The Star Cross

by Raymond L. Weil

  This was the first Kurt had heard how many others were involved. “What did you do with them?”

  “Same as Stroud. They’re under house arrest for the time being, until we can figure out what use, if any, they can be.”

  Kurt leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Stroud is bound to stir up trouble. We can’t keep him isolated forever.”

  “This might help,” said Spalding, taking a thick envelope and a small metal box from the right-hand top drawer of his desk. “President Mayfield sent this on one of the first passenger liners carrying evacuees.”

  “What is it?” asked Kurt, curious. He hadn’t been aware that the president had any special orders for Governor Spalding.

  “One moment,” Spalding said. “I need a few witnesses for this.” The governor reached forward on his desk and pressed a button. “Send them in.”

  The door opened, and General Mclusky—in command of ground forces on Newton—plus Colonel Hayworth, and several representatives of the civilian government came in with Spalding’s secretary.

  “What’s going on?” Kurt asked in confusion. He was surprised at Hayworth’s presence, as Kurt had only left him a few hours previously.

  “Admiral Kurt Vickers, will you please stand,” said Governor Spalding in a formal voice.

  Kurt did so, not understanding why.

  Spalding opened the envelope and took out a letter with the presidential seal of office. “By orders of President Mayfield of the North American Union, you are hereby promoted to the rank of fleet admiral.”

  “But Admiral Tomalson is fleet admiral,” protested Kurt, bewildered.

  “Not any longer,” answered Governor Spalding. “He has no fleet to command and is retired from combat. He has resigned his active commission but will continue to advise President Mayfield, as long as his services are needed.” Spalding opened up the small metal box and removed two shiny five-pointed gold stars. Stepping around the desk, he pinned them to the new fleet admiral’s shoulders. “Congratulations, Fleet Admiral Vickers,” he said with a broad smile. “I believe the rank of fleet admiral is on a par with a Cabinet member, during peace or war. That should help us to deal with Stroud, if he becomes a bigger problem.”

  The other men and women in the room stepped forward, shaking Kurt’s hand and offering their congratulations. Spalding then had each of them sign the Presidential Declaration and had his secretary, who stood by to notarize it.

  “We’ll put this in a safe, in case it’s ever needed,” Spalding said in satisfaction. He dismissed the others and then gestured for Kurt to sit down. “I believe we have some other issues to cover. I understand from President Mayfield that you will shortly be going on a rescue mission to this Gothan Empire.”

  “Not until I’m satisfied Newton is adequately protected,” Kurt replied as he sat back down. “That’s one reason I want the Kepler and Dante finished and repaired. With those two ships and the rest of the fleet, Newton should be safe from attack.”

  “How will you find your way around this Gothan Empire or even find the abductees you’re searching for?”

  “I have a Profiteer on board the Star Cross,” Kurt replied. “His name is Grantz, and he has agreed to be our guide.”

  “A Profiteer!” exploded Spalding, his eyes bulging. “How can you afford to trust him after what they did to Earth?”

  “It’s quite simple,” answered Kurt with a conniving smile. “We bought his loyalty. He has signed a contract to act as a faithful member of my crew. The contract will be registered with a Controller, once we reach Kubitz. Due to their culture, Grantz wouldn’t dare violate the contract, because of the severe repercussions he would receive. It would effectively ruin his life to betray us in any way.”

  Governor Spalding shook his head worriedly. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “So do I,” replied Kurt with a deep sigh.

  -

  Denise had just finished setting the table when she heard a knock at the front door.

  “I’ll get it!” yelled Bryan, as he shot toward the door like a bullet. Opening the door, he let out a happy whoop. “It’s Uncle Kurt!”

  Denise set down the last plate and headed toward the door, as a smiling Alex met her in the hallway.

  “Your brother’s here.”

  Reaching the door, they found Bryan dragging Kurt into the house with a determined look on his face. “I drew a spaceship, and I want to show it to you. It’s just like the one that brought us here.”

