Luke Daghur, owner-captain of Torch ship Seraglio (Garf branch)

Then:

"The Regiment does not want weakling losers like you Daghur! Just quit already! Ring the bell and go home, you stupid motherfucker!" The sergeant's voice sounded like it came from another world. Luke was so tired that he could barely understand the words. Yet he kept still as another ice-cold wave splashed over him. "You're not impressing anyone asshole! You're going to die here and nobody will give a rat's ass about your stinking corpse!" We'll see about that, Luke thought, the idea giving him little more strength. A bigger wave was coming and he couldn't feel his toes.

Now:

"Captain, five minutes out," said Bari over the intercom, her voice smooth as silk but sharp enough to cut.

In Luke’s lap, Macha scowled up at him, her red curls tumbling wild across her pale shoulders. He gave a regretful sigh, running a hand through her hair.

"Sorry, love. Rain check," he murmured.

Macha pouted as she wiped her mouth with delicate fingers. "Bitch did it on purpose," she muttered darkly. "Bet we’re still half a system away."

Luke chuckled, buckling up his pants with one hand, the other giving her a playful smack on the rear. "Bari’s a pro, Macha. She wouldn’t interrupt just because she’s jealous."

Still, the thought made him grin. Life was easier when the crew kept it interesting.

Macha huffed but gave him a slow, wicked smile as he pulled her up and into a quick, rough hug. She squeaked when his hands found her ass again — firm and delicious under the sheer green lace of her barely-there one-piece.

"Square it away before we dock," Luke ordered, and gave her another playful slap for good measure before floating toward the stairwell, laughing as she blew a kiss after him.

The ship's spine — a winding stair pressed tight against the hull — carried him upward. Deck 6 whizzed past. He spared a glance at life-support: green lights all across. Good enough. Decks 5, 4, 3 — barely a thought.

At Deck 2, he arrived to the heartbeat of the ship — the bridge.

"Captain on deck — and lookin' mighty pleased," Nepthys called from her console, her voice full of wicked humour.

Luke smirked, not bothering to hide the obvious bulge in his pants. Let 'em look. This ship had its own culture — professional enough when it mattered, relaxed enough when it didn't.

Sliding into the captain’s chair, Luke flicked through his screens with a practised eye. "I have command," he declared.

"Captain has command," Bari confirmed from the pilot’s station without looking up, her black hair falling sleek and straight over one eye. Professional to the bone, that one.

Luke leaned forward. "Docking procedures?"

"Handshake confirmed, autopilot synced," Aslög answered crisply from communications, her long silver braid gleaming in the low light.

"All right. Let’s do it. Get ready for zero-G," Luke said, toggling the ship wide intercom. His voice rolled down the halls of the Seraglio, casual but commanding.

"All hands, docking manoeuvres imminent. Zero-G in three minutes. Secure your shit or kiss it goodbye. Confirm when ready."

"Three minutes?" Amaterasu’s voice purred from astrogation. "Plenty of time to finish what Macha started."

The bridge exploded in laughter.

Luke grinned wide. "As much as I'd love to see your tits bouncing in freefall, Ama, stay seated. Safety first."

One by one, the confirmations rolled in. He gave Bari a nod.

"Bring us in."

It was barely flying now — the autopilot handled everything. Bari’s hands rested on the controls anyway, poised, ready. Her concentration was pure art.

The engines cut. Gravity vanished.

Luke floated in place, hand clamped casually on the side rail. The ship shifted gently as manoeuvring thrusters puffed, whispering into the void. Through the main view, the station grew larger — a sprawling, ugly sprawl of steel and rock, perfect in its own brutal way.

"Soft contact," Bari reported.

"Docking arm green."

"Hard contact. Docking complete."

Smooth as silk.

Luke clapped his hands once. "All right, ladies. Aslög, Meztli, Macha, Amaterasu — you're with me. Remember: check planetside weather before you dress like sluts. Bari, Nepthys, and the triplets — stay ship-side. Two-at-a-time shore leave. No orgies without me."

A chorus of "Yes, Daddy!" echoed from the bridge, sending another wave of giggles rippling through the crew.

Luke floated down toward the airlock, but Nepthys’s voice stopped him cold.

"Cap — incoming hack attempt."

He twisted back midair, grabbing the rail. "Talk to me."

She scowled at her screen, twin corkscrew braids bouncing in zero-G. "Started a minute after docking. Not station management, not official traffic. Amateur hour. Probably some bored asshole."

Luke floated closer, eyeing her displays. It might as well have been ancient Sumerian. He trusted her, though.

"Trace it if you can. If they’re local, Aslög and I will go knock on their door."

"On it," Nepthys said with a grin. Luke kissed her, smearing black lipstick onto his lips, and kicked off toward the lower decks.

In his cabin, he peeled off shipwear and suited up: reinforced trousers, jacket, gloves, boots, and parka. The planet below was no friend to fools.

By the time he reached the main airlock, Meztli was already there, floating easy, legs tucked under her. The skintight black bodysuit she wore left exactly nothing to the imagination.

"Nice of you to get dressed up for me," Luke teased. "Hope you brought something to cover that camel toe."

"Tease the girl who tries to look good for her captain, huh?" Meztli fake-pouted, pushing off to vanish into the cargo bay.

"HEADS UP!" she yelled.

Luke barely caught the first crate as it sailed toward him. He grinned and strapped it down on the pallet.

This dance — crate, yell, catch, strap — repeated until the rest of the team floated in, geared up and ready.

Perfect timing.

"Reception party’s waiting, Cap," Nepthys crackled through the intercom.

Luke double-checked the outer hatch: pressure green, air green. Good.

"All right, ladies," he said, flashing them a cocky grin. "Time to make an impression."

The airlock cycled. The doors slid open.

And the real game began.