Dire Contingency
Copyright© 2025 by Snekguy
Chapter 10
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 10 - A disillusioned special forces group stages a violent insurrection, stealing experimental weapons from a Navy black site and using them to take over a remote colony. With help months away, the only person who is in a position to oppose them is Ruza – an old veteran of the Kerguela war. The planet is plunged into a brutal conflict, with local resistance groups hellbent on breaking the occupation.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Military War Science Fiction Aliens Space Oral Sex Petting Size Politics Slow Violence
DAY 20 – HADES ORBIT – PETROVA
Petrova waited on the hangar deck, her prosthetic hands clasped neatly behind her back as she looked out at the planet’s curvature beyond the shimmering force field. It was hard to pick out the dark lander against the inky backdrop when it arrived, but as it drew closer, she could make out the blue glow reflecting off its cockpit windows. It loomed ever larger, growing to the size of a house, its angular nose passing through the barrier as its thrusters flared with bursts of hydrogen flame. Once it had entered the carrier’s AG field, those four engines swiveled to face down, lowering it to the deck on burning jets.
Only when the engines had spooled down did the front ramp begin to open, gaping like a wedge-shaped maw beneath the overhanging cockpit, revealing the shadowy bay within. As the UNN’s mule, the Wombat could transport a wide variety of vehicles and cargo, from tanks to shipping containers. In its present configuration, the bay was filled with rows of crash couches, each one of them occupied by a frazzled recruit. There were a hundred of them crammed into the vessel like sardines in a can.
They began to unbuckle their harnesses, walking down the ramp, some of them wobbling unsteadily. For many, this would have been their first experience of space flight. To someone like Petrova, who had spent her adult life hopping from planet to planet, it seemed inconceivable that a person could die on the same colony where they were born.
The recruits began to line up, standing to attention, Petrova’s voice echoing through the mostly empty hangar as she addressed them.
“Welcome to the UNN Tirad, ” she began, watching as the men glanced around in awe of their new surroundings. “I’m sure this is your first time aboard a Jump Carrier. You are currently in the port-side hangar, where the ship’s air traffic comes and goes. Behind you, you can see some FS-26 Beewolves – space superiority fighters, and to your rear is a force field that leads to hard vacuum. I suggest you watch your step. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the temporary quarters where you’ll be staying during your visit.”
She led them through the winding guts of the ship, their heads on a swivel everywhere they turned, taking in the strange environment. Hoff might refer to them as bumpkins, and they were as muddy as they came, but Petrova found some small measure of second-hand joy in their reactions.
After a bit of a walk, they arrived at one of the old crew quarters, bunk beds with Navy blue sheets stacked along the walls. It was cramped and spartan, but they seemed thrilled by the sight, perhaps not accustomed to even these small luxuries.
“You’ll find fresh uniforms and boots in the lockers,” she explained as they filtered into the narrow corridors between the beds. “I’m sure there’s something in everyone’s size. Get comfortable, take a shower, and change your clothes. Dinner will be in the mess hall at nineteen-hundred sharp, followed by orientation. You can find your way by following the color-coded maps – that can be your first test. Don’t be late, and eat your damned greens! You’ll need your strength in the days to come.”
As the troopers walked past her, she saw a tall, blonde figure rising above the crowd. As he neared, she realized that it was her sparring partner – the man who she had knocked on his ass during her demonstration two days prior.
“Man, do we really get to stay here?” he asked as he stepped aside and peered into the room. “This place is a hell of a lot nicer than the barracks back in the garrison, uh ... Ma’am,” he added hurriedly.
“What’s your name, trooper?” Petrova asked as she smirked up at him.
“Lindgren, Ma’am,” he replied as he stood up a little straighter. “Private.”
“Lindgren is hard to remember. What do your friends call you?”
“Thomas, Ma’am,” he replied, keeping his eyes level with the wall above her head as though afraid to make eye contact. “Well ... my friends call me Tiny Tom.”
“On account of you being anything but,” Petrova said with a smile. She reached out and gave his arm a powerful pat, making the giant of a man flinch. “How are you feeling after our little encounter yesterday, Tiny? Not too beat up, I hope?”
“Recovering, Ma’am,” he replied as he finally deigned to meet her gaze. “I just wanted to say – thank you for the opportunity. Please pass my thanks on to the Commander ... if that’s appropriate. I wish my dad was still alive to see this. He always wanted me to amount to something more than a miner, and he wouldn’t have believed this.”
“I’ll let the Commander know,” Petrova replied with a smile. “Now, go wash up, Tiny. We have a dinner date.”
