This all-hands meeting shouldn't freak out the new gal, right?

Luke had filled his belly in the galley, thanks to Macha’s latest culinary miracle. The red-haired doctor was a wizard with both a surgical knife and a spatula. He paused to remember the many, many horrific meals he’d endured back in the Regiment—sludge tubes, algae mash, even mystery meat cubes. All the more reason to be grateful now. He had a crew beyond compare. And maybe, just maybe, a new addition. He flopped onto the couch and checked the time—ten minutes until the meeting. Which meant some of his girls would be arriving any second.

As if on cue, Aslög strolled in. This time she wore low-slung camo shorts, so short they could be accused of indecency in half the quadrant. Luke let his eyes linger. The Nordic amazon gave him a hungry smile, then lifted her green tank top and flashed a pair of pink nipples, licking her lips like a predator who'd just scented dinner.

“I’m going to cash in that promise you made, my goddess of war,” Luke rasped. He didn’t get to play with Aslög as often as the others, and her **** words back on the asteroid—when they thought **** was certain—still rang in his ears. She remembered too. The tall woman launched herself across the room in her platform boots, landing in his lap and devouring his mouth with hers.

“As soon as we’re sure the others won’t come gawking, my ass is yours,” she murmured between kisses.
“Why are you so worried about them knowing? We’ve had group sex more times than I can count.”
“I can’t be queen bitch of the harem if they know you can just bend me over and take my last virginity whenever you want,” she moaned, pressing his head against her perky breasts.
“Wait, what do you mean—virgin—?”
He didn’t get to finish the thought. The door opened.

“Oh no, mommy and daddy are making out. I’m going to vomit!” Amaterasu declared, mock-gagging before dissolving into laughter. Beside her, Pinga looked mortified. Aslög leapt off Luke and assumed her usual spot by the wall screen, feigning busywork with a tablet.
“It’s fine, just sit on the bed, you two,” Luke said, though his tented shorts told a different story.

Next came the triplets, for once sticking with their current rainbow dye jobs. They’d clearly coordinated outfits, each dressed in a stripper’s take on the schoolgirl fantasy—April in black, May in red, June in blue. Luke gave them a wolf whistle, and they returned the favour with synchronized air kisses before seating themselves cross-legged on the floor, flashing their color-coded panties with impish precision.

Bari followed, wearing a minidress that hugged her body like it had been painted on. The sides were entirely open, held together only by flimsy strings, and her stiletto ankle boots clicked like applause. She squealed in delight and plopped down beside Luke, grabbing his arm and sliding his hand up under her dress without a hint of shame. Luke wasn’t about to complain.

The moment Bari got comfortable, the door opened again—and in walked Metzli. Luke raised an eyebrow. Timing was too perfect. She wore a loose snow-white gown so sheer it was a miracle it hadn’t dissolved in the airlock. She settled on the other side of Luke, draping his hand over her generous curves. That was enough for him.
“You gals are choreographing your entrances!”
Bari slapped a dainty hand over his mouth. “Quiet, you’ll ruin it!”
Luke raised his hands in mock surrender. Fine. Silence it was.

And just in time.

Macha burst in like she was late to a runway show. Her red curls bounced with every step, her hips swinging like she was reloading a pump-action shotgun. Painted-on bubble-gum pink hotpants, a loose beige off-shoulder top barely clinging to decency, and a lacy pink bra underneath—it was an **** on the senses.

“Fuck me,” Luke muttered without thinking.
“Gladly, boss,” Bari whispered, giggling.
Which left Nepthys.

Macha had just claimed a spot on the arm of the couch when a latex-clad leg kicked through the doorway. Thigh-high black boots, gleaming like oiled obsidian. Nepthys strutted in like a can-can dancer from a fever dream, puffed-up red tutu swaying with every step. Her black hair spiraled in impossible ringlets, cascading down like a waterfall of curls. She twirled, struck poses, blew kisses, then landed squarely in Luke’s lap like a human exclamation point.

