Extraplanetary Operations
Victor Santiago adjusted his necktie, making sure it was perfectly snug against his collar. He was going out for his first big press conference in just a minute. He was dressed in a suit worth more than some people made in a month, but to Victor, that wasn't enough. Every aspect of his appearance needed to be perfect.
That meticulous attention to detail was long since second nature to Victor by now. It was "the best or nothing", just like Gottlieb Daimler had said. Not only had Dad taught Victor to be set on nothing but the best from day one, Victor himself had picked up plenty of habits to set him in that way permanently. For one thing, he wore a gold class ring on his right hand- a souvenir from his time as the youngest member of the U.S. Naval Academy Class of 1995. If Victor were in his old Navy uniform, he would have been wearing a gold badge, the "gold dolphins" of a qualified Submarine Warfare Officer- a position famous for being one of the hardest military job classifications to obtain on pre-Conquest Earth.
It also didn't hurt that the blond 23-year-old was a former child prodigy- a genius. And you neglected nothing when you were brilliant, motivated, disciplined, and capable. Victor was all of those things.
The very year Victor had earned his gold dolphins, 1998, God or Cthulu or somebody (Victor didn't much care who) had decided it was time to let man know he wasn't alone in the universe. The United Alliance of Evil, a coalition of tyrants, dictators and warlords led by a monster called Dark Specter, had invaded Earth. Victor had been on shore leave in Arlington, Virginia when the first ships had appeared in Earth's orbit.
When they were detected, every nation on Earth had broadcast radio messages of greetings and welcome. The UAE had ignored those. When the UAE's first transports landed, brass bands, cameras and politicians were there to meet them. The Quantrons- robotic, mass-produced soldiers- had come out shooting. Some of the old video recordings of the first landings cut off quite abruptly.
Seeing that was how the United Alliance of Evil wanted things to go, Earth's nations had mobilized for war. That idea had worked out a little better, but not much.
As it turned out, the UAE had brought more with them than tens of thousands of Quantrons. They had brought fighters and bombers that could fly in space and in Earth's atmosphere, craft that were armed with weapons like nothing humanity had ever seen. The mighty F-18 Super Hornet and F-16 Viper, the Panavia Tornado and the MiG-29- all these and more were swatted out of the skies, despite the efforts of even the best fighter pilots Earth had to offer. Strategic bombers and helicopters fared little better, and as soon as the UAE won the war for the skies, the war on the ground was only a matter of time.
Tanks, field artillery, armored personnel carriers- turned out those came as a surprise to the UAE boys. They hadn't expected those. Infantry and aircraft were the UAE game- that was it. But against an invasion force armed with laser weapons and plasma bombs, and one that had gained control of the air no less, what good were they? How much help was the M270 rocket artillery piece's "steel rain" against steel soldiers the enemy could throw away by the thousands?
Victor had been lucky. He hadn't been on a submarine or ship. Most of those were destroyed, either in port or out at sea, and the few subs that survived were almost totally unable to act in response- they were driven into hiding for two years.
The blond genius had also been lucky in that he'd gotten out of the Washington, D.C. area before the UAE landed in force. The United Alliance of Evil not only didn't care about collateral damage, they were actively working to prove a point, and they had destroyed most of the greater D.C. area in the process. There had been hundreds of thousands of casualties, military and civilian, and President Bill Clinton and First Lady Hillary Clinton had been among them.
It wasn't that Victor had been able to simply make it out of the city. He had seen the ships in orbit, seen the first abrupt cut-offs to the news broadcasts of the landings in Europe and Australia, and simply decided then and there that he was not sticking around. Victor's car had been driven off the road by strafing UAE fighters, just as he was being overtaken by the Governor of Virginia's convoy. With most of his bodyguards dead, Jim Gilmore had been in desperate need of aid, and Victor had rendered it. Calculating the quickest and quietest way they could flee for the Blue Ridge Mountains on foot, Victor had taken charge of the party of now-refugee politicians and surviving guards. He had led them out into the furthest, most obscure reaches of the border with West Virginia, where he emerged as the chief tactician and strategist of a group of mountain guerrilla fighters.
