Dire Contingency
Copyright© 2025 by Snekguy
Chapter 26
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 26 - 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 50 – GEOTHERMAL PLANT – RUZA
“My guys will do it,” Reed said, leaning over to the table to tap at the tablet display. “Man, I miss when we had that conference room with the projector. It made everything feel all official. But yeah, they’ve been itching for a fight, and they’re getting bored of hitting PDF supply convoys. They’ll be up for this ASAT attack if I pitch it to them.”
“The biggest issue will be locating the MASTs,” Harlequin said, resting two arms on the table as he pointed to the map of the city with a third. He was holding a can of beer with the fourth, taking a sip from it with his long proboscis, which didn’t interfere with his speech. “I think we’re going to have to rely on the Governor for that information, if he even has high enough clearance to know when and where they’re being moved.”
“I once had a team of scouts that could have tracked their movements,” Ruza sighed. “I lost contact with them during the battle, and I doubt that they survived. Last I heard from them, they were pinned by SWAR teams near the anchor. I may be able to track the MASTs myself, but it would take time to decipher any kind of routine, especially if the enemy seeks to obfuscate it. Time that we do not have.”
“We’ll just have to hope that the Governor has the contacts he needs, and that he doesn’t decide to screw us,” Brenner said as he walked into the room in the company of two agents. Ruza looked up, greeting him with a nod.
“How did your reunion with Petrova go?” Ruza asked. “I had hoped that she might be more receptive to one of her own kind.”
“Barbosa really did a number on her,” he sighed as he took a seat at the table. “It’s like she’s been brainwashed. Everything I tell her, she just rejects automatically.”
“That girl is wacko,” Wasp added as she stood behind her Commander, twirling a prosthetic finger near her head. “If you ask me, she’s a lost cause.”
“She is defensive, like a cornered desert mouse,” Ruza explained. “Accepting our truth means the destruction of her worldview, and acknowledgment that she has made grave errors in judgment. That is not easy – I know this. It is a destructive process of death and rebirth. After I was injured, I spent many weeks languishing in a hospital bed as my former enemies nursed me back to health. I had much time to think, and it took days before I stopped trying to justify my Matriarch’s actions. Longer still before I could accept my situation.”
“You were injured?” Brenner asked, raising a brow above his empty eye socket.
“Acute radiation sickness,” Ruza explained. “I was sent into a damaged Crawler and was exposed to a fission reactor with cracked shielding.”
“Ouch,” Brenner replied with a wince. “I was on Borealis – hope it wasn’t the Crawler that my team hit.”
“No,” Ruza said with a shake of his shaggy head. “My vessel was destroyed by artillery fire.”
“You seem to have made a full recovery,” Brenner mused.
“Thanks to my Jarilan friends,” Ruza said with a gesture to Harlequin. “Through contacts I made during my deployment to Kerguela, I was able to get help, and they repaired my damaged DNA with gene therapies.”
“I thought you looked a little young and spry for someone of your age,” Brenner said. “Kerguela was where I met Harlequin, too. He’s part of a new airborne infantry program they’ve been cooking up.”
“Grasshoppers?” Ruza asked, giving the Jarilan a glance. “Bluejay’s program?”
“You know Bluejay?” Harlequin asked, his antennae pricking up in interest.
“I fought by his side throughout the early months of the campaign,” Ruza confirmed. “I found him to be loyal and courageous. I never once saw him hesitate to risk his life for another, and his skill with a rifle on the wing was something to behold.”
“Holy shit,” Harlequin chuckled. “That guy is a legend to us. Every Jarilan male aspires to be accepted into his training program.”
“What, is he like a celebrity to you?” Reed chuckled.
“Yeah, and we don’t have many of those yet,” Harlequin replied. “Sure, he’s only a year or two older than most of us, but that’s seniority as far as Jarilans are concerned. He invented what it means to be airborne infantry.”
“How old are you?” Reed asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“I’m four,” Harlequin replied.
Reed slowly reached across the table and tried to take away the beer that the insect had been drinking, Harlequin wresting it back.
“Relax, Endo. We pupate at six months. If I’m not wriggling around limbless and non-verbal on the floor, it means I’m fully mature, and I can handle my beer.”
