Editing Tranch warfare for a noble (section)

==Chapter 12: Best course of action==

Georgio made a list of what he had. He (with the help of Krella) had found an autopistol, two knives, old guard flak armor (missing its helmet) and an empty promethium tank. He took it just to be sure, and he was glad he did: The fumes were enough to cause a small puff of flame, and his makeshift torch (plasteel bar with some fabric rolled around one of it's ends) indeed did ignite just barely. Blowing some air to help the starting fire, Georgio set this torch to the bottom of their little campfire. They needed the warmth.

"So, Krella? Please, tell me more about yourself. Why are you here, exactly?", Georgio asked.

"Well, we, me tribe an' ol' lady have a promise. We do what she says, she keeps us safe from the witchin' dark. She asked me to find yer, so I find yer", she answered as she put some kind of vermin she had caught over the fire.

"Witch-whatnow? Never heard of it".

"It be ol' folklore on Dusk. Darkness consumes minds an' man becomes beast. Light fades an' 'things' start to move, right out o' yer sight. They say I was born during the last 'un".

" That sounds... Interesting. However, it's probably just what you said: Folklore. But for the issue we know is real... How are we supposed to get to Dusk? If I understood it correctly, Dusk is on the far edge of the sector?"

"Ol' lady said that we be fine. So we will be fine."

"Right... You don't seem to have thought this through? You just... Trust we will be able to make it?"

"Yer right. I leave finkin' for the smarter 'uns. They say I is not a 'taktikul jinyas' whatnot. An' the ol' lady knows erryfing. If she says we be fine, ol' lady means it".

Georgio felt agony over this: A fool taking him to the other side of the sector, with him being branded deserter if his survival becomes known... To a planet where superstition rules people's lives, a feral world with a bad enough reputation to warrant a saying to describe torturous death... What was it again, "a walk on dusk"? Yet in his current state he could not escape or fight, especially against someone as strong as Krella. This woman seemed to notice every move he made, too. Not to speak of their problem of the moment- mutants seemed to appear more and more often.

What would be the smartest course of action?

The next day, as he woke up, Georgio realized something: He knew what to do.

As the started to march onwards, George looked behind. He saw a hooded figure far behind, but slowly getting closer. He smirked. Whoever it was, he or she was his way out of this mess.

"Krella... Someone is following us. I think it is a mutant."

"So what yer thinking about? I says we keep movin'. Better get away 'an fight meanink-... Mea-ning-less battles", she answered and trying to imitate Georgio's much less guttural dialect. Georgio assumed she had decided to speak properly.

"But what if it is our ticket off this planet?" He whispered.