be, I’d appreciate it.”
    The warrant officer grinned. “Glad to, sir. Follow me.”
    It turned out that from the lift, Pete had only been about two hundred meters from his assigned quarters the whole time. Kozlowski trotted down the hall, apparently willing to let the senior officer make conversation or not as he saw fit. Given Pete’s level of irritation, he decided not to try. As the warrant turned a sharp corner, Pete heard a cheerful voice.
    “Hey, Mr. Kozlowski! Up for a game tonight?”
    “No, thanks,” Kozlowski said. “I lost the last fifty credits I had to you cretins last time we played.”
    “Well, it would help if you weren’t such a shit poker player, Mr. Kozlowski.”
    Pete rounded the corner and found a fresh-faced Navy kid facing Kozlowski down. Kozlowski looked embarrassed. “There’s an officer on deck, Hudson.”
    The kid glanced Pete’s way and stiffened to what passed for attention in the Navy. “Good afternoon, sir,” he barked.
    “As you were,” Pete said quickly.
    The kid slunk away without another word, nodding to Pete as he passed. Pete eyeballed Kozlowski’s back. “Isn’t playing for money against regs?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. I never heard anyone say anything about playing for money. If that happened on this ship, I’d have the perpetrators disciplined. Rigidly.” He paused at a blank door and raised an eyebrow at Pete.
    Pete smiled.