She stops drifting.

The droid bumps into her. She starts drifting forward again; they both stop, and then start moving at a rather faster pace toward the nearest cable. The droid grabs it; she stops to float nearby, where she has a view of both the droid and the other inhabitant.

The cable turn out to be pretty elastic, and so the droid grabbing hold of one of them ends up sending tremors through the whole eight-pronged spiderweb.

This gets the attention of the person suspended in the room's center, who turns towards the source of the vibrations and appears Highly Alarmed by the sight of Deskyl and her droid floating there!

(The person appears to be a young human woman, one wearing a contoured bodysuit with reinforced joints. Her face is uncovered, though her suit's heavily padded collar obscures most of her neck. There's also an open patch between her shoulder blades, where a line from the ceiling plugs into some sort of cybernetic apparatus between her shoulderblades?)

The droid tries speaking to her - a question, in an entirely unfamiliar language. Her tone is calm, but slightly worried.

The woman responds in a language that is equally unfamiliar to the two newcomers.

She tries two more, neither familiar. When they both fail, she signs to her companion with her free hand.

The woman maneuvers under the cable - it's entirely unclear how she's propelling herself; it seems to be completely effortless - and grabs it from the other side, angling herself so that the droid can see her free hand, and then closes her eyes.

The woman in the room's center continues to be Highly Alarmed. She blinks a couple of times, and then a hologram of a similiarly dressed woman appears in midair near the room's far wall.

She converses frantically with the hologram, the room's projectors mapping her counterpart's nonverbal cues and its speakers projecting her counterpart's voice.

All words continue to be in an unfamiliar alien language.

After a few minutes, the newcomer begins signing a translation.

Translated: "--She's coming out here? Personally? Okay. Upload the desired coordinates and I'll hold position."

"Okay? I'll hold position here." It's not a great introduction, but it should get her attention.

It does!

The woman twists around to face DZ again.

"Can you understand me?"

She waits for her companion to finish signing before answering: "Can understand."

"Are you... okay? Do you or she need help?" The woman glances at the distinctly-unconscious-looking Deskyl.

More signing. "She and me are okay, and need help."

"My master is on her way. It should only be another couple of minutes until you're able to speak to her. Do you need anything from me in the meantime?"

"Speak to me, help understand?"

Her surface thoughts flash with confusion and indecision.

This scenario does not even remotely resemble anything she's trained for.

She isn't sure if her master would want her to keep speaking to these strangers, or to keep quiet now that one of them has said they aren't in immediate physical danger, or even to unclip herself and go for her medkit anyway just in case the metallic-looking woman is mistaken/lying about the unconscious-looking one?

"My master will be here soon." Her hand hovers uncertainly over the release-knob on her harness. "I have basic medical supplies, potable water and rations. Could you or your companion benefit from any of those things?"

This time, when the woman finishes signing, she opens her eyes - she does look very tired - and lets go of the cable, carefully enough to avoid jostling the web, not carefully enough that she shouldn't start drifting again. She doesn't drift.

    "She and me are okay," the droid repeats, and curls in on herself slightly; it seems like she considers the conversation over.

Their perplexed host makes no further attempts at conversation, either.

A few minutes later, the hologram from earlier pops back in and tells her something-in-the-foreign-language. She responds by blinking her eyes several times, cybernetically instructing the room to provide a view of the space outside across its forward face...

...additional projectors flick online, and now the front wall of the room is a great void. It has the look of deep space, save for a single feeble dwarf star off to the periphery and a few visible fragments of orbital debris. Below, and off to either side, it's possible to glimpse the edges of what might be a very strangely shaped space vessel?

Huh.

They watch.

One of the lights in the distance gets brighter: not a star, but a pair of fusion engines.

As these engines blaze closer, it becomes possible to resolve a winged silhouette between them.

Then all at once, the titanic figure is upon them. The wings housing the fusion engines rotate, allowing the thrust to slow the monster's descent. It comes to a stop a short distance away, its outline clearly visible now in the dark.

Judging by its size and apparent distance, it likely measures between a tenth and a twentieth of a kilometer in length from snout to tail. Its wings span a similar distance.

As it stares at them (or, rather, at whatever vessel they reside inside) a new voice emerges from the speakers in the padded room. This voice has an uncanny melodic quality. It uses the same sort of alien words as the two harness-women did.

The newcomer closes her eyes again when the new voice appears, but she doesn't start signing immediately.

"It's me! I am, I am!" The woman in the room's center grins broadly, relieved and delighted by the arrival of this enormous scaly creature. "Can you see the people I found in my cockpit? I can adjust the display settings... oh! Oh good! Yes, here they are."

The woman begins signing again, her eyes still closed.

    "DZ-twelve-Q", the droid offers in her own language, tapping her chest indicatively, and then gestures to her companion. "Deskyl, my master."

"It is good to meet you, DZ-twelve-Q and Deskyl." The melodic voice plays again from the speakers. "I am Culamine. The woman beside you is Shreya."

Shreya hangs on her master's every word, making a translation of Culamine's speech via Shreya's surface thoughts possible.

"It is good to meet you, Culamine."

"How did you get here?"

"Deskyl. Sith," she offers, in case the word has made it out here, wherever 'here' is. "Adjust position."

"You haven't spoken any words in our language yet that were not first spoken to you by Shreya or myself. Do you need us to vocalize words before you can make use of them?"

Shreya had only just delivered her cockpits latest recordings to her master a few seconds ago. There was almost no lag time between Culamine receiving the relevant data and making that observation.

"Yes, or."

"--or you could acquire words through another means? Perhaps by holographic display or wireless upload?"

"Yes, display."

"Shreya, I am taking direct control of your SLAYER."

Culamine draws closer, fanning her wings to properly angle a dozen maneuvering thrusters along their length.

"Yes, Master."

Shreya braces herself.

The padded white room rocks as Culamine's enormous form bodily envelops the 'SLAYER' that Shreya's piloting.

And then the other fives walls of the room--the ones not being used to display the forward view of outer space--light up with streams of letters in the alien language.

Words. Pronunciations. Definitions. An entire lexicon scrolling past too fast for the human eye to follow.

Deskyl steadies the three of them against the room's movement. She leaves her eyes closed against the flickering display, but relaxes slightly when it begins.

"I'll need a moment to process, Ma'am."

Culamine stands by patiently, as does her vassal.

(Well, neither of them are actually standing per se, but...)

She floats silently for a couple minutes.

"Thank you for your patience, Ma'am. Deskyl is a Sith; a kind of person who can do magic. She was being threatened by a more powerful Sith and escaped by teleporting. We won't be followed; Sith can't teleport under normal circumstances." DZ signs along as she speaks, translating for Deskyl.

"I see." Culamine gives an inquisitive nod. "And what would you like to do now?"

Deskyl and DZ consult via sign; Deskyl is terse, and the conversation is short.

"Deskyl is still injured from a previous attack; she should rest and recover. She expects to need at least half a cycle to be functional, and perhaps a cycle or two to regain her full capabilities. She'll need to know more about this place before she makes any other decisions."

"The nearest medical facility is within the borders of my own vassalage. If you don't feel comfortable staying in a dragon's domain, you could instead be brought to the central hospital of the unpledged holdings. In either case, Deskyl will receive access to treatment for any injuries we have the technology to repair and may rest for as long as she needs."