“If there will be more like Bluejay, then we shall be well served,” Ruza continued. “I will be glad to have you fighting by my side, Harlequin.”
“You know, it’s nice to meet someone new and feel appreciated for once,” the Jarilan added as he took another sip of his drink. “The rest of you could learn something about etiquette from Ruza here.”
“During our first meeting, you dropped down onto my head like a spider and held a knife to my throat,” Reed complained.
“Just be glad that I didn’t lay any eggs in you,” Harlequin replied.
Reed began to laugh, then his expression soured.
“He can’t actually do that, can he?” he asked as he looked to Wasp. The operative just shrugged.
“No hard feelings, I hope,” Brenner added as he resumed his exchange with Ruza. “As far as I’m concerned, now that the old Matriarch has been removed, we’re square.”
“I harbor no hatred for my old enemies,” Ruza explained. “We paid for our mistakes in blood, and the account is settled. Without the UNN treating my condition, I would have died long before a cure became available.”
“That’s good to hear,” Brenner replied. “Lord knows I need to watch my back around here enough as it is. Well, I’d better go find Rivera and start planning for this op,” he added as he rose from his seat. “We only have five days left before we’re supposed to send our signal. We need to send a group back to the city to contact the Governor and relay our plans to the resistance so they’re up to speed.”
“It sure sucks not having reliable comms,” Wasp grumbled. “Gotta deliver every message by hand like it’s the fucking seventeen-hundreds.”
“Reed, Rivera, and I should remain here so that we can work on the plan,” Ruza said.
“I’ll send back a couple of my agents in the morning,” Brenner confirmed with a nod. “They know the way, and they should be able to make the round trip pretty quickly. SWAR don’t tire easily. We’ll need to come up with some kind of pitch they can take back before then.”
“What of Petrova?” Ruza asked. “Do you still think it wise to let her roam in other areas of the plant?”
“She can visit, and only while supervised,” Brenner warned. “Don’t leave her alone, even for a moment, no matter what excuse she gives. If she has to go to the bathroom, you take her back down to her cell. We’re still pretty deep underground here, so her implants won’t be able to get a message out, but just be aware that it’s her priority. If she can dash to a window or an exit, she’ll try it. Don’t believe anything she tells you.”
“You sure we shouldn’t just leave her downstairs if she’s that dangerous?” Reed scoffed. “Sounds like the kind of problem we don’t need right now.”
“She has information about Barbosa’s operations that we can use,” Brenner explained. “I think being around people who aren’t fucking crazy for a while might mellow her out. Talk to her – show her that you’re just normal people.”
“What if we put a foil hat on her?” Reed suggested. “Would that block the signals?”
“Just try to be constructive,” Brenner sighed.
DAY 51 – GEOTHERMAL PLANT – PETROVA
“It’s time,” Brenner said.
Petrova glanced up from the tablet, seeing his silhouette blocking the door.
“For what, my execution?”
“No, to tell me whether you’re ready to come topside,” he replied as he stepped into the light. “You’ve had a day to examine the evidence and think it over. Are you going to reject it as a conspiracy, or are you ready to come out and talk?”
Petrova set down the tablet, mulling over the question for a moment. She wasn’t actually still reading – she had been trying to crack the encryption on the device to see if she could activate its wireless functionality.
Regardless of her true feelings, she had to say yes, as it was her only chance to find a way to escape. Still, it wouldn’t be a complete lie. There was doubt in her mind, and interacting with the insurgents might shed some light on what was really going on, whether for good or ill.
“Alright,” she conceded. “I’ll admit it – if this data is genuine, it’s pretty damning. I’m willing to talk to the others.”
“One slip up, and you’ll be back down here staring at a wall for the rest of the war,” Brenner added sternly. “You get one chance, so don’t mess it up.”
She rose to her feet, unsteady as ever on her undervolted legs, walking over to him. Together, they headed towards the one exit, her heart fluttering as she finally saw it open. Standing beyond it were a pair of armed Marines, the men watching her warily as she followed Brenner through into the corridor outside. It was the first time she had left her quarters. The facility looked no different outside, but it still felt like she was crossing a threshold.
