Dire Contingency
Copyright© 2025 by Snekguy
Chapter 28
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 28 - 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 53 – GEOTHERMAL PLANT – RUZA
“It’s good to know that we finally have some backing from the Navy,” Bergmann said as he leaned his hands on the makeshift conference table in the mess. He was joined by the resistance’s leaders, along with a few of Brenner’s SWAR agents who stood nearby, overseeing the meeting. “It’s not the fleet I was hoping for, but it’s better than nothing.”
“They’re on their way, but we have to work with what we have right now,” Brenner replied, lifting a glass of water to his lips with his prosthetic arm.
“Do you really think this plan will work?” Omar asked. “It sounds like a long shot to me.”
“Which of our plans haven’t been long shots?” Reed scoffed. “This is how it’s always been. We play the odds, sometimes we win, and sometimes we roll snake eyes. There’s no way to be certain of anything.”
“I’m afraid that you put all of that effort into rescuing me, and I can’t offer you much in return,” Bergmann continued. “I can’t leverage any of my contacts out here, and I don’t have any legitimate power or influence to wield anymore. Barbosa has ruthlessly dismantled the Unions, and the base is gone, along with all of our stockpiles.”
“That wasn’t the only reason we rescued you guys,” Reed said, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the table. He was wearing his newly acquired combat boots, making sure that the SWAR agents could see them. “We kinda like you, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“I just feel so powerless now,” Bergmann sighed. “I’m still acting like the leader of the resistance, but I can’t really contribute anything anymore. It’s in Agent Brenner’s hands now.”
“They’re very capable hands,” Wasp added.
“They’d better be, considering how much of my tax money probably went towards them,” Reed muttered.
“Do you even pay taxes?” Wasp asked, turning to stare at him with her expressionless visor.
“That’s beside the point,” Reed replied.
“He’s still mad that we wouldn’t let him take those prosthetics,” she explained when Omar gave her a questioning look.
“I’m just saying,” Reed continued, spreading his arms as he balanced his chair on its back legs. “If it’s paid for with UN tax credits, it’s technically public property, and I own it already.”
“Would you steal a squad car using that logic?” Wasp asked.
“If there was an emergency, sure,” Reed replied. “Or if I wanted to for some reason. You can’t put me in a box.”
Wasp reached past Brenner and picked up a canteen from the table, tossing it at Reed’s head. He reached up to catch it reflexively, losing his balance in the process and toppling backwards with a clatter, his new boots rising into the air.
“Ah, you fucker!” he grunted from beneath the table.
Wasp folded her arms, her satisfied chuckling muffled by her helmet.
“Let’s try to show a little professionalism,” Brenner sighed.
“Sorry, Commander,” she replied as she straightened up.
“I’m gonna draw a cock on your helmet while you sleep so your friends can call you Dickhead,” Reed grumbled as he hauled himself up, rubbing the back of his head.
“The plan is sound,” Ruza added, steering them back on track. “We can spare a hundred men for each ASAT site, and with Brenner’s forces split, there will be six SWAR agents leading each group.”
“We’ll have Ruza with his AMR, and we’ll have Silverback with our SCPEL,” Brenner confirmed. “That’s two anti-materiel weapons for neutralizing the PCEs we expect to be guarding the sites. We’ll head to site Alpha. Tiger Lily can support Beta. With our resources stretched so thin, I don’t see that we have a choice.”
“Can she do it?” Silverback asked, directing his question at Harlequin.
“If anyone can, it’s her,” the Jarilan replied. “It’s like Reed said – none of our odds are great, so we just have to roll the dice and hope for the best. If we split our heavy weapons between both sites, and one of them gets taken out, the rest of the team will be sitting ducks. Those PCEs will roll over them like juggernauts.”
“Then it’s decided,” Rivera said. “All we’re missing now is information about which sites those MAST launchers are being moved to.”
“We only have two days left before we’re scheduled to contact the Courser,” Brenner replied. “I’m sending a team back to the city in the morning to link up with Reed’s people and find out whether the Governor has come through for us. We’ll be cutting it close, but that’s just the nature of operations like this.”
“And if he doesn’t come through for us?” Omar asked.