"We appreciate the offer, but her injury is magical, not physical; medical treatment is unlikely to help." She pauses to ask Deskyl a question, "and she's not interested in checking." Another question. "She'd prefer to stay here to rest."

The dragon makes a sound that might be a laugh.

"Do you know where 'here' is?"

"No, Ma'am."

The words on the walls fade away to give a full panoramic view of their surroundings, plus holographic overlays for the trajectories of nearby debris fragments, plus the wireframe outline of the SLAYER they reside within (which has a rather bizarre layout, more akin to that of a Very Large Droid than a space ship).

Some of the debris fragments are lit up in various colors, colors that Shreya associates with foreboding words like 'nanocontamination' and 'ionic discharge'?

As the SLAYER drifts there, jostled back and forth occasionally by short bursts from the dragon's maneuvering jets, hundreds of micrometeorites whiz past it on not-quite-collision-courses.

There are no planets here. A constant state of deadly flux surrounds them for thousands of kilometers in every direction.

"I think I misunderstood. Where is your vassalage, Ma'am?"

A shimmering arrow appears, imposed upon the holographic panorama, that points off the direction of... a place that Shreya associates with the word 'home'?

"My domain does not have clearly marked borders, due to the evershifting nature of the dysofrag fields. It can perhaps be best defined as 'the three small settlements where most of my vassal population resides, plus the surrounding volume of space that my knights are responsible for patrolling'? We are currently near the outer edge of that volume."

DZ relays this, and the pair discuss it. (Deskyl is flagging, and exerting herself both to have the conversation and to hide how much it drains her to do so. She's good at the latter - even a fairly perceptive human would have trouble noticing - but not perfect.)

    "Deskyl would like to go to one of your settlements to recuperate, Ma'am, unless you'd like us to go someplace else in particular."

"Your request is entirely agreeable."

Culamine lets go of the SLAYER, letting herself drift slowly away so that both she and it have room to maneuver again.

(As she does so, some of the additional overlays to the holographic panorama blink off, though it continues to competently display a photorealistic simulation of their surroundings).

"Shreya, please deliver the newcomers to Procyon Station."

Shreya beams.

"Yes, Master!"

"I will search the vicinity for any further signs of anomalous events. Farewell. May your flight be tranquil."

Culamine spreads her wings and glides off.

And Deskyl retreats to a corner and curls up loosely to nap.

Shreya gives them the smoothest ride she can, despite the constant course-corrections necessary to dodge oncoming fragments of orbital debris.

And then, perhaps an hour or so later, she starts decelerating to match velocity with an oddly shaped space station in the distance.

It's a delicate procedure--the engine technology in this place seems cruder than what they had back in the far, far away galaxy that Deskyl came from--but at length Shreya brings them gliding up towards a set of SLAYER-shaped docking clamps at a speed that will make a link-up possible.

"Be careful, we're about to experience some rotational inertia... you'll want to get close to the opposite wall from the docking hatch if you can..."

DZ wakes Deskyl when it's clear they're making their final approach, and guides her into position when instructed.

The Sith counters the press of inertia on the three of them, when it comes time; not completely, but enough to be very noticeable.

The docking clamps lock in place. The room shakes. And yet, strangely, its occupants barely budge.

(Shreya has performed similar maneuvers dozens of times--thousands if you count simulator training--and it's immediately evident to her that her body isn't moving the way it's supposed to?)

The wall Deskyl and DZ lean against has now effectively become 'down' and the one across from them has become the ceiling.

The pilot removes the plug in from between her shoulderblades, ejects herself from the suspension harness and drops to the padded floor beside them.

She asks them if they're able to move under their own power given present inertial conditions. The conditions in question are actually pretty mild: less than half the weight that one would experience on the surface of the average inhabited planet.

Deskyl cushions the drop, as well.

"This is fine, thank you, Ma'am. I might have trouble in a place with less force than this; Deskyl can tolerate any conditions that humans find habitable."

Shreya walks to another wall of the cockpit and reaches into the cushioning for a recessed panel.

A ladder snaps out of the wall, leading the way to a small hatchway overhead.

"Okay." She starts to climb the ladder. "Follow me."

DZ follows; Deskyl peers at the hatch, but doesn't.

Beyond the hatchway is a narrow crawlspace. Beyond that crawlspace is a docking umbilical, and beyond that umbilical is an airlock set into the exterior of the space station.

Shreya pauses at the lip of the docking umbilical. Glances back and says to DZ: "Is she alright?"

"She'll be up in a moment, yes."

And as she's speaking, Deskyl hauls herself over the edge of the hatchway, on the side opposite the ladder.

It is not Shreya's job to ask questions.

She leads the way into the airlock, sits down within and opens a comm channel with someone in the station overhead.

"I've got two unexpected guests with me. One of them has injuries of an undetermined nature. Culamine has asked that they be given access to quarters, provisions and medical facilities."

A reply comes a couple seconds later: "Yes ma'am. I'll send a team down to meet you at the airlock."

DZ translates; Deskyl scowls, slightly.

The lower airlock door closes. The upper airlock door opens. The three of them now have free access to the interior of the structure.

"So this is it." Shreya gestures to the grey halls branching out from their entry point, dotted with irregularly spaced doors and interfaces and elevator shafts. "Procyon Station."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

Deskyl leans casually against the wall and extends her senses to get a look at the emotional tenor of the place, while she waits for whoever's coming to meet them to make themselves obvious to her.

It's a happy place.

Sure, there's a certain background tension of the sort that you'd expect to find in any settlement situated in such an Absurdly Lethal Locale but aside from that the space station contains a rather carefree-verging-on-lackadaisical emotional aura.

"You know, there's no rule saying we've got to wait on a welcoming committee. If you'd like to be somewhere else we could just... go?"

Deskyl produces a single sign in response when DZ translates this for her.

    "Do you know which room has been assigned to us?"

She nods.

"My master actually planned to give you a choice of four rooms, depending on your preferences between high/low-inertial conditions and high/low-access to social interaction."

"It will be best for Deskyl to be someplace quiet. Higher inertial conditions are better but that's less of a concern."

"Alright, this way."

Shreya leads them along the outer circumference of the space station, first via one of the main halls and then off along a side passage. She points out a couple essentials as she goes: the nearest gymnasium to the quarters in question, the nearest cafeteria, the nearest bathing facilities.

"And here you are." She stops at a door near the end of the the side passage.

"Thank you, Ma'am." And in they go.

It's not a huge space, maybe three meters across and two meters high. It has two bunks, a small desk, a wall interface, and sliding doors leading to a pair of even smaller chambers (one a closet, one a bathroom).

Shreya demonstrates the most basic uses of the wall interface--including how to call for help if they need it--and then steps back into the hall.

"I need to get some rest now, myself. Would you like me to come by again later? Just tell me about how many degrees to take off and I'll set an alarm for myself as appropriate."

Shreya is very excited. Shreya's master has given her an Important Job and she intends to do her Very Best.

The Sith goes straight to bed, and falls asleep immediately.

"Deskyl should rest for the next few days, but I'd appreciate a tour of the station if you have time to give me one. Whenever is convenient, Ma'am."

Shreya considers.

She would really like to show the Mysterious Shiny Woman around her home right now.

