Dire Contingency
Copyright© 2025 by Snekguy
Chapter 27
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 27 - 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 52 – GEOTHERMAL PLANT – RUZA
Ruza opened one eye, his meditation disturbed by a knock at his door. When he bade the visitor to enter, he saw that it was Rivera.
“Brenner’s guys are back from the city,” the Marine declared, waiting for Ruza to rise and follow him.
They headed out of the room and up a flight of steps, finding three cloaked figures waiting in a hallway. It was the agents Brenner had sent to visit the city and relay their plans to the resistance. The men were still covered in sand from their trek across the desert, and they had removed their helmets, one of them shaking some of the lingering dust from his short-cropped hair. Ruza only knew a few of Brenner’s men by name, but they were all similarly dressed and equipped with their signature prosthetics. He noted with interest that one of them sported Elysian damascene on his forearm. Brenner soon arrived, and Reed joined them shortly after.
“What news?” Brenner asked.
“This better be good,” Reed complained, stifling a yawn. “It’s too damned early for this shit.”
“We made contact with Fuller and the resistance,” one of the agents began. “They’re on board with the plan you proposed, and they’re waiting for further instructions. They’ll be ready to move on your orders.”
“Glad to hear they’re all still okay,” Reed said as he leaned against the wall in the cramped corridor. “I don’t like leaving them back in the city like this.”
“What of the Governor?” Ruza pressed. “Were you able to pass on our request to him?”
“Yeah, and we got a reply,” the damascened agent continued. “Barbosa doesn’t share all aspects of his security operations with local officials, but the Governor thinks he can use his PDF contacts to track the MAST launchers the next time they’re moved. It’s a large operation, and it requires a lot of personnel – not something Barbosa can easily hide.”
“That’s good,” Brenner said with a nod. “Maybe we can get a reasonable idea of where they’ll be when the time comes.”
“The sooner we attack them, the better,” Rivera added. “It’ll give them less time to properly establish their defenses, and we’ll need every advantage we can get.”
“I’ve fought alongside Barbosa for thirty years,” Brenner began, his expression hard to discern due to his lack of eyes. “I have a pretty good idea of what he’ll do, and I know what I would do if our roles were reversed. The ASATs are the most important strategic objectives on the ground, so he’ll split his best forces between them. There will be PCEs, SWAR kill teams, and who knows how many PDF.”
“We won’t know what we’re up against until we scout out the sites,” Reed said as he glanced between his friends.
“And there won’t be much time for scouting if we want to hit them quickly,” Rivera added. “We can’t afford to be too cautious here. The longer we take to gather info and prepare, the more time they’ll have to harden their defenses.”
“We need to finalize our game plan and transmit a message to the Courser,” Brenner said as he scratched his stubbly chin with a polymer finger. “We only have three days left before she bounces.”
“There’s more,” the agent said, getting their attention. “The Governor has been made aware of another covert operation. Barbosa’s people have been moving select prisoners out of the garrisons, but unlike a normal prisoner transfer, no destination is marked down.”
“What, so they’re being transferred to nowhere?” Reed asked with a frown.
“More like transferred to graves,” Rivera grumbled, reaching out a hand as the agent passed him a tablet computer. “They might be trying to disappear some of their more problematic political prisoners. Let’s see here...”
He began to scroll through a list of names with mugshots, Reed drawing closer to lean over his shoulder. Ruza glanced down, his height giving him a clear view of the screen.
“Wait, wait!” Reed exclaimed as he placed a hand on Rivera’s shoulder. “Go back! Fuck me – that’s Bergmann! There’s that guy, too. What was his name?” he muttered as he snapped his fingers. “Fucking Henrik. He’s the guy from the Trade Association who attended a few of the meetings.”
“And that’s Yohanes from the FMU,” Rivera grumbled, the reality dawning on him. “Most of these people are Union higher-ups.”
“They’re going to execute them,” Reed stated simply, his tone devoid of any of his usual humor.
“Barbosa is removing pieces from the board,” Brenner confirmed with a solemn sigh. “Anyone who has the political power or the popular support to oppose him is an obstacle in his eyes.”
