The seven young ladies of the nobility were more of a problem. They had been absoutely devastated by the discovery that their nearest and dearest had been quite prepared to have them killed when the politics deemed it necessary. In other words, as long as I could be taken out too, the Empire would have been quite happy (and would naturally have found a way to blame the d�b�cle on some other grouup). Indeed, as far as the news-reading public was concerned, that was exactly what had happened. We no longer officially existed. So these six duchesses and ladies and princesses or whatever they happened to be were no longer of value as ransomable hostages, any more than the High Princess herself whom they all saw as their natural leader. Where she went, they would follow since they had no other options.

They were however not in a bargaining position of total weakness, since these seemingly defenceless teenagers were of course the result of many generations of controlled and selective partner choice programs. Much more than just pretty faces. They were intelligent young women with military and scientific and martial arts training, a couple of them well able to pilot the shuttle and fighter craft, another with well developed medical skills, another who had studied communications, an exobiologist... the list went on. The High Princess herself had not been spared (indeed, it had been at her own insistence according to the news coverage at the time) and had in theory at least the knowledge to fill the posts of navigator or science officer on a starship like this one. The women would probably actually be glad of something worthwhile to do after a couple of months of incarceration. So, I needed them as crew and was obviously not going to flog off potential valued junior officers as slaves on my next landfall. Conversely, if they stayed aboard, they would need protection from the same fate as had met their sidekicks, The stumbling blocks had been more in the details than the basic principle: the High Princess herself was emotionally far more suited to the way of life that was on offer than the previous r�gime, which it had transpired she hated thoroughly for its misogyny and inequality and the "gilded cage" approach: she had thrived in the competitive environment of the military academy and would far rather have taken on a career there than assumed the political figurehead role which was being planned for her as the new wife of the Imperial president's son, whom she also hated personally. She had however been adamant that she should be my second-in-command, which the current officers had trouble with. And I had insisted upon delimiter implants for all of them, the threat of pain thereby being used to enforce loyalty. The officers also clearly regarded the young women's bodies as a resource to be included in the discussions; such implants could naturally also be used to demand obedience on that front. The girls weren't impressed by that prospect; equally, they were well aware of the effect there would be on the local outlaw pirate ships of any rumours that I was travelling around with seven virgin princesses... like flies to shit, as my chief engineer Mr. Hall had put it. More than once it was pointed out that the men could have raped them at any number of points so far, and I had held them back. At least the girls saw that they owed me for that. So, if they were going to be the ones running my ship when I wasn't about, then they were going to have to put a better offer on the table.

Sex was their only other bargaining chip and both sides knew it. Jackson and Gall, the two ringleaders among the officers, kept bringing it up either directly or with insinuations and innuendoes. The noblewomen pretended to be scandalized, but in their heart of hearts they must have known that they were all but defenceless. Once the newscasts had declared them dead and my ship destroyed, the incentive for the kidnappers to treat them well was removed. They had no real counter-arguments other than the fact that they couldn't expect the men to respect them and take orders during the on-shift hours if they could take their revenge by (as Gall had phrased it on one memorable occasion) screwing them silly on the pool-table in the evenings. There was some talk of reserving their services for 'guests' during bargaining for the food and fuel, keeping them virgins to sell later on a planet where that was highly valued, letting them be the prizes for conspicuous bravery during the upcoming fighting and the like... but these points were all flawed. Where could we sell them? What guests would we have? And who were better pilots and fighters than the girls themselves?

The solution emerged by mutual consent when I left the young ladies separately to talk among themselves with none of the officers present. I left the table at one point to order up a meal for us all and when I came back there was an argument going on, heated enough that they continued it despite my return. My heart began to race as various points were made:

• That they were to stay sexually inactive was not a tenable proposition. With some reluctance, they agreed that sooner or later, as grown women in a harsh outlaw environment, that would change.
• That they ought in that case in the short term all to embark upon at least one relationship, to be publicly acknowledged in order to reduce temptation for rapists who would regard their virginity as a bonus.
• That they wanted to choose the ground rules themselves, the 'who' and the 'how': that Jackson or Gall or Lee or any of the other officers should have the honour was not acceptable. That left random juniors, or the captain.
• Those aforementioned bastards would object to losing their authority and their chance at the girls. They in their turn were quite happy to deal with any recalcitrance - positively eager, given an opportunity.

