“Juno is jumping into hyperspace,” Lieutenant Brooks reported, as the green icon representing the fleet tug suddenly vanished from the sensor screen.
“We have two passenger liners and six cargo ships launching from Earth,” reported Captain Randson.
Kurt had overheard him talking to the launch controllers at the spaceports on the ground, continually stressing to them the importance of getting those ships up.
“Numerous contacts!” cried out Lieutenant Brooks in near panic, as alarms sounded on her sensor console. “Nineteen more hostiles have exited hyperspace in combat range!”
“What about the civilian ships in orbit?” demanded Kurt.
They would be sitting ducks for the weapons of these large ships. Their captive, Grantz, had indicated High Profiteer Creed would probably hire a group of mercenaries to retake Earth. They would most likely come in battleships, which could easily destroy the Earth ships.
“They’ve all jumped out,” Brooks answered, as the last civilian ship vanished into hyperspace.
“What about the Newton Princess?”
“She has undocked from the shipyard and is accelerating away, toward open space,” reported Captain Randson, as he kept his eyes glued to the viewscreen showing the fleeing passenger liner. “Colonel Hayworth reports they got everyone from the shipyard on board.”
Moments later, the green icon representing the large passenger liner vanished from the tactical display, as the ship jumped into hyperspace.
“Enemy vessels are closing,” reported Lieutenant Brooks.
The Star Cross shook slightly, and Kurt knew they were under fire from the unknown ships. This pretty much confirmed they were dealing with Profiteers or Profiteer mercenaries.
“All ships return fire,” Kurt ordered firmly. On the tactical screen, he could see a number of green icons crawling slowly upward from the surface of Earth. These were the passenger liners and cargo ships that Captain Randson had been trying to get into space. Suddenly one of the icons swelled up and vanished. “What just happened?”
“The Profiteers are targeting the passenger liners and cargo ships,” reported Lieutenant Brooks in a horrified voice. Even as she spoke, another green icon vanished from her sensor screen.
“Those ships don’t have any weapons or energy shields,” Andrew said in anger. “They’ll be picked off before they can make orbit. Why the hell are they targeting unarmed ships?”
“Order them to land!” commanded Kurt, his eyes glinting in anger.
The remaining cargo ships and passenger liners had no chance to make orbit. Their only hope was to return to ground. The Profiteers had demonstrated once more how merciless they were toward civilians. Kurt wasn’t sure, but those two downed ships had probably held several thousand people.
-
Clan Leader Jarls grinned in mirthless satisfaction as his ship blasted the civilian ships trying to escape the planet. On one of the viewscreens, he watched as an energy projector drilled a glowing hole in the hull of a fleeing human vessel. Moments later the ship vanished in a bright explosion, obliterating it.
“The other human vessels are turning back and are apparently attempting to land,” reported Salas, his second in command. “Should we destroy them?”
“No,” Jarls answered. “Let them land. They might contain some valuable cargo. Concentrate our fire on the human warships. Either destroy or drive them from orbit.”
-
In space, the fire between the two fleets rapidly intensified. The Dacroni mercenary ships were using ion beams, energy weapons, and hypermissiles to strike at the human warships. The humans, in turn, were firing back with their particle beam cannons, laser turrets, KEW batteries, and heavy ship missiles. Space was full of exploding munitions and crisscrossed with various beams of energy.
The human destroyer Titan was suddenly bracketed by the fire of four Dacroni battleships. Her energy shield flared brightly and then wavered. A pair of hypermissiles flashed through the compromised screen, impacting the stern of the ship. Two small glowing suns appeared as the ship was turned into glowing plasma.
-
“The destroyer Titan is down,” reported Lieutenant Brooks in a pained voice.
“Admiral, the light cruiser Sydney is reporting moderate damage,” Captain Randson added. “We need to get out of here. We’re facing too much firepower, and our own weapons don’t seem to be causing significant damage.”
