Chapter 99: Flag-Officers vs Albedo and Rika. +18

You straighten your clothes and head toward the communications room. The corridor is quiet, boots echoing against metal deck plating as you navigate the familiar passages.

Rika looks up when you enter, fingers still on the console. Albedo stands beside her, tablet displaying encrypted channel feeds. Both women watch you with immediate attention.

"Pre-broadcast chatter?" you ask.

Rika nods once. "Flag-officers are still drafting formal accusations. They're attempting to establish legal framework declaring USS Anchorage as appropriated military asset. Document cites three sections of naval code, all of which assume we were military personnel to begin with."

"Which we weren't," Albedo adds, tone dry. "The entire legal foundation is flawed."

You lean against the console. "That's exactly what I want you two to emphasize during the broadcast. I'd like you both to take the lead at tearing their arguments apart. They don't have a leg to stand on, so dismantle the logic slowly before we call them out for their incompetence."

Albedo's smile is sharp. "Methodical dismantling. I can work with that."

Rika considers this, then nods. "We present the three-part framework you outlined earlier. They knew you weren't military during transfer. Deserter accusation is legally invalid. Hostile declaration is meaningless given their supply situation."

"Exactly," you confirm. "And here's the ironic part, Colonel Reeves included every Navy ship on the ocean regardless of nationality in the original agreement. Only now that they've attempted to go against the deal are we able to blacklist them."

Albedo makes a satisfied sound. "They violated the terms first. Any exclusion from future enchantment distribution is consequence of their own breach."

"Webb is coordinating eighteen pragmatic captains to support our position publicly," Rika reports. "They recognize that exposing flag-officers' lack of enforcement capability serves their operational interests. Several have privately confirmed they'll speak against the directive during broadcast."

You check the time. "Twenty-four minutes until we go live. What's the current mood among flag-officers?"

"Defensive," Albedo says. "Their encrypted channels show increasing desperation. They know the vote is political theater, but they're committed to the performance. Attempting to establish narrative control before their fuel runs out completely."

Rika pulls up a document on her screen. "Their formal accusation is finalized. Nine captains confirmed voting for stolen property declaration. Seven abstaining. Zero voting against, they're maintaining unified front publicly while privately recognizing it's unenforceable."

"Perfect," you say. "That makes this easier. Unified front means unified humiliation when the arguments collapse."

Albedo taps her tablet. "I'll lead with legal dismantling. Rika can follow with operational reality, their fuel status, supply timeline, enforcement impossibility. Then we let Webb's pragmatic faction confirm they're refusing directive compliance."

"And I close by pointing out the original agreement remains intact for those who honor it," you finish. "Simple, clean, leaves no room for misinterpretation."

The communications console chirps. Webb's voice comes through. "Broadcast protocols confirmed. All participating vessels standing by. We're ready when you are."

You glance at the console timestamp, frowning slightly. "Hmm? It's twenty minutes early."

Rika looks up from her screen. "Flag-officers moved the schedule forward. They're claiming 'operational urgency' but it reads like panic. Webb's channels show they're worried pragmatic captains will coordinate talking points if given more time."

"Doesn't matter," Albedo says, tablet already displaying the broadcast interface. "We're ready. Argument structure is solid regardless of timing."

The main screen flickers to life. Nine faces appear in a grid - the flag-officer faction, all in full dress uniforms despite being aboard ships with dwindling fuel. At the center is Admiral Richard Carson, late sixties, salt-and-pepper hair, jaw set in what's clearly meant to be authoritative determination.

"This emergency session of Pacific Fleet command is now convened," Carson begins without preamble. "We're here to address the unauthorized appropriation of USS Anchorage by civilian operator Brad Collins and establish formal recovery protocols."

Albedo leans forward, voice cutting cleanly through the channel. "Before you proceed, Admiral, let's establish baseline facts for the record. Are you claiming Brad Collins was military personnel at the time of ship transfer?"

Carson's jaw tightens. "That's not the relevant--"

"It's entirely relevant," Rika interrupts, tone precise. "You're citing naval codes 3201, 4156, and 5923 in your formal accusation. All three explicitly require the accused party to be active military personnel subject to UCMJ. Were you aware of this requirement when drafting your document?"

