Dire Contingency
Copyright© 2025 by Snekguy
Chapter 25
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 25 - 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 49 – GEOTHERMAL PLANT – PETROVA
Petrova bit her lip as she concentrated, her eyes fixed on the small recessed button on her forearm. It was tiny, intended only to be opened using a specialized tool, but one could insert a toothpick or a paper clip into the opening if they were careful. She had saved up some of the tin foil from the packaged meals she’d been given, rolling it up into a tight tube and creating a point that she hoped would be firm enough to press the switch.
Cursing under her breath, she withdrew the makeshift tool, rolling the tip between her thumb and forefinger before trying again. This time, she succeeded, a sly smile curling her lips as the panel that concealed her hidden blade snapped open. The smile was quickly wiped from her face when she saw that the compartment was empty. Even the spring mechanism that would extend the knife had been removed. That damned Rask really did know his way around SWAR prosthetics.
Cursing again, she flopped back onto her bed, the rusty springs beneath the mattress creaking. The alien overlooking her concealed weapon had been her final hope. Over the last couple of days, she had scoured the building whenever she’d been left alone for more than a few minutes, trying to find some means of escape. She was underground, so there were no windows. Even if she had been able to remove the grates from some of the vents, they were far too small to squeeze through, even for someone with her svelte build. Even if she could find a way to disconnect her arms, there was no way she’d ever fit. She had tried to call for help in every inch of the place, even climbing the shower cubicle to bring her head closer to the ceiling, hoping that her cochlear implant might get a weak signal.
This place clearly hadn’t been built as a prison, but there was only one way in and out. A single door led to the rest of the facility, and it was locked and guarded by Marines. Supposing that she could find a way to short the panel or cut off the power to the lock, there were always a couple of jarheads ready to greet her on the other side. If she ever managed to get out, she had no clue how the rest of the building was laid out, or where she even was. If they were outside the city proper, she might pick the wrong direction and walk out into the desert to certain death.
There had to be a way out...
Perhaps she was thinking about her predicament in the wrong way. She was thinking like Hoff or Crow – trying to break out through force. Maybe there was a way that she could manipulate the enemy into releasing her or giving her the run of the facility, at least. The Marine – Rivera – was all business. He didn’t give a damn about anything other than getting information out of her. He was smart. The Rask was the one who seemed to have some bizarre affection for her. It was like he wanted to rehabilitate her, and he had some strange need to convince her that she was on the wrong side. Maybe it was because he saw her as a potentially valuable ally, or perhaps he was just hung up about his own checkered past and needed some kind of closure. There was the secretary, too, but the alien was probably the best place to apply leverage.
She had underestimated him more than once. He was sharper than he looked, and he was a survivor above all else, somehow always able to worm his way out of the traps Barbosa set for him. Recent events had made her realize that she didn’t have a good understanding of alien psychology, either. She could wrap humans around her finger – she had a sense for every lie and manipulation technique that would yield the result she wanted in the same way that a carpenter knew which grade of sandpaper to use, but the Rask was different. What she had initially dismissed as simple stupidity was actually some deeper difference in behavior – be it cultural or biological. He seemed slow on the surface, but he was as keen as a knife, always watching and evaluating like a predator. It was intimidating, knowing the violence that he was capable of, but seeing him put on a kind facade.
Still, there was always a way. If he could smell hormones and hear her heartbeat quicken when she told a lie, she would just have to believe it herself. The most convincing lies always included elements of the truth, after all.
The Rask appeared to have a lot of leverage, and if she could get on his good side, he might convince his fellow terrorists to loosen her collar a little. All she had to do was give him exactly what he wanted.
There was a knock at her door, and she sat up, briefly making sure that she was dressed. She quickly snapped the panel on her arm shut, then stowed the makeshift foil tool beneath her pillow before speaking up.
“Come in!”
The panel slid open, and the Rask appeared to fill the doorway, ducking through. He was holding a metal tray in his hand that looked scarcely larger than a tablet due to his size.