“Ma’am?” he asked, seeming momentarily flustered.
“The orientation,” she chuckled, giving him a look over her shoulder as she turned to leave.
As she headed away from the recruits and the sound of their excited chatter faded, she heard a call come through in her earpiece. It was Barbosa.
“Petrova – we have a problem. Please report to the aft medbay.”
She hurried through the corridors, descending deeper into the carrier’s innards, following the light green lines until they led her to her destination. She stepped through a door marked with a six-pointed medical cross, emerging into a fully furnished field hospital. The carrier’s medbay was designed to handle casualties during wartime, and it was only one of several similar facilities spaced throughout the ship. This one had two dozen ICUs, three times that number of beds, and was furnished with everything from bulky medical scanning machines to automated surgical robots. There were several wide windows that looked out over operating theaters, and everywhere she looked, there were supplies packed into storage racks and shelves. If she didn’t know better, it could have been mistaken for a dirtside hospital on any major colony.
There was somewhat of a lobby by the main door, complete with a check-in desk, where several people were clustered. Barbosa was among them – easily identifiable by his ravaged features, and Song was standing beside him. Doctor Nilsson was there, as were several strangers who looked like crew members. They were dressed in scrubs and white coats, the medic logo emblazoned on their chests. Judging by their expressions, they had been arguing.
“Petrova,” Barbosa began, seeming relieved to see her as she entered. “Have the recruits been brought aboard?”
“I took them to their quarters a short time ago, Commander,” she replied as she eyed the strangers curiously. “They’re getting settled in.”
“Good, good,” he continued impatiently. “Maybe you can talk some sense into these people. They’re refusing to perform the surgeries, despite my assurances that all of the subjects understand the risks and have consented.”
“What’s the problem?” Petrova asked, turning to the medics.
“We’re not performing amputations on healthy patients,” one of them replied, crossing her arms stubbornly. “It’s completely unethical, for one. It’s a violation of the Hippocratic oath that we all took when we were certified, and it’s also illegal under the Yellow Sea Treaty.”
“The YST is very clear,” one of her male colleagues added. “It prohibits the augmentation or the alteration of the human body for the purpose of warfare by way of cybernetics, genetic engineering, or indoctrination. The amputation of a healthy limb or the removal of a functioning organ to be replaced with a prosthetic equivalent is prohibited by UN law, and such surgeries can only be performed for valid medical reasons. There’s no valid medical reason for what you’re doing here, and you sure as hell haven’t established an ethics board.”
“We agreed to stay on the carrier because we have a duty to treat its crew,” another woman continued. “Even if we object to what you’re doing here, we can’t turn away those in need for the same reasons the law requires us to treat enemy combatants, but we’re not mutilating healthy patients.”
“Don’t look at me,” Nilsson complained, raising his hands defensively. “I have no control over these people!”
“I’ll cut off their limbs,” Song suggested with a shrug. “That would make it medically necessary.”
“Song, please,” Barbosa grumbled as the medics exchanged shocked glances. “Your input is not helpful in this situation. Lieutenant Commander Petrova can assure you that all of her recruits have been briefed on the risks involved in the surgeries, and all of those present on the carrier have given their consent. None of them were coerced. We can have them sign waivers if that’s what you want.”
“Consent doesn’t change a damned thing,” the first woman insisted. “You can’t consent to an illegal surgery. Maybe you’ve been desensitized to the concept, but being a soldier is supposed to be temporary. It’s a career that you’re intended to retire from.”
“Retire,” Barbosa repeated with a bitter laugh that rang hollow in his artificial throat. “I’ve been at war longer than most of you have been alive. Humanity only survived because people like me had to bear the burden and make the hard choices. Do you have any idea how many battles would have been lost if the people who mattered had taken that damned treaty seriously? We’re talking about the survival of the species here, people,” he added with a growl that made a few of them pull back reflexively. “You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, and if I tell you to break those eggs, you’d better damned well do it. This carrier is under my command, and you’re subject to wartime law.”
“Or what?” the woman replied, stepping forward to face him down. “You gonna shoot us and shove us out of the hangar like you did to those poor engineers? Fine, go ahead. I’d like to see you perform surgery on a hundred people with a staff of meatheads who don’t know their renal system from their rectum! You can’t force us to cooperate.”
“He probably can,” Nilsson warned, looking increasingly nervous as the Commander stared the woman down with his artificial eyes. “Take it from me – giving him what he wants is the least lethal option.”
The tension in the air could have been cut with a knife, but Barbosa finally relented, his posture relaxing.