“Then we call off the op and wait for the fleet to arrive,” Brenner replied.
“Damn,” Omar hissed. “That would be months.”
“The value proposition of trying to take on the carrier and the station while those MASTs are still online just doesn’t make sense,” Brenner explained. “Can’t risk the ships and personnel.”
“Your guys should take some of the captured gear back with you,” Reed suggested as he picked up his chair. “As much ammo as we can spare. We raided the garrison armory before we bailed, so we have plenty of guns, but we ran so low on slugs that we were making them ourselves.”
“Silverback,” Brenner began, turning to his agent. “At first light, load up with as much gear as you can and take five men to the city. Get back here within forty-eight hours.”
“You got it, Boss,” he replied as he turned and marched out of the room.
“That’s it, then,” Omar said. “I guess all we can do now is wait.”
DAY 53 – GEOTHERMAL PLANT – PETROVA
“You’re restoring my limbs?” Petrova asked, blinking back at the Rask in surprise.
“I thought it appropriate after your show of trust earlier,” Ruza replied, kneeling in front of the bed that she was sitting on and setting a toolkit down on the floor beside him. “I will restore them only to a level comparable to a normal human female of your age and build, but yes. It should make you more comfortable.”
“Sure you don’t want to check the rest of my teeth?” she joked as he produced a handheld device from his kit that resembled a scanner.
“I believe you,” he replied. “If you intended to betray us, you would have done so already.”
Unlike the last time he had worked on her prosthetics while she had been tied to a chair, the batteries were connected now, and she could feel his touch against her polymer skin as he ran a hand up her leg. She knew that he was simply feeling for the access panel on her outer thigh, and that this procedure was no different from servicing a rifle to him, but the sensation sent a shiver through her all the same. His hands were covered in sandy fur that was much softer than she had imagined, his fleshy pads protruding through it to give him some grip, the light touch of his claws like someone gently dragging their nails across her skin.
“Apologies,” he murmured, his senses always so keenly attuned to her.
“It’s fine,” she grumbled, the bed springs creaking as she shifted her weight on the mattress uncomfortably.
He found what he was looking for, using the tip of a sharp claw to pop the panel open and bringing the tool closer. It was a diagnostic device used to tune prosthetics, the Rask connecting a fine ribbon cable to a plug nestled in the exposed machinery, its little screen displaying a spinning loading icon.
“Do you find it strange that you’re tuning me up like I’m an engine or something?” she asked, trying to break the awkward silence as he tapped at the display with a stylus. His fingers were too large to use the touchscreen. “It must be different from treating organics.”
“Not particularly,” he replied, unplugging the device. “Your firmware should now be flashed. Tell me if you can feel this.”
He lifted her leg, positioning one massive hand beneath her thigh and another at her heel, supporting the limb as he flexed it gently. She felt like a doll in comparison to him.
“Yeah, the nerves are working,” she said.
“Can you move your toes?” he asked, watching as she wiggled the prosthetic digits. “Good. How does it feel?”
“A little stronger than before,” she replied.
“I did not tune them for speed during our outing,” he explained. “I did not want you fleeing.”
He worked on the other leg, performing the same test, Petrova trying not to react as she felt his fur tickle the sole of her foot. Next, he moved higher, popping the panel on her bicep. Once the limb’s functionality had been restored, he held her hand in his wide palm, pricking the ends of her fingers with his claw in the way a human doctor might use a pin to test her reflexes.
“Good,” he huffed, seeming satisfied.
“You did this with Fletcher?” she asked as he moved to the adjacent arm.
“I did,” Ruza replied. “I maintained his prosthetics for a time. After they were damaged, I helped to install his replacements, and I later tended to him after his transplant procedure.”
“How did that go?” she asked as Ruza plugged in the tool again.
“The surgery was remarkably successful,” Ruza explained, tapping at the display. “The limbs were cloned from his own tissues, so there was virtually no risk of rejection, and Jarilan Doctors are capable of incredibly precise and delicate work. They put even the UN’s best robotic tools to shame, let alone my humble skills.”