But she has already been awake for half again as long as humans are meant to be at a stretch and she is beginning to feel jittery from fatigue. And Culamine would not like to have her a tour of her domain given by a jittery person, would she?

"Two degrees," she blurts out finally. "I'll set an alarm for two degrees."

And then she bounds off.

DZ goes back inside, and goes to lock the door.

There isn't a lock on the door.

Fortunately, Shreya just showed her how to call for help.

"Hello? What is your emergency?"

An androgynous youth seated at a console answers DZ's call.

(She has a bored demeanor, initially, but when she glances up from console and looks DZ in the face the youth seems Somewhat Startled by DZ's appearance.)

"Hello, I'm DZ-twelve-Q, calling on behalf of my master, Deskyl; Shreya brought us in a little while ago. I just noticed that the room assigned to us doesn't have a lock on the door; Deskyl is a fighter, and if someone comes in and startles her, she might injure her, especially if she's asleep when she comes in."

"Wait. Back up."

The youth sets aside everything else she was doing and gives DZ her full attention.

"I don't know of any dragon called Deskyl. And you're currently calling from a room that would Definitely Not Fit A Dragon. And what are you wearing?" She leans in, scrutinizing the screen in front of her. "Is that colonial scout armor?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Ma'am, you must not have been notified yet. Deskyl is a Sith; she's human, but she can do magic. She teleported us to Shreya's SLAYER a few hours ago, and Shreya brought us here on Culamine's orders."

"If she's human, then why are you calling her master--Oh. Ohhhhhh. This is some sort of weird roleplay thing, isn't it?"

The youth frowns.

"This is a gross misuse of the station's emergency hotline. I'm going to have to write you a citation for this."

"I assure you I'm telling the truth, Ma'am."

"Sure. And I'm just an Orc of below average height."

She rolls her eyes, touches something on the console in front of her, and then the screen goes dark.

That's not good.

She stations herself outside the door.

For the first half hour or so, nobody comes anywhere near their door. In fact, only a couple of people even enter the side passage that their door branches off of.

(One of these people stops to stare at DZ for a bit, but does not approach.)

Eventually a woman in uniform comes striding up purposefully from the direction of the main hallway, makes eye contact with DZ and then approaches to a distance of just a couple of meters.

"Hello. I received a complaint regarding this residential unit."

She's all deference, but holds her ground in the doorway. "Yes, Ma'am, there seems to have been a misunderstanding. Did Shreya turn in a report when she returned to the station?"

"Shreya..." She hmmmms to herself for a moment. "She wasn't actually scheduled back for a couple more cycles. I certainly haven't seen any reports filed."

"All right. She returned about half a degree ago; you should have record of that. Deskyl, who is a kind of human who can do magic, teleported us into her SLAYER, and Culamine had her bring us here."

The woman seems to consider asking for further clarification, but in the end elects not to.

(It might be worth noting that, in the holographic dictionary, the words for "magic" and "teleport" were both marked as archaic/speculative rather than as existing in the language’s common lexicon.)

Instead she says: "I'll contact Shreya."

And then she backs up a couple paces, leans against the wall, and draws a comm unit out from her belt.

"She's asleep right now, Ma'am, and it looked like she needed the rest; perhaps you could check for a report first?"

She pauses, taps back a couple layers on her comm unit, and then takes a different digital route.

A few seconds later, a recording plays from the comm unit. Shreya's voice: "I've got two unexpected guests with me. One of them has injuries of an undetermined nature. Culamine has asked that they be given access to quarters, provisions and medical facilities."

"Yes, Ma'am, that was us."

"Ah." The woman shakes her head. "She really should have told us where she was putting you."

She taps at the screen a couple more times.

"Apparently, a team of paramedics got sent down here forty minutes ago. They're probably still wandering the halls..."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. It's probably best to send them back; Deskyl's injury isn't the type that mundane healing can help with, and she'd rather not be disturbed."

The woman gives DZ the same sort of searching look that Shreya did when the droid and Deskyl appeared suddenly in her SLAYER's cockpit.

DZ does not even remotely look like she belongs here, and her story does not make a whole lot of sense, and this whole situation is just Far Outside standard operating parameters.

"Okay. I'll make some calls. Please don't leave this area."

"Yes Ma'am." The response is immediate, automatic; of course she will follow this order.

"May we have a lock for this door? I'm concerned that someone will come in and surprise Deskyl; she's a fighter, and might injure someone if she's startled."

She hmmmms again.

"The doors in this station aren't designed to lock. I could send for some caution tape, though, and put it up over the entrance if you think that would help?"

"I don't know enough about how things are done here to guess, Ma'am. If you think that will be sufficient I expect it will be."

She smiles.

"These aren't the unpledged holdings. You'll find the folks here generally know how to follow instructions."

And then she makes some calls.

A little while later, somebody comes by carrying some bright yellow tape printed with the words DO NOT ENTER. The women drape this tape across Deskyl's doorway.

DZ thanks them and retreats back into the room. (She's keeping track of the time, and will resume her post outside when Shreya is due.)

They are not bothered further until that time.

Shreya's eyes still look a little bleary when she shows up, but she's brimming with enthusiasm.

She's no longer wearing the reinforced piloting suit from before, having dropped that off somewhere in favor of loose, flowy non-combat attire.

"Oh." She sees the caution tape. "That's new."

"Yes." ...the security guard didn't give her name, and DZ didn't ask; did she have some sort of name badge? DZ checks her memories.

The guard was wearing a sort of dogtag, hung from a synthetic loop around her neck.

(Shreya also has such a tag. The woman who came by with the tape, though, did not--nor did the person at the emergency hotline?)

The guard's tag read: [PALA KAUR -- if found please return to Procyon Station]

The pause won't have been long enough for Shreya to notice.

"Pala Kaur suggested it; I was worried that someone might startle Deskyl and get hurt. She asked me to stay here, too."

Shreya sheepishly apologizes for having failed to file the proper paperwork upon her unscheduled return from patrol.

"So, do you still want that tour?"

"If you're sure it's okay, Ma'am? I'm not sure how the hierarchy works here."

"It ought to be okay." She shrugs, smiles, and inclines her head back in the direction that she came from. "As for our hierarchy? Yeah... I can explain that..."

That doesn't sound like she's sure it's okay. "I'd rather not risk causing a problem that Deskyl will need to handle, Ma'am, she needs her rest. But we could go sit in the cafeteria and talk?"

"That would be good. Probably better we wait for my master to get back, or for yours to recover a bit?"

She leads the way back to the cafeteria.

"So, what sort of things do people eat where you're from? I can't make any promises, but we've got a decent selection here..."

"People on the planet we're from eat a pretty standard diet - grains, vegetables, meat. It's mostly humans and near-humans, there. Deskyl isn't very adventurous with her meals, but she's flexible enough, I doubt there will be a problem."

"And what about you?"

Shreya is already gathering up a tray of comestibles to her own taste.

"I don't eat at all, Ma'am, I'm a robot."

Shreya raises an eyebrow. 'Robot' does not have quite the same connotations here as it does where DZ is from.

"Do you mean you're a machine?" She reaches around for a connection that might reconcile that information with her own experiences. "Like... a drone that Deskyl pilots remotely when she's too weak to move or speak herself?"

"I'm a machine, yes, but I'm a separate entity, an artificial intelligence."