Now, two years later, the war that the Conquest had been a part of was over, Earth was free, and the Galactic League of Light had arrived and begun setting up diplomatic relations. The UN had not yet re-organized from the destruction of the headquarters building in New York City, so at the moment the GLL was talking with Earth's nations one-on-one. So much had changed- so much would never, ever be the same.
The Power Rangers- they were still out there.
But that wasn't the point. Victor Santiago could've cared less about the Rangers, really. What he cared about was that every inch of Milky Way that the GLL didn't own was up for grabs. And if they'd gotten their claws, paws, tentacles, or whatever on the whole thing already? That's what the entire rest of the universe was for.
Christ. Even as Earth's nations struggled to rebuild and reassert themselves, even as most people seemed content to bitch about how much had been lost to the Conquest, Victor wanted to slap them all in the face and tell them to get moving. Life was moving on, with or without you, and the sooner you figured that out, the better.
"Mr. Santiago," whispered Zack Kenston, a kid who had been entering high school before the Conquest forced him to grow up into the supremely confident and competent personal resistance-fighter-turned-personal-aide he was now. "Mr. Santiago, it's go-time in sixty seconds."
"Excellent, Zack. Thank you. Keep those lights bright, will you?"
"Roger, sir."
Michael Cassidy, Victor's friend and business partner, was out there, giving the introduction. A former U.S. Army paratrooper, Michael had just graduated U.S. Army Special Forces selection training when the UAE showed up. Fort Bragg, North Carolina had been utterly destroyed once it was identified as a center of fierce resistance. Among the many who died there was Alex Cassidy, Michael's twin brother.
After narrowly surviving the UAE bombing and Quantron patrols, Michael had made his way across more than two hundred miles of enemy territory to join up with a resistance unit in West Virginia. He soon became its leader, and kept his men busy with various hit-and-run and sabotage actions until UAE rule suddenly collapsed two years later. Victor had spent the occupation with another Appalachian resistance unit, and by early 2000 he and Michael had already begun to talk speculatively of what they might do once Earth was free again.
Upon the abrupt end of the occupation and the shutdown of all UAE Quantron units, their speculation had become serious planning, and those plans became reality. That was how Extraplanetary Operations had begun, with this two-man partnership.
Simply put, "Iron Mike" led the men, and Victor wrote up the plans, kept the books, and signed up new men. It was a good setup, straightforward and simple, and it worked for both men.
Kenston gave Victor a nod. Just a few moments now.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the best business partner a man could ask for. A great soldier, a hero of the American Resistance, and an innovative visionary like you've never seen: Victor Santiago!"
Victor walked up and on-stage, into the bright lights and flashing cameras, to the sound of applause. He flashed his customary brilliant smile, waved, and shook hands with his partner.
Then Michael stepped back, and Victor turned to the well-dressed, well-heeled guests gathered here. He wasn't nervous, but these were men and women of consequence. They were corporate CEO's who'd managed to survive, former administrators with the UAE occupation who'd switched sides at the crucial moment, and former lower or mid-level business managers who'd simply emerged at the top of the heap as their companies reorganized or new ones started again.
These were the people Victor needed to impress. The very ones.
"Thank you, and thank you, and thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, it's a wonderful thing to be here, talking to you tonight. You know what the best part about the year 2000 is? Robots and their evil overlords don't own our planet anymore."
The men and women laughed and chuckled, and Victor flashed another smile.
"There's only one way to put it, folks. Opportunity is out there. Adventure is out there. Does that sound crazy? To someone who looks only at the problems Earth has right now, sure. Sure, it's crazy. But not to me. Not to Extraplanetary Operations."
At that moment, Michael pressed a button on the small remote he had hidden in his left hand, and Victor gestured to the old U.S. Army's Parachutist badge, surrounded by the shape of a black sun. A scroll beneath the sun read GLORIA ET FORTUNA.
"A new company, for a new age," Victor announced. "Some of you already have thoughts about exploiting resources and opportunities available on other worlds, worlds as yet under no established authority. And why not? Entire worlds are waiting, holding treasure troves of oil, of every kind of metal, of industrial raw materials. Just a few years ago, getting at these mountains of resources, even if we knew they were there, was impossible. But now, things are different. The UAE brought us the hardware. They conquered us and jumped our technology forward a thousand years."