“Well,” Luke laughed, applauding. “That was quite an entrance.”
The crew giggled—except Pinga, who looked like she was witnessing the prelude to an orgy she hadn’t signed up for.
It took a moment for Luke to compose himself, but eventually he gave Aslög a nod.
“ANYWAY!”
Aslög’s command voice cut through the lust-fog like a plasma lance. The girls straightened, the room sobering—well, as much as possible.
“We got our target,” she announced. “Lesson learned: we need two trackers next time. That failure nearly got us killed. And no more hand-to-hand fights in fucking asteroid mines!” All eyes turned to Luke. He nodded sheepishly.
“I know what you’re thinking: why not use a tracking implant? Simple. Whoever installs it can track me too. No way to make that secure. There’s a reason the Regiment loaded me up with everything except that.”
The mood shifted hard. The room’s playful heat drained, replaced with unease.
“But trackers can be jammed or destroyed,” Nepthys began.
“You of all people should know—if it emits a signal, it can be jammed,” June cut in.
“And anything physical can be destroyed,” May added.
“And don’t even start with quantum bullshit,” April finished. Nepthys scowled, arms crossed. Luke opened his mouth to mediate, but Macha beat him to it.
“Shut the fuck up, you bitches. You know the score—I know the score. Of course we want Luke safe, but this life? It’s never safe. If that’s a problem, go grow potatoes on Proxima Four.”

Dead silence.

“Luke saved our lives. We’re here to repay that. And yeah, we also get to live like queens while doing it.” She paused, breath hitching.
“You think you’ve got it rough? I’m the one who patches him up. I’ve seen how close to the edge we come. Bari fucks up, we slag a habitat. One of the triplets screws up, we’re a glowing cloud of radioactive gas. Ama makes a mistake? We sail into a fucking black hole. Metzli—well, worst-case, she ends up licking carpet in a prison cell for a customs violation.”
“Fuck you!” Metzli snapped, but it was half a laugh. Macha chuckled too, then sobered.
“But seriously. This life is dangerous. And freaking out over every risk won’t save us. We play the cards we’re dealt. We plan, we prepare—but we live. You hear me?”

Luke pulled her into a hug, and for a moment, the room was silent. Then, like a signal passed between them, the rest of the crew rushed in for cuddles. Only Pinga stood apart, still looking uncertain. Aslög remained stoic, unreadable. Eventually the chaos died down. Luke stepped away and nodded to Aslög.
“Alright. If we’re done with emotional truths, we’ve got four days till destination. Normal cruise rules. Two on bridge watch, one engineer on reactor duty, four-hour rotations. Captain’s orders—per the doctor—are as follows…”
Aslög glanced at her pad, then read with deadpan seriousness:
“Luke Daghur is to remain in quarters and be pampered to the maximum ability of each crewmember.”
She dropped the pad. “No idea what that means. Good luck.”

Laughter broke the tension.
“In four days, we’ll be back at Novaya Zemlya. Luke collects the bounty, I buy fresh fish, and we get back to civilization.”
Luke raised a hand, commanding attention.
“One last thing. We’ve got a decision to make. Pinga saved our asses—that earns her an invitation. But as always, new crewmembers need a unanimous vote.”
He looked around. Aslög immediately raised her hand. Amaterasu followed. Macha and Metzli raised theirs too.
“We were there,” they said simply. But Bari, Nepthys, and the triplets hesitated.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Bari said, “I don’t hate her or anything. I just… don’t know her.”
“That’s fair. I expected as much,” Luke replied.
“We’ll vote in four days, after Novaya Zemlya. That gives everyone time to get to know her. Fair?” There were nods all around.
“Meeting adjourned,” Luke said in his captain voice. “You’ve all got duties. I won’t keep you.”

Some of the girls looked surprised there was no immediate sex, but one glance at blushing, wallflower Pinga, and they understood. With a chorus of “aye captains,” they filed out, Amaterasu pulling Pinga by the hand.
“Oh—Bari, Ama? Stay behind a sec. I need to discuss something with you.” The two women paused, shared a look, and turned back with wide, knowing smiles.