Dunk looked at you blankly.
Never heard of them mate. I take it they're not to be fucked with?
Seeing that their pleading was having no effect, their cries fell silent.
Pushing past Mantis and Dunk, they headed upwards, pushing past Knives as they tried to get out onto the deck area.
Dressed only in tattered remnants of Jeans and old t-shirts and armed only with the discharged cattle prod, they were not exactly equipped for the fighting the good fight.
You all felt sorry for them, but outside of sealing them inside a room and posting a guard on it, there wasn't much you could do to protect them other than knocking them out cold and dealing with them later. Unless....
___Mantis___
You felt your aura distort slightly as the tattooed girl pushed between yourself and Dunk. The subtle distortion was similar to what you felt when other 'awakened' passed close by. If she really did have the talent, then perhaps a watcher or a spirit could act as a middle-man, get a message to her or something. Maybe? Planning for failure, you trawled your imagination for ideas...
Your mind rushed back to a scene you saw in an old flat-trid...some hostages were kept in a chilling cabinet in a ships pantry, screwed over by the fact that it only opened from the outside. It was a shit film, one bloke chewing through hundreds of crew with only a pistol and less than thirty rounds, but the pantry idea had stuck out. At least they couldn't get out if the one onboard worked the same way.
They weren't exactly dressed for cold conditions, but it might... just might.. be an option. There was plenty of sheeting on the bunks in the two crew quarters that could keep them warm for a while. You knew if they ran into other crew members they'd almost certainly raise the alarm, and then you really would be in the shit.
___Lumen___
Your mind racing to various solutions, you figured that some of the loaders down at the docks would probably be able to speak the same tongue as these lasses did. Most were from the old Pan-europa block and spoke polish, czech, latvian or some other shit when they were unloading the incoming shipping, laughing and joking whenever 'Spurs or some other British club got their arses kicked in the Europa league by one of their lot.
Thinking of the Nav-map you saw, you figured that you should be in range of 'Trix signal from the mainland. It'd be messy, but a call to the family might just be able to get you a translator on the other end of the line.
Smith had said total radio silence, but if these lasses wandered into a crew member, the alarm would be raised and you'd have all hell breaking loose. With your fucked shoulder and Mantis' fucked leg, you could do with a quiet exit rather than another fucking bloodbath.