"I commend Ensign Taylor for doing her best."

Ensign Amber Taylor was startled as Doe leaned in to hug her. Chest pressed against chest for one slow and fleeting moment as the captain patted her affectionately on the small of her back. Doe wanted to lean in deeper and kiss Amber passionately. She wanted to grind her knee wickedly upon the Ensign’s crotch as she felt its nearness, but she did not dare. A New Alliance Captain was expected to lead, not be diverted by sweet temptations. She had to be all business soon, and explain her reasoning to the crew, but she drew enormous satisfaction from the fact that she had just copped a feel: Amber’s nipples had been angry soldiers poised to defend against Doe's luxurious latex-clad bosom. She had felt them stiffen as warriors forged in the heat of battle. They pressed upwards, woman to woman, a kickstart to Doe's heart, a sudden secret pleasure, a hidden thrill. She could feel the poison sting of their darts and experienced a gushing release as she backed ever so slowly away.

"At ease," she commanded. The crew relaxed a bit. If they could, they stared at one of the view screens split between twin events: first, a frenzied collage of the security teams facing off against rogue crewmembers, then second, a shot of Amber’s flushed face - mouth agape, inhaling deep breaths - panning down slowly to showcase the distress manifest in her heaving bosom. The video eyeball, a black, 3-inch diameter sphere with a dozen equidistant video microcameras hovered a scant foot and a half from Amber’s lissome body. The video eyeball was linked to hundreds of other identical units run by an artificial intelligence program, that measured the crew’s cortical responses and determined where to best focus a microcamera to create the video matrix – a storehouse of video information available to any New Alliance crewmember regardless of rank.

"An ensign’s first rule is always make your commanding officer look good. A commanding officer's first rule is this: your ensign is only as good as the commanding officer. I know what many of you are thinking. You’re thinking Doe has gone soft. You’re thinking I could have chosen to demote Ensign Taylor and dock her pay. Some of you are thinking I should assign Ensign Taylor a mentor. And if you’re one of the more seasoned crew, a salty dog like Commander John, you’re wondering why I didn’t have Lt. Throk chain the Ensign to her own helm and order that she be spanked for the remainder of her shift.

The video eyeball shifted from Amber to Doe.

"The truth is we are always in danger. Our hearts, our lives; we’re always poised on the brink of collapse. If I had chosen to demote Amber- dock her pay- she would have ended up on Z-deck grinding away on a dance pole." She shook her head to indicate this was a bad outcome indeed. "If I had assigned her a mentor she still might continue on in error. Consider this: what is to stop someone from seducing their mentor?" she smiled knowingly as she stared directly at John. "And if I had let you all paddle her like she deserves, who’s to say when I should be paddled?"

The camera eyeball dropped suddenly and centered square on Doe's ass. Doe Swiveled her hips elegantly around as if showcasing her derriere for a beauty pageant

"I'm a Star Cruiser Captain, but I make mistakes. That means if I enforce Provisional Directive 13, then I too could be administered corporal punishment if I bent even the slightest Provisional Directive. My seat's got a little more padding than Amber's . I’m more fit. I’m more flexible. But I’m also more of a target."

She paced leisurely to center herself on First Officer John, the AI video eyeball, dutifully trailing that exquisite ass. She shook her hips for the camera to emphasize her firmness. "A lot of you guys out there would sure like to take a crack of the whip at the captain. Lay it on thick. Give me a good whack. Well, it is never going to happen."

Her back was to the crowd of non-comms on Operations Deck. Everybody had an eye glued to Doe's ass. Her tits hovered a thumbnail’s distance from John's chest. Her mouth was a dry pout. Her nose a crinkled sneer. Her puppy dog eyes wanted him badly.

"Bullshit!" someone yelled.

Doe twisted at the waist and grabbed hold of the silver railing behind her with a single hand. The video eyeball zipped about her and then bobbed up and down, profiling her head and a full spread of both breasts. Her cheeks were blushing scarlet. She wanted desperately to see the faces of the men behind her, but at that moment the communications station announced with electronic chirps that somebody was trying to contact them.

"Captain! Message from Pandabra! I’m putting it on viewers," yelled Ensign Sekuzi.

"Captain Doe. What the hell is going on?"

"We’ll be departing planetary orbit later than expected Mr. Milan. I’m truly sorry if this puts the mission behind a few days."

"I don’t care about your mission, Captain. I’m referring to the atomic container you jettisoned over our world. Do you have any idea wherer it landed! It landed somewhere off the Gunjeelee Coast. Gunjeelee, ma’am, is raider territory. These people are terrorists. There is no telling what they will do once they find that nuclear device. Now, Captain, how do you plan to deal with this?"