Entering Asteroid Twenty-One

"That hit the spot," Luke moaned as he fell back onto the bed. June collapsed forward with him, her perky breasts smushing against the mattress, eyes closed in bliss. April crawled over her identical sister, her mouth engulfing Luke’s manhood, cleaning him with slow, tender care. If she was hoping to rouse him for another round, the voice of Nepthys promptly smashed that hope.

"Captain to the bridge," she requested crisply.

Luke sat up with a grunt.

"Sounds like go-time, girls," he said, extracting himself from the voluptuous engineer's mouth. This time he dressed for combat: a full-body sock to hopefully turn aside a knife, reinforced coveralls resistant to flame and chemicals, a tactical vest laden with tools of his trade, rubber boots with magnetic soles, and a thick hood shielding his head. He packed a breathing mask, a medical gel pack, the auto-picker, his ceramic knife, and a pistol secured inside a thigh holster. Dressed and ready, he was up the stairs to the bridge deck in moments.

"Captain on the bridge," Aslög called out.
"And this time he isn't happy to see us," Nepthys teased.
"Bet the triplets drained him well and good," Bari added, not missing a beat.
"Only April and June. May's watching over the engine, as you well know," Luke shot back with a grin as he took his seat.
"Alright, what’s the situation?"
"Asteroid Twenty-One has no real traffic control. I’m flying us in manually, and there’s no docking tube either, so it'll be a little hairy," Bari reported.
"Their system security is piss-poor. I'm already inside. No security droids, camera coverage is a joke. I'm combing through the miner database for our target, but no luck so far," Nepthys added.
"I’ve arranged a business meeting with the head honcho, Director Shima. He’ll meet us at the airlock," Aslög concluded.
Luke nodded.

"Good work. Aslög, suit up and meet me at the airlock. I’ll help Macha and Meztli get into their shells," he ordered. Casting one last glance at the growing bulk of the asteroid on his screen, he rose and followed Aslög down the stairs. While she disappeared into the girl's dorm on Deck 4, Luke continued to the end of the stairwell, then swung onto the ladder and climbed down to Deck 8 — the airlock.

Meztli was already helping Macha into a shell suit, both of them clad only in bikinis — red for Macha, leopard-print for Meztli. Beside them, the big educational poster caught Luke’s eye:

SHELL SUIT REMINDER
(because vacuum sucks — literally)
Before heading outside:
Dress code: Bikini, shorts, or birthday suit with dignity.
Buddy up: No wrangling seals alone, no matter how flexible you think you are.
Tuck it, tie it, or lose it: No loose hair, jewelry, or accessories.
Check your O₂ flow: Green light = Good. Red light = You’re about to join the stars.
Pressure check: 10 seconds holding your breath. Don’t pass out.
Suit Buddy Checklist:
Lower shell carefully.
Lock seals tight (listen for the clunk).
Secure comms line and double-check O₂.
Slap their helmet once for good luck. (Optional but highly recommended.)
Time Limit: 6 hours max.
(1 snack gel + 1 drink pouch included. Do not mix them up.)
Captain’s Final Wisdom:
"You can show off your curves inside the suit, not outside where the void will suck the bones out of you."
— Luke Daghur, probably while shirtless.

"Hey! Who added that shirtless bit?" Luke asked, arching an eyebrow at Meztli.
She just smirked innocently.
"You’re the payload master. Bet it was you," he accused playfully, before giving Macha’s suit a careful inspection.
"Well, you know your stuff. Looks perfect," he admitted, giving the girl a big hug — purely by accident copping a generous feel of her round, juicy backside.
"Thanks, boss," Meztli purred, pressing her body against his, her curves moulding shamelessly to him.
"Alright, let’s get you suited up before I make a mess of that lovely bikini," Luke chuckled, giving her a playful slap on the butt. They moved quickly, Meztli wriggling into her shell with practiced ease.

By the time they finished, Aslög had arrived, dressed head-to-toe in black. Even her signature silver braid was hidden under layers of gear. A rebreather masked her Nordic features, goggles covered her eyes, and a veil concealed the rest. Beneath her poncho, Luke knew, were enough weapons to start a small war.
"You look scary as fuck," Amaterasu gasped as she climbed down the ladder — and Luke had to agree.
"Then it works as intended," Aslög said flatly, her voice muffled by the rebreather.
"Captain, show her the riot shield," she continued.
"Yes, dear," Luke said dryly, but he sobered quickly. They needed Amaterasu to understand how serious this could get.

"If things go sideways and they breach the airlock before Bari can pull Seraglio back, you hide behind this shield and blast anyone coming through," Luke explained. He hauled a thick, dark shield from the wall, clamped it onto the floor rail, and unfolded the two support legs. Amaterasu ducked behind it, her small frame completely hidden. She looked worried but nodded firmly when Aslög handed her the automatic shotgun.

"Now hear this," Bari's voice crackled through the intercom.
"Prepare for docking. Zero-G in one minute. Repeat: zero-G in one minute."
Amaterasu hunkered behind the shield while the others activated their magnetic boots. One moment they had a steady 1G of gravity, the next their stomachs flipped as the decelerating engines cut out — leaving them weightless.

Silence fell for a heartbeat. Then came a heavy metallic clank as the docking clamps engaged.
"You’re good to go, Captain," Bari's voice called out.
Luke double-checked the airlock sensors. Everything looked solid. He gave the team a nod, and punched the airlock cycle.
The inner door opened, revealing a dingy foyer carved into the rock of the asteroid. Unlike the gleaming port they’d visited before, here there were no scanners, no bureaucrats, no vending machines — only a group of hard-looking men and women, weapons held at the ready but pointed low in a calculated show of control.

One of them, a grizzled old man with sharp eyes, stepped forward.
"Captain Daghur, I presume? Pardon the... less-than-friendly welcome, but out here, you can never be too careful. We weren't sure if you were here to trade for real — or try to jump our claim," he said.

As if anyone sane would want to jump this piece of crap, Aslög subvocalized through Luke's implant. He kept his face impassive.

"I am Director Shima," the man continued. "Welcome. Please, follow me. There’s a spot nearby where we can talk in relative comfort."
"Thanks, Director. I am indeed Captain Daghur. This is my bodyguard — because, as you said, caution’s the name of the game. Let’s go. I’m eager to load up a couple ISO containers of ore," Luke said, smooth and fast. The guards relaxed slightly, lowering their weapons. Two stayed close behind as they moved through the dim tunnels, leaving the others to guard the airlock.

The "conference room" turned out to be a filthy plastic table in what passed for the canteen. Luke and Shima sat, with their respective bodyguards looming nearby. Luke haggled a bit — more for form than substance — eventually settling on a deal that would look good on paper.

If only the ore was the reason they were here.

"Captain, I found our target," Nepthys whispered through his implant. "Part of the foundry crew!"
Luke didn’t even twitch.
"Director," he said aloud, "I believe our business is settled. But I’m curious about your operation. Would you mind if I took a look at the foundry? I’ve never seen one inside a working asteroid before. Could be... educational." Shima hesitated, suspicion flickering in his eyes. But pride — and the need to seem generous — won out.
"Well... can’t say why you'd find it interesting, but sure. It’s a pretty sweet setup, if I say so myself."
"Thanks, Director Shima," Luke said, standing smoothly. "Lead the way."