Kurt nodded. “All ships, accelerate along vector south eighteen degrees, coordinates seven by fourteen. Full sublight. We’ll enter hyperspace as soon as we’re clear of the enemy ships.”
-
The human fleet promptly accelerated from the Dacroni battleships in an outward trajectory toward Earth’s Moon. Moments later, the fleet entered the safety of hyperspace and vanished from all Dacroni sensors.
“Human ships have jumped into hyperspace,” reported Second Officer Salas. “We destroyed one of their light units and damaged several of their heavier vessels in the brief exchange.”
“And our own ships?” demanded Jarls. Any damage to be repaired he fully intended High Profiteer Creed to pay for.
“The Marsuth is reporting light damage from a particle beam strike,” reported Salas. “It’s repairable, and the ship should be fully operational within the hour.”
Jarls nodded, satisfied. The humans hadn’t put up much of a fight. This concerned him, as he had thought his fleet would have to engage in a pitched battle in orbit for possession of the planet. Now they would have to be vigilant in case the human ships returned. “Contact High Profiteer Creed and inform him the planet is ours. Tell him the fighting was heavy, and several of our ships suffered damage.”
Jarls had no problem in exaggerating the truth in order to glean more credits for his fleet. From the amount of gold that Creed had paid for protection by the clan’s battleships, Jarls was certain the High Profiteer could easily afford this additional charge. It was all in the course of doing business.
-
After going into orbit around Earth, High Profiteer Creed gazed at the main viewscreen displaying the blue-white world. The planet was once more under his firm control, and his fleet of cargo ships and the detainee ships would be arriving shortly.
“Clan Leader Jarls is demanding five million credits to cover the damage to his ships suffered in their brief battle with the Earth ships,” growled Second Profiteer Lantz. “I am leery of his claim, as our own sensors are not showing that any of his vessels suffered serious damage except the Marsuth.”
Creed looked over at Third Profiteer Bixt on Sensors. “How serious is the damage to the Marsuth?”
“There is a two-meter hole in her hull close to Engineering,” Bixt replied. “It should be easily repairable by the ship’s crew.”
“Lukon, contact Clan Leader Jarls and inform him that we will set aside five hundred thousand credits for his ship repairs.”
“That might anger him,” warned Lantz, his large eyes growing wider.
“I doubt it,” Creed replied. “He stands to make sufficient profit off our deal. He won’t risk it over this slight squabble. I suspect he’ll agree to our offer.”
A few moments later Creed’s prediction proved true, as Clan Leader Jarls accepted the offer with little protest.
“Put us in orbit above what the humans call New York City. Our other ships are to take up geostationary orbits above other major population centers.” Creed intended to leave no doubt in the humans’ minds what he intended. If they refused to cooperate, he would use his fleet’s energy weapons to take out selected targets in the cities.
It would be much easier if he forced the humans to gather their planet’s riches for him. Once the detainee ships arrived, those crews would begin loading up humans to be sold in the slave auctions on Kubitz. The first batch he had taken there had been very well received, particularly the women. Once their initial training was complete, they would be sold, and a select group of the women would be sent to the planet
ary pleasure houses. With the rich variety in the human form, he strongly suspected these women would be in high demand. He could already taste the profits he would receive from selling so many human slaves on Kubitz. He would have to be careful not to overload the market and risk driving down the prices.
“We’re receiving a message from the surface,” reported Third Profiteer Lukon from Communications. “The humans are offering a payment of gold and other metals, if we don’t destroy any more of their cities.”
Second Profiteer Lantz looked over at High Profiteer Creed with a greedy glint in his eyes at the mention of gold.
Creed was silent for a moment, as he considered the humans’ offer. “Ask them where this gold is, and we will send a cargo ship to collect it. Warn them that any attempt at subterfuge will have disastrous consequences for their world. Tell them that their planet now belongs to us.”
-
“They’ve agreed,” reported Fleet Admiral Tomalson, as he listened to the message just delivered by one of the communications officers for the underground facility. “They’re sending a ship to the Atlanta airport.”
