Sharra is tired and annoyed and her feet hurt and she's pretty sure someone is trying to kill her and she hasn't eaten since the night before and —
"Is this some sort of mass murder suicide thing??"
"Yeah, yeah, I can do that," he shifts his heading, instead moving towards the cockpit where he and Isk had left their stuff.
Sharra moves over to the kitchenette so he doesn't have to be awkward when he walks back through the room.
Which he does shortly afterwards, lugging their pillows and her bag through to the starboard dormitory.
<He is lying,> Isk says, once he's passed out of sight. They say it in a little known dialect, though, because he probably hasn't passed out of earshot.
She hasn't spoken Zaldryian in... well. Since she last time saw them. But she understands it just fine.
"I know," she replies in the non-binary dialect. "I don't think it's— we have other things to think about, right now."
Sharra can't help a little laugh. "No, baby. If he wants to talk about it, he can come to the decision himself." She looks through the stores of food. "Is this all the food?"
Hm. Is there at least enough for three or four days?
"I was imagining Rhae might have had a stockpile somewhere, that's not on you."
<Some food not deteriorate!> So saying, T3 rolls carefully out of the central hub towards the cargo hold!
He gives a short beep, calculating, then, <Two standard year cycles, two hundred seven standard day cycles.>
In the cargo hold he trundles between a few stacked crates until he finds what he's looking for. He taps it with an extended arm.
"Where were you two standard year cycles, two hundred seven standard day cycles ago; can you mark it on the star map?"
She peeks through the crates!
The crates she peeks at mostly claim to contain ship parts and fuel canisters, though a few of them are unlabeled, and one lidless crate seems to hold unused sheets and other linens.
The one T3 points her to contains shelf-stable food items! Powdered soup mixes, spices, some ration bars, dehydrated meats, fruits, and vegetables, and grains.
— Sharra knows exactly what to make with this. She spent years on a ship with her master, making due with that they had. The Jedi Order wasn't known for their generosity with credits. Usually Rhae would keep them well stocked, but sometimes...
Sharra looks down to T3 and frowns. "Oh. Um." What was the code? "... probably I can't ask either of you to remind me of the secret passphrase."
"Yes, absolutely. And if it's not already in Zaldryian, could you translate it? We still haven't properly processed the ship."
And with an unknown Force User nearby...
"Padawan," says Rhae Ryen's image, his eyes meeting hers directly despite the fact that he's a recording.
His pale hair is longer than she's seen it since before the Mandalorian wars, and his eyes are pale as well, the blue of the holoimage masking any colour but also lacking any glow one might expect in a Sith's eyes. He wears a dark hooded cloak over pale tunics, and she can just glimpse the hilt of a saber on his belt.
"It seems T3 has succeeded in finding you where I did not. Or perhaps it was a coincidence, as much as those occur for those of us connected to the Force. Though, I suppose, it is possible you believe you are not. Is this the case? I cannot hear your answer, but my study into your fate suggests it is so."
- she scrunches her nose. He would say that.
"There's no such thing as coincidence," she echoes him. "Even if I can't be purposefully guided by it. Everyone else is."
He smiles.
"I've looked into your case. To truly cut someone off from the Force requires the Dark Side. It is not, therefore, something the Jedi Council could do. It is, however, possible to place blocks within a person's mind, to prevent them from hearing, seeing, sensing the Force. This is what I believe has happened to you."