“Good morning,” he began in that gruff, resonating voice. “I have brought you breakfast.”
“What’s on the menu today?” she asked, suddenly feeling vulnerable as he strode over to her bedside. She was clothed, but only in her shorts and tank top.
“Eggs,” he replied curtly. The alien sometimes spoke as though he was paying a tax on every word.
“Real eggs or MRE eggs?” she asked warily as he passed her the tray. It was separated into little shaped recesses, each one filled with a different food item. The yellow scrambled eggs were one of them, and there was also bread, along with what looked like the kind of biscuits one might eat with gravy. They were served alongside, seeming very out of place, which led her to believe that the alien might have prepared this himself.
“I do not know the difference,” he admitted as he passed her a plastic spoon.
She raised a mouthful of the steaming substance to her lips, then took a bite, grimacing as she chewed.
“It’s like chewing used rubbers, so I’m gonna guess MRE,” she grumbled. “Whatever, I’ve had worse.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he watched her wolf it down. The less she chewed, the better it tasted.
“Gonna take my temperature?” she scoffed over a mouthful of dry biscuit.
“I am a medic,” he explained. “I have a responsibility to care for you during your stay.”
“If you want to help me, why don’t you tune my servos a little higher? I can barely hold this spoon, blyat.”
“You know that I will not,” he replied.
“Fine,” she muttered, tearing off another piece of biscuit as she glared at him.
He waited until she was done eating before speaking again, polite as ever.
“You have been confined here for several days now. Have you reconsidered your position? There is much we can learn from you that might help undo some of the damage your commander has caused.”
“Yeah, your friend Rivera has been very insistent,” she chuckled. “He comes in here twice a day to ask the exact same questions and nothing else. Problem is, you don’t have any leverage. You’ve promised not to torture me, so you can’t scare me into compliance, and you don’t have anything to entice me with. I’m starting to suspect that you have no idea what to do with me.”
“Even if you offer us no information, saving a life is worthwhile,” the alien replied.
“Hundreds – probably thousands of people have died during this conflict,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “What’s one more for the pyre?”
“Every life has value,” the alien chided. He sat down on one of the cots adjacent to her, the metal frame straining under his weight, the mattress serving as a suitable seat for him. “We grow accustomed to death and killing, and it becomes easy to forget. Taking one life can change a person forever. Taking ten can destroy you. For one who takes a hundred, killing is no more difficult than tilling a field or stacking stones. It becomes mundane work.”
“Talking from experience?” Petrova asked.
“I have not taken a hundred lives,” he replied with a shake of his shaggy head. “Unless you include Betelgeusians, but they are ... different. They are sapient, but hopes, dreams, loved ones – they do not have these things. They leave no mark on the world when they pass on, and they have no potential to become more than what they are.”
“How many humans have you killed?” she pressed. “Have you been counting?”
“Too many,” he replied evasively.
“Yeah, not so easy to preach when you’re down in the mud with the rest of us, is it? I saw the crime scene – what you did to those SWAR agents and those PDF at your prefab, back when this all started. You tore one of those kids apart like a wild animal. Looked like a fucking grizzly bear had been at him. Did his life have value?”
“I do not pretend to be free of blame,” Ruza grumbled, the sound coming out almost like a growl from the depths of his chest. “I was taken by surprise – given very little time to prepare. I reacted to end the threat. I have never killed unless there was imminent danger to me or my people.”
“Didn’t look like self-defense to me,” Petrova muttered. “You don’t stab a mugger fifty times. That wasn’t the first time you killed a human, though, was it? You fought in the rebellion. Ever kill any Marines?”
The Rask looked uncomfortable, averting his yellow eyes as he considered – perhaps deciding what to reveal to her.
“I operated as part of a raiding party during the conflict,” he began, staring into space as though seeing something that she could not. “We deployed from one of the Crawlers, and our task was to harass the UNN armored battalion as it made its way across the Dune Sea. We were to buy time for our Matriarch to shore up her defenses back home. Mostly, we took part in hit-and-run attacks intended to stall the enemy and damage their vehicles. I fired on tanks and troop transports from range – I do not know if I injured or killed anyone. It is possible. I never saw the battle at the East Gate, as I was injured some time prior.”
