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

to attention and realized Ambassador Gunnarson was staring at him expectantly.
    “Sorry, Ambassador,” he said quietly. “What did you say?”
    “I merely asked if you were enjoying the view.”
    She spoke Terran Standard with a strange accent, not quite Scots, nor Russian, but with a guttural emphasis to some of her words that seemed to owe something to both lingual families. It gave her sibilants a charming little lisp, while she came down hard on the harsher consonants and clipped off the softer ends of her words. It sounded, dare he even think it, cute on her.
    “Oh, yes, ma’am, very much. I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
    “Indeed?” She raised an eyebrow and gave him a long, speculative once-over. “Perhaps, once our duties here are attended to, I can take you on a tour.”
    Ambassador Al-Aziz wasn’t quite fast enough concealing his look of distaste to keep Pete from seeing it. Painting on a smile as fake as a plastic banana, he nodded, playing the gracious guest to the hilt. “You should do so, Colonel. I suspect Dusk has a great many delights to share with all of us. As Ambassador Gunnarson so accurately noted, we will not be spending all our time here on duty.”
    Pete allowed himself a small smile while thinking, Mr. Ambassador, sir, with all due respect, you can go fuck yourself, sir .
    Aloud he said, “I would like that very much, Ambassador.”
    Merrick shot him a glance chilly enough to freeze hydrogen.
    Pete ignored him.

Chapter Eight
     
    The assassin stood, hands on hips, on a catwalk overlooking a pit so large that it distorted visual perspective and bent sensory input almost into meaninglessness.
    A few feet away, leaning on the railing, a T’riskin male glanced over with unconcealed interest. “Impressive, is it not?”
    “It is, indeed. Finding this abandoned diamond mine was a stroke of brilliance.”
    The T’riskin straightened to his full, imposing height. His muscles rippled under dark-red scales as hard as stone as he folded his taloned hands in front of his waist. His tail thrashed twice in a sign of slight agitation. His hard, thin lips skinned back from deceptively delicate-looking teeth.
    “Our superior is wondering when we can expect payment.”
    The assassin pushed off the railing and looked up into the T’riskin’s face. “Do not press me, Grrrreelawk. I have assured you that you will be paid as soon as the diplomatic farce is complete.”
    Grrrreelawk grumbled. “But there are too many ways this can go wrong,” he protested, his voice fine gravel sliding down a steep slope.
    “That is hardly my concern. Bear in mind that you brokered the introduction to the Raebteews, but I am the one who must constantly keep their leader in check. You have no concept of how difficult it is to control a puppet so completely and utterly that it has no idea who is pulling the strings while still interacting normally with others. None of which takes into account the huge risk I am undertaking by doing business with you at all. If I am discovered, I can at best expect a long stay in a detainment cell. At worst, I may be escorted off the planet as an undesirable.”
    Grrrreelawk’s lower jaw fell open in the T’riskin version of a laugh. “And that is my concern how? I am a mere contractor, here to assist you with maintaining control over the Raebteews and assuring my superiors that the operation is proceeding according to plan. They will not react kindly to stalling tactics.”
    The assassin scowled. “Do not threaten me, Grrrreelawk. That way only lies problems neither of us need or want.”
    The T’riskin glanced down into the pit. “Look!” he commanded, aiming one wickedly clawed finger downward.
    Far below, a swarm of small, furry creatures with ferocious, almost absurdly outsized claws began to chitter excitedly to one another. A large shelf of high-carbon rock fell away, revealing a brilliant blue vein of ore beneath. The creatures made a