“Do you need help walking?” Brenner asked, eyeing her shaky gait.
“No, I can handle it,” she muttered as she extended a hand to brace herself against the wall. She felt like an old woman, hobbled like this.
They climbed a couple of flights of metal stairs, then her sensitive cochlear implants began to pick up the sound of voices. People were having conversations further down the hallway. They grew louder as she neared another door, and she realized how close she must have been to the rest of the facility’s inhabitants. She hadn’t been locked away deep in a mine – she’d only been a couple of floors beneath them.
The door opened to some kind of galley, and she was suddenly faced with two dozen people. There were men wearing Marine uniforms, SWAR agents identifiable by their augs, and even several civilians or maybe insurgents who were sitting around metal tables. It appeared to be a common area of sorts – maybe the place where people congregated to eat and socialize. The Rask was there too, rising head and shoulders above his neighbors even while sitting. The chairs must be too small to support his massive frame, so he was sitting on the floor, his height still putting him level with the table.
Petrova suddenly felt oddly shy, all eyes in the room turning on her as the conversations abruptly died down – few of them welcoming. She was an enemy to many of these people. Worse – a tyrant or a traitor. Whether she agreed with their assessment or not, that was how she should expect to be treated. Unsure of what to do next, she waited for Brenner to introduce her, her eyes wandering between the stony faces that peered back at her.
“Well, look who finally came out of their room!” one of them said. Perhaps it was an attempt to break the ice, but she found him immediately irritating.
The only one she’d really interacted with at length was the Rask, so she hobbled her way over to him, the alien pulling out a seat for her. She sat down beside him, glad to be off her unsteady feet, the alien’s exaggerated presence somehow comforting as she peered around the table.
“Petrova here is going to be staying with us for a while,” Brenner announced. “Try to be nice to her, but don’t leave her unattended, even for a moment.”
“Don’t worry,” the first man began, grinning as he leaned across the table in her direction. “Looks like kitty’s been de-clawed. Ruza’s set her to physical therapy mode.”
“I know you,” Petrova replied, scowling back at him. “I’ve seen your face before in security briefings. You’re Reed – wanted for acts of terrorism.”
“My reputation precedes me,” he confirmed with an exaggerated flourish. “That’s me, the one and only.”
“You build IEDs that kill unsuspecting people.”
“Calling them improvised really downplays how much time and work goes into them,” he continued, adjusting his weight in his seat and miming building something with his hands. “You see, it’s all about the ratio of plastic explosive to shrapnel. Too much oomf, and it’ll just vaporize all the lug nuts and ball bearings. Too little, and it won’t have a wide enough area of effect. You want some directionality, too – gotta make sure all the red-hot airborne scrap metal goes where you want it to. Ideally, right into an unsuspecting Borg’s face.”
“You’re a coward,” Petrova sneered.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” he replied with a sigh. “It’s not like getting blown up is even that big of a deal for you people. What are you gonna do – lose a leg? Look at that guy,” he continued with a gesture to Brenner. “You think he’d care if a grenade went off in his face? It might even be an improvement. No offense intended,” he added.
“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Brenner grumbled. “Let’s try to be constructive, please.”
“See, I don’t work for him, so I can say that,” Reed whispered. “He can’t hit me because it would be like someone dropping a piano on a puppy or something. Punching down.”
“I’ll hit you,” the woman with the Wasp decal chimed.
“Have you eaten today, Petrova?” Ruza asked in an obvious attempt to steer the conversation somewhere more productive. “Can I fetch you something?”
“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled, glancing around the room. Many of the people sitting at the further tables had resumed their conversations and meals. She recognized a handful of them. There was one of the Marines she had seen accompanying Rivera, though the man himself seemed to be absent, and she could see the secretary who had come to visit her some days prior. Amy – that had been her name. She was sitting across from her at the table, munching on a tray of MRE rice and pork, watching her curiously. This woman was a civilian, and she hadn’t shown any ill will towards Petrova, nor did she look like she participated in combat. If she was to be believed, she was here by happenstance. With so few friendly faces, she was as good a place to start as any.