In which case, the short-term relationships were all with the same lucky fellow, unless any of the girls had an alternate preference? Would I take them all on?
And would I guarantee that any of them who submitted voluntarily to me would be safe from unwelcome interference by others?
From their point of view it was probably a good deal, the best they could practically hope for. Only one man to put up with between the seven of them, which was not exactly arduous compared with the alternatives. The stories would make good popular press when it got out - making the authorities look stupid when it was revealed we were still alive, making the girls look normal and human and giving me some kind of status in the public eye that went far beyond a simple renegade (Christ, I'd have regarded someone as Casanova and Superman rolled into one who had a little harem of highborns including the High Princess). They were busy playing the oldest trick in the book on me: I was perfectly aware that they were making me think with my dick instead of my head - or at least with that part of my anatomy as well - but I went into it with my eyes open, aware of the risks and the undoubted benefits. It was a stunningly good deal for me! I listened for another minute or so, standing in the doorway, and then turned to go. From that moment on there was never any questioning of the fact that they were all going to be mine.

So finally the deal was on the table - all the seven of them had to do was accept my authority as captain and sign up on the dotted line as crew. They'd have no rights due to high birth or rank, since no legal authorities would accept them any more. And there would be delimiter implants in their brains. In return, I'd protect them, treat them as my own highly valued property and under no circumstances lease their services out to the crew or sell them on to slavers. They would outrank other crew, have full freedom of action and association and study rights, within compatibility with my commands.

The appearance of the High Princess on the bridge in full uniform clearly meant that it was a done deal. I couldn't believe my luck.
In fact, I got on extremely well with the High Princess. Similar mindset, similar tastes, similar outlook on life. We had each turned out to our mutual surprise to be the one other player who was the only worthwhile opponent at a number of the computer-based games available on ship. Indeed, in the course of that month of desperate flight and evasion, we had become quite close in some ways. I probably talked to her about two hours of the day on average. There was a formal daily session with the captives and quite often she would deign to join me at the captain's table for dinner in the evening and even occasionally at the bar or the recreation area which had been set aside for officers' use. You soon forgot she was only just eighteen - her manners and deportment were far more mature than that, as was the case for all the others too. In the same way, the delicate perfection of her blonde-bombshell beauty rapidly became just one more fact among many facets to the young woman. Because she began as my opponent in the businesslike setting of the hostage negotiations, only slowly progressing to friendship, I was probably unlike the rest of my men in that I had never considered that we could forcibly have sex with her. She was just too unattainable, too unapproachable, too other-worldly in her grace and elegance. It was just too impossible, though there were times after some of our discussions that I will admit that whichever assistant was in my bed that night got particularly vigorous treatment as I let off steam. Like the time she had said almost wistfully after several drinks that I was the nicest man she'd ever met, because I talked to her like a person instead of a potential trophy... 'had we be born differently, who knows?' She had actually said something along those lines. Or the time she had told me what the President's son intended for her after the marriage that would unite the political and royalist dynasties within the Empire: after the formal celebration there would be a meal for him and his cronies, at which she would be the centerpiece, tied up naked to the table for first him and then all the others to take turns at. Or one of her uncles who had been attempting to get his hands on her for the past five years; he had offered to buy her contract back off the son after a year. Later I learned that she was like many of her higher rank, in that her outlook on life in general and inter-personal relations in particular (especially the sexually-based ones) was more than a little jaded.

So I was knocked more than a little from my � propos by her unheralded arrival.
"Welcome on board, lieutenant," was all I could manage to say at first. That was the first time I had ever addressed her without an honorific 'Your Highness' and the lack of it would have been noted by everyone present. I was as surprised as anyone else when she logged on to the mainframe from the navicon and began improving the seat-of-the-pants course of evasive manoeuvres I had programmed in.
"Once we had met your terms and conditions, Sir," she explained, "the AI module was quite happy to issue me with passwords and authorizations commensurate with the navigator and science officer roles you had outlined in our agreement."
A lengthy pause. "Permission to continue, Sir?" I nodded and swivelled back to face the laptop screen in front of me, trying to act as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