“Are we doing the right thing?” asked Secretary of the Treasury Dwight Michaels.
“If it will save our cities,” President Mayfield replied in a tired voice.
They had watched from their secure underground location as the Profiteers had returned to the system and briefly engaged Admiral Vickers’s fleet. In anguish, they had witnessed the destruction of two cargo ships and a passenger liner attempting to reach orbit and then enter the safety of hyperspace. Fifteen hundred people had died on the overly crowded passenger liner.
“They’ll want more,” pointed out General Braid. “This will only whet their appetite.”
“We have hidden a number of stashes of gold and other metals they have shown an interest in,” Dwight Michaels said, his eyes revealing deep concern. “We can dole them out over an extended period.”
“A very lengthy period,” President Mayfield added. “We need to buy as much time as we can and hope Admiral Vickers can return someday and drive these Profiteers permanently from our world.”
-
The Profiteer cargo ship Calpis landed directly in front of the Atlanta airport’s international terminal. The six-hundred-meter vessel settled easily on the concrete, and, after a few moments, a large hatch opened, and a ramp descended to touch the pavement. Twenty Profiteers, dressed in dark gray body armor and heavily armed, walked down the ramp and stood waiting expectantly.
Inside the control tower, personnel sent word to the waiting armored trucks to proceed, while a number of military officers watched to ensure that everything was filmed and documented.
Two armored trucks came around the terminal and drove up to the waiting Profiteers.
Captain Nathan Aldrich rode in the passenger seat of one of the trucks, and, when they came to a stop, he opened the door and stepped out. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the Profiteer who seemed to be in charge of the group standing on the tarmac.
“I have a delivery for you,” Nathan said, trying to sound calm. He gazed at the Profiteer, noting the differences between him and normal humans. The alien’s skin had a light blue tinge with coarse white hair on his head. His face, while humanoid, had bigger eyes. The Profiteer was a little taller than Nathan’s six foot two inches.
“Show me!” demanded the Profiteer, his eyes focusing intently on the nearest vehicle. “If there is not gold in your transport vehicle, your world will be severely punished!”
“The gold is in the trucks,” Nathan replied. He didn’t care for the Profiteer’s tone but knew there was nothing he could do about it, at least not this time.
Nathan turned and strode to the truck, unlocking the doors and swinging them open. Inside were forty bars of gold. “Here’s your gold. There’s more in the other truck as well.”
The Profiteer gazed at the gold with greed in his eyes. Stepping inside he reached out and touched one of the bars. “How many bars?”
“Forty in each truck,” Nathan responded. This gold was like a ransom payment, and it pained Nathan to see the Profiteers take it.
The Profiteer stepped outside the truck and removed a small communications device from the thick black belt he wore. He spoke into it for a few moments and then turned to face Nathan. “Your payment has been accepted. Your cities will remain unharmed for now. Our High Profiteer will be contacting your leaders shortly to arrange for the next tribute.”
“Next tribute?” Nathan said, feigning confusion. They had actually expected this response.
“Yes,” the Profiteer responded with a sneer. “As long as payments are made, your cities will not be destroyed. If you fail to make a payment on time, the repercussions will be immediate.”
“I will pass on the message to our government,” Nathan answered. His hand strayed to the 45-caliber Colt pistol in its holster. Then taking a deep breath, he moved his hand away. Now was not the time to kill one of the invaders.
The Profiteer then motioned to the others standing behind him, and several went back up the ramp and returned shortly with two antigravity sleds. It took them only a few minutes to load the eighty bars of gold and secure it inside the cargo ship. Once the bars were loaded, all the Profiteers boarded again; the ramp lifted off the runway, and the cargo hatch slammed shut. Moments later the enemy ship was in the air and soon vanished from sight.
“I guess that’s done,” commented one of the drivers of the armored trucks, who had stepped out to watch the alien ship take off. “Damn shame we had to give them all that gold.”