"Now what will we do with it? Sit here and try and rebuild the world we used to have, exactly as we had it? No. That might do it for some people, but not you, ladies and gentlemen. Not you. A galaxy, a universe filled with uncountable amounts of fuel, of precious metals, of exploitable land, is out there, and you're going to reach out and take it, and stake your claims before either your old Uncle Sam, or any rebuilt UN, or even the good folks at the Galactic League of Light can get between you and your profits."
Victor nodded to Michael, and a new image appeared.
"This is a standard UAE cargo ship, a freighter. Plenty of these have been captured since the UAE lost Earth. Plenty more will be out there once people start making copies. Whether it's this exact model of ship or any types we design here on Earth, you, ladies and gentlemen, will need these to move your people to new and from new planets, to haul resources and goods and gear. And with a new type of shipping comes a new kind of pirate. Before long, folks, we'll have pirates in space. Count on it, especially since the GLL is still rebuilding from the war."
Another nod, another image, this time of a heavily-armed soldier clad in futuristic armor, wielding a captured pulse laser rifle. He looked like something out of a pre-Conquest space movie, yet was all the better for being unquestionably real. He looked ready to jump off the screen and conquer a planet all by himself. A bold, fearless warrior, readily adapted to the new age.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, this is what we at Extraplanetary Operations can promise you. Professionalism, skill, and daring. Operatives soon to be fully trained to live and fight in zero-g environments, to land on planets where you wish to stake a claim, to defend your off-world bases and ships with every kind of handheld and crew-served weapon you can think of. Rival companies will find it mighty difficult to override your claim when we get there first and hold the ground, and any pirates foolish enough to attack a ship our boys are guarding will not get a second chance."
Victor nodded again, and the image of the ExOps trooper disappeared. Then he turned and addressed the assembled businessmen and women, looking each one of them in the eye.
"Now, it's time I told you what we don't do here at ExOps. We do not murder. We do not execute. We do not massacre. We never, you may be very certain, we never torture. We have no truck with crimes of passion or hatred or pointless gain. We do not do it for a delight in killing, or to feed some secret inner need, or for petty advantage, or for some cause or belief; I tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that all of these reasons are in the highest degree suspect. Look into the face of a man who will kill you for a belief and your nostrils will snuff up the scent of abomination. Hear a speech declaring a holy war and, I assure you, your ears will catch the clink of evil's scales and the dragging of its monstrous tail over the purity of the language. No, we do it for the money. And because we above all must know the value of a human life, we do it for a great deal of money. There can be few cleaner motives, shorn of all pretense."
Victor stared out into the silent room. You could have heard a pin drop. Then he said, "I'll take your questions now."
XX
Michael was grinning from ear to ear as they left the stage together, to wildly enthusiastic applause. It had been thirty minutes in total, and those bigshots in the suits had loved every second of it.
"Vic, my man, you knocked that one outta the park."
"Sure," Victor said. He was pleased, but already his mind was turning elsewhere. "I hope the upcoming call to the GLL embassy goes as well."
It did not.
XX
"What the hell do you mean, you won't put me through to the Ambassador?" Victor demanded, slamming a fist on his desk. "You said you people are here for us, right? For humanity? Well, this human wants to talk to your leader!"
"The Galactic League of Light has a strict policy of not employing soldiers-for-hire, and the Ambassador supports this position," the secretary or flunky or whatever he was, said in passable English through the ex-UAE audio communications suite's speakers. "I do not know how else to tell you this, Mister Santiago. The League has no interest in employing you or in doing any business with your company."
"Give me thirty minutes with the good Ambassador and I'll change his mind."
"That is unlikely. In any case, the Ambassador does not have the time for such trivialities on his schedule. I have spoken to him directly, and he has made his position quite clear. As much work as we have to do helping your fellow citizens, violence for profit is not something the GLL has time or resources for. I hope most earnestly that this is the last time you bother us. Good day."
"Sonofabitch!" Victor shouted, slamming both hands on his desk.
"I told you those fuckin' morons wouldn't listen," Michael remarked casually. "They're just like the old U.N., always bitching about private soldiering, always trying to outlaw it."