“It’s kind of strange to think about,” Petrova began. “When we become SWAR agents and we sign up for ... y’know – the procedures, we accept that it’s a one-way street. There’s no expectation that we’ll get our mark-ones back when we clock out. There’s no retirement in our future. The technology to clone organs and tissues has existed for a long time, but it’s still extremely expensive, especially if you’re growing multiple adult limbs. The surgeries are difficult. The number of doctors and facilities that can perform them are limited. It seems hard to believe that the Jarilans just came in and solved that problem with a snap of their fingers.”
“Their ancestors were greatly skilled in genetic manipulation and biotechnology,” Ruza explained as he ran a claw down her wrist to check her response. She shivered, balling her fist.
“You say their ancestors like they weren’t still Betelgeusians five years ago.”
“These secret projects of yours,” Ruza began, touching a claw to her index finger. “Based on what little I was told of them, their purpose was to take captured Coalition technology and reverse engineer it for human benefit, is that so?”
“Yeah,” Petrova replied. “It was a chop shop, basically.”
“How is leveraging Jarilan biotechnology any different?” he pressed, his yellow eyes meeting her gaze. “Other than being given freely. I suspect that a simple mistrust of Jarilans has prevented the spread of this information throughout your ranks. SWAR are better positioned to benefit from it than most. In usual cases of traumatic amputation, the remaining nerves that are connected to the severed limb atrophy through disuse. With prosthetics, they are connected to the artificial limb and thus retain their functionality. This makes transplant a much easier proposition with better outcomes.”
“The augs are part of who we are,” she replied, pulling her newly tuned hand away from him. “We can’t just ... trivialize all of the sacrifices we made. If we can just slap on a new arm like nothing happened, what was it all for?”
“Then, your attachment is more cultural or tribal in nature,” Ruza mused.
“Don’t talk like that,” she grumbled, crossing her arms defensively. “I’m not some curiosity to be examined.”
“I meant no offense,” he said with an apologetic tilt of his head. “I merely wished to point out that your opposition seems based more on sentiment than logic. Having lost a war, I know well how it feels to have one’s efforts invalidated.”
“Everything has to be a lesson or a lecture with you,” Petrova complained. “It’s tiresome. I feel like you never speak to me like you’re a real person.”
“That is not my intention,” he replied, stowing his diagnostic tool. “I am older than I appear, owing to the genetic treatments that cured my sickness. I have lived long and traveled far, and I do not wish to see you repeat my mistakes. That is to say nothing of my trouble relating to humans...”
“You’re surrounded by humans,” Petrova scoffed. “What are you talking about?”
“These people are my friends,” Ruza explained. “I would die for any one of them. But they are not my pack, and they are not Rask. They cannot truly understand me or what I have left behind. To them, I will always be an alien, and that is no fault of theirs.”
“Why don’t you go back to Borealis to be around your own kind, then?”
“Other Rask would think me mad,” he replied with a chuff that might have been a laugh. “To reject the pack is to reject society itself. There are no allowances made or institutions in place for people like me.”
“So, what?” Petrova pressed. “You’d be like a vagrant or something?”
“I would have no status and no place in the social hierarchy,” he explained. “Rask society does not make room for those who are different or unusual. Were I to take a pack for appearances, I would surely become what I hate, and there would always be some greater Alpha presiding over me. I would never truly be free to live without their influence.”
“I’m surprised you can function in the resistance, then,” Petrova continued as she flexed her arm experimentally. “I’ve seen you take orders from Rivera and Brenner, and I assumed Bergmann was making most of the decisions before his arrest.”
“It took some adjustment on my part,” he replied with another huffing chuckle. “Fletcher told me something once during our talks. He said that no man is an island. I did not truly understand his meaning back then, but I see now that no individual can truly isolate himself from society – not without becoming a hermit. It is foolish – selfish, even – to live such a way. If we wish to share our lives with others, there must always be concessions.”
“That’s not really the meaning of that saying – not that it’s a bad lesson to take away from it,” Petrova said. “It’s from an old poem – one that Fletcher wouldn’t have known because he was an ingrate. Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls – it tolls for thee.”
“What does it mean?” Ruza asked, his feline brow wrinkling in confusion.
