Standard Disclaimers: I don't own Mass Effect 1, 2 or any of the characters. I do take a little liberty in assigning rank to Migrant Fleet Marines (and a certain marine specifically) and hope someone will set me right if there's documentation I should have found to correct me on that.
"Do you ever worry about it?" it wasn't spoken loudly but Quarian suits were designed to carry even whispers to waiting ears. To the squad, sitting in neat lines on metal benches, the words were as clear and intimate as those of their own thoughts. A grunt was heard from the Sergeant, a low sound that wasn't quite disapproval but certainly wasn't encouraging. Regardless, someone took the conversational bait.
"Think about what, Evin?"
The shuttle rocked but the veteran marines simply rocked with it. Turbulence was to be expected when slicing through an atmosphere.
Evin had been on his share of shuttles and missions. Still, he looked sharply towards the cockpit, as if something in him denied the commonness of this flight. "About what you've left behind back on the fleet. About whether you've, you know, left it the right way." The words weren't doing Evin's thoughts justice and he knew it. He could see it in the way several faceplates turned to look at him, their skepticism conveyed by their silence. "I mean, I told Shyla I love her but she's so young. What if something goes wrong and I never return? Will she understand?"
"Damn it, Evin," one of the marines grumbled and shook his head.
Uncomfortable thoughts. Familiar thoughts too, for all of them.
Not thoughts, though, that needed to be spoken mere moments away from landing in a hot zone.
Several men looked at the Sergeant; fairly certain he'd call an end to this sort of talk. His reputation said many things about him and a no-nonsense approach was often mentioned among them. Apparently he was either in indulgent mood or not paying attention, for he didn't interrupt. Instead he focused on the shotgun in his hands, making some minute adjustment to the battered weapon.
"We are out here fighting to keep our families safe," it was Thada'Sin vas Ulnay, voice the texture of steel wool, who spoke, "You concentrate on that and your daughter will be proud of you. You start getting all weak..."
"I'm not a coward and I know why we are out here," Evin said hotly. It was extremely rare to find a Migrant Fleet Marine who had doubts about their calling. Without a world, without a place, all the Quarians had was the Fleet and each other. Protecting their home was more than enough motivation to make patriots. "That has nothing to do with thinking about the ones you love and how they might do without you. About whether you've… said enough to them."
The shuttle banked. The ground was visible through the viewports.
The smoke and haze.
The rubble and glint of metal.
"I talk to my wife," came the quiet admission from further down the line. "In my head. Only, when it is safe to do so, of course. I know that she cannot hear me. But, it helps me know what to say when I get back at least. And if I do not make it back at least the words were thought. Maybe, somehow, the universe will tell her if something happens and I can't."
"I write to my sister," another quarian said, somewhat dryly. "That way I don't have to count on the 'Universe' to deliver anything for me. Just one of you fools."
Someone snickered but no one laughed.
"It is better to record a message than write," it was pointed out. "That way they have your face and your voice as well."
The engines whined, high-pitched and imperative as thrusters fired. The shuttle dropped, losing altitude on its approach, counting on deftness to avoid any incoming fire. Evin involuntarily caught his breath as his stomach dropped, a gasp that was not planned but that conveyed fears he never would have wanted to show.
Fear was an insidious thing and all too easily shared. The questions Evin had raised and the sound of his anxiety reached to prod oh-so-gently, oh-so-insistently at the insecurities of them all.
They were landing.
The doors were about to open.
And they were about to face geth who wanted them all dead.
The silence in the shuttle got very loud.
As the last few hundred feet between them and ground disappeared, the Sergeant stood. The light reflected off a dozen faceplates as marines turned to him. Expectant. Quiet. Trusting him both as their leader and as a veteran of countless missions to say something that would banish those shadows of worry and home. He did not look up right away but simply began dropping his ammo into place. Thunk. Thunk.
"Evin'Hodda," he said flatly, lowly, "I'll tell you exactly what you do when you worry like that." A snap and the shotgun was locked and loaded. The Sergeant looked up, holding the attention of the men by his determination and unshakable conviction. "You don't fucking die."
Someone snorted and someone else actually laughed. Tension faded as the words, barked with undertones of impatience, nudged the men back into proper mindset for a battle. Evin blushed but nodded firmly as the shuttle landed with a rocking jolt. The bay doors opened; the marines sprung to their feet.
Sergeant Kal'Reeger gestured to the battle outside, "Now /move/!"
On the small outpost world of Sogu, time was simultaneously gobbled up and stretched out by the chaos of battle. And geth inexorably advanced against the quarian marines, leaving only the dead in their wake.
Eventually there were more quarians laying motionless, or screaming in pain through their comms, then there were standing and shooting.
Eventually there were more heat sinks scattered among the rock then there were in Kal'Reeger's ammo belt.
He'd ordered a retreat and the remaining men obeyed. He'd lingered, giving them as much covering fire as he could because duty and the ghosts of squad members past demanded that he do so. Kal'Reeger wanted to live. He was less enthusiastic about being the only one to do so and would prevent it if possible.
Except now, he was alone, crouched behind a stone wall, as the geth moved to flank him.
One well-aimed shot took off a geth's arm several yards away before his pistol clacked on an empty chamber. He had one heat sink left in reserve and he reached for it.
As he reloaded, his thoughts briefly lingered on a smile only glimpsed behind a faceplate and a form wrapped in the protection of a dark purple and gray patterned biosuit.
There was no recording left for her, at least not from him. His military issue will, modified only once in all these years, did spare a line for her. Sentiment all too sparse. It wasn't much but it was all he could do.
He shifted his weight, getting his feet braced beneath him in preparation. Geth didn't instinctively draw back from incoming fire, no instinctive flinching for self-preservation. Retreating, running to withdraw after his men with only his own wild shots to cover him, was a plan barely less suicidal than remaining and letting them come for him.
He didn't like the idea of being shot in the back but it was the viable option he had.
He bought himself as much time as he could, firing on the closest scout and taking it out in a brief but bright explosion. He didn't wait to see the sparks fall but bolted. He fired over his shoulder and zigzagged, dirt flung up at his feet by the impact of the shots dogging his footsteps.
Don't die.
Then you don't have to worry about what you never said to her.
Then you can waste more time never saying anything at all.
He didn't see the explosion that sent him careening through the air. Neither did he hear or feel it except for one instant of deafening noise and horrific pressure. Instead, the world simply flexed and wobbled around him. He slammed into the rocky ground and everything stopped.
Briefly.
Then he was staring. He blinked at the yellowing sky, a painful low-grade buzz of nothingness filling his ears. His arms were too heavy to move, his legs too distant to feel. Breathing was difficult and after a moment of struggle, he chuckled a breath and let his head rest back against the dirt.
Tali'Zorah vas Normandy, I…
Tali…
….ma'am…
Even now, he couldn't think of anything for the universe to tell her for him. He guessed that he should have just shown her.
Somehow.
Damn.
He sighed and lost consciousness.