Oh, Shreya thinks, by robot she must mean biomechanical life form. Sure, it's an obvious distinction to pilots like me, but a lot of civilians get those concepts mixed up.

DZ certainly does look a bit to her like a miniaturized SLAYER. But SLAYERs don't have intelligence, artificial or otherwise.

Hmmmm...

"So, your brain was biofabricated separately from your body?" There's a look of dawning realization on Shreya's face. Her next three words, she speaks almost reverently: "Like a dragon's?"

"There are... ways that I'm similar to them, yes. But I'm a third thing entirely; I don't have any biological parts at all, and I'm not smarter than a human - some robots are, but not my line. I'm a servant robot."

"Alright." She still doesn't understand, but Shreya has reached the point where she has serious doubts about her ability to frame further questions usefully.

"I suppose you could say I'm a servant human." She tugs at the polymer collar encircling her neck. "But I bet you already guessed that?"

"It doesn't surprise me, Ma'am."

"Would you like me to tell you more about how robots work in our society?"

"I would like that."

She sits at a cafeteria table and sets her tray down. She glances uncertainly from the food to DZ, unsure of proper etiquette regarding eating-in-front-of-people-who-literally-cannot-eat.

"Go ahead, Ma'am, I don't mind."

She goes ahead.

DZ waits for her to take a few bites, and then continues. "There are five general kinds of robots, where Deskyl and I are from, each serving a different role. Servant robots are part of the group that's made to work with humans and other people directly, along with childcare and diplomatic robots; it's the kind of work that's most likely to be done by slaves, instead, and we have a fairly similar social standing - though of course humans can be free, and robots can't, and most people don't believe that we could be people at all. There are also fighting and manual labor robots, which are less valued, and engineering and science robots, which are more valued."

To minimize cognitive load, Shreya has internally substituted DZ's use of the word robot for 'metal human who does not need to eat'. She is pretty sure this is still blatantly incorrect, but it causes most of the things that DZ says to make sense.

One statement about 'robots' stands out to her as particularly concerning, though.

"What do you mean you can't be free?"

She has to think about that one for a moment.

"Humans aren't made to be anything in particular. You serve Culamine, and you seem happy doing it, but if something happened and you couldn't - you might be upset, but you'd be able to change, to do something else. I couldn't; I was made to be a servant, and I can learn to be a better servant, but I - wouldn't know what to do, without someone to serve." Her voice has been steady, up to this point; not emotionless, but calm, matter-of-fact. But she sounds genuinely upset at the idea of being on her own.

Oh. She... thinks she kind of understands? She has met people--vassals of more authoritative dragons--who are approximately shaped like what DZ just described. But all of them grew into that way of being over time. None of them were born (or built?) exclusively to be that. The idea of building someone to be an obligate servant is on some level more chilling to her than the mere existence of one.

"Well I... if the way you're been living is fulfilling to you, I hope you continue to have that?"

"Deskyl is an excellent master," she nods.

She smiles. That is a sentiment she can easily empathize with.

"I'm glad."

She sits in silence for a few seconds.

"So, what are things like here, Ma'am? I don't know enough about it to ask many questions yet."

"Culamine is one of twelve dragons who jointly rule these territories. Each dragon has their own vassalage--some larger than others, depending on how many humans are inspired to pledge service to them."

"There's also a significant fraction of our human population living in the Unpledged Holdings. No specific dragon controls that territory, but all twelve jointly protect it from external and internal threats. Almost everyone you meet here was born in the Unpledged Holdings. It's against the rules to raise children in a dragon's vassalage." She takes a quick bite, leans back, and thinks over how best to explain this policy to an outsider. "Vassalage is something you cannot be born in to. You have to choose it, and then work to maintain it, under whatever terms a dragon deems just. If we can't live up to the expectations of our masters, we don't belong in their domains."

"That makes sense," she nods. "Will Deskyl need to agree to be Culamine's vassal if she wants to stay here?"

Shreya chews her lip thoughtfully. This is an unusual case. She doesn't immediately know what bit of precedent to reference. Eventually, though, she settles on something relevant seeming.

"Vassals of other dragons, or even unpledged individuals, can visit these holdings without swearing fealty to Culamine. Granted, they usually don't stay for more than a couple dozen degrees at a time but..." She wants to be reassuring, but she has to be careful not to put words in Culamine's mouth here. "I don't see any reason why my master couldn't extend her hospitality further than that, and it sounded to me as though that was her intention. We'll have to ask when she returns."

"That was my understanding, yes. I'm not sure what Deskyl will want to do when she's recovered, though. I expect her to be very cautious about taking on a master."

Shreya nods.

"We've never had to deal with anyone quite like the two of you before, but we have a lot of experience with welcoming humans from outside the Draco Territories into our fold. It's normal for newcomers to have... apprehensions."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. A lot of humans just don't 'get' the whole vassalage thing unless they've grown up around it? Which is okay. We have the unpledged holdings, and newcomers can spend their whole lives there if they want to."

"Ah. I don't expect Deskyl to have that problem in particular - she might, if you do things differently enough, but Sith are very hierarchical and she wasn't very interested in earning a high rank, so she's used to taking orders. But I expect her to care quite a bit about who she's taking orders from, if she's willing to take orders at all from someone who isn't a Sith."

"I don't think that sort of choosiness would be a problem at all? While I would take orders from any dragon in an emergency, I certainly wouldn't choose to actively serve a Master other than Culamine."

DZ nods. "That's good."

"What are the unpledged holdings like?"

"A nice place to grow up. Safe, clean, plenty of recreational opportunities. Basic amenities are free, but there's a currency available and some people use that to hire each other to do things or purchase luxury items and whatnot. I never really gave that much of a try. Working for another human just felt weird to me, even as a kid?"

She nods. "How easy is it to get resources there? Metal, electronic components, that sort of thing?"

"Huh. There's no metal shortage--I mean, the place is made out of metal--but most of it is already incorporate into public architecture and you can't mess with that without permission?" Shreya feels like there's probably an answer here she's not thinking of. If only DZ had asked about the recreational facilities? She knows all about those. "I guess you could buy metal. Oh, or buy finished electronics. The unpledged holdings do have a macro-fabricator installed and there's this whole market set up around it where technoartisans peddle their wares."

She nods. "It sounds like she'd be all right there, then."

"I hope you will be too, however this ends up playing out."

That's - cute? It's cute. Okay. "Thank you, Ma'am."

Shreya finishes eating, with the same gusto she applies to all her other pursuits.

DZ waits patiently.

"Before you go, Ma'am - Deskyl will need some things, who should I talk to about that?"

"What sort of things? Unless you're looking for SLAYER components, I won't know offhand who you should speak to, though I would be able to ask around?"

"She'll need a few changes of clothing, and I'll need to recharge in the next twenty or thirty degrees; she can make a charger for me, but she'll need parts and tools, I don't know what exactly. And she'll want some poetry and an embroidery kit, eventually, but those aren't urgent."

"Okay. I think I can find someone to provide clothing and someone to provide tools. You might want to start jotting down a list of specific parts you'll need... oh, and specific clothing items she'll want, if your master's picky about that?"

She nods. "I'll get a list next time she's awake. For clothing, I wouldn't say that she's picky, but she won't wear anything that will constrain her movement or get in the way in a fight, and she prefers simple styles and things made of softer fabric. And color is important; Sith only wear dark colors, primarily black and red."