“It’s better than losing a city,” Nathan replied brusquely. He needed to get back to the control tower and make his report. He was still a little shaken at being so close to an actual alien.
-
“Eighty bars of pure gold!” gloated Second Profiteer Lantz.
Creed agreed the amount of gold offered would, indeed, add considerably to the treasure he expected to take from the planet. He strongly suspected Lantz would spend much of his take in the pleasure houses on Kubitz. “Don’t forget we have to take Clan Leader Jarls’s share out first.”
The glint faded from Lantz’s eyes at this reminder. “We need to send our people to the planet, searching for more plunder. The sooner we can depart this planet, the better, as far as I’m concerned. The Dacroni mercenaries will try to pry from us every credit they can.”
“Our detainee ships will be arriving shortly,” Creed said, staring at one of the large viewscreens on the front wall of the Command Center. “Once they’re here, we’ll begin collecting humans to be sent to the slave pens on Kubitz. At the same time we’ll search their world for more gold, platinum, and other valuables.”
“What about their offer to pay us to leave their cities untouched?”
Creed allowed a greedy smile to cross his face. His large eyes turned toward Second Profiteer Lantz. “Eighty gold bars per human month. That will be the price to leave their larger cities alone and not plunder them.”
Lantz frowned. “Tempting, but there’s bound to be a lot of gold and other valuables in those cities.”
“At some point in time they will no longer be able to pay,” High Profiteer Creed replied. “When that day comes, we’ll move into the larger cities and take what we want!”
-
“They’ve agreed,” reported Fleet Admiral Tomalson to the gathered Cabinet members. “In exchange for eighty bars of gold per month, they’ll stay out of all major cities with a population in excess of one million.”
“How long can we make that payment?” asked President Mayfield. “Eighty bars of gold sounds like a lot.”
“Almost indefinitely,” Secretary of the Treasury Dwight Michaels replied. “We have some major hidden reserves of both gold and platinum, from which we can make the payments. I don’t believe these Profiteers have the faintest idea what our gold reserves are.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” ordered Mayfield. He then turned t
oward Fleet Admiral Tomalson. “Is there any way we can contact the mercenary ships in orbit and perhaps make a deal with them to turn on the Profiteers?”
“No,” replied Tomalson, shaking his head. “From what we learned in interrogating our Profiteer captives on the shipyard, the Profiteers and the mercenaries will have a signed contract on file on Kubitz, and the Controllers will ensure the contract is fulfilled. Any attempt by the mercenaries to violate that contract will have serious consequences. From what I understand, it’s very seldom, if ever, that a contract is not fulfilled.”
President Mayfield took a long, deep breath. “Then it will be up to Admiral Vickers to drive these Profiteers from Earth. General Braid, what’s the status of our military forces?”
“Sent home,” Braid answered simply with a haunted look in his eyes. “We felt, for their own safety, it best to temporarily disband most of the units. The rest of the world is following our lead. Our naval vessels are putting into port, and their crews have been placed on extended leave.”
“What about our Special Forces?”
“Hidden,” replied Braid, a wolfish glint appearing in his eyes. “We have 12,000 highly trained troops we can call upon, if needed.”
President Mayfield nodded. With the Profiteers and the mercenaries in orbit above the Earth, the humans could do little but seem as unthreatening as possible. It galled him that they had to act so powerless against these aliens. The North American Union and the rest of the world had been conquered once more, without even a shot fired on the planet in protest. Mayfield just hoped they had made the right decision.
Chapter Six
Admiral Kurt Vickers let out a long sigh of relief as the fleet tug Poseidon dropped from hyperspace ten million kilometers from Newton. That only left the fleet tug Juno, and he expected it to put in an appearance the next day. “They made it!” He had greatly feared the size of the bays would wreak havoc with the tugs’ large hyperspace drives. As it was, they were forced to travel much slower in hyperspace than normal.
“Damn good thing,” said Captain Randson, as he watched the main viewscreen, where the distant tug and the large construction bay she had brought with her were displayed.
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