There's a surprising amount or respect, even compassion, in the look she gives them.

    "She'll respect that decision if it's the one you want to make, though she'd rather you didn't. Her offer to let the ship go to the United Colonies if that's what the civilians want stands - she's not going to let you kidnap her, but she'd consider that sufficient proof that you're right about where we should be. And - she can't speak for Culamine, but she's confident that you won't be asked to serve a dragon if you don't want to, and she'll take personal responsibility for ensuring that you aren't made to."

The defiant one considers this.

She lowers her weapon.

"We should talk to the civilians."

Another trooper says: "Most of them'll be brainwashed."

She replies: "They won't all be. They can't all be."

Deskyl stands down, leans against the wall where she'll be fairly out of the way, and closes her eyes, to better observe the conversations; DZ goes up to the cockpit to listen in there.

It's going to take a long time to interview all the vassals aboard, since pretty much all of them are tucked away into the coffin beds in the hold and the actual spatial dimensions of the transport do not allow all of these beds to be vacated simultaneously.

Meanwhile, in cockpit related news?

The ship does not, in fact, seem to be turning around.

Lead Recon comes swaggering weightlessly out of the cockpit as DZ approaches. She shrugs and says: "Not enough reaction mass to reverse course. Looks like we're stuck on this heading..?"

"Deskyl can change our course. I'll go get her." She goes to do that, carefully getting the Sith's attention with a touch to her arm and briefly explaining the situation before following her back.

"You can move this whole transport by what, just thinking about it really hard?"

(Emotion Read: Curiosity. Wariness. Reflexive disbelief tempered by recollection of recent unbelievable experiences.)

"Doesn't it at least... tire you out, or something, to apply that much delta-v?"

The lead recon soldier does not have the foggiest idea how Dez Kill's space magic works, nor is she even completely sure how delta-v works (but she always hears the SLAYER pilots talking about it, so she reckons it must be important).

    "It really doesn't, no."

She stands behind the pilots, just watching the debris field for a moment, and then the ship begins to turn, or rather spin, gently, to face backwards along its course.

"Gamma Savior, this is Alpha Savior." An older woman's voice crackles from the cockpit comm system, a half minute into the manuever. "We show you on an anomalous trajectory. Do you require assistance?"

The pilot reaches for the comm, but pauses and gives Deskyl a searching look before responding.

Sigh.

    "She can fight off a SLAYER if she has to, but she'd rather not have to, if you know how to avoid that."

Recon Lead takes the comm.

"Minor engine malfunction. Nothing we can't handle. Catch up to you within the degree."

"Understood." Alpha Savoir says. There is a pause. Then the comm crackles again: "Please confirm security code?"

She can fight a SLAYER, if she has to.

Still. Rather not.

    "The others wanted to be sure that they wouldn't be made to serve a dragon. There aren't any very good alternatives, if they push, but she can promise that you'll have one, if it helps. And the others are talking to the civilians; she might still change her mind about going with you."

Recon Lead considers this. She nods once, and then transmits a series of letters and numbers to Alpha Savior.

"Security Code: 16D-4Y7-FUB-ARD. Confirmed?"

(Emotion Read for the pilots: wait, that's not the right--ohhhhh...)

(Emotion Read for Recon Lead: smug satisfaction.)

"Confirmed." Alpha Savior gives a curt reply. "We wish you all the best of luck."

Welp. She tried.

Lightsaber.

Anybody else?

Nobody else.

Absolutely nobody else.

She throws a few sharp signs to DZ, who heads back to the cabin, and then gestures for the lead pilot to give her her seat. The ship is already spinning again, to face the transports and SLAYERs.

"There's a SLAYER incoming," she tells the nearest soldier, and then the next, and the next. "Get the civilians back in their bunks and prepare for maneuvers."

The other transports are barely visible at this distance. Likewise the colonial SLAYERs. Apparently, local military doctrine involves spreading units out significantly further than most factions in Deskyl's home galaxy do.

One SLAYER, though, is becoming rapidly larger.

"She's hailing us." The copilot points at the approaching biomech. "I think we'd better put her on screen? Yeah. I'm putting her on screen."

Absent her translator, Deskyl doesn't have anything to say about this.

A window appears off to the side of the the cockpit viewscreen, displaying the interior of a SLAYER's cockpit.

Suspended in the center of the frame is a muscular woman with serious features. Her whiplash bodysuit is patterned in different colors than Shreya's was, but it's clearly the same sort of garment.

She appraises Deskyl and the copilot in turn.

"Savior Gamma, please clarify your current status."

The copilot gives Deskyl a quick are you going to kill me look and then, when no direction is forthcoming, states: "We have been hijacked by the Primary Objective."

Yep, that certainly is an unfamiliar and unusually-dressed person staring her down from the other pilot's seat.

"Does the Primary Objective have any demands?"

"She said she wanted to... talk to some of the slaves we rescued? And that she might then change her mind about hijacking us? I think?"

The SLAYER pilot considers this.

"Alright. If you maintain course in the mean time, she can have as long as she needs."

The transport copilot snaps a salute. "Yes, ma'am!"