"But they hired mercs, at the end of the day. I mean, some of the richest governments on pre-Conquest Earth were its biggest arms distributors!" Victor exclaimed. "Fuck! We made a good impression on those fucking corporate fatcats today, but it's gonna be months before they get seriously up and running." He drummed his fingers on the desk. "Well, that's alright. We need the time to get our people trained. But we could do that easier if we had more money coming in."
"We've already got contracts from some of those fatcats, remember?"
"Looting old military bases, UAE and human, only earns so much. And same goes for VIP and perimeter security. They can't pay us the big bucks again until they have 'em. That takes time. We better get something moving, fast, or we'll be playing mall cops after somebody else beats us to the big leagues. It's just the start, right now, but this is where we need to do the most. This is where we gotta get ahead."
"Well, Victor, there are… other employers."
Victor looked up. The hard-eyed 24-year-old was staring back at him with that hard, piercing stare that nobody else but him seemed able to do. Michael was capable of being hard, ruthless, absolutely pitiless if he had to be. And he was resourceful in ways most couldn't imagine. Right now, staring into his Michael's hardened gaze, Victor wondered what in the hell his partner had come up with now.
"What do you mean?"
"I happened to be in your office yesterday evening, manning the desk in case anybody called, like I said. And this- thing called. I dunno what the hell he is, but he called himself "Master Vile"."
"We've been marketing for a couple months. How the hell does anybody off-world know who we are?"
"He just said he'd heard about us, that we offer interplanetary military services and 'security solutions.'"
"So what? Michael, did this guy offer you a job or something?"
"Yeah, he said he wants us to bring him a dead body."
"What? Are you serious? A fucking dead body?"
"He also said he'd be contacting us again in about- oh, anytime now, at this point. I told him you'd want to give the answer yourself."
Before Victor could even reply, the UAE comms unit started making that sound that indicated an incoming call. Michael reached over and pressed the button that, through trial and error, they had determined meant accepting the call.
"Extraplanetary Operations, Michael Cassidy speaking, Victor Santiago also present. To whom am I speaking?"
A voice unlike any other Victor had ever heard before then started emanating from the speakers, seeming to almost pulse through the speakers.
"It is I, Master Vile, ruler of the M51 galaxy, lord of all he surveys!"
"That's great. Master Vile, my partner-in-crime wants to know why digging up some dead guy's body is worth our company's time."
"Is that so?"
"Yes," Victor said, forcing himself to keep his voice calm and even. "It is hardly within the range of services we offer, and goes against the human custom of respect for the dead."
"But, tell us what you're offering," Michael said. "Tell us why this is worth it to you."
"My reasons," the voice said, "are no concern of yours. You desire payment? You offer the services of warriors in return for your human gold or currency? I can offer far more. You will be paid in a mountain of precious stones, if that is what you demand. Or do you desire your human concept of eternal youth? Bring me the corpse I desire, and I can use magic to triple your natural lifespan and slow your aging by a like amount. If it is gemstones, metals, or magic you desire as payment, it will be given. You may even consider your desired payment on your way to me. But nothing is to be given until I have the body."
Victor looked to his partner, wide-eyed, and mouthed the word Magic? at him. Michael shrugged.
"That's quite an offer, Master Vile," Victor managed to say.
"Am I to continue wasting time, or will you bring me the body I demand?"
"Uh, who's the dead guy you want again?" Victor asked.
"A being quite young by your standards, formerly of the Psycho Rangers. Justin Stewart."
"Okay, and how do we get the body to you? We dig it up, and then what?"
"I offer you the payment. Getting the corpse to me is your concern."
"Gotcha. So… alright, say we had a ship? Where do we take it?"
"When the time comes, you will be informed of your destination. Do this, and you will be rewarded as I have promised. I command the resources of an entire galaxy. Refuse me, and you will never find an offer of this magnitude again."
"I understand, Master Vile," Victor said, hoping to Christ the room was as well-guarded against bugs as Michael had said. "You'll get that body. ExOps is on it."
"I will be waiting."
The device fell silent, and Victor looked at his brother for a long time. Michael just waited patiently.
"Michael."
"Yes?"
"What the hell are we about to do here, stealing the body of some dead kid? A former Psycho Ranger?"