“You don’t even know, then?”
“In some ways, that is worse,” he replied. “What of you? You bragged of killing Rask during our prior conversation. You interrogate me as though human lives are sacred, and the taking of one is an unforgivable sin, yet you do not afford my people the same respect. Why is it so offensive for me to kill a human in battle, but for you to kill a Rask is a source of pride?”
“But, that was...”
Petrova’s reply petered out, and she fell silent, momentarily stumped.
During the rebellion, the Rask had seemed no different from the thousands of mindless insects she had killed on the battlefield. She had never thought of them as people, only as hostile aliens to be eliminated. They were the enemy – she had been given orders to kill them, and she had never dedicated any more thought to it than that. Prior to being captured, it hadn’t occurred to her that a Rask could behave the way Ruza did. He wasn’t driven by ferocious instincts, beating her into submission and trying to assert his dominance through intimidation – he was simply having a conversation as any human would. Whether it was an act to manipulate her or not, there was more to him than simple animal violence, and he was clearly more introspective than a Drone.
Petrova felt a flare of anger – not because the Rask was right, but because she was wrong, and she had no way to justify it. The last thing she wanted to do was admit that and let him win.
“They were the enemy,” she replied with a scowl. “They betrayed the Coalition, and they were killing humans. Were we supposed to just let them do it?”
“I do not disagree,” Ruza replied. “You are correct. The Rask were your enemy, you had no choice but to kill them, and they instigated the conflict. Your actions were just. With that said, do you not see how my hand was forced in much the same manner? Your side instigated a conflict, giving my friends and I no choice but to kill to defend ourselves. The Rask you killed were no less cognizant than I am, and they have no less value than the humans I have slain. Neither of us has dry claws in this.”
“Dry claws?”
“Clean hands, as your people say. We have both taken lives, and there is nothing special or different about what I have done. Do you imagine that the Rask you fought did not have packs, littermates, and kittens waiting for them to return home? The only difference between us is that I have learned to recognize when I am serving those unworthy of my loyalty, and I put a stop to it.”
“Barbosa is a visionary,” she snapped. “Stop comparing him to your fucking warlord Matriarch.”
“Do you know who killed more Rask than any human? The Matriarch,” he continued. “You pretend to protect humanity, but Barbosa has killed more humans than we slew during the entire rebellion! Not enemy soldiers – simple people trying to live peaceful lives and allies you once fought beside. Tell me how the dead will benefit from his new Hades. When you set out on this venture, you must have known that it would bring you into conflict with your own kind. How many humans have you killed?”
“Sacrifices have to be made!” she shot back, starting to lose her temper. “We have to tolerate short-term losses to ensure the long-term survival of our species!”
“Are those your words, or does Barbosa speak through you? Even before you came here, I find it hard to believe that you had never taken a human life. Your skillset has no use against Betelgeusians, and one does not earn the respect of someone like Barbosa without shedding blood.”
“The first time I took a life, I was working as a cop in Saint Petersburg,” she replied as she glared up at him. “I was part of a special response unit – we dealt with the worst of the worst. We busted a drug smuggler in a sting, but it went sideways, and he holed up in a nearby mall after killing two officers with a printed gun. He took hostages – threatened to shoot the place up. I put a seven-six-two caseless through his eye from a tower block across the street. I didn’t lose a wink of sleep over it. After I was recruited by SWAR, I did the same shit all across the colonies. We went where nobody else could go, and did things nobody else could do. We took out pirate lords, black market smugglers, and violent separatists. I never killed anyone who didn’t have a rap sheet longer than the UN charter. I did my time in the trenches, too. We held the line against waves of Bugs, we went into hives, and we faced off against biotech horrors that you can’t even imagine. You have no idea how close we came to storming that palace of yours and eliminating everyone inside. If Fleetcom had given the word, your former Matriarch’s head would have been impaled on its highest spire as a warning to the rest of you.”