“Very well,” he began. “She’s right – we can’t compel them to do anything, and summary execution for dereliction of duty will accomplish nothing. Plan B it is. Song, please contact Hoff and have him arrange for staff from the colony’s general hospital to be reassigned to the carrier. They can assist Nilsson and his team in performing the operations, and we can have the surgical bots handle most of the microsurgery. I believe that our medical staff will be compelled to render assistance during the patients’ recovery and rehabilitation,” he added with a glance at the defiant doctors. “The same oaths that prohibit them from performing the amputations compel them, as I understand it.”
“You can’t do that!” one of the medics protested. “You’d be depriving the people on that planet of qualified medical personnel!”
“If you won’t perform the surgeries yourselves, then you leave me no choice,” Barbosa replied. “What’ll it be? These operations will be happening with or without your participation.”
“It’s not a question of logic!” she shot back. “That’s what you don’t understand! There are ethical and moral lines that we cannot cross, regardless of whether you think it makes sense or not. Something wrong doesn’t suddenly become right because you make some deterministic argument that suits the situation!”
“Then the outcome for the colonists will be on your heads,” Barbosa replied, turning to leave the room. Petrova quickly followed, tailing him out into the corridor. He looked understandably frustrated, but also tired, as though the exchange had been somehow taxing.
“Commander?” she began as he marched away from the medbay. “Are you certain this is the best solution? Nilsson and his people are qualified for this kind of surgery, and the carrier’s crew has some experience treating battlefield injuries, but that won’t be the case for many of the civilians.”
“I didn’t expect to be at a deficit of troops before the UNN even arrived,” he replied. “We have to accelerate our timetable – we can’t afford to wait any longer. Nilsson and his people can handle a lot of the surgeries. They have the experience, and they can program the surgical bots to carry out some of the more intricate work, but that’s only part of the process. They’ll need all kinds of support staff, from surgical assistants to nurses to physical therapists. I expected to have a mostly operational and minimally staffed medbay by this point, but the crew is being less than cooperative. We have no choice but to improvise.”
“What if the civilians also refuse?”
“They have a lot more to lose with this carrier’s guns pointed at their city.”
“I worry that we’re putting the recruits at risk, Commander. We have fewer qualified people than we really need, and not all of the surgeries would have been successful even under ideal conditions.”
“They know what they signed up for,” Barbosa replied. He paused suddenly, leaning against the wall as though feeling unsteady. Petrova moved to assist, but he waved her away with a prosthetic arm, reaching into a pouch on his belt. There was that hypodermic injector again – Barbosa loading it with a capsule and stabbing it into his neck. He waited a few moments, then seemed to recover, standing up straighter.
“Commander?” Petrova asked warily. “Is something wrong? This is the second time I’ve seen you take that medication. If it’s something that could jeopardize the mission, shouldn’t I know about it?”
“Follow me to the officer’s quarters,” he replied. “You’re right – it’s time I filled you in.”
“Something to drink?” Barbosa asked as he poured himself a glass of whiskey.
“No, thank you,” Petrova replied, settling into the comfortable couch opposite the Commander. He set the ornate bottle down on the coffee table, then lifted the cup, taking a long draw before he began to speak.
“You know a fair bit about augmentation and prosthetics, I’d assume? You have an understanding of how they interface with your body and interpret its signals?”
“It varies depending on the type and severity of the injury, but I know that our more... elective methods are more consistent,” she replied. “The basic premise is that severed nerves at the wound site are fused to wires, thus allowing them to transmit electrical signals. Electronics in the prosthetic then interpret those signals into commands. There’s usually a soft layer of antiseptic gel that protects the wound, but I don’t think you’re asking me for an explanation.”
“What about organs?” he continued. “My eyes, for example, or a kidney or lung.”
“Organs are much the same,” she said, wondering where he was going with his line of questioning. “They attach to existing structures and interpret signals from the brain, performing the functions of the missing biology. A kidney will filter blood, and a lung will exchange gases.”
“Our prosthetics and our medical technology have become so advanced that we can hook up an artificial eye to severed optic nerves like we’re changing a light bulb,” Barbosa declared proudly. “As incredible as that is, there’s still a lot that we don’t understand about the human body, and there’s a lot that we can’t do.”
“What are you getting at, Commander?”