"I'll pass that along. Those preferences sound pretty easy to accommodate, we can probably have a few outfits tailored before she wakes up. Do you know her measurements, by the way? Could probably extrapolate them from my SLAYER's cockpit recordings, but that would be kind of a lot of work."

"Yes Ma'am." She gives them. "Thank you."

She jots the numbers down, stands to go and puts away her tray.

She stops for a moment at the cafeteria door, though, and turns back to DZ.

"Do you need anything to do? In the mean time?"

"No, Ma'am."

She leaves.

And DZ goes back to the room. She ventures out again some hours later to get Deskyl a meal.

They quickly settle into a routine, if a relatively unsteady one; Deskyl doesn't wake on any kind of predictable schedule. When she does, DZ brings her food, and takes her on short walks through the halls near their room - to the cafeteria, once, and to the gymnasium, though she doesn't stay long at either one. When Deskyl is asleep, DZ reads and watches shows on the wall interface, and occasionally goes out on her own; she stays nearby, as directed, but checks the facilities to see if she can work out when they're more and less busy.

Eventually, Deskyl feels up to going through some forms, and they visit the gymnasium again.

This gymnasium is one of the larger spaces in Procyon Station's underbelly, and is in use at pretty much around the clock.

Currently, about two dozen assorted women and leons are frolicking about--availing themselves of exercise equipment, climbing walls, or the wide open field in the room's center whose cushioned surface is covered in surprisingly convincing imitation grass.

The artificial grass is a little disconcerting - no matter the quality, an imitation isn't ever going to look right to someone who can directly sense that it's not alive - but not enough so to stop her from using the space. She picks a quiet patch and stretches briefly before moving on to a beginner's kata sequence while DZ sits watchfully nearby.

This does draw some curious looks from the locals. Human-scale weapon arts are a very obscure skill around here, and biomech-scale weapon arts are typically trained in a simulator carcass rather than in a gymnasium.

Of course, their own exercises may well look as strange to her as hers do to them. Those of them out on the turf with her seem to be occupied with a collaborative recreational enterprise wherein: (1) one of them will throw a small plastic disk into the air, (2) the rest of them will scramble to catch this disk, (3) the person who catches it throws it again immediately, (4) repeat ad infinitum.

While the activity has no obvious martial utility beyond that of basic agility training, they at least seem to be having a lot of fun with it.

She's familiar with games, it's not that surprising. She focuses on her own work, though, well aware of the looks she's drawing, and when she's done with the kata she transitions into a 'saber practice form - still relatively low effort, for her, but something that gives the impression I'm dangerous, don't mess with me, even without her 'saber lit.

They are not intimidated!

They continue to prance about, play their silly games, and occasionally gawk at Deskyl with nary a care in the world.

That's not ideal, but fine; the point isn't to scare them, it's to establish her credentials, so that if she needs to threaten someone later it'll be clear that she can back it up.

She keeps at it for a good twenty minutes, and then heads back to her room.

Pala Kaur is waiting by the door.

When she sees the two of them approaching, she hmmms for a moment and then strides up to meet them.

"I hope this degree finds you well."

    "And you as well, Ma'am." The robot and the Sith sign back and forth for a few moments. "Can we help you with something?"

"No, I was just here to pass along information." This would be so much easier, she thinks, if somebody would give these two a crash course in using personal comm systems. "Culamine will be returning to this station soon, and she wanted someone to show you where you'll be able to reach her."

More signing.

    "I'll go, Ma'am, unless you need Deskyl for something."

Pala shakes her head.

"Nothing needed. I'm just here to pass along my master's word."

She'll show DZ the way to the station's main Audience Chamber now?

Yep.

Once they're on their way, DZ asks: "I haven't managed to work out your hierarchy here yet, Ma'am, would you mind telling me about it?"

"Sure, uh." Explaining things to visitors from other universes is not even remotely her job but she thinks Culamine would want her to take her best shot. "So the specific vary from domain to domain, but there's definitely a general hierarchy that holds throughout the Draco Territories?"

They enter an elevator. Pala pushes the button for the highest level.

"So you have the dragons at the top. Obviously."

"Yes Ma'am."

"Humans start out as Unpledged. They're free to pursue their own affairs, within reason, outside of the dragons' domains but require permission to enter them. Unpledged can join vassalages on a more permanent basis by... well... pledging? Basically, you read up on whichever vassalage you want to join, you tell the dragon 'I understand your rules and will follow them' and then unless the dragon has a reason to say no..?" She shrugs. The elevator reaches its destination. "The expectations for vassalage can vary quite a lot from dragon to dragon, but they're generally things that just about anyone could do if they put their mind to it."

She exits the elevator. She and DZ are nearly weightless: they're quite near to the center of the rotating habitat.

Oh dear, weightlessness. She really wasn't made to operate under these conditions. Are there at least handholds?

"That sounds reasonable, Ma'am."

There are plentiful handholds.

Pala slows down when she notices DZ having trouble.

She can manage, just slowly; she has to pause to work out a path every time she has to bridge a gap, and even when she doesn't, she's not as fast as she would be if she were walking. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, I wasn't programmed for this."

Pala starts to ask what 'programmed' means in this context but thinks better of it.

"Is it unsafe or unpleasant for you to proceed like this?"

She pauses to think about that, or tries to; she floats a few rungs beyond where she means to be before she stops herself again.

"It's not unacceptably risky but it is a little unpleasant," she reports.

“We could turn back. I can just have someone else sent down to escort your master when Culamine’s back, or give her a map if she’s comfortable navigating from one?”

She has to think about that one, too. "No, Ma'am, I'll be all right. Thank you."

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

Pala leads DZ the rest of the way to the cavernous audience room in the station’s center.

Wait. Not just cavern-ous. It’s literally a cavern, hewn from from rough rock and, in all likelihood, extending all the way to a dragon-sized cave mouth on the station’s exterior?

There’s an airlock between them and the audience room. Smart money says the audience room isn’t pressurized.

Smart money also says Pala's not going to expect her to function in a vacuum, especially since Shreya doesn't seem to be sharing intel with her. Presumably she'll be shown where the spacesuits are next.

Pala points the spacesuits out, but doesn’t seem to expect DZ to don one right now.

“When Culamine’s here, there are usually vassals stationed in this area to help facilitate visits. Right now, though, there’s obviously no point.”

She nods. "Yes Ma'am. That should be just fine."

Pala lingers by the airlock for a little while, all the same, staring out into the empty chamber beyond.

”Did you want to hear the rest of what I was saying earlier? About hierarchy?”

"Yes, please."

"Well the remaining rung in the hierarchy is... princesses." Pala says this last word with a certain amount of self-consciousness, but also a special pride. "Some vassals aspire to more than the minimum required of them, earning the personal attention of their dragon."

“The details vary from one vassalage to another--different ascension rituals, different duties, different badges of office?" She touches two fingers to the tag hanging from her neck. "But regardless of details, it's the greatest honor a human can achieve."

She nods. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Are there differences within that category? You told me to stay near our room; if Shreya invites me to somewhere else in the station, how would I know whether that's allowed?"