“I guess he really didn’t appreciate the strikes,” Reed added. “We knew that a lot of them had been arrested after the battle, but this is...”
“We must intervene,” Ruza insisted with a low growl. “There is no ambiguity about what Barbosa intends. This cannot be allowed to happen.”
“Do we have any idea where they’re being taken?” Rivera demanded as he turned back to the agents. “When is this transfer happening?”
“Tomorrow night,” the agent replied. “The Governor isn’t sure where they’re being taken, but it’s going to involve PDF armored transports, and those transports broadcast their location over an encrypted police network. He gave us the access codes.”
“So we’ll be able to find them,” Reed said, planting a fist in his palm. “Here’s hoping we can reach them in time, wherever they end up. Back in the days of the Syndicate, they’d drive people they wanted to disappear out into the wasteland where the storms would bury them, or they’d dump the bodies down old mine shafts. There are a lot of convenient places to hide a problem on Hades.”
“I realize that this could all be a trick on the Governor’s part to lure us into an ambush, but we’re going to have to just trust him at some point,” Rivera added as he scanned through the tablet.
“The Governor worked closely with Bergmann,” Ruza added. “He mediated between the Unions and Barbosa’s occupation forces. I do not believe that he would consent to their executions.”
“We’ll have a meeting about it and decide on a plan of action,” Brenner announced. “The mess should be cleared out in a couple of hours. Until then, go clean up and get some food.”
The agents acknowledged his order with a few nods, then made their way deeper into the plant, everyone else heading to the dining area to get some breakfast. Rivera and Ruza were the last to leave, but the Rask extended a hand to stop the Marine once they were alone.
“May we speak?” he asked.
“Alright,” Rivera replied. “What is it?”
“I want to ask your permission to bring Petrova on the coming rescue mission.”
“What?” Rivera scoffed, giving him a confused look. “Are you being serious? What makes you think that would be a good idea?”
“She has been making progress,” Ruza explained. “She resists us still, yet I feel that her faith in Barbosa has been weakening by the day. She lies to herself just as she lies to us. It is my belief that seeing this execution with her own eyes might be the final push that she needs. It would be undeniable, unfalsifiable evidence of what Barbosa has been doing in secret.”
“Taking her out into the field is extremely dangerous – downright stupid,” Rivera protested. “She could call the carrier the moment she gets outside, or she could give us away to the enemy while we’re getting into position. No. We can’t afford to take that risk.”
“There may be ways to mitigate those risks,” Ruza replied. “I am sure that Brenner will know of some way. If we are successful in this, we would win another SWAR agent to our cause, along with all of the information that she knows about Barbosa and his operations. It would be an invaluable asset.”
Rivera paused for a few moments, considering.
“Alright,” he conceded. “You’re not wrong – we’re going to need all the help we can get if we’re going to pull off Brenner’s plan, and she may know something useful. I’m not saying yes, but if you can find some way to make it safer, I’ll give it some genuine consideration. At the end of the day, it’s really Brenner’s decision anyway. Come to think of it, why didn’t you just go over my head?”
“We have not always seen eye to eye,” Ruza began. “That does not mean I do not respect you.”
“You seem more cooperative than usual,” Rivera mused, peering up at the alien suspiciously as though expecting him to elaborate. “What’s going on?”
“I have acted in error,” Ruza began. He wasn’t quite hanging his head, but he was subdued, his eyes peering at something further away than the rusty walls that surrounded them. “When I left Borealis, I thought that I had learned my lesson – that I was done. I would follow the orders of the unworthy no longer, and I would forge my own path. It is an easy thing for a human, but not so for a Rask. My people would see the rejection of the pack as a form of insanity – of anti-social behavior. They call people such as me rogues.”
“I’m assuming the word has negative connotations and isn’t a reference to your dashing good looks,” Rivera said as he folded his arms and waited for the Rask to continue.
“I fear that I learned the wrong lessons,” Ruza said, exhaling a rattling sigh. “I became guarded to all those who would command me, and I acted rashly without heeding the counsel of others. You have earned my respect, and I should have trusted you. Had I not disobeyed your orders, I might have been able to do more to help our comrades at the base. Perhaps Nick, Astrid, and the others might be here with us now.”