“I should probably thank you,” Petrova began. “You came to comfort me the other day. I’m not sure why you did it, or that I needed it, but it was a kind gesture.”
“You’re welcome,” Amy replied, pausing her meal. “I just didn’t want you to feel the way I did when I got captured. It’s scary.”
“I figured it was some kind of angle to win my trust or get me to talk. I realize that probably wasn’t the case.”
“Trust must be a difficult thing to give in your position.”
“What do you mean?” Petrova asked.
“You’re a spy, right? They told me that lying is like ... your job or something. You’re trained not to tell the truth, and you never expect the truth from anyone else. That has to be a lonely way to live.”
“I suppose,” Petrova grumbled, crossing her arms defensively. “And you trust these people, do you? They’re bomb-makers, terrorists, special forces soldiers. What do you have in common with them?”
“More than you might think,” Amy replied, taking a bite of pork. “We all want the same things. We all believe in the same ideals. The Doc, Reed, these new cyborg guys – they’re all on the same page. We don’t believe that your boss should be able to come here and take control of our lives without our consent. It’s a pretty simple concept.”
“If you knew what was happening in the Galaxy, maybe you’d feel differently,” Petrova continued. “You might see why it’s necessary.”
“All your side has done since you arrived is lie,” Amy replied, waving a plastic fork at her. “You lied about being with the Navy, you lied about what happened to the PDF, you lied about the resistance, you told people the Doc was a cannibal. Now, we’ve learned that you’re lying about the rations, too. You have plenty of supplies – you’re just letting people go hungry while you shore up your defenses.”
“I didn’t know about that,” Petrova protested. “If it’s even true...”
“Then your boss is lying to you as well,” Amy continued. “If he needs a whole framework of lies upon lies to get his way, maybe he’s just wrong. Would you follow someone who uses you like a tool?”
“You don’t know him,” Petrova chided.
“I don’t need to. I can judge him by his actions, and by the company he keeps. My mother always said that you should look at the people someone associates with to get a true idea of their personality. You develop keen instincts for that kind of thing when you live through the Syndicate.”
Petrova turned her attention back to the room, watching the insurgents interact. They all seemed to be mingling, with only Brenner’s people sitting apart. Perhaps it was because they were new arrivals, or maybe the others still didn’t trust Borgs yet. Brenner wouldn’t have come here without a solid plan, but she couldn’t imagine what it might be. Any offensive would require a simultaneous attack on pretty much all of Barbosa’s assets, including the carrier and the station. How could he pull that off without the overwhelming numbers and firepower of a fleet? Maybe she could find out and bring that information back to Barbosa.
She heard a door open, turning her head to see a handful of people enter the galley. There were a couple of men in Marine uniforms, along with Rivera, and something else. Her blood ran cold as she saw a familiar shape, its spindly limbs and colorful chitin triggering something deep in her amygdala. She felt a warm, furry hand on her wrist, peeling her eyes away from the creature to see that Ruza was gripping her forearm. There was a plastic knife clutched in her hand – she hadn’t even realized that she was holding it. The Rask seemed to sense her change in demeanor, watching her closely.
“That is Harlequin,” he said in a low voice. Calling it soothing or comforting was an exaggeration with its gravelly, almost growling timbre, but he was making an attempt. “He is a friend.”
“Brenner must have really gone off the rails if he brought a Bug here,” she hissed, watching the thing warily as it approached. “How can he stand being in the same room as that thing without killing it?”
“You might have said the same of me at one point,” Ruza replied.
“You’re not off the hook yet,” she muttered. “I’m still thinking about it.”
He replied with a low chuckle that sounded almost like a chuff.
Like a cat singling out the only person in a room that wasn’t interested in it, the Bug seemed to hone in on her, its antennae waving in the air. It walked over on its digitigrade legs, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside Amy, putting itself opposite Petrova. It had strangely fluid movements – nothing like the jerking, erratic motions of its kin. It was uncanny – like watching a praying mantis that had somehow evolved to mimic a human form instead of a lotus flower.
