She lets herself be hurried in, and goes to drop off her passenger, then has DZ find someone to offer her help with triage to.

The transport's rear hatch closes. The docking clamps disengage, and the vessel falls away into space.

The interior's pretty cramped, though clever architectural optimization makes it possible nonetheless to navigate without too many interpersonal collisions. The majority volume of the vessel consists of rows and rows of coffin-like bunks, which slot away into the bulkheads to keep the gangways clear. The handles on the coffin-beds double as ladder rungs for persons navigating the space in null-inertial conditions.

Thamarai seems to have been delegated the task of babysitting the two priority guests while the transport makes its departure.

"So you can sense people's medical needs just by proximity, then? Let's say we go through the bunk halls one at a time, and I'll jot down notes for the medics on the outside of each sleep pod?"

    "That's fine. Is there any reason for her not to calm everyone a little? She can do that, too."

“Calm would be good.”

(She is though, in fact, rather uncalmed by the assertion that magically-calming-people is a thing that Deskyl can do?)

A half-dozen SLAYERS are currently dogfighting it out across the station’s periphery, but neither side seems disposed to fire on unarmed transports.

She sets up the calming aura, relaxes herself as the anxiousness in the craft recedes, and starts going through the aisles, pointing out whenever a bunk contains someone with an injury or other medical need.

Things settle down. They drift well clear of the combat zone, making only gentle course corrections to avoid debris collisions.

The bunks get marked and medical care gets divvied out. 

Thamarai and her colleagues remove their helmets, detach their exoskeletons and cautiously congratulate each other on a job well done.

Deskyl waits 'till they're done to ask.

    "Do you know where we're going, Ma'am?"

“A perfect mission if there ever was one.” Thamarai’s recon partner is talking to some younger troopers. “Primary objective secure. More than a hundred slaves liberated. And all without a single casualty.”

Cheering ensues.

The nearest trooper turns when DZ asks Deskyl’s question. She says: “express trip back to the United Colonies. Best get comfortable, there’s a long ways left to go”

And, that's a lightsaber. In rather closer quarters than one would generally prefer a lit lightsaber to be.

Confusion. Alarm. A bunch of guns suddenly pointing in her general direction.

“Did I say something wrong?” The trooper currently being held at saber-point backs up as far as she can against the bulkhead and raises her hands in a please don’t kill me sort of way.

    "Explain what you meant by 'slaves, liberated'."

The trooper glances furtively at her allies. This isn’t fair. Why is she the one who gets singled out for this?

”Uh... liberated... as in, like, no longer slaves?”

She hopes this explanation will satisfy the scary magical lady with the laser sword. She has a sinking suspicion this won’t be the case, though...

Not really, though she's not moving to threaten anyone at least. (The calming aura is long gone.)

    "Deskyl has never been a slave. And as far as we could tell, these people were all there voluntarily."

“That’s fascinating ma’am.” The lead recon soldier speaks up from the far side of her rifle sights. “Gonna maybe want to put that weapon down before we continue this conversation?”

DZ stops signing. "Ma'am, if I tell her you said that, she'll kill you."

"Could you maybe tell her some other thing that'd make her put away that Instant Hull Breach Stick? Reckon that would be real good for everyone present."

"There's nothing I could say that would make her do that, Ma'am. This is a very subdued reaction already, for a Sith."

Deskyl growls, deep in her throat, and DZ signs to her. She stops, but gives the leader a sharp look; she doesn't have much patience for this.

"So, I was wondering... uh. Oh." Thamarai rounds the corner. Almost drifts bodily into Deskly, but catches herself on a handrail. "...what'd I miss?"

"She discovered that we've been kidnapped. Would you like to explain why you thought the people on that station were slaves?"

Thamarai blinks.

"Because... they are? Or, rather, were?"

It's a kind of hefty philosophical question, she thinks, does a person stop being a slave the moment you break their chains, or does the state persist until such a time as...

"Not as far as we could tell. Deskyl certainly wasn't. I expect I can get her to put her sword away if you agree to bring them back," she points out to the leader. "Or if they agree that they want to go with you."

Recon lead: “Look, it’s not exactly like there’s a place to take them back to at this point—”

Thamarai (to recon lead): “Shut up.”

Thamarai (to DZ): “How long has it been since the two of you showed up there?”

She resumes signing.

"Three weeks."

"Okay, so..." Thamarai speaks slowly and cautiously. "You have been among the dysofrag fields for a bit more than half a cycle. I have been living here for a bit more than two-hundred cycles. You hosts never gave you any evidence that you were surrounded by slaves, but my superiors gave me a very clear briefing on what I'd find here--a briefing that did not contradict any of my prior knowledge about the Draco Territories."

Her voice trembles a little. She really does not want to see the rookie (still cowering in front of Deskyl) sliced open with whatever the hell the sith used on that jammed security checkpoint door earlier.

"Question is, which is more likely: the dragons have successfully lied to you for three weeks, or my government has successfully lied to me my entire life?" She laughs nervously. "Please understand. There's no shame in being outwitted by a dragon. You had no external reference frame and dragons can be Very Very Clever."

    "She's an empath. She would have noticed if something was wrong, no matter what Culamine told us."