All hands meeting is the introduction for an orgy

Then:

"Welcome, eh, Major Daghur was it?" The lab-coated man asked Luke.
"Yes doctor, that's me", he confirmed.
"Yes, very good. Now, please sign this consent form, both paper and electronic versions. It's a boilerplate thing, just confirming that you are aware of what we are about to do to you and that you give us permission for it", the doctor explained in a very matter-of-fact manner. Luke did as ordered. The list of implants was extensive and he was happy that the Regiment had given him a whole month off to recover after the surgery was done.
"Yes, very good. I am sure you are eager to get started on this journey to become a proper super soldier"; the doctor chuckled to himself. "So, I won't bore you with the details, you will have plenty of time to read up on what these implants do during your convalescence!"
Luke swallowed and nodded. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Now:

The Captain’s Quarters took up over half of Deck 3, but with the whole crew crammed inside, it still felt like a sardine can — if sardines wore miniskirts and didn't believe in personal space.

Luke slouched back on the only couch, rocking a pair of his favourite board shorts — a riot of colours so loud they might've been illegal in twelve systems. His arms were casually draped around Nepthys and June, palms very much not behaving, happily exploring generous curves. Neither woman minded; Nepthys just rolled her eyes indulgently while June absently kicked one sky-high stiletto heel off her foot, humming under her breath, her platinum ponytail bobbing.

Across the room, Meztli — barefoot and wearing an oversized white shirt that barely covered her pleated skirt — lounged on the bed, twirling a lock of dirty-blonde hair. Macha was sprawled beside her, legs swinging lazily in white peep-toe heels and a blue bell-shaped mini, sipping something suspicious from a squeeze bottle.

Meanwhile, May and April — the pink-and-silver-haired twins of mechanical mischief — had been relegated to the floor. May rocked skimpy dark blue shorts with suggestive little side strings, and April stuck stubbornly to her battered denim hotpants that showed more cheek than cloth. Both had sleek black knee boots kicked off somewhere in the corner.

Aslög stood at the big wall display, tapping away at a tablet, her long silver braid bouncing against her camo-print miniskirt and tight green singlet. She was all business — or at least, she pretended to be.

Between Luke’s knees, Amaterasu was kneeling like a very naughty prayer, her massive breasts completely swallowing his manhood. She was slowly, sensually rubbing them against him, her unlaced bustier and tiny ruffled skirt leaving nothing to the imagination — not that anyone here had much of one left at this point.

The door hissed open and Bari stepped inside, her spike heels going click-click-click across the deck. She was a vision in blue-white, her strapless minidress so scandalously short it could have been mistaken for a belt on a taller woman.

"All good, Captain," Bari reported, smoothing her dress with faux innocence. "Nothing else left the station after us. Route’s programmed and ready to roll."

Finding nowhere else to sit, she perched herself daintily on the arm of the couch, crossing her legs and letting one slim boot swing lazily.

Luke gave her a nod of thanks, then flicked two fingers toward Aslög, signaling her to start.

Up came the mugshot: a bald, bland, forgettable man — the kind you’d never notice unless he was stabbing you in the spleen.

Aslög spoke, her voice smooth and businesslike despite the frankly obscene show going on in front of her.

"Right. Our old pal Alexei’s passed us a bounty contract. Target’s one Terrance Mae, a former Second Directorate operative — that's Centauri Republic black ops, for those of you too drunk to remember galactic politics class."

She smirked as Macha shot her a thumbs-up from the bed.

"Mae's persona non grata with his old bosses now, wanted for enough crimes to fill a library. Word is, he’s hiding out here, pretending to be a miner."

The screen shifted to a map of the local system.

"This here’s Asteroid Twenty-One. No real name. Just two hundred **** souls carving rocks for scrap money. Either they don’t know who Mae is, or they don’t care."

A pause.

Amaterasu used it to slowly dribble lube from a bottle between her tits, resuming her slippery massage with a coy wink at Luke.

Unfazed, Aslög switched the display to a messy spaghetti of tunnels carved through jagged rock.

"The miners dug up the valuable stuff first and pressurized the tunnels instead of buying a habitat. Cheap and cheerful — for them, and for us. It means Meztli and Macha," she pointed with her tablet, "will crawl along the asteroid’s surface in shell suits with shaped charges. If things go south, you’ll blow an exit."

Meztli beamed. Macha fist-pumped.

Aslög gave them a look.

"And pack your evac bags. I don't want to trust my ass to vacuum longer than necessary."

She grimaced at the thought, but pressed on.

"Plan A is still the goal: Captain and I sneak in disguised as ore traders, find Mae, quietly take him out, and leave the same way. Nepthys will hack the system to keep their bots and sensors off our backs — assuming they even have any. Bari stays on the bridge for extraction. Try not to melt the asteroid, Bari."

"No promises!" Bari sing-songed, winking.

Aslög rolled her eyes but continued.

"April, May, June — you three keep the ship hot and ready to run. If they have a torch ship stashed away, I want to be gone before they even spool up the reactor. Amaterasu guards the airlock. Shotgun authorized."

Ama grunted acknowledgment, not stopping the sinful things she was doing with her breasts.

Luke made eye contact with each crewmember, checking. No questions. No hesitations.

He smiled.

"Beautiful work, Aslög. Afterwards, we’ll drop proof with Alexei and collect a fat payout. Then it’s back to civilized space—"

Cheers and catcalls broke out.

"—and maybe even some legit work if we’re lucky."

Luke stretched, casually pushing down his board shorts with zero shame. His hard length sprang free, making Amaterasu purr with approval.

"So… whose turn is it?"

Bari practically leapt off the couch arm, hands raised like a kid in school.

"Mine, Captain!"

Before anyone could object, she hit the floor on hands and knees, her tiny dress riding up to reveal she’d conveniently skipped underwear. Luke knelt behind her, savouring the view.

"Here we go," he announced, sliding inside her in one long, smooth thrust.

Bari gasped, arching like a cat, while the rest of the girls groaned theatrically.

"Is there a word," Nepthys muttered from the couch, "for being happy for your friend but also jealous as hell?"

"I thought this babydoll would’ve clinched it," she added, fingering the hem of her sheer outfit wistfully.

"No need to suffer!" Amaterasu chirped, diving headfirst between Nepthys’s thighs with single-minded enthusiasm.

"Oh, Ama, you're the best," Nepthys moaned, hands tangling in her hair.

The room descended quickly into a familiar, joyous mess — giggles, moans, bare skin and tangled limbs everywhere. Luke found himself the happy center of a very affectionate, very energetic dogpile, doing his best to love every last one of them properly.

Bari, freshly satisfied and glowing, crawled away from the chaos, smoothing her dress back into place. She blew a kiss at Aslög — the only one still pretending to maintain any decorum — before slipping out toward the bridge.

Someone had to be responsible, after all.