Mission planning

Then:

Luke bellycrawled behind the fallen tree trunk. The sudden disappearance of the bird sounds had alerted him that someone was nearby. He nestled under the rotting remains of the tree and settled in for a wait. This was a battle of patience and the impatient one would be spotted first. Don't be seen, don't be heard, Luke repeated the mantra in his head as he slowly and carefully scanned his surroundings. It took some time but his patience won out over the other guys' patience - Luke spotted him, carefully selecting his steps to minimise any sound as he moved forward. Slowly and carefully but not slowly and carefully enough. Luke raised his rifle, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. Green leaves turned red.

Now:

The little gang padded through the building corridors, skin still pink and glowing from the bathhouse steam, making their way to the room Alexei had rented them. Luke filled Aslög in on the details — not that there was much to fill.

"Tracking and killing a man who knows people are after him, inside some godsforsaken asteroid mining pit? Yeah, Luke. That sounds like a fantastic career move," Aslög drawled, arms folded, one eyebrow arched.
Luke, sprawled on the bed with Amaterasu and Macha curled up against him, just shrugged lazily.
"Money," he said simply. "We could definitely use the money."
"Money’s no good if you're dead. Some psycho’s gonna take you apart like Metzli did that poor fish," she pointed out, folding her arms.
"Hey! That fish deserved it!" Metzli piped up from the foot of the bed, crawling up between Luke's legs with a mischievous grin. She ducked her head, taking him into her mouth with playful hunger.

Luke chuckled, running a hand through Metzli’s bleached-blonde hair. His voice rumbled low as he spoke:
"Good wishes don't buy fuel. Don't put food in the galley. And sure as hell don't pay for the next round of augmentations. I know the rest of you want upgrades like Aslög and I got." He groaned softly as Metzli’s mouth worked its magic, his cock swelling to full hardness.

Aslög gave a knowing nod.
"Yeah... fine point," she allowed. "Alright, you've obviously decided to take the job. So — do you have a plan?"
Luke grinned and tugged Metzli up by her hair, rolling the little Latina onto her back and pinning her legs up over her shoulders.
"We'll figure it out back on the ship," he said, pushing into her with a groan. "Right now... let's take full advantage of this bed."
Aslög rolled her eyes with a smirk.
"I'm good, thanks. You all enjoy yourselves. I'll go find us some real fish that doesn't scream bloody ****."
She slung her jacket over her shoulder and sauntered out. Behind her, the bed dissolved into a tangle of limbs and laughter. As she closed the door, she heard Metzli’s voice, high and scandalized:
"Wrong hole!"

The ship’s comm alert jolted Luke awake some hours later. Nepthys had finally tracked the little hacker pest and sent the location straight to Luke’s implant. He slipped carefully out of the bed, leaving the tangle of sleeping beauties undisturbed. Night had fallen hard on Novaya Zemlya. Beyond the frost-laced window, the mining town slept — silent, dark, winds whipping the endless snow. The cold bled through the triple-paned window. Luke figured it had to be well below freezing by now. He mulled his options: ignore the hacker (after all, Nepthys had kept the ship secure), or use this as a warm-up exercise. Something to stretch the old muscles before the real hunt started.

He grinned to himself. A little practice never hurt.

Pulling on heavy winter gear, he thumbed a quick note to Aslög’s implant — standard procedure — then stretched out all his muscles at the door, easing into that familiar old mindset: the Hunter. Silent, focused, deadly. Outside, the night swallowed him.

It didn’t take long to find the place — a boxy, windowless residential block like every other one stamped across human space. Thick walls, no ornamentation, a front door left unlocked more from survival necessity than from trust. Inside, the first hurdle: no apartment number. Forty doors, and Luke wasn’t about to start knocking like a lost tourist. He listened. Picked out the thudding bass of electronic music rattling faintly from behind door 32. A flick of his wrist, autopicker in hand — and... error.

UNABLE TO DECIPHER LOCK.

Frowning, Luke tried the door by hand. It swung open easily — the lock had been smashed from the inside. Not hacked. Just... destroyed. Inside, the music hit him like a hammer. He was grateful for his implant’s auto-dampening as he surveyed the disaster zone: bare apartment, lone futon, one skinny idiot sprawled on it, lost in a full-immersion headset.

Luke sighed.

This was the threat? Pathetic. Unplugging the speaker first (blessed silence), he then yanked the headset cord from the terminal. The hacker flailed, ripping the headset off, eyes wide as Luke drove a boot into his chest, knocking him flat.

"Don’t ever try hacking a Torch ship again, moron," Luke growled, knee pressed into the guy’s ribs. "Next crew might not be as nice."

The hacker sputtered, already halfway to pissing himself. Luke grabbed the headset and flung it at the computer. Plastic cracked and snapped.
"You’re lucky you’re just losing your toys tonight," Luke said, standing up and heading for the door. He paused, gave the idiot a once-over.
"And change your pants," he added dryly.

The flight back to orbit was uneventful — quiet, almost too quiet. Aslög didn’t mention Luke’s little midnight adventure. She was busy babying a refrigerated crate of fresh fish like it was a newborn. Everyone else was still riding the relaxed buzz from their shore leave — for once, content to just watch the snowy world of Novaya Zemlya shrink below them.

Amaterasu still ignored the vending machine lounge, so they all headed straight back to Seraglio. At the airlock, the rest of the girls were waiting — curiosity in their bright, mischievous eyes. Before anyone could start in with the questions, Luke barked:

"Alright, listen up! Everyone, get ready for immediate departure.
Amaterasu — plot a course to that asteroid Alexei gave us.
Aslög — file a departure with station control, but don’t tell them where we’re headed.
Macha, Meztli — secure the supplies.
Triplets — do your thing.
Nepthys — hacker's dealt with, good job.
Bari — once the course is plotted, set autopilot and be ready to jump."

He paused, letting it sink in.
"Once we’re underway — crew meeting in my quarters. No exceptions."
The girls scattered in a whirl of bright hair, laughter, and chatter, the heartbeat of the ship quickening around him.

It was time to plan for the bloodier side of their business.