Silence for three seconds. One of the other captains shifts uncomfortably.

"The transfer was conducted under duress," Carson tries. "Promises of fuel distribution created coercive environment--"

"The transfer was recorded and publicized," Albedo says flatly. "Captain Webbs and Colonel Reeves conducted negotiations aboard USS Portland with full documentation. Both parties acknowledged civilian status. Both parties agreed to fuel distribution terms. You're attempting to retroactively rewrite a contract you participated in creating."

Another captain speaks up, younger, visibly nervous. "The point is that USS Anchorage is Navy property--"

"Was Navy property," Rika corrects. "Past tense. Transfer was clean. You received fuel enchantments as agreed. Brad Collins received ship command as agreed. The original contract included every Navy vessel on the ocean. Only now, after you've attempted breach, are we discussing exclusions."

Carson's face is reddening. "This is a matter of chain of command--"

"You have no chain of command over civilians," Albedo says. "And attempting to declare Mr. Collins as deserter is legally incoherent. You cannot desert from an organization you never joined."

Webb's voice joins the channel, calm and authoritative. "For the record, eighteen vessels of the pragmatic independent faction formally oppose this directive. The flag-officer faction represents thirty percent of Navy vessels, all operating on critical fuel reserves. This vote is political theater without enforcement capability."

You watch the screen as Carson's composure cracks completely. "This is insubordination--"

"This is reality," you say quietly, speaking for the first time. "You have maybe a month of supplies. We have unlimited fuel. The only question, that you've already answered, is whether you want to be part of the solution or remembered as officers of a former government who tried to steal back what they already traded away."

The broadcast feed shows multiple captains looking away from their cameras.

You lean forward, voice calm but carrying absolute finality. "We even put it in the original video- those who oppose simply don't get involved. The nine of you will have a month, maybe two, before you need to abandon ship or starve on them."

Carson's face goes from red to pale. One of the captains beside him looks down at his console, refusing to meet the camera.

"If you have any actual loyalty to your country," you continue, "I advise getting back on land with what little supplies you can split among your crews. The fuel sources are in place. They just need hands willing to travel back and forth across the country getting the power back on."

Silence holds for three seconds. Then one of the younger captains, Commander Patricia Hayes from USS Bainbridge, speaks up, voice tight. "Admiral, this directive is political suicide. We're broadcasting our desperation to every survivor group monitoring naval frequencies."

Carson rounds on her. "Commander, you are out of--"

"No." Hayes cuts him off, and you can see the moment she decides to burn the bridge completely. "Admiral Carson, you knew Brad Collins was civilian. It's in the recorded footage. Calling him a deserter is legally incoherent, and everyone watching knows it."

Another captain joins in, Captain Michael Torres from USS Shoup. "We have four weeks of supplies. Maybe five if we ration hard. This vote accomplishes nothing except alienating the one person who can keep naval operations viable."

Webb's voice comes through your channel, professional and measured. "For the record, the pragmatic independent faction formally opposes this directive and will continue fuel distribution cooperation as outlined in the original agreement."

You watch Carson's authority collapse in real-time. Two more captains from his faction are visibly reconsidering, one typing rapidly on a tablet.

"The vote is-" Carson tries.

"The vote is irrelevant," Albedo interrupts smoothly. "You have no enforcement mechanism. You're attempting to declare property stolen from a contract you participated in creating. The only question now is whether you spend your remaining supplies accomplishing nothing, or whether you anchor your vessels and put your crews to work on infrastructure."

Rika pulls up a map on the main screen. "Eureka, Redding, and both San Bernardino Costco's are enchanted. Fuel tankers are traveling across Cape Horn to the rest of the world. The network exists. The question is whether you want to be part of rebuilding or remembered as officers who let pride kill their crews."

Commander Hayes speaks again. "Admiral, I'm formally requesting permission to withdraw USS Bainbridge from this directive and coordinate with the pragmatic faction for shore operations."