  “You can show him the spaceship in a moment,” Alex said, reaching out and shaking Kurt’s now free hand. “It’s good to see you, Kurt.”

  Denise stepped forward and gave Kurt a big sisterly hug. “I missed you, big brother.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re all safe and settled in,” Kurt said, as they walked down the hallway to the living room.

  “I heard about Captain Randson’s family,” Denise said with a distressed look in her eyes. “It’s just horrible.”

  “There were several thousand people taken off Earth,” Kurt replied.

  “You’re going to go get them, aren’t you?” asked Denise. “I know you won’t allow humans to be held captives by these alien Profiteers.”

  “We’re going to try,” Kurt admitted. “But not for a while. We have some other things to take care of first.”

  “I hope you get them all back,” commented Denise.

  “How’s the job hunt?” Kurt asked Alex, wanting to change the conversation.

  “Good,” Alex responded. “I had an interview at a computer service company today, and I think they’ll offer me the job.”

  “That’s great, honey!” Denise was pleased to hear this. “Once Bryan is settled in school, I’ll also look for employment.” Denise had an accounting degree and had been working at a law firm on Earth.

  “Can I take Uncle Kurt to see my spaceship now?” asked Bryan, growing impatient.

  “Yes,” Denise said with a smile. “He’s very happy to see you, Uncle Kurt.” She added in a whisper, “And he’s adjusting well to the move. Better than me and Alex.” She patted Bryan on the shoulder. “Go show Uncle Kurt your spaceship, and then it’ll be time to eat.”

  “We’re having fried chicken,” Bryan announced. “Mom says it’s your favorite.”

  Kurt laughed. “Let’s go see this spaceship.”

  As Denise watched Bryan lead Kurt toward his room, she turned toward Alex. “I’m glad Kurt came over. It’s good to see him.”

  “Yes, it is,” replied Alex, taking Denise’s hand. “He’s a good man, and Bryan thinks the world of him.”

  Denise stood up. “Come help me put the food on the table? I don’t know how long Kurt can stay, and I want to make the most of it.” As Denise and Alex headed into the kitchen, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. Facing Alex, she said, “You know, for the first time since the aliens attacked Earth, I feel completely safe. We have nothing to fear here.”

  “I hope so,” Alex said. “You sure fixed a lot of chicken,” he commented, as he set the large platter in the center of the table.

  “You’ve never seen my brother eat fried chicken,” Denise said with a grin. “He can really put it away. And, … for the rest of the evening, let’s not talk about events on Earth or the Profiteers. This night will be about family. I know in my heart that Kurt will enjoy that. Okay with you, honey?”

  “Sure,” responded Alex, knowing how important this was to his wife. “I think we can manage that.”

  Chapter Seven

  High Profiteer Creed gazed in satisfaction at the gold, platinum, and other rare metals piled high in the large hold of the cargo ship Diadem, still in Earth’s orbit. At a quick guess, he estimated easily eight hundred million credits were in the hold. This was just the tip of what he expected to take from Earth.

  “A good beginning,” commented Clan Leader Jarls. He stepped over to a large crate, brimming full of different colored precious stones. He picked up several diamond
s and rubies, and gazed critically at them, probably estimating their value. “These will bring a good price at the gem markets on Kubitz.”

  “The first two shiploads of humans leave tomorrow,” Creed said, wishing Jarls would keep his hands out of the gems crate. Creed wouldn’t put it past the Dacroni to slip one or two into his pockets.

  “I have seen the women of this world,” Jarls said, turning around to face Creed, still holding several dark red rubies in his hand. He held them up to the light, gazing at their radiant color. “They will do well in the slave markets on Kubitz. There will be a high demand for them in the pleasure houses. I suspect many humanoid races will be highly interested in procuring them.”

  “They have other uses besides the pleasure houses,” pointed out Creed, watching the clan leader closely. “Household servants, taking care of children, and basic labor to name a few. Races other than humanoids will be highly interested in acquiring them for a number of uses both domestic and in their general labor force.”

