“I’ll tow the disabled colonial. One of my sisters will tow the fuel-depleted Hound SLAYER. Will you be able to follow us without further assistance?”

This is it, then. Into enemy hands.

Devika resists, with great difficulty, the urge to crank her SLAYER’s reactor back to full and Go Down Fighting.

    "Deskyl would prefer to keep the colonial, Ma'am, she expects that it'll be easier to talk her around if her claim on her is unambiguous. We won't need any assistance."

Dheto mutes her audio and then turns away from DZ to confer with someone in another transmission window.

She then unmutes herself and responds to Deskyl’s request.

“I will be towing the colonial SLAYER. However, if you wish to transfer the pilot to your own craft beforehand, my master would permit that.”

    "Yes, Ma'am. One moment, please."

Deskyl signals for Reva to cut comms to Dheto.

Comms are cut.

    "Is that all right, Ma'am? If you'd like to threaten them a little first, Deskyl can work with that."

A part of her would rather stay in her SLAYER when the secessionists tow it away. Her SLAYER feels like home. The closest thing to a trusted companion she has in this mad place.

But she has to think about the mission.

"It's alright. Bring me aboard."

    "Yes, Ma'am. We'll meet you at the airlock."

She slips up the pressure hood of her whiplash bodysuit, unclips herself from her harness and heads for the rear hatch of her SLAYER.

When Deskyl has brought the transports up alongside the biomech, Devika opens the hatch and makes a brief trip through vacuum to the transport's airlock.

She's drilled on this manuever dozens of times, but this is actually her first time performing it in the field. (Emotion Read: intense vertigo.)

It eases off, after a moment, when Deskyl redeploys the calming field. She resists the urge to guide her in, but watches her approach anyway, alert for micrometeoroids.

She makes it in safely.

She spits out her breathing tube and starts peeling back her pressure hood before the airlock has even completely finished cycling.

Looks back out the exterior door at her SLAYER as it's dragged away on a secessionist grappling tether.

And yet she feels calm. She's surprised that she feels calm.

Deskyl eases back on the aura slowly, as the airlock cycles.

The cycling finishes. The door opens.

Devika Kaur is a bit of a mess. Her hair's all mussed up from the pressure hood, she smells about the way you'd expect someone who's been plugged into a biomech for a Significant Length Of Time to smell, and she has a generally troubled look to her. (Emotion Read: definitely not crying.)

"So. Hi."

    "Hello, Ma'am. We should have you in the cockpit until we're done with Ladriel's people, and then I can get you a shower and a bunk."

"Alright. Lead the way."

Up they go. DZ goes first, to take the pilot's seat again; Devika next, and then Deskyl, to watch her, standing behind the seats; Nilam, taking up the rear, ends up in the doorway. They ask Reva to reestablish the connection.

It takes the better part of a minute for Dheto to respond to the the Gamma Savior's hails. When she picks up, it looks as though she's only just leaving another conversation.

"May I help you with anything?"

    "Deskyl would like to know where we're going, Ma'am, and about how long it will take to get there. And if there's anything else she should know about the trip or our destination."

"We've got a path plotted out that avoids the worst of the plasma blooms. Hound says you can trail a SLAYER in that transport, we'll be assigning two escorts to chart a path for you. Destination: Saru Core Habitat. ETA: three degrees."

    "Thank you, Ma'am."

Dheto departs with Devika's SLAYER. Her cohort, another Thousand Fingers pilot, follows right behind with Shreya in tow.

A couple minutes later, the Gamma Savior's escort arrives. The pair of SLAYERs have identical paint schemes: plain black with none of the ornamentation that Deskyl's seen on other biomechs.

"Those aren't Ladriel's people." Nilam says. (Emotion Read: intimidated). "Those are Masked Legionnaires."

All black doesn't intimidate Deskyl; a Sith in all black is too low-status or too unimaginative to display an aesthetic. (Her own outfit for the day has clusters of shimmery silver-blue dots embroidered on the collar and shoulders.) Still, it's a different culture here; better to know what she's dealing with. She closes her eyes and reaches out to check their emotions.

Their emotions are a little fainter than those of the other humans she's encountered here. The reads from the two escort pilots are nearly identical--a gentle wash of attentiveness, certitude, and serenity.

They do not open hails, or otherwise attempt to initiate conversation. They start off along the intended course with no undue haste or excessive excitement, taking turns swiveling back their SLAYER's primary sensor arrays so that at least one of them has a clear view of the Gamma Savior at all times.

Creepy. She wonders if that's what Jedi are like.

She gives them a few minutes, and when she's sure they aren't going to attempt communication, sends DZ to get Devika settled in.