Dreadnought (Lost Colonies Trilogy Book 2) by B. V. Larson Read Free Book Online

indeed, sir,” he admitted. “But we only have two other trained pilots aboard, and they’re off-duty.”
    “Ah, I see. You edged yourself back onto the roster for take-off. Is that it?”
    “Just trying to help out, Captain.”
    “Right. Well, lay in the course and apply thrust as evenly as you can. We have a guest aboard.”
    Once the ship was underway, the droning of the engines built to a continuous roar. The stresses on the hull and our bodies increased simultaneously.
    I’d sounded the all-hands warning, but I hadn’t carefully checked upon the status of our formal companion. Complaints were, therefore, not long in coming.
    “Sir,” Lieutenant Commander Yamada said, spinning her chair around to face me. Like many of my crew she’d been recently promoted, but she hadn’t let that go to her head. “Our diplomatic guest is unhappy. She’s sending me complaints approximately every minute.”
    My face tightened. I supposed this was an unavoidable reality. Any ambassador wanted to be fawned over and groomed until she felt well-treated. I wasn’t looking forward to the task, but fortunately, my upbringing had prepared me for it.
    “Bring her up to the command deck,” I told Yamada. “She can take a look at what we’re doing up here in person.”
    Yamada looked dubious, but she relayed my summons to C-Deck.
    We continued our flight, slipping past the Moon in less than an hour. As the ambassador didn’t show up immediately, I dared to hope she wouldn’t bother to come to the command deck at all—but my hopes didn’t last long.
    “Captain Sparhawk?” asked a woman’s voice from behind me. The voice was a familiar one—shockingly familiar.
    The ambassador was an older woman dressed in a black gown. The color and the garment were almost a uniform for any member of her Great House. I knew her quite well as my mother had been born a Grantholm.
    “Lady Grantholm?” I said, standing up and bowing to her. I almost lost my footing—the acceleration had us all at a disadvantage. Despite the dampeners we were at one-point-seven Gs of thrust and rising.
    “This acceleration is wholly unacceptable,” she said in a severe tone. “I want you to slow this ship down—or turn on the dampeners. Whatever it takes.”
    I straightened from my bow and saw she was struggling not to grab onto the rail that ran around the inner region of the command deck. Finally, she swayed and reached for it. Supporting herself with two pale claws, she bared her teeth at me.
    “If I don’t miss my guess, we’re still increasing our rate of acceleration,” she said.
    “We are, madam,” I admitted.
    “Whatever for?”
    “Two excellent reasons: First, we’re on a time schedule. In order to reach the departure point at the moment CENTCOM has instructed me to do so, we have to move at speed.”
    “Surely they’ll understand a delay,” she said. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, I gather.”
    “That’s my job, Lady. Any Guardsman would be required to do the same.”
    “False pride,” she muttered. “What’s your second reason, Sparhawk?”
    “My understanding of ER physics,” I said. “The recommended velocity wasn’t chosen at random. When we reach the departure point, it isn’t good enough that we float there motionless, waiting for an opening. We have to breach a membrane—a barrier between space and hyperspace. Only at that perfect moment can we engage the bridge-drive. The prerequisite speed is being built up right now.”
    “I had no idea this would be such a trial,” she complained.
    “I had no idea a Grantholm person could be so adverse to discomfort.”
    Her eyes flashed at me. Every Grantholm alive prided themselves on the rugged nature of people from their House. Compared to most upper class types, they were a capable lot, but they weren’t accustomed to the rigors of the Guard.
    “All right,” Grantholm said, wheezing. “I’ll return to my cabin. Have an oxygen bottle sent down, would