  “Nevertheless, when I return to Kubitz, I may go to one of their pleasure houses to sample these human women myself,” responded Jarls, as he turned and dropped the rubies back into the crate. “As for labor uses, this is not a heavy-gravity world. They will be useless in the mines and other heavy industries.”

  “One of your battleships will escort the two detainee ships and this cargo ship back to Kubitz,” Creed continued. He knew the humans would bring a good price; they weren’t the first group he had delivered to the slave markets. “I will be sending one of my battlecruisers and two light escorts along as well.”

  “Very well,” Jarls replied. “After all, you’re paying for my services.” With that comment, Jarls exited the cargo hold.

  “We should keep an eye on him,” suggested Second Profiteer Lantz, who had been standing back, watching the other two. “He will do everything he can to increase his take from this venture. It wouldn’t surprise me if one or two diamonds are missing from that crate.”

  “He will abide by our contract,” growled Creed, agreeing in part with Lantz’s statement. He walked over and looked down at the crate of precious stones. There was no way to tell if one or two were missing. “We just need to ensure that none of his mercenaries go to the surface. As long as we control all access to the planet’s riches, we have nothing to fear.”

  “What about the human fleet that left this system?” Lantz asked. “What of it?”

  “They have a small colony world a number of light-years from here,” High Profiteer Creed replied. “From what we have been able to learn, it’s not a very rich world, not worth the credits it would take to conquer it. As long as their ships stay away from Earth, we’ll not interfere.”

  “And Clan Leader Jarls will see to that,” said Lantz, nodding his head as his large eyes looked across the cargo hold. “That is why we signed a contract with the Dacroni.”

  Creed smiled a greedy grin. “He will, and, while he makes sure the Earth ships stay away, we’ll continue to strip the planet of all its wealth. Our latest estimates indicate the potential for ten to twelve billion in credits, just from the gold and other precious metals.”

  “And the humans themselves,” Lantz added. “Once they are sold on Kubitz, I plan to, at the least, visit several of the more esteemed pleasure houses too. Maybe I’ll see Jarls.”

  “Next week the humans will make their next payment of eighty gold bars,” Creed announced. He walked over to the two pallets that contained the tribute the humans had already paid. He picked up one, testing its weight. He turned it over in his hand, gazing at the alluring yellow color of the gold. “We could buy a new Profiteer fleet with each one of these pallets.”

  “We could become the largest and most powerful Profiteer fleet in the empire,” said Lantz, as he thought about the ramifications. “With several fleets out raiding, we could become the richest Profiteers on Marsten.”

  “Marsten!” gloated Creed, his large eyes glinting. “We’ll become the richest and most feared Profiteers in the empire!”

  -

  Down on the surface in the secret underground command bunker deep beneath the Canadian Rockies—the Rocky Mountains in southern Canada—President Mayfield looked at Fleet Admiral Tomalson. “I wish we knew what was happening on Newton.”

  “None of the Profiteer ships or the ships of their mercenaries have left the system,” Tomalson responded. “We still have some surveillance data coming in via our stealthed military satellites.” Even though Tomalson had retired from active duty he was serving as the president’s advisor and would retain the rank of fleet admiral while on the Cabinet or until Fleet Admiral Vickers returned.

  “No one’s died anywhere on the planet yet due to this latest appearance of the Profiteers,” General Braid added. “We’re keeping a close but clandestine watch on all their activities. They’ve been active across the planet, landing their shuttles in nearly every country. So far no incidents.”

  “They’ve been content to strip the gold and jewelry from the shelves of our smaller cities,” Raul Gutierrez reported. “We’ve sent word for our people to stay indoors anytime a Profiteer shuttle lands. They’re to offer no resistance.”

  “What happens when these Profiteers realize how much gold and jewelry is owned by our civilians?” asked Mayfield with a deep and worried frown on his face. “What happens when they go door to door, taking our citizens’ personal wealth? A hell of a lot of guns are out there. Someone will shoot one of the Profiteers, and then all hell will break lose.”

