"Great! I'm sending over the frequency. That's not a typo, it's really the frequency, I'm relaying with magic. If you use it in the next twenty or so hours it'll relay."

Uh. (He's not actually paying attention to any talk of magic, independent pilots are kinda weird and it's background noise to him, but the invalid frequency is making him worry some kind of classified project is involved.)

"Thank you, ma'am. And thank you for your report."

Reports slowly osmose up the chain of command!

With the call over, Marisa spends a bit of time casting a spell to do the promised relaying for her. If the fleet had happened to call their wayward ship right away, she would have handled it off her personal magical attention, but it'll be easier if she can set it on a summoned slave and forget about it. It'll last more like fifty hours but it's best to underpromise and overdeliver with strangers.

She has to hop out of the ship for a bit to leave the summoned slave in space. Looks like Samus isn't doing much anymore; she's probably sitting there reading stolen documents in preparation for the surface mission.

These stolen documents are boring. She's coupled to a symbiotic intelligence of sorts but it isn't really intelligent enough to work around the pirate clans' addiction to mind-numbing bureaucratic paperwork. Unlike some normal species like humans, they don't even have suggestive email chats to pinpoint, everything is as dry as everything else.

She's starting to get a picture of what's going on here, though. Looks like a standard raid for archaeotech of the kind she's seen and foiled countless times before. This was a relatively large number of ships for that, but it was about the right amount to deal with any patrol cruisers happening by (as, indeed, one did), so she's not suspicious that it indicates anything more important.

The researchers are almost certainly dead, unfortunately.