The Star Cross (18 page)

In the two
Profiteer escort cruisers, the crews recorded the total destruction of the human
cargo ship and the Dacroni battleship. The recordings of the entire battle
would be delivered to High Profiteer Creed. If the Dacroni were shown to have
acted recklessly, and, as a result, the Profiteer battlecruiser had been
destroyed by their negligence, then there would be compensation expected from
the mercenaries.

After another
few minutes of observations, the two escort cruisers jumped into hyperspace and
set course for Earth. Behind them, a glowing debris cloud marked the death of
the three ships. In another few days, there would be no obvious evidence that a
battle had ever been fought in this small discreet star system.

-

Kurt sat in
his quarters, morose in thought. The loss of the
Lansing
had stunned him
and had been so unexpected. He made an after-action report, listing his own
observations as a reference for future combat missions against both the
Profiteers and the Dacroni. The problem had been the Dacroni battleship; if the
Star Cross
had only been fighting the Profiteer battlecruiser and its
two escorts, Kurt would have been willing to stay and slug it out.

It was also
upsetting that their first group of purchased hypermissiles had been lost.
Those would have been useful in the defense of Newton, if the planet were
attacked. Now he would have to do without them, until he could make
arrangements for more. Credits wouldn’t be a problem, as he had ordered a
transfer of much of the gold from the
Lansing
to the underground vault
beneath the compound they had leased on Kubitz. The vault was under constant guard
by the Marines he had left behind. The Marine presence should raise no eyebrows
in that neighborhood. Not even Dolman or Grantz knew of the underground vault
or what was hidden there. Kurt had gone to great lengths to ensure that.

He was anxious
to return to Newton. He wanted to see his sister and her family. He wondered if
he should mention Keera to Denise. His younger sister had been hassling him for
years to get out and date more often. However, Kurt had been too career-oriented
and had never taken her advice seriously.

Leaning back
in his chair, he let out a deep sigh. Captain Randson was in his quarters,
explaining to his wife and daughter what had just happened. The brief battle
had probably frightened them. After the ordeal they had already been through,
it was a shame they had to suffer another so quickly. Andrew and several other Command Center officers would also be working on after-action reports. When combined, they
would help them to develop a more effective strategy to use in the future.

Closing his
eyes, Kurt thought about what still lay ahead of them. One of the things he needed
to arrange was to slip several stealth shuttles into the home system and
attempt to contact Fleet Admiral Tomalson. The old admiral would be pleased to
hear that Kurt had managed to procure a defense system for Newton. However,
what Kurt really wanted the fleet admiral informed about were the new warships coming
from Kubitz and possibly getting together crews for them from Earth. Kurt had never
imagined that even first-line battleships and battlecruisers could be bought
for the right amount of credits. The entire economic system of the Gothan
Empire was screwy as hell.

With the new
warships and the right crews, he just might be able to drive the Profiteers and
the Dacroni mercenaries from the Solar System. However, that was months in the
future. For now he would have to take it one step at a time. The first step was
to get safely back to Newton.

Captain Nathan
Aldrich’s anger grew as the Profiteer shuttle lifted off and headed back into
space. He had just made another gold “tribute” delivery, and the Profiteers had
casually informed him that, from now on, the amount of gold necessary to
protect Earth cities had doubled. They had sneered when Aldrich protested,
indicating that the next payment had better not be missed.

“The president
won’t like this,” commented Corporal Lasher, as he raised his assault rifle and
followed the vanishing shuttle. “I wish I could shoot down that shuttle.” He
lowered his rifle and looked over at Nathan.

“It’s not our
call,” Nathan answered, as he climbed back into the now empty truck. They had
delivered eighty gold bars as this month’s payment.

Lasher climbed
in next to him and nodded. “I guess what worries me is just how much gold we
have stockpiled. I heard that some of the Profiteers are now going door to door,
demanding that everyone turn over their jewelry. They even cut off one man’s
finger for refusing to give up his wedding ring.”

