"I don't think you understand the situation..." the further away soldier puts away her radio and starts to butt into the conversation... but her words trail off as she realizes that she too Does Not Understand The Situation. She asks her cohort: "What's the situation?"

The lead soldiers gives a calm down, lower your weapon, let things play out gesture to the confused woman behind her.

To Deskyl she says: "You are the one who calls herself 'Dez Kill' right?"

DZ doesn't wait for her to sign a response. "Deskyl, the Sith, yes."

"Great." The lead soldier leans back and shoulders her weapon. "Then come with us. We're here to rescue you."

Deskyl's eyebrows go up as DZ translates this, and the hair on the backs of their necks stand up as she lights her 'saber again, leaving them feeling unaccountably intimidated.

    "She doesn't need to be rescued," DZ asserts. "If you don't tell her where she can go to help, she's going to look for something to do on her own."

They are in fact intimidated.

Sweating, the lead soldier says: "Could you help us get nearby civilians to the... ah... Rescue Boat?"

    "Certainly," DZ answers, as she translates for Deskyl, who puts her 'saber away and eases up on the fear aura.

    "She has telekinesis and a precognitive personal danger sense, and excellent reflexes," DZ conveys, once they're on their way. "And she's a competent melee fighter; the sword can cut through anything and deflect energy weapons, and the telekinesis can stop anything physical. She can't talk or hear you but she can sense emotions, she'll notice if there's trouble. And she's resistant to vacuum; she couldn't survive long in space, but it's less dangerous to her than to a civilian."

The soldiers have no outward reactions to DZ's words, at least not visible through their ceramic helmets, but inwardly the claims about Deskyl's abilities elicit a mix of skepticism and alarm.

Their emotional response to but she can sense emotions is of course extra interesting, in a "--wow is she sensing how I feel about her being able to sense how I feel about her sensing--" sort of way.

They come across one injured civilian on the way to the nearest emergency checkpoint, who the lead soldier ducks down to sling over her shoulder.

As she rises to her feet again, she groans a bit. Mutters to her cohort: "...exoskeleton's not meant to handle this kind of strain. Where's the evac team?"

The trailing soldier raises her arms in a gesture of befuddlement. "You need help?"

"S'fine. I got it. Stay frosty."

Sign sign: "She's used to stronger forces than this, too, if you need anything else carried. So am I, but I'm not very strong."

After brief consideration, the soldier passes the unconscious woman over to Deskyl.

She then takes point again, stepping gingerly around the crackling debris of another broken power conduit. "Almost there."

In a large room ahead, there are several dozen frightened vassals.

The door is shut tight, though. The lead soldier moves to force it open with some sort of significantly-inferior-to-lightsaber cutting tool affixed to her armor.

Deskyl shoos her back and applies her lightsaber to the problem.

The second soldier stops to watch and whistles appreciatively.

The lead soldier gathers herself up and then moves into the room as soon as it's breached.

"Alright! Listen up!" She shouts over the din beyond the smoldering doorway. "This whole station is getting grayed out within the degree! We've got a transport ship ready to go... if you want to live, move!"

The civilians move.

Deskyl takes the rear, still carrying the civilian, DZ right beside her.

The civilians are sad, agitated, conflicted.

This place is their home. The thought of never seeing it again is heartbreaking for them.

A few are even considering resisting the evacuation orders, even though they expect that to be a deadly undertaking.

One such person turns back to Deskyl, in seeming search of guidance--Deskyl isn't a princess, but this vassal recognizes her as someone who has had Culamine's ear and in this dreadful moment that seems like enough to latch onto?

She's slower, signing with just one hand, but she does have something to say. "We might be able to repair it, afterward. Don't give up until you're sure."

This response just seems to confuse the civilian in question.

They reach an intact docking ring, whose airlock currently has both doors lodged open to allow rapid embarkation/disembarkation from a rugged looking transport ship below.

A dozen troopers have got the area secure: some applying emergency medical care to injured vassals, others patching into the station's security grid via pried-open access panels, others just keeping watch or lending a hand to the civilians being loaded into the docked vessel.

"You're back early." One of the troopers approached the lead soldier from earlier.

"We found Dez Kill. She's unharmed. Make sure she gets aboard safely."

Man, she'd heard stories about undertrained lackeys, but it's something else to see it in person.

She flares her senses again to locate the nearest group of people in need of escort, and heads off again.

"Freeze!" One of the troopers keeping watch fires a warning shot into the floor at Deskyl's feet. The weapon's report is louder than any blaster she's ever heard used before--the sound echoes in the enclosed space, causing civilians to flinch and cower.

"Wait, wait, wait!" The second of the two soldiers Deskyl was tromping around with earlier steps out of the crowd and waves at the sentry now taking aim at the sith. "We're all on the same side here!"

She doesn't flinch; she knows it's not going to hit her. She pauses, flaring her fear aura again, and then turns to face them, all offended authoritativeness.

"She's been useful, okay?" The soldier immediately realizes how weak-sounding that protest is. She thinks she could have said something more eloquent to the sentry if she were not suddenly terrified for some reason. "And we're supposed to evac as many as the ship can hold, right?"

The soldier then turns back to Deskyl. "If they let you tag along on my next sweep of the area... will you evac with me after? Our orders were to make absolutely sure you were aboard a transport before the station gets grey'd. That's the highest priority, you understand?"

She narrows her eyes when DZ signs 'let', but nods. 

There's plenty more ground to sweep in Procyon's station's outer habitat, even keeping within the designated search radius for this particular Rescue Boat, and a fair few vassals still holed up in their rooms (which conveniently lack locks) or in barricaded common spaces. Whenever they find such individuals, the soldier yanks them out and sends them scurrying towards the evac point.

The station shakes a couple more times. At one point, a section of hull directly underneath them suddenly buckles from an exterior impact--not quite enough to cause a breach, but it's a close thing.

Deskyl's ability to identify occupied rooms speeds up the search considerably. She steadies her companion when the station shakes, stays calm through the impact, but pauses not long after that - "We should get back to the ship now."

"Yeah, that sounds good."

(Emotion: gratitude, relief.)

She leads the way back, consulting a map in her helmet to avoid the worst of the new damage that's occurred since they left the docking ring.

"My name's Thamarai, by the way."

"Deskyl you know, and I'm DZ."

"It's good to meet you both."

They come across one more wounded civilian on the way back to the evac zone. Thamarai defers to Deskyl's casualty-carrying expertise once again at this juncture.

And then they are back at the airlock. The troopers there are packing up their gear. All the injured persons from earlier have been loaded on to the transport.

"Hurry!" One of the troopers perks up when she sees Deskyl and the others approaching. "Grey's already spreading. We're bugging out ASAP!"