But some of the others were having none of it: the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. The first mate finally intervened. "You're not telling me she's getting my job? And without any implants? You've flipped your lid."
A long pause before he added a menacing, "Sir."
Then the weapons officer began to bluster in support of his direct superior. I cut him off; like his boss he was only acting in the role temporarily because I had nobody else who equalled even his meagre fifty per cent of the qualifications. As all were perfectly well aware. Jackson refused to accept either my assurances or the computer records which to my relief showed she had been implanted with her own consent four hours earlier. This situation had the potential to go extremely pear-shaped, and I was almost at the point of having to take physical control by use of the mindbenders when the subject of the argument herself decided to clear the matter.
"Very well," she said coldly, walking to the middle of the lowered floor section. "Eunice," (the handle used for the mainframe's AI module) "give Mr. Jackson full implant control by voice for the next two minutes over Lieutenant Tamara". I struggled for a moment before picking up that she was using a feminine form of her family's dynastic appelation Tamar as her surname - she was so far up the hierarchy in the Empire that she didn't even have a normal surname.
People began moving aside. It was a brave move on the girl's part, for once Jackson realized what she had meant, he wasted no time at all in setting threshhold levels to six and seven. Sufficient to have anyone writhing on the floor in agony.
"She could be faking it," someone finally opined.
"Soon see about that," said the hard man with a grimace. "Level eight on disobedience. Girl, you're going to undo your blouse and jacket and show us your tits. A High Princess sure won't do that."
All laughed, some nervously and some in anticipation.
"Too right I won't," she said, and almost immediately was doubled up on the floor in a contorted agony which I for one was sure couldn't have been faked. After a few seconds, she finally said, "Very well," holding a hand up in front of herself as much as if to help ward off a painful blow as to aid her balance. When she stood, panting breathlessly, she reluctantly unbuttoned the smooth matt black waistcoat. Her hands then moved to the blouse, at which Jackson now laughed harshly. "Should have obeyed straight away." The 'Your Highness' which followed was distorted to a barely comprehensible sneer. "The price is going up, girlie. I want pussy on parade now. Level nine on disobedience. I want your pants down, and you on your back with your legs apart."
That was beyond the pale; I stood up to intervene but despite her tight-lipped fury she waved me back, apparently believing the degradation to be necessary to convince the onlookers. She unbuckled her trousers slowly but surely, then unbuttoned and unzipped them at the front before lowering them to below her knees to reveal long slender legs and plain white knickers; tears of rage were rolling down her cheeks at the humiliation of this - by my reckoning, she was already more undressed than she had ever been in her life before in the presence of a man. And not just one man. It was a dozen or so low-lifes who saw her beauty and perfection as no more than a plaything, something to be used up and consumed for their pleasure.
"Get on with it," growled Jackson as a warning, "level five continuous on inaction, eh?"
She was playing for time, I realized... how long could two minutes possibly be? Grimacing and with muscles contracting in spasms every time the implant's sensors decided she was dawdling, the tall woman squatted down on the cold metal deck, placed her hands behind her to sit down, and then lay back slowly on the steel plates before obeying Jackson's last badly-worded instruction to the letter. Clever. Deliberately interpreting the word 'pants' in Jackson's order to mean only the trousers. She shut her tear-filled eyes and parted her legs as he had demanded. The men ogled her in delight at first, drinking in the sight of the pretty young woman lying on the deck with her knees akimbo to afford them an unfettered view of the flimsy panties covering her crotch. They stared uncomprehendingly as she made no move to divest herself of the last modesty-protecting garment. Jacko seethed suddenly, twigging what she'd done.
"Level nine!" he yelled. "You'll regret this you little bitch. When a man tells you to show your snatch, he expects a ringside seat at the first public airing of your fanny."
She was curled up in a foetal ball, every nerve and sinew cramped up, probably unaware of her surroundings and unable to concentrate on anything but the agony filling her head. He jumped at her, clearly about to rip her clothes away, egged on by the rest.
"Let's see if the collar matches the cuffs, shall we Blondie?"
But then the two minutes were up: suddenly she sprang up and whirled away, crashing into the railings in a daze.

"Permission to defend myself, Sir?" She looked at me, desperation in the big pale blue eyes.
She was visibly trying to regain control, make the contorted and strained muscles obey her will again. Her face was a bloodless white of rage, her teeth clenches and fists balled.
"No authorization needed for that, lieutenant," I told her, before adding what she wanted to hear. "I think we are now all clear about the implants. I would recommend that all those who you thought were too prejudiced in their treatment of you be taught a lesson."
I had seen her practising her karate and judo; for me, the outcome was never in doubt. Two minutes later Jackson was an unconscious bloodied wreck, and his four main associates were in little better condition. Time to clear up and sort this mess out.

"Right, the day shift is over," I said, noting that it was indeed just past eighteen hundred hours. "Nguyen and Asanov, clear the bridge and get the injured men to sick bay. I shall take the evening shift along with... Tamara here" (one way of keeping her out of more trouble, I guessed) "... and we'll go on autopilot for the night unless there are emergencies. Get some rest, calm down, and after they're patched up confine Jackson and his cronies to quarters until further notice. Now, get out."