“Perhaps not,” Rivera said with a shrug. “Perhaps you’d have been killed during the bombing. Perhaps my team and I would have died at the garrison, or been killed by that PCE Barbosa sent after us. The what-ifs aren’t important, Ruza. What happened, happened, and we have no choice but to move forward. I do ... appreciate it, though,” he added hesitantly. “Listen, I’m not all sentimental like Amy and the others, but I have an idea of what you went through during the rebellion and how it affected you. Hell, if that happened to me, maybe I’d never trust my commanding officers again either. I know it’s worse for you, with how the pack is also the family and the squad and ... whatever.”
“You would?” Ruza asked, his ears rising a little.
“When I ask you to follow orders, I’m not lording over you like an Alpha,” Rivera continued. “When you enlist, you consent to being part of a command structure, and everyone within that structure has a role. They all have someone they answer to, going all the way to the top. We’re trained to follow orders because when we don’t, it gets people killed. Blindly obeying authority is never the answer – I think our friend Petrova can attest to that – but we have to trust that the people leading us know what they’re doing. I can’t give you orders without your consent – you’re not even military anymore. It’s up to you, but if you choose to be a part of this outfit or resistance movement or whatever you’d call it, other people are going to depend on you to follow the plan. You have to be on the same page.”
“I understand,” Ruza replied.
“I know that Reed and some of the other guys didn’t much appreciate me showing up and trying to run things,” Rivera continued. “I get it – they were doing fine before I came along. Now, Brenner is here, and the rules say that I have to do what he says.”
“Shit rolls downhill,” Ruza muttered.
“You hear that in the Navy?” Rivera chuckled.
“Something like that.”
“You did save my life,” the Marine continued, his expression softening. “With all the bullshit going on around here, I never stopped to thank you for that. If we did it all over again, I’d still give you the same damned orders I gave you back then, but it means something all the same. There’s responsibility that comes with command. You have to make the judgment calls – decide who lives and who dies. It can mean sending good men to their deaths so that others have a chance to live.”
“It is the trolley problem that you once spoke of.”
“Sometimes, we’re the ones who have to be on the wrong side of the tracks. When that time comes, we don’t bitch and complain. We suck it up and we do the damned job, because nobody else can do it for us. We’re Marines, and when our ticket gets punched, we go out with a fucking smile and we exact a hefty price on whoever’s foolish enough to cash that check.”
“You do not make such choices lightly,” Ruza said. “I have seen how they weigh on you. You made yourself a part of that valuation in ways that the Matriarch and Barbosa never would, and for those reasons, I will follow you. When next we go into battle, I hope that you will trust me again.”
“Well, alright,” Rivera said with an approving nod. “For the record, I’ve always trusted you to have my back, but you’ve been a bit of a loose cannon. I’m glad that we’re seeing eye to eye again. Not literally, of course.”
“As am I,” Ruza replied.
Rivera extended a hand, and Ruza hesitated for a moment before returning the gesture. If he remembered correctly, this was a human sign of reconciliation and friendship.
“Glad to have you back on the team, Doc.”
“It is a simple, non-invasive keyhole surgery,” Ruza insisted. “I can perform the procedure very easily with the tools and supplies at my disposal.”
“I’m not letting you scramble my brains with those giant oven mitts of yours, you Persian rug,” Petrova replied as she turned her nose up at him. The bed springs creaked as she folded her arms, glaring back at him.
“Brenner shared all of the specifications pertaining to your cochlear device. It is not implanted in your brain.”
“I’m being hyperbolic,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m expressing a generalized skepticism about your medical expertise, considering that your fingers are the size of my wrists, and you have knives on the ends of them.”
“I am qualified to perform such a procedure,” he continued. “I will make a simple incision below your ear, insert a thin cutting cool, and sever the wire that connects the device to its internal battery. It will damage neither you, nor your device, but it will stop you from sending signals to the carrier or your comrades. If you wish to accompany us on the mission, then those are my conditions.”
“You’ll have to tune my augs, too,” Petrova insisted.
“I will restore your legs to their former state so that you can keep pace, but not your arms,” he replied sternly. “You will be able to walk, but not fight.”