"Does it really matter?"
"This is not how I envisioned the company getting its first big break. And magic? Real, actual magic? How do you know we didn't just get crank called?"
"You didn't look like you thought we had a crank caller just now."
Victor shivered. "Jesus, Michael. I guess not. But… who is this guy? What's the M51 galaxy?"
"It's not the Milky Way, and this dude says he runs it," Michael answered, shrugging again. "Victor, you keep the books. I lead the men. It's a good setup. If you're worried about any governments finding out about it, forget it. Uncle Sam's only just getting back on his feet, and the UN doesn't even exist. Maybe they will again, or some replacement, but not yet. And the GLL? Those losers are too busy trying to help old ladies across the street, and I think you know how many fucks they give about us."
"Digging up a dead body and shipping it off-planet is not good for PR. When the world does reorganize, I want us to have a respectable image."
"Nobody needs to know about this," Michael said, "beyond the people we send to do it."
"And me."
"And you, Victor."
"So that bunch of paratroopers you've been training and doing raids with is gonna go and get us our first big bucks?" Victor asked, trying to warm to the idea.
"Yes. And we already have a ship."
"That freighter actually works?"
"Yes. We've got it socked away over in Charlton County, GA, next to the jump school I set up."
"We set up, Michael."
"Yes, that's right. The techs have told me it all checks out, and the FTL drive works. And the platoon I've been training is ready to rock and roll. All I need to do is give them the brief on what's there to do."
"And there's been no trouble from the authorities?"
"Feds and state are just getting back on their feet, and the locals are so glad to have us buying stuff from them, we're gonna have 'em in their pocket for a long time yet. And once we got the big bucks really comin' in, we can start to think about buying a state senator or two. Then some Congressmen. Great way of keeping government off our ass. But that's not any more important right now than the Chinese having another civil war. What matters is, are we doing this or not, Victor?"
Victor sighed. Something about this job felt wrong. He was trying so hard to establish a legitimate, professional image for the modern, post-Conquest mercenary, and digging up the body of some dead Ranger did not seem like the right way to do that. Plus, stealing a dead body? The ruler of some far-off galaxy, contacting a human private military corporation, asking them to steal a dead body?
What good could possibly come of that? Why were the only mental images that Victor could summon based off the unholy horrors of Pet Sematary?
But whether any of that showed on Victor's face, it didn't filter through to his mouth. He considered rejecting it, even though he'd already agreed to Master Vile. He considered telling Michael to call this jerkoff back, or to just forget it, period.
Instead, Victor just said: "Okay."
Michael smiled. "Great. So you'll be happy to know Justin Stewart is buried in Lake Mary, Florida. His father, Dean Stewart, lives close by in Orlando. Word has it he goes to see his son fairly often."
"You've already figured all this out?"
"I made some calls. Checked with some people I know. You'd be surprised what a couple innocent questions can get you."
"Who was Justin Stewart, besides the old Blue Psycho Ranger?"
"I dunno, some jerkoff kid. He's fuckin' dead now, and we'll cover the grave right up after we snatch 'im. His old dad will never know. The son of a bitch doesn't have any need for a goddamn corpse, anyway." Michael laughed, and gave Victor one of his cold smiles. "Another dead Ranger… what a shame."
"You have a problem with the Rangers?"
Michael's face went pale, the skin stretched tight over the bones. Cold, cold fire burned in his eyes. "They're a hard bunch to get rid of," Michael said. "But one of these days I'm gonna be really fucking good at it. They deserve… everything that I'm gonna give 'em."
Victor wanted to shudder. At that moment, hearing that voice and seeing that look in Michael's eyes, Victor Santiago was glad he wasn't a Ranger.
"All right, well- this is your op, understand? This one never goes on the books. We'll have to… camouflage whatever we make from this."
"Oh, please, income taxes, reporting income?" Michael laughed. "You're a smart guy, Victor, but Christ, you gotta remember the looting and shooting ain't over yet. We'll just sock it away and as we get our 'fuck you' money together, we'll use it to buy off any government pricks come snooping. Better yet, use it to buy off some Senators so the snooping never happens. Easy."