“The situation’s
getting worse,” admitted Nathan, as he started the truck and drove off the
airport runway. “It’s only a matter of time before things get out of hand. Some
civilian will shoot one of the Profiteers, and then all hell will break lose.”

Lasher patted
his rifle. “I’m ready,” he said. “My rifle and I are itching to kick some
Profiteer butt.”

“If they don’t
kick yours first,” replied Nathan, as he shifted gears.

They were in a
difficult situation. Any attempt at resistance would result in bombardment from
the orbiting spaceships. It had already happened a few times, such as the
incident in Youngstown. Each time the Profiteers had retaliated by blasting the
offending city with energy beams. Nathan greatly feared that, before this was
over, a lot of people would die.

-

High Profiteer
Creed watched the viewscreen in the Command Center of his battlecruiser the
Ascendant
Destruction
. The returning shuttle was prominently displayed.

“More gold
tribute,” gloated Second Profiteer Lantz. “Eighty gold bars to add to what
we’ve already collected.”

“Yes,”
muttered Creed, although not pleased with the way things had been going. “We’re
not finding near enough gold and other valuables on Earth as we did before.”

“You think
they’ve hidden it?”

“Some of it,” answered
Creed, gesturing toward the returning shuttle. “Where else would they be
getting the gold they’re paying for tribute?”

“It’s true
that our raiding parties aren’t finding as much as we had expected,” admitted
Lantz. “We could send down even more Profiteers. We’ve found a surprising
amount of gold and jewels among the civilian population.”

“I have
considered that. However, there is another answer,” Creed said, pointing to the
tactical screen, showing the two escorts that had recently arrived. “According
to Second Profiteer Trilt, the humans have set up a compound on Kubitz and have
been spending large quantities of credits. The credits had to have come from
the sale of gold.”

“Gold they
took from Earth,” Lantz said in dawning realization. “Our gold! What did the
humans buy on Kubitz? How did they even know where to go?”

“Weapons
obviously,” Creed answered simply. “We know they wanted hypermissiles and who
knows what else. I’ll be sending a ship soon to Kubitz to see what information
they can find. As to how they knew about Kubitz, the answer is easy. Third
Profiteer Grantz was on board the humans’ orbiting shipyard and is missing.
There are reports he has signed a contract to act as a liaison for the humans.
He was spotted with them and Avery Dolman on Kubitz.”

“I know Grantz,”
muttered Lantz, shaking his head in disgruntlement. “He’ll do anything for
enough credits. As far as Dolman goes, he has his hands in everything legal and
illegal on the planet. He wouldn’t be involved with the humans, unless the
potential existed for him to make a tidy sum of credits.”

“We must learn
more of what the humans are doing on Kubitz,” announced Creed with a sharp
frown. “I have some contacts in the Controller station. Perhaps they can find
out for us just how much gold the humans exchanged for credits.”

“Once it’s in
the Controllers’ hands, we can’t get to it,” said Lantz despondently.

Creed gazed at
the viewscreens for another few moments before reaching a decision. “We need
more gold and other precious metals. Send a message to the South African
government that we expect the delivery of one hundred gold bars and ten
thousand carats of diamonds in one week. If they fail to deliver, then they’ll
lose a city.”

“What about
the tribute they pay for us to leave their cities alone?” asked Lantz.

“We make the
rules, not them!” retorted Creed. “Also contact Clan Leader Jarls. We need to
discuss the battlecruiser I lost due to the recklessness of the Dacroni on the
Rellal
.
The cost of that ship will be coming from the mercenaries’ take.”

Lantz shook
his head. “He won’t agree to that, but I’ll inform him of the meeting.”

-

President
Mayfield sat behind his desk, listening to General Braid describe the latest
tribute payment. “They’re doubling the tribute we pay them every month?”

