He mumbles but all the same grabs the fellow passenger’s arm, non-plussed and already bored of sand, sand everywhere. No communication. No broken bones. No idea which horizon will lead them to more monsters or the glimmer given by the officer’s coordinates, formerly attainable from his wristlink . Shame the wristlink is currently digesting in the belly of their attacker.
‘Help me move this thing off its side, will you?’
‘The barge - it’s kaput. Fixable, but,’ Established with the kick of his boot and the hollow vibration of dust chortling out of the generator. ‘needs a little convincing.’
He’d taken the barge originally because stealth was a more important factor than time; after all he couldn’t very well fly in and attract loads of undue attention. Word is quick to get around, especially around these parts. Look at the state it is in now though. Stealth is one thing, but waiting to get this up and running? That’s too much time to lose, and immensely more than he could afford.
A frown mars his forehead at the estimated time needed to fix this and he weights the advantages and disadvantages of the current option and the other, finally settling on a decision even as he helps the other with the barge.
He’s still knee deep in sand from the up-kick of the twitching mutt’s hind legs; watching its decapitated bone maw click and drool about three feet away from a body racked with blaster hits. He lowers his weapon in order to crawl out the dune. ‘I need a drink.’ Not a lie but not a thank you, either.
He glances down to check he’s still in one piece, (well of course he would be — else he’ll probably be in pain, but just to be sure either way); and turns his attention back to the separated body of the Howlrunner — what was left of it anyway — and he cringes when he sees the tail still vaguely twitching above all else. A laugh erupts from within him then, “Doubt you’ll find one in this wilderness, unless you have it on you.”