“Well, if either of us were speaking on our master’s behalf, that’d trump all other factors. If we were speaking on behalf of the existing rules of the vassalage, or of the station, that’d trump anything short of Culamine’s word. In the absence of either of those things... I guess you’re just allowed to use your best judgement?”

And the existing rules are loose enough to be barely any guidance at all; she read them first thing. She'll need to talk to Deskyl about this; it won't do at all for her to misjudge and cause an incident. "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you."

"Oh. Just to clarify, you aren't limited to staying near your master's quarters anymore. Just as long as you're careful to follow the station's rules, you can travel throughout it freely."

Pala starts back towards the elevator. She moves slowly, so DZ won't have trouble keeping up.

"I will. Thank you, Ma'am." She follows; she's not much better at it yet, but she's getting the idea. "Is there anything you wanted to know about us?"

"I can think of a whole bunch of things I'd like to ask, but most of them boil down to: what are things like where you and your master come from?"

"It's very different, Ma'am. It's much bigger, for one thing; we have spacecraft that can travel faster than light, and reach neighboring stars in degrees or less. Most people live on planets, which are rocky sun-orbiting spheres large enough to hold gasses on their surface the same way that the sun holds the dysofrag field around it, so that they can support life without mechanical assistance, under the right conditions. A planet can support billions of people, with the right infrastructure, and there are billions of known planets with the right conditions to support human or other sapient life, most of which are settled."

“Wow.”

That’s a lot to take in.

She nods. "And one thing that that means is that things can be very rare, and there will still be a lot of them. Sith are rare like that; there tens of thousands of them, perhaps a few hundred thousand, which means that most people where we're from will never meet one. Sith run the empire, though; the lowest Sith outranks anyone who isn't a Sith, no matter what kind of rank or power she has."

“Wait, back up.”

They reach the elevator.

”You said your ships travel faster than light does? I’m no scientist but I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.”

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I'm the wrong kind of robot to know how to explain it. It does take specialized technology?"

The elevator opens.

”Well. I’m sure even partially explaining it will get a lot of people’s attention. But, uh...”

Pala is aware she is out of her depth.

She is going to probably be quiet on the elevator ride back down.

"Deskyl might be able to, once she's more recovered; it's not her specialty, but she's fairly well-read."

Pala nods.

"That would be very good. Probably worth bring up when you visit Culamine."

She nods. "I'll suggest it, Ma'am."

And then they are back on the hall where Deskyl and DZ are staying.

DZ pauses before going in. "I'm available most of the time, if you'd like me to explain anything else, Ma'am."

"...I might take you up on that. Thanks."

And in she goes.

Deskyl opts to gather her strength for the meeting with Culamine, and doesn't venture out again until summoned for it.

They don't so much get summoned as given a selection of appointment slots and asked to pick one of them.

The draconic master of these lands, evidently, is not too terribly impatient about the comings and goings of her guests.

She passes on the first day - she doesn't want to give the impression of being too recovered - but doesn't ask Culamine to wait much longer than that.

DZ spends some time in the days leading up to the meeting in the upper portion of the station, practicing her low-gravity maneuvering.

Yup. No artificial gravity here to speak of, good skillset to brush up on.

The day of their Audience With The Dragon arrives.

They're there promptly, Deskyl in her best new outfit, utilitarian black with a swirl of embroidered starscape on the shoulders, DZ trailing along politely behind; they help each other into their suits and head to the airlock.

The airlock cycles.

Beyond it, the cavern awaits.

And in that cavern roosts a dragon.

"Hello."

Helmet radios convey a singsong greeting.

Culamine watches them intently.

Deskyl gives a deep, sweeping bow, of the sort that should be flagrantly impossible in these conditions.

    "I hope this degree finds you well, Ma'am."

The dragon smiles.

    "And you as well."

"What can we do for you today, Ma'am?"

"If you would like to relate more information about yourselves and your realm of origin, I would very much enjoy that." Culamine's head rocks from side to side slightly, almost as though humming. Notably, neither her lips nor tongue nor any equivalent of vocal cords seem to move when she speaks. "Shreya and Pala have both passed along interesting tidbits in that regard, and I am of course absolutely fascinated."

"However, my first priority this degree is discussing with you your preferences and intentions for your stay here in the Draco Territories. You are of course welcome to maintain your present living arrangement for the foreseeable future, but if--now that you've recovered your strength--you'd like to consider visiting the unpledged holdings or staying with one of my sisters I can provide information, recommendation or transportation."

"Perhaps a relevant starting point for this conversation would be better establishing the ways in which the two of you differ from the human individuals I am used to dealing with. That would both satisfy some of my curiosity, and better inform my advice towards you."

DZ nods. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Deskyl is a Sith, which is a type of person who can do various sorts of magic. You've seen the telekinesis; she can also read emotions and, with effort, thoughts, manipulate the emotions of people around her, and generate electricity, as well as having improved health, strength, and senses, and reduced physical needs. Those are abilities that all trained Sith have; she's specialized beyond that in sensory powers, most notably an extra vision-like sense that isn't limited by line of sight and a diagnostic health sense. She's also an engineer by trade; she specialized in designing weapons that take advantage of Sith's special abilities, but she's fairly well-read and may be able to reinvent other technology from our home, including faster-than-light spacecraft, if you have the industrial base to support it."

"We have macrofabricators and access to a wide variety of elements, including rare metals and reactor-grade fissile materials. You would perhaps be best suited speaking to one of my more technologically inclined sisters, Ysolt or Artha, if you wished to undertake such a project."

"The range of powers you describe are quite extensive, and quite perplexing. If it would be possible, I would like to see the rest of Deskyl's powers demonstrated in a controlled context. For the powers related to invading and influencing minds, I will of course need to source informed volunteers beforehand."

"What about you, DZ? You are clearly not a human yourself. Some of my vassals have mistaken your appearance for that of a woman in armor or with extensive mechanical prostheses, but you self describe as a 'robot' and I can see with my own eyes that this is closer to the mark. However, there is still much about you I do not yet understand, and would like to."

She nods. "Deskyl has already read Shreya's mind, Ma'am, when we first arrived and needed translations of what she was saying, if that will do as an example."

"I'm a robot, yes," she continues. "I'm not sure what you'd like to know, Ma'am. We aren't biological; we're made and programmed rather than being born and trained, and we're generally not considered people, or especially worth taking an interest in, though Deskyl disagrees."

Deskyl chimes in at this point, signing, still just a few words.

    "Deskyl says that it doesn't matter very much what most robots are like, Ma'am, since she can't make any here; she could replicate my body, but she doesn't know enough about robot programming to make a new mind, or to learn how to given the resources she has. So-" Deskyl interrupts, with a single sign. "You could think of me as her daughter, she says."

Culamine nods her massive head.

"I will, then."

Deskyl nods back.

    "Thank you, Ma'am."

    "As to our plans - Deskyl is still recovering; we only have a guess as to how long that will take. She appreciates the atmosphere here, though; she'd prefer to stay, if you don't mind continuing to host us. Except that she's heard that raising children is not allowed here, and she's not sure if that applies to me." DZ sounds mildly confused at this last bit. "She'd like to know the reasoning behind the rule."

“We dragons think that servitude to a higher power is something that should be aspired to and carefully chosen, rather than something people should be yoked with from birth. All of our children grow up in the Unpledged Holdings so that they meaningfully understand that self-sovereignty is an option for them, and so that they are not unduly prejudiced towards serving any particular master if they do elect to give that sovereignty up.”