“You have been protecting people all your life, it seems,” Ruza said. “Do you believe that what Barbosa and his men are doing on Hades is the same? Do not believe his words – believe only what your eyes and ears tell you. Were the Hadeans you killed criminals or separatists? How many innocents have you slain since you arrived here?”
Her mind began to race, taking her back to the start of all this.
Petrova was standing in the asteroid base, the winding tunnels of exposed rock and metal extending before her, warping and twisting like something from a dream. She felt like she was walking underwater, her limbs responding sluggishly as she swung her rifle to check an open door, the green laser mounted on its barrel reflecting off the polished surfaces of desks and computer monitors.
She was with her team, the agents moving down the corridor, their faces obscured by helmets with elaborate decals. One by one, they cleared the side rooms, following their training with a robotic precision worthy of their prosthetics. This was the job – the mission. Her head snapped around when she heard the crack of gunfire, her helmet muffling the sound as it echoed down the passage.
A security guard slumped against the wall, still holding a sidearm in one hand, the ceramic plate that protected his torso blown open by a slug. There was another bang, and she watched as a second round struck him above the heart, crimson blood splattering the metal paneling behind him as it tunneled through. The man began to slide to the floor, leaving a red smear like a paintbrush being dragged across a canvas, his weapon falling from his hand with a clatter. There was no helmet obscuring his expression, and he stared back at his faceless killer with wide eyes, silently begging a question that would never be answered.
The agents walked past his lifeless body, more gunshots ringing out as they ducked into rooms and put down any opposition, the echoing reports accompanied by the yells and screams of station staff. Petrova felt her mouth go dry, and she struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. Suddenly, all she could think about was the sound of her blood rushing in her ears, her own pulse filling her helmet and drowning out the chattering of orders over her radio.
This was how things had always been. She had killed humans before – terrorists and enemies of the UN, and this was no different. They had suppressed rebellions and brought dangerous criminals to justice, and that had sometimes required the shedding of human blood. Still, she found herself hanging back, following behind the team as they forged a path forward.
Petrova lifted her PCE’s shield, protecting the agents behind her as the Marines peppered it with XMR fire. They had set up at a junction in the corridor ahead – a last-ditch effort to stop the boarders from reaching the bridge. For as much confidence as the suit of armor had instilled in her, being in the line of fire was still nerve-wracking, each hammer blow that hit the panel making her lurch. A week prior, she would have said that no wearable armor could stand up to a railgun, but now, the slugs were coming at her like so much hail in a storm. She could feel them through the suit’s sensors, its arms responding as though they were her own, translating every strike into nerve signals.
The agents were returning fire, but she focused on defense, putting herself in the way to cover them. Through the thick glass in her shield, she glimpsed something familiar, her heart missing a beat. One of the Marines was lying prone, aiming the long barrel of an AMR at her. She was vaguely aware of Barbosa calling out a warning, but the 20mm slug traveled faster than his voice, hitting her shield like a blow from a sledgehammer. By the time her visual cortex had processed the flash of her APS and the flecks of molten metal that were bursting through her shield like a shaped charge, the round was already embedding itself in her chest, the sheer force of the impact sending the eighteen-hundred-pound suit keeling backwards.
There was no pain – the suit was not designed to transmit it – but the impact reverberated all the way through the PCE. She could feel it rattle her teeth in her skull. Suddenly, the illusion of that impervious armor and shielding was shattered, leaving her vulnerable and naked.
Barbosa caught her, preventing her fall with his PCE, giving her a shove as though it was a wordless order to resume the fight. Another hit like that, and she’d be dead. The realization galvanized her, and she raised her fist, aiming it around her shield. As the adrenaline coursed through her, she watched her suit’s targeting computer pick out the heads of her assailants, almost as though the system itself was chomping at the bit – eager to kill. She engaged the twin XMHs that were built into the suit’s arm, but she ignored the targets, sweeping the weapon across the corridor to force the enemy into cover.