“That’s bullshit!” she scoffed. “What if I have to defend myself?”
“You are a prisoner, and you have forfeited that right.”
“So much for being a guest,” she muttered.
“I was using that term as a way to be more diplomatic about your situation,” he explained.
“Your bedside manner must be fucking terrible,” she hissed.
“This is your final chance,” Ruza continued. “Come with us and witness the things Barbosa keeps from you, or remain here and be turned over to the Navy as a criminal when they arrive.”
“Fine, fine,” she replied as she flopped back onto the bed. “I’ll do it. Anything to get out of this stupid plant for a few hours.”
“Very well,” Ruza said as he set down a medkit on the bed adjacent to hers. He popped the clasps, using his claws as a human might use their nails, opening the lid and starting to sift through its contents.
“Wait, you’re doing it here and now?” Petrova asked as she sat up again. “This isn’t exactly a sterile environment.”
“That is what antiseptic is for,” he said as he picked up a shining scalpel between his padded fingers.
DAY 53 – GEOTHERMAL PLANT – PETROVA
Petrova watched the team gear up from the sidelines, their clothing rustling and their equipment clattering as they donned body armor and fastened chest rigs. She had been a part of so many similar operations, but never quite in this way, sitting apart from the other agents. The resistance had set up a kind of makeshift armory in one of the rooms. None of the weapons or supplies were stowed on racks or properly stored – they were simply laid out on old tables, but it served its purpose well enough.
Brenner’s entire team was present, consisting of eleven agents, with his pet Bug making up the twelfth member. Curiously, they were wearing environment suits beneath their signature black armor and Kevlar, its pale white and gray colors standing out. The clothing was commonly used by UNNI agents to survive in hostile environments, with snaking tubing and electronics covering the skin-tight garments like veins, packing hidden weapons and tools. The two agencies had historically been combative at best, so it was surprising to see them sharing equipment.
There was a wide variety of agents, all of them likely hand-picked for the team by Brenner. She had come to recognize Silverback, with his Gorilla decal and his massive augmented arms. He looked like he could probably punch clear through a carbcrete wall. Then there was Wasp, with her svelte, lean build and her matching decal. While Petrova favored stealth and infiltration, Wasp was clearly a front-line combatant, built for speed and agility.
The rest were the usual assortment – nothing too out of the ordinary for SWAR agents. They tended to blend together with their faceless visors and dark colors, but anonymity was the point. She’d picked up their names while eavesdropping and had matched them with decals.
There was Kingfisher, Sandman, Rancher, Eyeball, Komodo, Strzyga, Halberd, and Viper. SWAR operatives either chose or earned their codenames during their careers, with some preferring to eschew the tradition entirely, despite the culture that had slowly developed over the decades.
They were loading XMRs and checking magazines, the configuration of their weapons no less exotic and personalized than their augments. She noted that many of them had embellishments of unknown origin, along with the usual laser-etched tattoos and decals. One of them sported spiraling damascene work like something from an antique bowl or an ancient weapon, one had tiger camo that matched the Bug’s autumn coloration, and another had strange LED panels embedded in his forearms that appeared to be switched off. While she didn’t know the meaning of many of the decorations, she understood that these agents had fraternized with aliens. They were like the polar opposites of Barbosa’s entourage – as though Brenner had chosen them purposefully.
She gave the Bug a disdainful look as she watched it throw open the Hadean leather cloak that it was wearing over its carapace, starting to slot handguns into a series of holsters on its chest carrier. They were small-frame XMH sidearms, the custom carrier making the alien look like some kind of age of sail pirate loaded with flintlock pistols. She found herself wondering if the Bug really could fire all four of them at the same time. It had enough arms...
Ruza was there too, the Rask tending to his beloved rifle, while Reed and Rivera prepared more conventional weapons beside him. They had insisted on coming, even though Brenner’s team could easily outpace and outfight them. In Brenner’s position, Petrova would not have humored their desire to stay involved.