“To summarize, every individual is part of a whole, and that whole is diminished when one of us leaves it. When someone dies, it wounds us all collectively. If Fletcher understood that poem, which I very much doubt, he might have been trying to tell you that you’re more valuable to the people around you than you realize. That they’re diminished without you.”
“You are educated in scholarly matters?” he asked, seeming impressed.
“Russians like poetry,” she replied with a shrug. “The bleaker and more morbid, the better. We’ve produced a lot of writers and philosophers between all the purges and executions.”
“We Rask are not great poets,” Ruza replied as he sat down on the bed opposite hers with a creak. “We sometimes record war speeches given on the eve of battle, and we have some skill in the weaving of tapestries and the carving of masonry.”
“Do you know any of these speeches by heart?”
“None that I would care to repeat,” he grumbled. “Wars fought over wealth and territory seem so purposeless now. So much blood has soaked my planet’s sand when infinite land and resources hung above our heads. If only we had turned our covetous eyes upward.”
“You were likely centuries away from a space program when we made contact,” Petrova replied. “Even then, with the high gravity of Borealis, I don’t know that you’d ever manage to break orbit. You’d need something far bigger and more powerful than a Saturn Five, which was the largest chemical rocket of its era.”
“You may be right.”
“See, we’re having a normal conversation now,” Petrova said with a smirk. “Was that so difficult?”
“I wish that we had more time, and that the situation was not so dire,” Ruza sighed. “We have only two days before Brenner’s operation must commence, and I have no choice but to press you. If you have come to a decision about where your allegiances lie, and if you have any information to share that might help us, I must ask. Anything that you can tell us about Barbosa could help save lives.”
“Even if he’s been lying to me, that doesn’t mean I’d help you,” Petrova replied as her smile morphed into a scowl.
“Why not?” Ruza pressed.
“Barbosa’s plan is still important!” she declared, spreading her arms in exasperation. “I don’t know everything that’s going on behind the scenes, and maybe there are things he’s kept from me, but I can’t believe that this was all for nothing!”
“You feel that there is no way back for you now – that you have done too much in his service, but that is not true,” Ruza insisted. “Is the man you have served so loyally the same man who would drive political prisoners out into the desert to murder them in secret? Is he the same man who would sabotage the food supply and plan the starvation of a colony to cement his rule?”
“He must have had his reasons!” she shot back, starting to lose her cool. “Sacrifices have to be made so that humanity has a place to wait out what’s coming!”
“And so any atrocity is forgivable as long as it serves this nebulous purpose?”
“No, but ... you don’t know him like I do!”
“Nor do you,” Ruza replied. “What you know of him is based on the lies he has told you and the parts of himself he has chosen to reveal. Like turning over a stone, you now see the rot beneath, and you see that which he has tried to withhold from you. How can you rationalize what you saw in the desert today?”
“If I could just speak to him-”
“So he can tell you more lies?” Ruza asked, interrupting her. “So he can manipulate you into serving him once more? There is no truth in people like Barbosa – he will tell you whatever he believes will win your favor.”
“We chose to follow him! He didn’t manipulate us!”
“And that choice was predicated on a lie,” Ruza snarled, piling on the pressure. “The lie that the UN is under threat, that you are surrounded by secret enemies, and that Barbosa is the only one with the vision to see it.”
She could feel her face flushing hot with anger, her heart racing, her mind grasping at whatever straws were within reach. She couldn’t let him be right – she couldn’t face those consequences.
“How do you know that!?” she demanded.
“Because I have seen it!” he replied.
“I don’t have to listen to this,” she muttered, turning to the door. Ruza stopped her, extending a long arm to block her path. “Get out of my way!”
“You cannot run from this,” he insisted. “Look at what Barbosa has done to Hades and its people. Tell Amy and Bill and Ricky that they deserved what happened to them – that it was necessary. Tell Bergmann that his execution was a lesser evil. Tell the sick and the hungry that they must suffer in order for Barbosa’s dream to be realized.”
“I won’t help you!” Petrova snapped, trying and failing to push past him. Having her limbs so reduced only frustrated her further, and she let out a stifled yell of anger.
“Why?” Ruza demanded. “What compels you to resist the obvious truth?”
