The Star Cross

by Raymond L. Weil

  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.

  Chapter Fourteen

  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,” Tom
alson 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.

  Time passed rapidly, and Evan pushed his fighter to get to Durban as quickly as possible. Comm traffic was gone, except for the constant static. Several times he had attempted to contact military traffic controllers but had received no response. Pulling up the nose on his fighter, he gained altitude. He was close enough now that he should be able to see the city in the distance, once he was high enough. As his fighter climbed, he gazed intently toward where Durban should be. A cold chill ran down his back as a rising mushroom cloud became visible. “They’re
gone,” he said, stunned. It looked as if the nuke had gone off over the bay. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he knew his family couldn’t have survived.

  His fighter suddenly shook violently, and warning alarms sounded. Glancing at his sensor screen, he saw a Profiteer shuttle rapidly approaching from the rear. He didn’t even try to dodge as an energy beam tore through his aircraft, blowing it apart.

  -

  “What are the latest reports?” asked President Mayfield. They had another satellite view on one of the large viewscreens in the situation room, and it showed what appeared to be six nuclear detonations in South Africa. Mayfield felt as if a cold hand had just squeezed his heart.

  “Johannesburg, Pretoria, Port Elizabeth, Kimberley, Durban, and Bloemfontein have been nuked,” reported Colonel Stidham. “We also have unconfirmed reports that all of South Africa’s jet fighters have been shot down.”

  “What type of fighter did they have?” asked President Mayfield.

  “F-72 Falcons,” replied Colonel Stidham.

  “Not as modern as our jet fighters but still a pretty good weapons platform,” remarked General Braid.

  “What else are the Profiteers doing?”

  Colonel Stidham shook his head in disbelief, looking down at a message one of his communication officers had just handed him. “They’ve reissued their demand for one hundred gold bars and ten thousand carats of diamonds.”

  “Any response from the South Africans?” asked President Mayfield, shifting his gaze to the colonel.

  “From Cape Town,” replied Colonel Stidham. ‘The provincial governor has agreed to the demand.”

  “What other choice did he have?” said Raul, shaking his head. He looked up at the viewscreen. “Those six nukes will cause millions of casualties. A big part of South Africa will be uninhabitable for years. The nuke that went off in the bay near Durban will spread an ungodly amount of radiation. We can only hope that most of it goes into the ocean.”