“Yes,”
responded the general. “That’s what Captain Aldrich reported. The Profiteers
made the demand when he delivered the gold earlier today.”

“More bad
news,” added Raul Gutierrez, pointing to a sheet of paper in front of him. “The
South Africans are reporting that they just received a message from High
Profiteer Creed demanding the payment of one hundred bars of gold and ten
thousand carats of diamonds.”

“This is what
we were afraid of,” said Fleet Admiral Tomalson with a frown. “With what we
sent off world and what we’ve hidden, they’re not finding what they want. We
cleaned out all the major gold depositories.”

“Their demands
will only increase,” warned Raul, his eyes focusing on the president. “What will
we do when it’s our turn?”

“We have sufficient
gold reserves to keep our cities safe a bit longer,” replied President
Mayfield. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and then opened them. “We have to
hope that Fleet Admiral Vickers will be successful in his mission and can
somehow force the Profiteers to leave Earth.”

“As soon as he
intercepts the alien convoys leaving for the Gothan Empire, it could make a
difference,” Tomalson pointed out. “If we can take out some of their ships,
they may decide it’s not worth the time and money to strip Earth of its
wealth.”

“Everything
they do is based on profit,” Raul said. “If we can make Earth unprofitable,
such as Fleet Admiral Vickers inflicting heavy damage on their convoys, it
could very well cause them to reconsider occupying our planet.”

“Why is gold
so valuable?” asked President Mayfield with a curious look in his eyes. “You
would think it could be easily mined on asteroids and other worlds, and would
be plentiful.”

“From our
communication intercepts we’ve learned part of the answer,” Raul replied. “On
most worlds, gold is found too deep to make mining practical. It’s also highly
valued for jewelry and several other industrial uses due to its malleability.
It seems to be a little bit rarer that what one would expect. Here on Earth
much of the gold we’ve found has been from very shallow deposits. From what we
understand, this is a very uncommon occurrence and doesn’t happen on too many
worlds.”

The door to
the office opened, and a Marine lieutenant stepped in. “Mr. President, the
South Africans have responded to the Profiteers.”

“What did they
say?” Mayfield asked, his attention shifting to the lieutenant.

The South African
government had been one of the more reluctant governments to support the
monthly tribute payments to the Profiteers. In recent years the South Africans
had moved more to a socialist government, and corruption in the higher levels
was a major problem. Much of the wealth the country once possessed had
disappeared.

The lieutenant
looked worried, and then he replied, “They told the Profiteers to go to hell!”

“Crap,” muttered
General Braid, not liking the sound of that. “The Profiteers won’t tolerate
that attitude. What are the South Africans thinking?”

“Place our
forces on alert,” ordered President Mayfield with a deep sigh.

They had
numerous hidden assets that could be called into play, if needed. Missiles, jet
fighters, and even a few submarines hiding out in the depths of the oceans. What
had thus far held in check the North American Union was the fear of massive
civilian casualties if armed conflict broke out.

The phone on
the president’s desk rang, drawing his attention. Picking it up, Mayfield
listened for a moment and then turned toward the others. “We’re needed in the situation
room. The South Africans have activated their military and are putting jet
fighters in the air.”

“They’re
crazy,” said General Braid. “Jet fighters can’t do anything against orbiting
spaceships.”

“Tell the
South Africans that,” replied Raul, as he stood up.

“This will get
ugly quick,” warned Fleet Admiral Tomalson, looking over at President Mayfield.
“We don’t want to get dragged into their fight, if we can help it.”

“I agree,” answered
Mayfield. “This thing could spread rapidly, if other nations decide to join the
South Africans. We may get dragged in whether we want to or not.”

A few moments later,
they entered the situation room, where a number of military officers were monitoring
a group of large computer screens.

“Status,”
demanded General Braid.

“The South
Africans have nearly forty jet fighters in the air, and they’re calling all
their reserve units to active duty,” reported defensive coordinator Colonel
Stidham. “They’ve just issued an ultimatum to the Profiteers, stating than any
shuttles entering South African airspace will be shot down.”