“Because it’s all still your fault!” she snapped, balling her newly tuned fists. “If it wasn’t for the resistance, a lot of people would still be alive!”
“How can you still believe that after everything we have shown you?” Ruza asked. It was the first time that she had seen his mask of serenity and detachment start to slip, his lips rising to show off his sharp fangs like a snarling wolf, his ears pressing flat against his sandy hair. “We have revealed Barbosa’s plans to starve the colony, and you have seen how he treats prisoners with your own eyes. You have spoken with the people here, and you must know that they are not crazed extremists or traitors. What more can you require before your eyes are opened? If you still mourn Hoff-”
“Not Hoff,” she interjected, shaking her head. “It’s your fault, not the resistance.”
“Me?” Ruza asked, not understanding. “If I have killed a friend of yours...”
“You don’t even know,” she said, choking back a bitter laugh. “I wasn’t dealing with security when I was deployed to Hades. Barbosa had me training recruits. I selected the best that the PDF had to offer and molded them into a new generation of SWAR operatives. I prepared them for the surgeries.”
“We were aware that you were responsible for recruitment,” Ruza said, wary now that he was treading uncertain ground. “We were told that Barbosa intended to butcher those recruits and turn them into cyborgs for his army.”
“Butcher?” Petrova scoffed, giving him an angry look. “The same thing happened to me. I chose it, just like they did. Am I butchered? After all the trouble you caused by killing Hoff and sabotaging our operations, Barbosa reassigned me and gave me a new mission – to assassinate you. It meant that I had to leave at the worst time. I couldn’t be there when my recruits needed me. I couldn’t be there for Tom...”
“Tom?” Ruza asked, narrowing his yellow eyes. “Who is Tom?”
“He was just a kid,” she muttered, staring at the floor now as hot tears began to sting her eyes. “Just a stupid kid. I wanted to be there for him – I told him that I’d come back for him, but he...”
“He did not survive the procedure,” Ruza deduced with a solemn shake of his head.
“A hundred recruits!” Petrova snapped, swiveling to face him. “A one-percent chance, and it had to be him! Why!? Why couldn’t it be someone else!? Why did he have to die? It’s all your fault!” she added, crossing the couple of feet that separated them and jabbing an accusing finger in his face. “If you had never come to Hades, I wouldn’t have been sent away when he needed me! Maybe there wouldn’t have been any need for surgeries at all!”
“I had no hand in this,” Ruza protested. “It was Barbosa who ordered those surgeries. It was Barbosa who sent you away. Whether I was here or not, he always intended to make soldiers of the Hadeans. He must have known that there would be casualties with such invasive procedures – his surgeons would have told him as much, and he chose to proceed anyway.”
“It’s your fault!” she snapped, her voice wavering as she began to lose her composure. She raised a fist and brought it down on his broad chest, hitting him as hard as she could, but her limbs were so weak that he didn’t even feel a need to defend himself. He simply watched her in silence as she pounded his chest, the tears streaking down her cheeks.
Slowly, she burned herself out, sinking towards him and pushing her face into his jacket. She felt his massive arms cradle her as his leather muffled her sobs, all of the anger and hurt that she had been bottling up finally spilling out in a flood of confused emotions. She wanted to kill him, to be held by him – she didn’t even know anymore. He kept her close as she cried it out, waiting silently, perhaps sensing how much she needed the release.
They stayed that way for a few minutes more, the steady rise and fall of his chest calming her as her tears soaked into his jacket. Petrova couldn’t remember the last time that she had expressed her true feelings as herself – without the comforting safety net of a false persona or the ear of a patsy she never expected to see again. It hurt, but it was relieving, like snapping a dislocated bone back into place. She wasn’t even sure why the Rask cared enough to comfort her or why she welcomed his proximity so readily. He wasn’t really her friend, and she didn’t fully trust his motives, but perhaps any shoulder was better than none.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, clearing her nose with a sniff. “What happened to Tom isn’t your fault. I just ... I needed to blame someone. If I could blame someone, I could kill them to make it right, and I wouldn’t feel so ... powerless. I’m used to solving my own problems, but there was nothing I could do to protect him.”