  Everyone in the room was quiet at that thought. There had been numerous attempts to pass laws to restrict gun ownership, but all had failed. The average North American Union household had at least one firearm, with the majority being shotguns or hunting rifles. Also a disturbing amount of large caliber semiautomatic assault rifles were in the hands of a lot of people who knew how to use them.

  “We could offer more gold,” suggested Raul, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Perhaps we can buy off the Profiteers, if there is, indeed, a shooting.”

  “It’ll happen,” General Braid predicted in a grim voice. “The question is, how will the Profiteers react?”

  “They could bomb a city as an example,” Tomalson said somberly. “I don’t think they’re that concerned about human life. We learned that when they first arrived and nuked our cities.”

  Mayfield looked around the room. Most of the chairs that normally held Cabinet members were empty. The vice president and the rest of the Cabinet had been dispersed to several other secure underground bunkers to ensure the government would continue to function in the event the presidential bunker was bombed.

  “We’ll continue to tell our citizens to cooperate,” Mayfield said, letting out a deep breath. He leaned back in his chair and looked at General Braid. “Have our Special Forces keep a close eye on any of the Profiteers down here. Our men are to take no action, just observe.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements,” Braid replied. “It’ll be difficult, as the Profiteers are landing their shuttles everywhere. We may not have people in position to get there quickly enough. We may need to use some reserve units in some of the smaller cities.”

  “Do the best you can,” Mayfield ordered. He knew they couldn’t move any military aircraft, as the Profiteers would probably shoot them down. The aliens had already restricted air travel to only a few flights per day. “This situation will get a lot worse before it gets any better. Speaking of a situation getting worse, has anyone seen or heard from the secretary of labor?”

  “It’s not good news,” answered Raul, opening a folder and pulling out a sheet of paper. “It looks as if he bribed his way on board a Chinese cargo ship bound for Newton.”

  “Crap,” muttered Fleet Admiral Tomalson, his eyes widening in concern. “That could cause some problems.”

  “If Governor Spalding and Fleet Admiral Vickers acted quickly enough,” Mayfield responded. “Marlen Stroud’s welcome to Newton will not have been what h
e desired.”

  “I hope they can contain him,” Tomalson said in an aggravated voice. “I just can’t believe he managed to get off the planet.”

  “Money,” General Braid responded. “I suspect he paid a huge amount to get to Newton.”

  “Mr. President,” Raul continued, as he shuffled through several papers. “I hate to bring this up, but I’m getting reports that the Profiteers have been rounding up people and taking them into orbit in their shuttles.”

  “There are several large ships up there,” Tomalson pointed out. “They may be transport ships to house their captives.”

  “To sell on Kubitz,” added General Braid with a forlorn look. “They’re selling our people into slavery!”

  “Fleet Admiral Vickers has his orders in that regard too,” said Mayfield, trying to keep his own anger in check.

  He hated the thought of more humans being taken by the Profiteers. It would make Vickers’s job even harder. However, Mayfield could do nothing, other than use the military. If he did that, he would risk devastating reprisals from the Profiteers. The area around Washington, DC, and Chicago still bore witness to the dangers of angering the orbiting aliens.

  -

  Captain Nathan Aldrich gazed intently at the school across the street. A Profiteer shuttle sat in the large parking lot with a number of the aliens standing guard outside. In the last several hours, he had watched as a large number of humans had been taken inside the school’s gymnasium.

  “They’re taking them up to their ships,” Corporal Lasher said in anger. “We can’t let them do this!”

  “What if they’re eating them?” Private Malone said in a shaky voice.

  “They’re not eating them,” snapped Aldrich, glaring at Malone. There had been rumors of every kind in recent days.

  “I don’t know,” Malone continued dubiously. “I saw several movies in the past where aliens came down to Earth and took people away to be eaten.”

  “Maybe we’ll send you to them,” Corporal Lasher responded. “That will give them a bellyache.”