“The fools!”
uttered Fleet Admiral Tomalson. “All they’re doing is inviting the Profiteers
to nuke their cities.”

“Their leaders
have all the gold and diamonds in the country hidden in their private vaults on
those massive estates they’ve built over the years,” Raul answered. “They don’t
want to give any of it up.”

“They’re as
bad as the Profiteers,” muttered General Braid. “Their greed will cost a lot of
people their lives.”

“We have South
African jet fighters on the screen,” reported Colonel Stidham, pointing to one
of the larger viewscreens, which fed the image from an orbiting military
satellite.

Everyone
looked to see the silhouettes of a number of South African jet fighters rising
into the air. No doubt it wouldn’t be long before the Profiteers responded to
this provocation.

-

Lieutenant
Evan Scottsdale flew his F-72 Falcon at thirty thousand feet. Below him, he
could easily see the Kimberley diamond mine. From this altitude, he could see
the massive pit that had yielded some of the world’s largest diamonds.

“We have
contacts descending from orbit,” reported Captain Mason Belonn. “Home plate has
identified them as Profiteer shuttles.”

“Go weapons
hot,” ordered Major Jeffrys. “We’re to engage any targets that enter our patrol
zone.”

“Confirmed,”
replied Lieutenant Scottsdale. He wished they were patrolling closer to Durban, where his wife and two-year-old son were. He felt anxious, wondering how their
weapons would fare against the inbound shuttles.

Suddenly a
bright light appeared on the horizon, and the Falcon was struck by massive
turbulence.

“What the hell
was that!” yelled Captain Belonn over the squadron comm channel.

“A nuke,” replied
Major Jeffrys, sounding stunned. “It’s over the city of Kimberley.”

Lieutenant Scottsdale
fought to maintain control of his fighter and, in a few seconds, had it back in
stable flight. Looking toward the horizon, he could see a terrifying orange-red
mushroom cloud rising.

“We have
Profiteer shuttles entering our engagement zone,” reported Major Jeffrys in a
shaken voice. “All fighters engage!”

Lieutenant Scottsdale
checked his sensor screen and saw a shuttle rapidly closing on his fighter. The
new sensor screens were far better than the old-fashioned radar or lidar ones. He
pushed forward the throttle lever, and the Falcon quickly accelerated toward
the approaching shuttle. Looking through his cockpit window, Evan could see a
silvery object heading toward him. A loud, steady tone suddenly rang out, as
his targeting system locked on the inbound Profiteer shuttle. Without hesitation,
he pressed the missile-firing button twice, and a pair of Hellcat Two missiles blasted
from the wings of his fighter. His gaze followed them; they were flying
straight and true. Then two bright detonations occurred as his missiles struck
the shuttle, obscuring it.

“I have two confirmed
hits,” he reported over his comm.

Glancing at
his sensor screen, he saw with consternation that his target remained, rapidly
closing with his fighter. It must be protected by an energy shield, he realized.
In near panic he dove his fighter to escape his pursuer. Glancing around, he
could see bright beams of white light crisscrossing the sky. Occasionally one
of the beams would hit a Falcon, blowing it apart. Over his comm, he could hear
the panicked voices of the other pilots in his squadron, as they were
ruthlessly shot down.

“All Falcons,
this is Major Jeffrys. Our weapons are ineffective. Break off and return to
base. I have a confirmed report from home plate that Pretoria and Port Elizabeth have also been nuked.”

“What about Durban?” demanded Lieutenant Scottsdale.

His comm remained
silent, and, looking around, he couldn’t see any of the other fighters in his
squadron. Taking a deep breath, he dove toward the surface and then, pulling up
at the last minute, set a course for Durban. He could land at the military airport
there. He would grab some transportation, pick up his family, and head into the
countryside, avoiding the bigger cities.