Warworld: The Lidless Eye by John F. Carr, Don Hawthorne Page A

Imperial Governor and his staff left in 2623.”
    Diettinger nodded. Turning to the Weapons officer, he asked, “Status?”
    “Point defense systems at thirty-percent. Main armament intact, auto-mechanisms down. Repair estimate of thirty hours with materials and crew on hand.”
    Diettinger almost smiled. He did not expect interstellar fighter craft on a world abandoned by the Imperials. The Alderson malfunction had carried them far away from the front lines. So point defense didn’t really matter. But the main armament could shoot, if not yet aim. He had expected the news from Weapons to be far more depressing. On that account, Engineering did not disappoint him.
    “Jump-Core failure. Total. Maneuvering fuel down to twenty-percent from a hull breach, four maneuvering engines down, one beyond repair.” That left Fomoria with two currently operational, out of six. “Internal systems now running on cells. Cells damaged. Forty-percent destroyed, twenty-percent damaged, forty-percent operative. Langston Field generator irreparably damaged during last Jump.”
    “You have discretion on manpower and materials necessary for repairs,” Diettinger told Engineering. The loss of the Langston Field meant that any ship-to-ship action would be fatal. It also eliminated the possibility of erecting the Field on Haven. While the last Jump had gotten them outside the Empire’s authority, it had also destroyed their defensive capability. They were now fully committed to resettling in the Haven System—no matter what.
    He turned to Weapons. “Dismantle half of the remaining point defense systems and pack them for transport. All repair is to be directed toward returning the main armament to ready status. Rig all ordnance for planetary bombardment. Calibrate beam stations for precision surface interaction ops.”
    Weapons barely raised an eyebrow as he saluted and turned to follow Engineering out the hatch.
    Diettinger turned back to Second Rank. She was frowning in obvious puzzlement.
    “Wide scan status, Second.”
    “No interplanetary traffic or communications, First Rank. An automated refueling station in orbit around an inner gas giant. Source of all non-automated signals and emissions is the same gas giant’s moon.”
    Diettinger scowled. That makes three pieces of luck , he thought. Well, perhaps he was garnering some of the lost good fortune from all the billions of members of the Race they’d left for dead, on and above Sauron. The scowl became a rueful smile. Now he was really becoming superstitious.
    He consulted the chronometer implanted in his skull: two minutes to the wardroom meeting. Diettinger turned back to Second Rank.
    “When Engineering has maneuver up and running, make for the automated refueling station. Approach from Haven’s blind side. Avoid at all costs any detection or other satellites. Inform me when we’re on final approach to the station.”

Chapter Eight
I
    John Hamilton knocked on the heavy ironwood door. Why doesn’t anyone tell me what’s going on around here? he asked himself for about the fiftieth time. According to the latest kitchen rumors, Ingrid Cummings was on her way to Whitehall. Not if I have anything to do about it.
    “Come in,” his grandfather’s voice called out. It was a gravelly voice used to command. John couldn’t help but jerk to attention.
    “It’s me, Grandfather,” John said.
    His grandfather was seated at his work desk, a former oak partners desk that some long-deceased lawyer had brought to Haven in a fit of optimism. For as much as it weighed, he could have brought in a small auto-car instead.
    “I heard that Ingrid Cummings was coming to visit—”
    The Baron shook his head. “Too many busybodies in this castle. Yes, Ingrid’s coming to stay with us.”
    “For how long?” he interjected, unable to hear the old man out.
    The Baron banged his hand on the oak desk hard enough to bring one of the retainers into the chamber.
    “Is everything okay, Your