These people weren’t her enemies – they were doing their duty by protecting their carrier. They didn’t even know why Barbosa was here or what he wanted, and there wouldn’t even be a chance to explain until the battle was won.
Barbosa and Song had no such misgivings, forging ahead of her, their heavy rifles turning the gunman to a cloud of gore. The Marines were in retreat now, trying to cover each other with suppressing fire, the suits’ APS flashing as the plasma shielding rendered the slugs useless.
Petrova stood in the alley, soaked in sweat and blood, her chest heaving with each breath. Slain PDF surrounded her, their bodies littering the sandy ground, one of them still desperately clutching at his throat as each beat of his heart sent out another gush of crimson.
These were not criminals or gangsters – not targets marked for elimination by Fleetcom. The whole city was descending into chaos, and the troopers were totally out of control. They couldn’t tell the difference between civilians and insurgents, and they didn’t waste any time stopping to check. They had opened fire on her unprovoked, ignoring her attempts to identify herself. It was a fucking free-for-all. She’d been given no choice but to end the threat before they killed her and her friends.
She watched as the life slowly drained from her victim, her concealed blade still wet with his blood, knowing that he was already dead – he just hadn’t realized it yet. Another lay beside him, the hole in his shattered visor still smoking, his arms tensed at his sides in a posture indicative of brain trauma. One of them was still alive, shoving aside the air conditioning unit that she had used as a makeshift weapon, raising a hand and begging for her to stop. His voice sounded distant, blending with the far-off sounds of battle.
It was like a switch had been flipped in her brain, and she shifted from the violent, uncompromising mindset that she had entered all too easily. It was almost comfortable, to kill without thought or restraint – to react instead of evaluate. There was nobody giving her orders this time. Nobody was sanctioning her actions. This was all her, and she was responsible for every decision.
“Do you know?” Ruza repeated, snapping her back to the present. “Have you counted?”
“I never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it,” she replied, less sure of herself now.
“Can you say the same of your friends? Did Hoff only ever kill those who were an immediate threat to him? When Barbosa bombed our base from orbit, was he certain that there were no civilians present – no injured, no prisoners? I do not think so.”
“What the hell do you want from me!?” she snapped, tossing her tray to the floor with a crash and sending what remained of the scrambled eggs splashing across the metal panels. “It’s just over and over and over again – you never give it a rest! Do you want me to tell you that I’m terrible and I deserve to die? How does that help anything?”
“I want only for you to see as I did,” he replied, those yellow eyes piercing through her. “This is not about punishment, revenge, or feeling sorry for yourself. It is about seeing through unclouded eyes, and working to help make things right before time runs out. By the time I realized the magnitude of my mistake, my war was over, and there was no way to correct it. I spent years wandering, searching for a purpose that would assuage my guilt. You still have time to make a difference in this conflict.”
This was her chance. She could feign an epiphany, and the Rask would believe it. She could feed him small pieces of useless information to gain his trust – play the part of the repentant turncoat, and these people would eventually let down their guard in a way that she could exploit.
Petrova knew what she must do, so why could she not bring herself to follow through? She wanted more than just to escape now – she wanted to be right. Her cause was just, and she had only ever acted to protect humanity. Making him see that now seemed almost as important as winning her freedom. It was illogical, but she couldn’t shake the feeling – couldn’t suppress the indignation. She couldn’t let him be right, because what would that mean for her?
“What was his plan?” the alien asked, seeming to sense the conflict in her. “Many times, I have heard how Barbosa was to make Hades the crown jewel of his empire, but never details. What exactly were you promised that would see you follow him on this venture?”
“I’m not gonna be duped into giving you intelligence about his plans,” she snapped.
“That is not my intent,” he replied, those fuzzy ears tracking her just as intently as his eyes. “I wish only to understand what it is that you fight for so doggedly.”