She felt naked, surrounded by so much armor and weaponry, but being allowed none. At least her legs were working properly again. Her ear still ached a little from the Rask’s surgery, but though she hated to admit it, the procedure had been quick and effective. She could no longer call for help using her cochlear implant, but there was no chance of escape from within these walls regardless.
Her every instinct told her to play the part – to pretend until an opportunity presented itself to slip away and escape, but that little voice was in the back of her mind again. It was a nagging doubt – a self-destructive curiosity that demanded to be satiated. If what she knew about Barbosa and the operation was true, and her loyalties were well-placed, then she had nothing to fear from whatever the insurgents wished to show her.
“Are you ready?” Ruza asked, his gravelly voice getting her attention as he strode over to where she was sitting. He held his long rifle like a spear, its bayonet shining beneath the light strips. Having seen how he used it, the comparison was an apt one.
“I don’t exactly have a lot of things to pack,” she replied as she rose to her feet. “You know, I’d kind of gotten used to my legs being all weird. Now that they’re back to normal, my arms feel even stranger than usual.”
“Earn our trust, and you shall earn your limbs back,” Ruza replied.
“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed as he reached out to help adjust her cloak. He placed a PDF helmet over her head, Petrova wrinkling her nose at the lingering scent of its previous owner. Her own helmet fit her like a glove, but everything about this one felt slightly off. It wasn’t enough to make it uncomfortable – just enough to keep her constantly aware of it in the most annoying way possible. “What are you going to show me, anyway?” she asked as she adjusted it.
“We have agreed not to tell you before we arrive,” Ruza replied evasively. “We do not want you to formulate an opinion before you see for yourself.”
“If this is some elaborate trick...”
“No trick,” he insisted. “Stay close to me. I will protect you.”
“And keep an eye on me,” she added.
The group was soon ready to move out, and they headed up through the winding corridors and narrow staircases – higher than Petrova had ever been allowed to venture before. They eventually entered what looked like the lobby of a commercial building, shafts of sunlight bleeding through the filthy windows. As she stepped outside, she felt the warmth of the system’s hypergiant star bathe her, her visor darkening automatically to protect her eyes from the intense UV rays. She was standing on a raised gantry overlooking what appeared to be a canyon of some kind. Great walls of rock rose up to either side of the building, the structure itself built into the stone, the ground below them covered in dunes of shifting sand. The formations acted like a natural windbreak, protecting the plant from the storms and ensuring that it could only be approached from certain directions.
“Nice place to hole up,” she muttered as Ruza guided her down the metal stairs. “This place is like a natural fortress. I can see why you chose to use it as a base. I’m guessing that we’re out beyond the city in the wasteland somewhere?”
“Indeed,” he replied as he hopped down onto the sand. It must be as hot as a bed of coals beneath his bare paws, but it didn’t seem to bother him, the Rask striding along with remarkable ease for his size. One would expect his weight to make him sink, but that wasn’t the case. Petrova followed, allowing herself a brief smile as she felt the sand beneath her boots and the wind tugging at her clothes. It was good to be beneath an open sky again.
“This way,” Brenner ordered, taking point and waving them on. “I hope you can all keep pace with a SWAR team. We can’t afford to be late.”
“You kidding?” Reed scoffed as he trudged through the sand. “You guys are tourists here. I’m a Hadean through and through. I know these deserts like the back of my own hands, and sand runs through my veins.”
“Is that so?” Wasp replied with a derisive chuckle.
“There are tricks for moving through terrain like this,” Reed continued, starting to get a little out of breath as he crested a dune. “It’s all about the way you distribute your weight.”
“Uh-huh,” Wasp replied sarcastically.
“Hold up for a sec!” Reed gasped, stopping at the base of a dune. He bent double to catch his breath, his labored panting coming through inside Petrova’s helmet.
“What’s the matter?” Wasp chuckled, turning to face him as she continued to walk backwards. “I thought you said you could keep up with us? You were in the Marine Corps, right? Why are you so out of shape?”
“Oh, it’s fine for you!” Reed protested, waving a hand at her dismissively. “Your feet can’t get blisters, and you burn half the calories I do!”
“Would you like me to carry you?” she asked in a mocking voice, crossing her arms.
“No!” he protested. “Just gimme a goddamned minute here.”