“You must be Petrova,” it said, speaking with a human voice and human inflections. Its English was even better than Ruza’s – somehow more natural, as though it was a first language rather than something it had adopted. Its face was made up of segmented plates, like a clay mask that had been smashed and pieced back together, its lips not quite moving in sync with its words. “Brenner has told me all about you.”
“Is that so?” she muttered.
“You don’t have to be so afraid,” it replied, seeming to feign concern.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she hissed. “I’ve killed more of you than I can count.”
“Maybe not fear, then,” the Bug replied as its moth-like antennae wiggled in the air. “But stress hormones are bleeding out of your pores. I get the impression that you’d lunge across this table and twist my head off if the good Doctor here hadn’t tuned you down.”
“Don’t do that,” she replied with a grimace. “I didn’t give you permission to smell me.”
“Sorry, but I can’t turn it off,” it said with an eerily human shrug. “Pheromones are part of how we communicate. We’re part human, so it’s second nature to us. It’s kind of like being an empath – it gives us some insight into how our primate pals are feeling.”
“What about Borealans?” Ruza asked, his interest piqued.
“I haven’t spent a lot of time around madcats, but we can learn,” the Bug replied. “It doesn’t come quite as naturally to us, on account of us sharing no DNA, but we can read the scents from pretty much any species given enough practice and context.”
“What do you mean by human DNA?” Amy asked.
“My dad was human and my mother was Betelgeusian,” it explained, the very concept making Petrova’s skin crawl. “Sometimes, when a man and a woman love each other very much, they combine their genetic material in a kind of churning biological vat of gene-sequencing organs.”
“Romantic,” Amy chimed, eating another spoonful of rice.
“The Queen took samples of human DNA and used it to splice together the Jarilans. We’re an artificial species designed from the chromosome up to integrate into the wider Galactic community and socialize with other races rather than, y’know, eating them all. Genetically speaking, you and I are cousins.”
“That explains why you act so ... normal,” Amy added. “Sorry, I couldn’t think of a more diplomatic way to phrase it.”
“Nah, it’s cool,” the hybrid replied with a dismissive wave of an upper hand. “We’re still fundamentally arthropods. I like to think that we’re human software running on insect hardware.”
“I’d never even seen an alien until Ruza moved here,” Amy chuckled, glancing across the table at him. “Now I’ve seen two.”
“All Jarilans are members of the unofficial outreach program,” Harlequin continued, placing a four-fingered hand on his molded chest piece. “Don’t be scared to ask if you have any weird questions. I won’t get offended.”
“Alright,” she began. “What’s that tube you were using to drink?”
“A proboscis,” it replied, opening its beak-like mouth to extend the fleshy organ. “It’s kind of like an organic straw. There are taste buds lining the inside – just like on your tongue.”
“Does that mean you can’t eat solid food?” Amy asked. “Or do you spit on it to dissolve it like a fly?”
“Now that would be weird,” the insect laughed. “Nah, we’re designed to eat honey. It’s a protein and sugar-rich substance made by Repletes in the hive. They break down solid foods into a kind of gel that contains all of the vitamins and nutrients that we need, just condensed down into a small package. We can operate on a couple of toothpaste tube-sized ampules per day. It’s very efficient, and it makes us very easy to feed. We have no need to carry around large MREs like you endos, and our supply lines are a lot simpler.”
“What’s endo mean?” Amy asked.
“You have an endoskeleton,” the Jarilan replied. “That means your bones are on the inside. We have exoskeletons, meaning ours are on the outside. Wanna touch?” it added, extending a hand.
Amy reached out tentatively, touching the painted carapace.
“Oh, wow!” she giggled. “It kind of feels like flexible plastic – not at all what I expected. Can you feel this?”
“Yeah, we have nerve endings in our shells,” the alien explained. “This isn’t my real coloration – Grasshoppers are painted with Kerguelan camo. It’s kind of become our calling card.”
“I guess it doesn’t come off easily,” she mused. “Can I touch your antenna?”
“Gently,” it replied, lowering its head to bring the sensitive organs closer. Amy reached out and ran the delicate hairs through her fingers, smiling as she appeared to enjoy the texture.
“It’s really soft!” she declared.
