Ghosts in the Machine
"Mmmm, yes," Cirok nodded, but his expression was glum. "I believe that it is." The sailor took a few steps to the right and glanced at the installation, then circled back to his left, clucking his tongue as he went. Then with hands planted on his hips he blew out a long sigh.
"I'd say this is it," he repeated, "but removing it without damaging anything and making sure we can remount it in the 'Mistress is going to take a while. Hours, literally." Cirok sounded anything but happy about that, as he unslung his bag of tools and laid them to rest on the floor. He poked around inside for a moment before coming out with a heavy crescent wrench.
"Here's what I'd suggest. Leave me one other person to assist and watch my back, and the rest of you can go off and try to save the ship. Or kill the ship, I guess. Maybe save the goblins, if they aren't actually dead already." He shook his head a little, clearly bewildered by the strangeness Angrboda had tried to explain.
"But we need some method to either contact one another from afar, or a hard agreement that you'll be back in less than, say," he peered at the device again, eyes narrowed in a calculating gaze, "three hours? At the worst it will be good to have you check in, and at best I'll have this thing disconnected and ready for us to head back to the 'Mistress."
"Thoughts?"