But it wasn't the Harbinger. Not as Mærin remembered it. It used to be alive, teeming with people eager to please. Alive and business-like.
Now, now it was cold and wrong. Empty.
Dark.
Mærin shuddered involuntarily. Everything in her, the very core of her, was screaming at her to run. To put as much distance between her and this... this emptiness.
"Atton, we need to leave. Now."
She rushed onward into the abandoned space station.
"You felt it as well, I suppose." The woman spoke in a stiff voice as she crossed the distance between the morgue and Mærin. The old woman's steel-grey hair was simply fashioned into two demure braids, but the woman radiated power and cunning. Age had dulled nothing but her body. "I am Kreia, and if we plan to make it off this ship alive, it is imperative that you close your mouth and run."
Mærin was speechless. "Y-you were dead, you didn't move—"
Kreia shook her hooded head with impatience. "There will be time to explain later. He has arrived. Come, Jedi, we flee."