Carson opens his mouth, closes it. Three more captains are typing now.

The broadcast feed shows multiple ships' status indicators changing, captains updating their positions in real-time as the world watches.

"This session is adjourned," Carson finally says, voice hollow. His video feed cuts.

One by one, the other flag-officers disconnect. Only Commander Hayes remains. "Mr. Collins, USS Bainbridge requests coordination for transition to shore-based logistics operations. We have three hundred crew who can work infrastructure deployment."

Webb's voice carries satisfaction. "Welcome to the pragmatic faction, Commander. We'll coordinate through Portland."

You lean toward the camera, voice calm and authoritative. "For any other crews and vessels wanting to participate in civilization rebuilding, regardless of nationality, I will be enchanting vessels as I am able. Please proceed as intended and coordinate through Captain Webb of The Portland."

You pause, letting the statement settle across every frequency monitoring the broadcast. "Brad Collins out."

Rika cuts the transmission. The main screen goes dark. Albedo sets down her tablet, expression satisfied.

"That went better than expected," Webb's voice comes through the secure channel. "Four flag-officer vessels have already requested coordination for shore operations. The rest are staying silent, which means they're done making noise."

"Good," you say. "Keep me updated if anything changes."

Webb disconnects. You turn to Rika and Albedo, both women watching you with mild curiosity.

"You both handled that perfectly," you tell them. "Dismantled their arguments without giving them room to recover."

Albedo inclines her head slightly. "Legal frameworks collapse when the foundation is removed. They built their accusation on assumptions that were provably false."

Rika's expression doesn't change much, but you catch the slight relaxation in her shoulders. "Timing helped. Early broadcast meant they hadn't coordinated talking points with allies."

You step closer. "Albedo, you're getting your reward. Fourth Oral and naked massage." You glance at Rika. "I'd like you to join us. If you're interested."

Rika's eyes widen fractionally. She looks at Albedo, who smiles.

"I did mention Brad rewards competence," Albedo says smoothly. "And you were very competent."

Rika considers this for three seconds. "Where?"

"Motorhome," you say. "Private, comfortable space. Exactly as intended."

Rika nods once. "Acceptable."

The three of you leave the communications room. The corridor is quiet, members elsewhere on the ship. You reach the vehicle decks and lock the door behind you.

Albedo is already removing her dress, movements smooth. Rika hesitates briefly, then begins unbuttoning her tactical vest.

"First time?" you ask Rika.

She nods, folding her vest carefully. "Yes. I've been... evaluating whether to pursue this."

"And your conclusion?"

Rika meets your eyes. "You're consistent. You follow through. That matters more than most things right now."

Albedo, now naked, stretches out on the bed. "She's saying she trusts you. Which for Rika is significant."

You kneel beside Albedo, running your hands along her sides. She makes a quiet sound of approval. Rika finishes undressing, revealing a lean, athletic frame. She sits nearby, watching.

"Tell me if you want to stop," you say to both of them.

Albedo smiles. "I won't. But the consideration is noted."

Rika sits nearby and nods, attention focused entirely on what's happening.

You start slowly, hands moving along her thighs before settling into a steady rhythm. She makes a quiet sound of approval, fingers curling slightly against the mat. You maintain consistent attention, reading her body language - the subtle shifts in breathing, the tension building in her muscles.

"Pay attention to the pace," you tell Rika without breaking rhythm. "It's not about speed. It's about consistency and response."

Albedo's breathing quickens. "Brad... that's good."

You continue, adjusting slightly based on her reactions. Three minutes later she reaches climax with a sharp intake of breath, body tensing before relaxing completely.

"That was efficient," Albedo says after catching her breath, tone satisfied. "Your technique improves with practice."

You turn to Rika, who has been watching with careful attention. "Your turn. Same pace, same approach. Tell me if you want to stop."

Rika shifts position, lying back. Her posture is more tense than Albedo's was, uncertainty visible in the set of her shoulders.

"Relax," you say quietly. "This is about you. Nothing else matters right now."

She nods, taking a deliberate breath. You begin with the same slow approach, hands gentle as you settle into position. Rika's initial tension gradually eases as you maintain the consistent rhythm.