“In summary, it’s a breakaway civilization,” she began. The exchange was emotionally exhausting her, but this was a chance to argue her case. “We’re establishing our own colony outside the authority of the UN, freeing ourselves from its bad decisions and corrupt leadership. Humanity is facing an extinction-level threat, not just from the Bugs, but from the Coalition itself. We’re building an independent military force powered by advanced weapons tech and human augmentation. We took the carrier because it makes the planet practically unassailable except by a large commitment of resources from the UNN, and our augmentation program is transforming the PDF you’ve been fighting into SWAR agents just as deadly as we are. Soon, there will be hundreds of PCEs and thousands of transhuman soldiers ready to face anyone who makes it to the surface.”
“Do you think that you can defeat the Coalition with a few thousand men?”
“We won’t need to,” she replied with a smirk. “The Commander chose Hades because it’s the most remote colony in the Sphere, it’s strategically insignificant, and the UN doesn’t give a rat’s ass about what happens to the people here. It’s changed hands between corporations, mobsters, and peacekeeping forces multiple times. We’re going to transform Hades from an irrelevant dustbowl into a shining beacon of civilization, and while the UN suffers the consequences of its mistakes, we’ll wait them out and emerge all the stronger on the other side. No more backstabbing allies, no aliens, no red tape and bureaucracy – just a bastion for my species.”
“It sounds as though you truly believe it,” Ruza replied, mulling over her words. “If you wish to transform Hades, would Valbaran ecologists and Jarilan Workers not be of great help? Would Broker investors not secure funding?”
“We didn’t get where we are by relying on others – especially not aliens who betray us at every turn.”
“Now, we are just retreading old ground,” Ruza grumbled. “I seem unable to convince you that there is no grand conspiracy to destroy your species from within. All I can ask you is whether you see Barbosa’s plan coming to fruition. Is all this death, destruction, and repression part of his grand vision?”
“There’s never been a bloodless revolution,” she sneered. “Besides, the majority of that is your fault. Without you blowing people up, raiding garrisons, and starting riots, we might be much further along by now. All this death and suffering is because of you.”
“Perhaps you should speak to the Hadeans themselves and see how they view your occupation,” the alien continued. “My friends and I did not start this rebellion. I went to the resistance for help after your people attacked me.”
Petrova went silent for a moment, remembering her conversations with Fran and the others. She recalled debating politics long into the night in the warm confines of Fran’s floral prefab, and the enthusiasm her friends had shown during the ill-fated protest. She also remembered the sting of being discovered – the way that her friends had looked at her, and the pain of being turned away.
“Either your Commander is not the master strategist you believe him to be, or he has not told you every aspect of his plan. Perhaps he has not shared more than you require to fulfill your purpose.”
“You have no idea,” she replied with a dry laugh. “He’s told me things that nobody else knows – I’m his right hand. I’m more important to him than you could ever understand, and that’s why he’s going to come for me. He’ll pull out all the stops – nothing will slow him down, and one day soon, I’m going to wake up to a team of SWAR pipe hitters breaking down that door.”
“You remind me of Korbaz,” Ruza replied. “She was made Admiral of the Rask fleet, and she served as the Matriarch’s second in command during the rebellion. That was, until the Matriarch betrayed her and ordered her to certain death. She swayed several Crewmasters to her cause, and when she returned to the East Gate, it was in the company of a UNN armored battalion and a Yagda superheavy repulsor. They burned through the Matriarch’s defenses, and Korbaz challenged her to a bout in the throne room, where she brutalized her rival and usurped her.”
“I’m aware,” Petrova replied. “My team was prepping to breach the throne room at the time. If she’d lost that fight, we would have wiped the palace clean of life.”
“You may believe that Barbosa sees you as some favored lieutenant,” the Rask continued, rising from his seat on the bed to loom over her. “But you will soon learn that nothing you do will ever be enough, and when you have outlived your usefulness, you will be discarded just like the rest.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” she replied, watching him leave.
DAY 50 – HADES OUTSKIRTS – REED
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