Dusk (Dusk 1) by J.S. Wayne Page B

am not a part of your chain of command. My superior officer is General Fritz O. Neville, not you, sir. If you have a problem with that, feel free to take it up with him.” With an uneasy twinge of memory, he recalled Kozlowski saying something virtually identical to him almost two weeks prior. “I will not allow you to speak to me in such a disrespectful fashion, Ambassador. We are both professionals, and I suggest we put aside any personal animosity for the duration. If you cannot do that, I wish you luck in the negotiations. I’ll head back to my stateroom.”
    Pete saluted crisply and turned to walk away.
    “Stop!”
    He turned back to see Al-Aziz looking shaken for the first time since Pete met him.
    “Colonel, I beg your pardon. My nerves are… how do you say? Shot. Yes, my nerves are shot over these negotiations. I intended no disrespect to you or your service, and I hope you will forgive my inexcusable rudeness.”
    For a second, Pete considered letting the ambassador grovel a little more. There was only so much anyone could be expected to take, and Pete had already had a bellyful of His Excellency and his belligerence. A lesson in humility might do him some good.
    Yeah, and it might land you in the brig .
    True, but …
    But nothing. Just because he’s an unprofessional jackass doesn’t mean you have to be.
    “I accept, Ambassador.” He gave Al-Aziz the look he’d rehearsed so often in the mirror, the one that froze the marrow of skylarking cadets and overreaching senior officers alike. “But I sincerely hope you’ll keep your nerves where they won’t impact these negotiations. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to inform General Neville and ensure he knows that any lapses in diplomacy are to be laid at your door, not mine.”
    Al-Aziz’s upper lip twitched as if he had caught the odor of something dead and rotting. “I will be sure to bear that in mind, Colonel.” He made no effort to disguise the undercurrent of threat roughening the bottoms of his words. “And rest assured I will advise your superiors of your assistance with this endeavor.”
    I’ll just bet you will .
    “Shall we?” Kozlowski asked, gesturing toward the shuttle.

Chapter Seven
     
    Olivia slipped the crisp silver robe over her head. It whispered into place precisely as she might have wished, drawing just enough attention to her cleavage without showing so much as to offend propriety and hugging her hips in a way that flattered her body without being gauche.
    The clothiers who attended to the formal wardrobes of the DDC members had been working night and day for a week to produce a number of dresses, robes, and suits suitable for any and all occasions. Although it was unlikely she would need such a trousseau again anytime soon, having such a formidable wardrobe made her feel a little more controlled. She tried very hard not to think of how much the elaborate creations cost. While Dusk was far from a poor planet, she could think of far better places for that many credits to go than draping her gangly form.
    Poor Merrick looked even less comfortable than she felt. He wore a coat and pants of breathable black Dusk silk, with an iridescent high-collared shirt of the same material. Under the jacket he wore a holster in which rode his blaster. If misery could be said to have a face, Merrick’s would have fit the bill perfectly.
    “Are you ready?” she asked.
    “Yes. After I undo this button.” He reached for the large jeweled stud at the top of his throat.
    “Don’t you dare! Martine spent a full day getting that shirt right, and you’ll just spoil the line of the collar if you undo the button,” she scolded.
    “And of course you’re just loving your attire,” he sniped right back.
    She glanced in the mirror. He had a point. Although the silk was as light and airy as any fabric anywhere in the galaxy she’d seen, she would still far rather meet the shuttle in her usual attire than this… this… this ludicrous robe.