“It’s basically my nose,” it explained. “The hairs are lined with chemoreceptors that can pick up airborne compounds. It’s how I can smell so well, and how I read pheromone signals.”
“Kind of like a bloodhound?” Amy asked. “I noticed that you can talk and drink at the same time – how do you do that? Do you have lungs?”
“Not as such,” it explained. “I have spiracles. They’re little holes all across my body that exchange gases the same way your respiratory system does. We can store oxygen in our tissues and hold our breaths for a really long time – it’s how we survive in space without a suit.”
“What’s the horn for?”
“Mostly decorative,” it replied with a shrug. “Each one is unique – like a human fingerprint – and our ancestors would use them to help identify one another beyond pheromone distance.”
“Your ancestors?” Petrova interjected, Amy and Harlequin pausing their conversation to glance over at her. “You talk about them like you diverged thousands of years ago. Try something more like five. Your Queen never stopped being a Betelgeusian – she just gave her latest batch of Drones a fresh coat of paint.”
“You’re SWAR,” the Jarilan replied, leaning back in its chair. “You’ve probably spent more time actively fighting ferals in the field than I’ve been alive. Does nothing strike you as being different between us? For example, I’m having a conversation with you right now instead of desperately crawling through mines and barbed wire trying to stab you.”
“I know where you come from,” she continued with a scowl. “The Queens never stop plotting and planning. They’re giant biological computers whose only purpose is furthering their own goals and their own bloodline. What a coincidence that yours is the only one ever known to surrender, and that her Workers and Drones are now proliferating across human space unchecked. If she can make hybrids and gene therapies, she can make gene weapons.”
“Shut your mouth,” the man with the gorilla decal warned, drawing closer to the Jarilan and crossing his massive arms. “He earned his seat on the Courser. I’m not gonna stand here and let you, of all people, call his loyalty into question. You don’t even know the meaning of the word anymore.”
“No, no,” the alien said with a wave of its hand. “It’s alright, Silver. Let her say her piece. If we don’t know where she’s coming from, we can’t help her get where she’s going. Besides, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve gotten this reaction...”
“What more is there to say?” Petrova grumbled. “We can’t trust the Jarilans. As much as they want everyone to think otherwise, they’re still Bugs.”
“When the Queen surrendered, she became subservient to humans,” the insect explained. “She’s not capable of betrayal – she’s a part of you. She made us to become closer to you. Sure, she might not experience emotions the same way that you and I do, and she might be motivated more by logic than sentimentality, but she only wants to make herself useful. Survival for her and her brood hinges on staying in your good graces and making herself too valuable to throw away.”
“And what about you?” Petrova asked. “Is your worldview just pragmatism too?”
“I’m part human,” the alien explained. “Jarilans are designed to socialize with humans. We feel all the same emotions, and if there’s one constant between all the different castes, it’s the desire to prove ourselves and be accepted. It kind of sucks having only good intentions but always being judged for things we can’t control.”
“What if the Queen only gave you those emotions as a form of camouflage, like an insect evolving to mimic a stick? Would you even be aware of it?”
“I don’t think she truly understands the scope of what she gave us,” the Jarilan replied, more pensive now. “There’s no emergent behavior in Betelgeusians. They’re like biological machines – engineered to fulfill a specific purpose and nothing else. They have sapience, but no free will, and no ability to grow or change beyond their design. We still have some back home that survived the invasion, and seeing them makes me sad. They’re incapable of learning to do anything outside the scope of their design. More than that, it upsets and confuses them.”
“They surrendered after the war?” Amy asked.
“Yeah,” Harlequin replied. “The Queen made them non-hostile, and they were needed to maintain the hive until the first batch of Jarilans were hatched, so there was no reason to get rid of them. We let the Workers dig tunnels, we send the Drones out to patrol empty roads, and it keeps them content enough. It’s so odd being around them – like looking into a dark mirror of what you could have been. There’s a person there looking back at you, but the scope of their intelligence and their experience of the world is so narrow, and so driven by chemical programming. They’re only happy when they’re fulfilling their purpose, and they lack the capacity to do anything outside of that.”
“That’s what makes you different, then,” Amy said with a nod.
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