    "Deskyl would like to bring me to the Unpledged Holdings, then, Ma'am. Not urgently, but soon."

Culamine gives Deskyl a long, thoughtful look.

“I understand. I’ll make arrangements at earliest convenience.”

Deskyl looks back, confident, unintimidated.

    "Thank you, Ma'am. Do you have any more questions for us?"

“Nothing that can’t wait until after I’ve touched in properly with my sisters. Meanwhile, please feel free to remain in this domain as my guest for as long as it suits you. And if you require any further accommodations, let one of my princesses know.”

"We will; thank you, Ma'am."

“Of course.”

She gazes upon them with what is probably the dragon equivalent of a doting expression.

”You are dismissed.”

"Yes, Ma'am." And out they go.

Three days later, DZ contacts Pala with a report on Sith and broader galactic culture, to be forwarded to Culamine. It goes over the fact that Sith are exceptionally rare as a proportion of all humans but still have a population rivaling that of the local star system, and then explains that Sith run the empire, even the lowest of them being entirely above the law, and how disputes between them are settled by violence and subterfuge. She points out that Deskyl in particular is very nonviolent for a Sith, preferring not to fight unless seriously provoked, and adds context to her display in the gym: in a culture where the only recourse when provoked is to fight, making it clear that you'd win the fight - and that you're willing to fight at all - reduces the chance that you'll be provoked in the first place, minimizing the chance of getting into a fight. This also hampered her ability to gain rank, which is also done primarily by fighting - DZ goes into an aside about the various ranks available to Sith, and how they're bestowable but also inheritable on defeating someone of a higher rank, along with all of that person's other assets - but Deskyl wasn't particularly interested in that.

It also touches on Jedi, explaining briefly how they're similar to Sith but with different training, philosophy, and culture, which she unfortunately knows very little about, and the war between Sith and their empire and Jedi and the republic in which they live, and also the Hutts and their trade-focused empire where slavery is common, and the outer rim, which isn't organized enough to say much of as a whole.

The next day, Deskyl visits the gym again.

There are many unfamiliar faces there today, and one familiar one.

Shreya is leading a couple of younger vassals in a close combat training exercise of some kind.

They're all struggling through it quite clumsily. It looks almost like Shreya is trying to teach a combat style that she isn't even proficient in herself, though her lack-of-competence in the forms does not seem to deter her efforts in the slightest!

Deskyl notices, and goes over and sits on the ground nearby to watch, to see if she can make sense of what they're trying to do.

When Deskyl’s refined away all the mistakes, it is literally one of her existing lightsaber katas. 

Specifically, the one she was practicing the other day.

Huh.

She rises and begins going through the kata again.

When they notice her there, they stop what they’re doing and watch with rapt attention.

One of the vassals whispers: “Is that her?”

Shreya nods.

She finishes, returns to a resting stance, signs.

    "Would you like to see it with a weapon?"

"Yes!"

    "Stay well back, then."

Deskyl draws her saber from her belt, lights it, gives a few demonstrative slices - the red beam hums impressively through the air - and then pauses to see what reaction this has gotten from the gym at large.

Deskyl has pretty much everyone's attention.

None of them look scared, although emotion reading would pick up a little apprehension in places.

Mostly they're fascinated. Curious. Confronted with something they don't understand, but knowing that this thing has been welcomed by their master and so must surely not be to their detriment.

She signs once to DZ, receives a nod in reply, and then begins. She takes it slowly, performing each move cleanly.

Her audience is watching raptly, almost mesmerized by the ominous hum of the bright red blade.

The whole enclosure is still and silent...

...and then it suddenly isn't!

Metal screeches, bulkheads shake, winds howl and sirens blare!

(The lack of fear in the room, earlier? Gone in an instant.)

She goes from the kata to a proper fighting stance just as quickly, flaring her senses to try to detect the problem - directly, if it's close enough, or via panicking peoples' emotions, which she can sense anywhere on the station.

The panic in the station is not localized to their immediate vicinity. There are patches of it all across the outer surface of the habitat, as well as clustered near the audience room in the station's center.

That suggests trouble incoming, not trouble already present, and the best thing she can do for it is stay out of the way of  the people who are familiar with the local procedures.

    "She's not seeing any danger right now," she has DZ tell Shreya anyway. "Maybe something coming. People in the audience room are especially afraid."

"I need to get to my SLAYER."

    "May we come with you. Deskyl can help in a fight."

"Yeah!"

Shreya is already skipping out the door of the gym by the time DZ finishes translating. She waves for the two of them to follow her.

"This way!"

They're right behind.

She winds her way back to the main hallway, then darts into another side passage, then stops short in the hall when she encounters the source of the howling-wind-sound sound from earlier.

A section of floor plating, a dozen meters into the passage she's entering, has been completely pierced. The hallway's atmosphere is rapidly venting through it into the vacuum beyond.

Bad.

    "Go report it," DZ relays, as Deskyl is already approaching the breach.

Shreya backs off. Ducks back into the main hallway, where the howling isn't as bad, and whips out her comm unit.

The hull breach continues to be a hull breach.

Deskyl takes her 'saber to an interior wall, slicing out a circle a bit larger than the hole. She moves quickly to place it over it while the edges are still hot enough to bond with the floor; it doesn't make a perfect seal, but it's enough to reduce the flow from a howl to a shrieky whistle.

Yeah. Procyon Station has got a whole lot of internal atmosphere, it’ll take a long while for a dangerous amount to leak through the small cracks now left.

(As she works, Deskyl catches a few flashes of bright light from the volume of vacuum outside. But then the hole is sealed and the passage is dark.)

She waits a moment, making sure the patch is secure and the breech isn't going to expand, and then jogs back to where Shreya is.

Shreya is already jogging off towards her SLAYER's docking ring via an alternate route!

She's out of line-of-sight but her footfalls and her determination are both easily detectable in the otherwise deserted halls of the station's underbelly.

A few signs and a nod later, she scoops up DZ and zooms to catch up with her.

The docking ring has twisted bits of metal jutting up through the hull plating. A few exposed power conduits are throwing sparks.

"My SLAYER..." Shreya is on her knees by the inner door of the airlock, staring down through it at the tangled mess below.

It's there, intact, it's just drifting away, the couplings having let it go.

It stops.

It comes back.

Her breath catches.

At first she can't comprehend what she's seeing, and then she comprehends but doesn't believe.

And then she starts undressing.

"DZ." Shreya points towards a locker recessed into the wall of the airlock hub. "Whiplash Bodysuits in there. Fetch me one."

"Yes Ma'am." She's quick about it.

Shreya appreciates DZ's help getting suited up: it's a nontrivial process to undertake on one’s own.

She'd actually been planning on piloting in her civvies, but with the airlock busted she needs EVA protection pronto. (No time to triple check the fit on all the joints, just have to make it vacuum tight below the neck, deploy the emergency breathing mask, and then secure a pressure hood to the collar...)

The station rocks again, a little more distantly.

Shreya's SLAYER finally reaches the mangled remains of the docking ring, and hangs there for as long as Deskyl continues to concentrate on it.

It doesn't take much concentration. She goes for the airlock.

The inner airlock is wedged closed pretty tight, due both to pressure differential and to structural damage.