“The human body is an interdependent system,” he began, the ice cubes in his glass clinking as he took another sip. “While replacing limbs and organs might seem relatively simple on a macro scale, it’s the micro scale that’s of concern. Thinking of our bodies as one cohesive organism is simply an outdated concept. We are colonial organisms – creatures formed from a collective of interconnected parts, none of which can survive on their own. Even your brain and your thoughts aren’t entirely under your own control. It performs many functions that operate wholly outside of your conscious awareness, an example being the sympathetic nervous system. We are merely the passengers of these colonial organisms, like an autopilot system evolved to help direct it and protect its interests.”
“That’s an interesting way of looking at it,” Petrova mused. “Maybe I will have that drink.”
“Don’t worry, I promise that this all has a point,” he chuckled. “An artificial heart can pump blood, and a prosthetic limb can raise a glass,” he continued as he lifted his drink to demonstrate. “The problem is, they can’t replicate what’s happening on a cellular and molecular scale. Cell division, communication with the nervous system, DNA replication and sequencing – these are things that a synthetic replacement cannot mimic. Not without nano-scale robotics that are currently beyond our technology, at least.”
“You’re saying that it’s not as simple as replacing a damaged kidney with an artificial one?” Petrova asked. “Why not? Doesn’t it perform the exact same functions as the original, if not with more efficiency?”
“Yes, but only on a superficial level,” Barbosa explained. “The kidney’s job is not merely to filter waste from the blood, but to regulate hormones, and to communicate with the central nervous system and immune system. They reabsorb nutrients from the blood, they maintain pH, they manage the electrolyte balance, they secrete active compounds that help the body regulate itself. It’s incredibly complex, and while we can simulate some of these functions, we can’t simulate all of them. Now, replacing a single kidney isn’t much of an issue, is it?”
“I wouldn’t assume so,” Petrova replied with a shrug. “The other organs could pick up the slack. The human body is very adaptable.”
“But what about both?” Barbosa pressed, leaning closer across the table. “What about multiple organs that all had intricate, complex interactions that are no longer happening? The human body has around two hundred and six bones. When combined, there are about thirty bones in each limb. Quads like you and I have lost more than half of our skeletons – we have, on average, eighty to ninety left. Bones aren’t just structural anchor points for muscles – they perform all kinds of crucial functions, from producing red and white blood cells to storing fats and minerals. My heart, lungs, kidneys, liver, even vast swathes of my skin are gone. You’re probably aware that many of our more augmented personnel already take immuno-stimulants and nutrient cocktails regularly.”
“I’ve had to take some myself while on deployments,” she confirmed with a nod.
“I am one of the most augmented humans alive,” Barbosa continued, staring into his glass. With his artificial eyes, it was hard to gauge what he might be feeling. Was it pride? Regret? “I’m old, Petrova. I replaced so many of my body parts, thinking that it was no different from taking a car into the shop for a tune-up. It made me strong and effective, and it extended my active service far beyond what would have been possible otherwise, but the debts are due and the Devil has come to collect.”
“What do you mean, Commander?” Petrova asked as she felt her heart sink. “Are you saying that ... you’re dying?”
“I have Cascade Failure,” he replied with a weary smile. “You won’t have heard of it. Few people are old enough and have enough augs to contract it, and I’m probably one of the first documented cases. One for the history books, if you will. When you replace enough organic parts, your body reaches a tipping point where it can no longer function properly. The nervous system begins to atrophy without proper stimuli, things like hormonal processes and immune responses start to malfunction, and the flow of waste and nutrients is disturbed. There is, as the name suggests, a cascading failure in which the body’s systems shut down in a form of simulated death. In short, your body forgets that it’s alive.”
“So, those injections that I’ve seen you taking...”
“Those drugs are the only thing keeping my immune system and my hormones in check,” he replied. “They give me minerals and vitamins that I can no longer metabolize or create myself, and they slow my body’s degradation, but it’s a stopgap measure. There’s no recovering from this. Even if I was able to clone every limb and organ that I’ve lost, the chances of me surviving such a traumatic surgery in my present condition would be minimal at best.”
“How long do you have left?” Petrova asked.
“Five years at the most – probably less,” he replied. “Don’t look so glum, Petrova,” he added with an eyeless smile. “I’ve lived a long and full life – a fuller one than I could have without the augs. I have no regrets about my past, but I do worry for our collective future. With the direction of the UN changing so drastically, I knew that I had to act while there was still time. There would be no rest for me if I left the Galaxy in this state.”
“That’s one of the reasons you made your move when you did,” Petrova mumbled. “You saw an opportunity, and you knew that it could be your last.”
“It certainly gave me the kick in the pants that I needed,” he said with a synthetic laugh. “No more waiting and hoping, no more biding my time and trying to influence politics from the shadows. I had to take matters into my own hands and secure humanity’s legacy.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.