"How does this feel?" you ask.

"Good," she says, voice slightly unsteady. "Different than I expected."

You continue, reading her responses carefully. Her breathing patterns shift, body responding despite her analytical nature. Four minutes pass before she reaches climax with a quiet gasp, fingers gripping the edge of the mattress.

After a moment she sits up, processing the experience with visible focus. "That was... intense."

"First time usually is," Albedo comments from her position nearby. "The consistency is what makes it work."

You switch back to Albedo, maintaining the same approach. She's more responsive the second time, already familiar with your rhythm. Her climax comes faster, body arching slightly before settling.

When you turn to Rika again, she's noticeably more relaxed. The second time is easier for her, tension replaced by building anticipation. She reaches climax with more vocalization than before, a sharp exhale followed by quiet satisfaction.

You continue alternating between them for the next hour, maintaining the promised pace. Albedo remains consistently responsive, offering occasional dry commentary between sessions. Rika grows progressively more comfortable, her analytical focus gradually giving way to simple presence.

By the time you finish, both women are visibly satisfied. Albedo stretches languidly. "That was exactly as promised. Well done."

Rika nods, sitting up slowly. "I understand now why you maintain this approach. The consistency creates trust."

"That's part of it," you confirm. "It's not just about performance. It's about pampering those who accept me."

You shift position, settling between Albedo and Rika on the padded mat. Both women allow themselves to be pulled close, their bodies warm against yours. Your hands move naturally to cup their breasts, fingers tracing gentle patterns.

"On a slightly skipped topic," you begin, "Rika, you just revealed you were a virgin?"

Rika glances at you, expression neutral. "Yes. Why is that surprising?"

"In your original story, it was fairly heavily implied you and Shizuka, the blond-doctor with massive tits, were at least bi. Being a pair of absolute bombshells, most figured you'd shared a few very lucky dates."

Albedo makes an amused sound. "You're basing this on narrative assumptions from a fictional work."

"Me, and most who thought about it." you confirm. "I can only remember one fanfic that had you as a virgin. So you should probably read or watch the original story and highlight any differences you can think of. Extra names, changed events, anything that doesn't match."

Rika considers this for three seconds. "I was never sexually involved with Shizuka. We were together sense we were kids, but there was no sex."

You squeeze gently, feeling her body relax slightly under your touch. "That's either nothing or a major difference. Make a list when you get a chance. It might be important."

"Understood."

Albedo shifts against your side, one hand trailing along your chest. "You're cataloging divergences systematically. Smart approach given the number of dimensional travelers."

"Speaking of important things," you continue, "I have to make the vote that the most important enchantment I've made so far is Cleanliness."

Both women pause. Rika speaks first. "Why?"

You lean over and kiss her, slow and deliberate. When you pull back, she's slightly flushed. "Because sessions like this would be significantly less appealing without it. No cleanup needed, no awkward aftermath. Just satisfaction and comfort."

Albedo laughs quietly. "He's not wrong. The practical applications for group dynamics are substantial."

"It removes friction," you add, kissing Albedo with similar attention. She makes a pleased sound against your mouth. "Literally and figuratively. No worrying about mess, no breaking mood for required cleanup. Just pleasure."

Rika's analytical nature shows in her response. "That does explain why rotation dynamics function as smoothly as they do. Removing practical concerns eliminates hesitation."

"Oh-ho yes," you confirm, hands continuing their gentle exploration of both women. "Sustenance handles food and waste. Vigor handles fatigue. But Cleanliness handles the small things that would otherwise complicate everything."

Albedo stretches languidly against you. "This is why you maintain the framework so carefully. Every enchantment serves multiple purposes beyond the obvious."

"That was the idea," you say. "Bunch of small enchantments that add together to something bigger."

Rika settles more comfortably against your side. "I'll compile the divergence list after watching. Should I include timeline differences for other characters I've observed?"

"Please. Cross-reference while watching, there shouldn't be much it was a small cast."

"Understood."

The three of you remain there, comfortable silence settling as the ship rocks gently on the water.