But these obstacles are no match for The Power Of The Force (or, perhaps, The Power Of The Lightsaber)?

As Deskyl approaches the airlock, a pair of soldiers in full-enclosure armor come tromping around the corner.

One of them holds up a palm towards them and shouts: "Stay away from there! It's dangerous!"

Taking a lightsaber to an airlock is a bad idea, if you want the structure it's part of to stay habitable. She can give it a good shove, though.

She makes a face at the soldiers, and does so.

The second of the two soldiers lowers her weapon. She hisses to the lead soldier: "I think that's her. I think that's the one we're looking for."

The lead hisses back ("Radio it in.") and then takes a few cautious steps closer to Deskyl.

"Be very careful with that," the closer soldiers says. "It could decompress explosively..."

Deskyl gets the airlock open.

It decompresses explosively.

Shreya takes a running leap over the airlock's edge, tucking her arms in close to her body and plummetting down through the wreckage to the SLAYER below.

The wind whips past the soldiers, but a counteracting force steadies them. DZ doesn't move at all. Deskyl shoves the airlock closed again, and looks out to steady the SLAYER and Shreya until they make contact.

Then she looks back to the soldiers.

    "Where do you need her?"

The soldiers look at each other in apparent confusion.

"Uh. As far from here as possible?"

    "Where can she help."

"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!"

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."

Lead Recon: "Well, she clearly can't be that good of an 'empath' if she climbed into this tub with us without even realizing who we were?"

Thamarai cringes visibly at this adversarial wording, but nods along to it carefully. She whispers to DZ: "Probably better not to translate that bit, but... yeah. Clearly your companions emotion-senses are fallible? What do you think, DZ? When you think back on it, doesn't anything seem off about the people you were just staying with?"

The tension in the room dropped a little when Thamarai first arrived, but her lack-of-apparent-progress in defusing the situation has caused it to rise again. Fingers are massaging triggers. Their orders were to take DZ and Desskyl alive, but there's not a trooper here who wouldn't prefer a 10% chance of mission failure (most bullet wounds can be patched up if you're fast enough!) to a 100% chance of immediate searing death.

Lead Recon doesn't have her translation privileges back, no. Deskyl drops back to a defensive stance, 'saber still lit but not menacing anyone.

    "She wasn't impressed with their level of independence, which is why she's willing to hear you out. But there's a difference between that and being a slave, and it's not a good reason to take someone from where she wants to be."

"Okay. I think we might be getting hung up here on the definition of a specific word." Which is not a surprising thing to have happen when interacting with a couple of people who have, Thamarai assumes, only been speaking her language for half a cycle at most. "What do you and she mean when you say 'slave'?"

"A person who is owned by another person. Against her will." Deskyl chimes in at this point: "Or if it's harming her, even if she's agreed to it."

"Well. Dragons aren't people. So I would definitely agree that none of the individuals on this ship were 'slaves' in the sense of the word you're used to."

(Thamarai is getting where the hell are you going with this looks from pretty much all her comrades at this point. She continues.)

"How about instead of slave, I say 'person brainwashed into obeying alien tyrants'? Would, uh, would you agree that the people we just liberated were that second thing?"

"Our definition of people includes sapient aliens," she points out, and then Deskyl signs. "She doesn't agree but she does acknowledge that it could be true; we hadn't had a chance to confirm what Culamine had told us about how people choose their vassalages."

"Well. Where we're going, there are people much smarter than me that can explain things better." Thamarai shrugs apologetically. (Emotion read: tense, hopeful). "I'm just a grunt, ma'am. Afraid I can't do much better with words than I already have."

    DZ steps fully behind Deskyl, where she'll be shielded from gunfire. "She's not going to let you take us there."

Thamarai's emotions can be best summarized, at this point, as: AAaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!?

She tries to have more ideas.

She keeps drawing blanks.

DZ peeks out cautiously when there's no immediate gunfire. "She'd rather not hurt you. It's up to you whether you cooperate or - "

One of the terrified troopers opens fire.

To her credit(?) she’s currently sighted in on Deskyl’s kneecap, and the burst of shots she fires is headed in approximately that direction when the sith’s telekinetic shield intercepts them...

Which it does; the bullets simply stop, about a hand's width from her leg, and float there.

Deskyl smirks at the leader. 

Well fuck. This was not in the mission briefing.

Recon Lead fumbles for her radio: “StratCom, this is Gamma Recon Lead. Primary Objective is comp--"

Deskyl gestures with her free hand and the radio tugs out of the lead's hand and flies to hers. She crushes it.

"--romised. Probably brainwashed, definitely armed, apparently indestructible. Please advise."

Lead Recon halfheartedly mumbles out the rest of her status report even after the radio is stripped from her.

    "Are you going to cooperate now, Ma'am?"

Tamarai is quickest to answer that question, perhaps because she is the only one in the room currently who has not recently had a weapon brandished in her general direction.

"I don't think anyone wants a fight here. Speaking for myself, at least, I'll cooperate with any requests that are... safe and honorable?"

(Emotion Read: she is scared that the Indestructible Deathstick Lady's requests will not, in fact, be those things.)

Several troopers nod along to Tamarai's sentiment. A couple of them lower their weapons.

DZ steps around again to relay this.

    "She doesn't want to hurt you, either. She wants the ship turned around - she can help with the inertia, if you'd like - and brought to where the SLAYERs are, to wait for Culamine. You can talk to the others while we wait, and if they want to go, we'll go."

Tamarai crosses the room and briefly confers with Recon Lead.

(Recon Lead seems mildly annoyed by the increasingly convoluted chain of translation-telephone now taking place, but keeps those thoughts to herself.)

"Allied SLAYERs are currently flying in formation with the transport ships." Tamarai turns back to DZ once she's gotten confirmation on the current strategic situation. "Enemy SLAYERs are either destroyed, or unaccounted for further back in the dysofrag fields."

(Oh no.)

"How much life support do we have, and do you have any way of contacting any of Culamine's people?"

"If we keep the civilians sedated, we're in no danger of running out of air and could stretch out our stores of water and rations for a couple of cycles if we really had to."

(She does not particularly like where this line of questioning is going.)

"We don't have any way to contact the dragons or anybody else more than a stone's throw away right now. EM-interference is really bad this degree. That's why we chose it for our operational window."

    "Back to the station, then. Be prepared for course corrections; if she senses any SLAYER pilots on the way she'll want to go talk to them."

Recon Lead: "I'll go notify the cockpit of this change of plans."

She heads for the cockpit.

Tamarai: "There, uh, won't be much station left to go back to... though?"

She fidgets nervously.

Deskyl deactivates her 'saber and gives the remaining soldiers an assessing look before responding.

    "She wants to get in touch with Culamine; it's likely that she'll come back to check for salvage or surviving pilots. Hopefully we'll meet someone on the way, though, who can give us better advice about what she might do."

Another trooper speaks up, hesitantly but firmly.

"I'm not okay with giving the dragons back their slaves. And I'm certainly not okay with being a dragon's slave. If this ship turns around..." She shakes her head vigorously. "It won't. It won't while I'm still breathing."

The other troopers look uneasily between her and Deskyl, torn between admiration and fear. Some start moving to close ranks with her, while others draw back from the anticipated line-of-carnage.

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."