“I think the sand in your veins needs a top-up.”
Most of the group was a little further ahead, Petrova jogging to catch up to them. The agents were all used to marching through rough terrain, and Rivera was actively serving, so he didn’t complain. Reed and Ruza were dragging their feet, the giant Rask seeming almost as exhausted as the human.
“You too, big guy?” Petrova asked as she walked past him. “I thought Rask were supposed to be stronger than humans?”
“Strength, I have in abundance,” he grumbled as he reached up to wipe his mouth with his leather sleeve. “Stamina is not my people’s domain. We are not endurance hunters like you – we are built for short bursts of speed.”
“Well, your women must be very disappointed,” she added as she skipped ahead of him.
“Enough fucking around,” Brenner ordered as he climbed up the next dune, his rifle in hand. “The signal is getting stronger – we’re almost there.”
They had been marching all day without stopping, skirting around the edge of the city where there would be no drones and the carrier wouldn’t have a reason to look, taking advantage of a break in the storms as the season neared its end. The sun had set, plunging the wasteland into a surprising chill, the icy moon casting its pale light bright enough to see unaided. Petrova found it beautiful in a kind of cold, lonely way.
“Form up,” Brenner said, kneeling at the crest of the dune and resting his rifle on the cool sand. “Harley – get us a bird’s eye view.”
“Boss,” the Jarilan replied with a nod. He flipped open his hood, then cast his leather shawl to the ground, Petrova hearing a sound almost like creaking wood as the wing covers on his back began to open. Like a beetle taking flight, they rose to reveal a set of four gossamer wings, the appendages creating an ominous hum and displacing the nearby sand as they began to beat. As much disdain as she had for the creature, it was still quite the sight to watch him rise above the dunes – a mythical fairy armed to the teeth with high-powered railguns and a rig full of mags. His antennae waving in the breeze, he continued up, soon becoming a small speck in the starry sky.
“Will he give away our position?” Petrova asked as she neared Silverback.
“Barbosa thinks he controls the sky,” the agent replied as he watched the alien zip away. “His people have no reason to look up. We’re gonna teach them the error of their ways.”
“Patching in,” Brenner said, reaching up to touch the panel on the side of his helmet. They couldn’t use radio, but laser comms would work fine as long as everyone was in direct line of sight. Petrova followed suit, tapping into the data feed that was shared between the squad, seeing a view from Harlequin’s perspective appear in-picture on her helmet’s HUD.
Like a living surveillance drone, he was soaring above the clouds, the cameras on his helmet scanning the desert for miles around. It didn’t take him long to find their target in the almost featureless expanse, the view telescoping in to track a small convoy of four vehicles, their desert camouflage doing little to conceal them as they kicked up torrents of dust in their wake.
“They’re about three klicks out, heading North at a decent clip,” he announced.
“Keep eyes on them,” Brenner replied. “The rest of you – fall in and pick up the pace.”
“Fucking hell,” Reed muttered under his breath as he began to jog again.
They traversed the dunes, the Jarilan keeping them apprised of the enemy’s movements. Petrova wasn’t sure what the PDF were doing out here – her captors still hadn’t told her – but it couldn’t be anything good if it was happening so far from the city. As far as she knew, there was nothing out this way. It was beyond even the ASAT launch sites.
As they traversed the dunes, the Jarilan gave them an update. The trucks had stopped in a seemingly random patch of desert, and they were unloading, PDF troopers piling out of the backs of the vehicles. She watched through the alien’s eyes as more figures followed, their hands bound and their heads hooded. The PDF treated them roughly, pushing and shoving, one of them jabbing his captive in the back with the barrel of his rifle. There were soon a dozen prisoners and twice as many troopers standing in the sand, the trucks illuminating them with their floodlights, the bound figures made to kneel in a row.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening here.
As she watched, three more figures disembarked from the lead truck, their gait giving them away before their black armor had even resolved on the cameras. They were SWAR agents. There was no audio from so far away, but one of the operatives gestured as he gave the PDF orders, and some of the troopers began to fan out to create a perimeter. The rest kept the captives at gunpoint as the agent walked down the line, tearing off their hoods one by one.
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