“I told you of how I blamed the humans for what happened to me,” Ruza replied, his resonating voice oddly soothing now. It was deep and coarse, even when he was speaking softly, creating a vibration that she could feel throughout her whole body. “It took time for me to let go of that anger and realize who was truly responsible. It was not they who ordered me into the reactor room that day.”
“H-he wouldn’t even give me a few hours,” she finally said, her voice hitching. “I asked to stay to oversee the surgeries, and he wouldn’t let me.”
“Barbosa?” Ruza asked. “He did not grant you your request?”
“I think ... you were right,” she conceded, lifting her puffy eyes to see him peering down at her. “He doesn’t back up his words with actions. He says he values my opinion, but he doesn’t listen to me when it’s important, and he doesn’t trust me when it matters. I do everything he orders me to do, but when I ask him for something important, he doesn’t budge. He told me that he wants me to take over the colony when he dies – that I’m his second in command – but how can he say that when he hides so much from me?”
“He named you as his successor?” Ruza asked, glancing down at her.
“Fuck, I might as well tell you,” she grumbled as she stepped back. She crossed her arms, pausing to dry her eyes on her shirt before continuing, her cheeks warming as she started to feel a little embarrassed about her outburst. “Barbosa is dying. He has Cascade Failure – it’s a disease that afflicts people with too many augs. His body is starting to shut down, and there’s no cure. Once his work on Hades is done, he expects me to take over and run things in his absence.”
“Cascade Failure?” Ruza asked. “Can you explain?”
“The way that he explained it to me, when you replace too many organs and too much bone, the body loses its ability to self-regulate. He said that organs don’t just perform simple functions like pumping blood or processing food – they’re part of a living system that artificial substitutes can’t wholly replicate. Hormone regulation, the immune system, the production of cells – it all goes out of whack. Without enough input and stimulation, your body thinks it’s dying.”
“This is a new concept to me,” Ruza mused.
“It’s a very new condition. He might be the first recorded case.”
“Barbosa must be one of the oldest and most heavily augmented people alive,” Ruza continued with a nod. “It stands to reason that he would be one of the first to succumb to such a disease. Human technology always seemed as magic to me – I did not consider that artificial organs might be imperfect in their function. I have never treated a patient who had more than a single organ or a few limbs replaced.”
“When you’re as augmented as Barbosa, there’s almost nothing of the original body left,” Petrova continued. “He knows that he doesn’t have long. I think that fact has been influencing his behavior.”
“He fears for his legacy, perhaps,” Ruza surmised. “He must act more hastily and rashly than he might otherwise due to his degrading condition. It explains some of the more questionable aspects of his plan. His goals must be achieved before his health fails him – corners must be cut.”
“The carrier docking at Mu Arae must have seemed like his last, best chance,” Petrova replied as she rubbed her arm. “He made a move with whatever resources and support he had at the time. A vulnerable carrier docking in the same system as a covert weapons lab without a CSG, just a jump away from a remote colony world? That kind of opportunity wouldn’t have come up again in his lifetime.”
“You must tell us everything you can about his operations,” Ruza pressed. “The locations of key personnel, troop movements, any vulnerabilities that we might exploit.”
“I ... I need time to think,” she replied, raising a hand defensively and taking a step away from him. “I just can’t believe that it’s come to this. Fuck, how is this happening? What am I doing?”
“I understand,” Ruza replied, his tone softening somewhat. “It was not my intention to push you too quickly, even if we are short on time. Rest and think on it a while. I will be here when you are ready to talk.”
“About what happened just now,” Petrova began, finding herself unable to look him in the eye. “That was ... a lapse. I don’t usually do that – it’s not who I am.”
“Expressing emotion does not make you weak,” Ruza replied. “Weakness is allowing your emotions to rule you, and I have not seen that to be the case. There is no need to apologize.”
“I’m not apologizing,” she replied with a scowl. “I’m just saying that it’s not how I usually act. Don’t expect it to happen again.”
“Seeking comfort is not-”
“I’m not!” she exclaimed, raising both hands this time as though trying to block out his words. “I am not seeking comfort. I’ve been through a lot of shit recently – that’s all. I had a lapse, and I’m good now.”
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