"I never heard of this Vile guy, or any part of this operation. If anybody asks me, I'll deny everything. Just so we're clear, Michael."
"Of course," Michael nodded. "That's just what I'd do."
"So I assume the people you have in mind are good enough? They better be. This is a chance to impress someone powerful. I don't want anyone fucking it up."
"Relax. No one's going to. Not even Nicky; he was on the raid what's left of Fort Bragg to bring the freighter back and I personally checked him off on HALO jumps last week. He's a kid, but he's tough. Everyone I've got on this crew is HALO trained. They're all tough as nails, they can adapt to anything thrown their way. We're still getting AK's, beam rifles, and pulse laser rifles all worked into the armory, but we'll have all the hardware we need."
"HALO-"
"High Altitude, Low Opening. We can jump above radar range and give 'em only seconds to notice us before we land."
"I know. What I meant was, all this trouble for airborne? Do we even need that anymore?"
"How do you think I got my boys to that freighter before that rampaging mob of technophobes torched the place? Besides, it's not just the training. It's the mental toughness and adaptability that comes with it. It's a great litmus test. If a man can't handle the toughest of airborne training, he sure as shit won't be able to handle combat aboard a cargo ship in zero-g."
"Okay, Michael. You convinced me. Get it done. I'm relying on you."
"Of course. This is a perfect opportunity, Victor. We'll be rich after this. We'll have all the money we need to really expand, get everything that we want to do moving. Best part is, no one will even know it was us." He shrugged, then added, "No one on Earth, anyway."
Michael stood, and Victor called after him as he headed for the door, "Michael."
The young man turned at the doorway. "Yes?"
"Do a good fucking job."
Michael sketched out a salute. "Like always."
A/N: 10-29-2018.
This is my second foray into the Power Rangers universe, but more specifically that universe as depicted by AM83220 in his stories "And a Teenager Shall Lead Them" and "The Ranger War". I am specifically working to base my work off of his, and the darker, more serious way he writes it, as opposed to the child audience the original show was largely intended for. This story is a prequel to my planned feature-length story, both of which are set post-TRW. The date is around early March 2000.
The main summary I can give of the universe in which this story is set is that in 1998, an organization called the United Alliance of Evil invaded and conquered Earth, subduing all its inhabitants and swiftly and brutally ending all resistance. Backed chiefly by an army of robotic soldiers known as quantrons, the UAE held down Earth while they fought against the Galactic League of Light. The Power Rangers fought for the GLL, and the Psycho Rangers- all of them former Power Rangers- fought for the UAE. The GLL had a large army and navy of humanoid fighters, and the UAE had their quantrons, but the Rangers of both sides played the biggest role in deciding how that war ended.
Thanks to the UAE, vast amounts of technology far beyond human standards of 1998-2000 are now available as the Earth civilization struggles to rebuild itself. Laser weaponry, both vehicle-mounted and hand-carried, was standard for the UAE, so these will be among the most advanced arms, though conventional gunpowder-based weapons will doubtless continue to exist in great numbers as they will be cheaper and better understood by humans. By acting swiftly while civil governments are only just reorganizing, ExOps has gotten their hands on a respectable armory of laser and gunpowder arms.
HALO means "High Altitude, Low Opening" and is a highly-advanced form of military parachute operations. Military personnel trained to do HALO jumps are the elite of the elite among airborne troops, and are capable of jumping at altitudes up to 10,000-30,000 feet. HALO jumps do not involve the use of a static line, where you hook up, go out the door, and the main chute is opened for you. In HALO, you free-fall for a pre-determined period of time, then open your main chute on your own. The altitude you open the chute at depends on what is decided beforehand, but 400 feet is entirely possible.
Michael Cassidy is based in part off the character of Saren Arterius from the "Mass Effect" video games.
The final segment of the speech that Victor Santiago gives is taken almost verbatim from that of Dr. Cruces, of the Ankh-Morpork Assassin's Guild. Thank AM83220 for that one.
"Gloria et Fortuna" is a Latin phrase, meaning "Fame and Fortune" or more literally "Glory and Fortune."
I got the idea for this story in about February 2017, so while it's taken some time to develop my ideas for a post-TRW story or two, I think things are off to a good start. Feel free to share your own thoughts in a review.