Dale Volker is not an army man. Heck, he was never cut out for this stuff. He's just a small town boy from Canada, just a geek obsessed with the stars and the worlds beyond them. He'd never excelled in anything much more than science and maths; Dale Volker is not an athlete, nor an artist, nor a musician, nor a writer, nor a fighter; he could neither throw a punch nor dodge one. And yet he was flung- quite literally- into an ancient ship that time forgot, expected to fight for his life and rank among aliens and military alike. Perhaps he is one of the weakest of the lost souls on Destiny, that much was proven by his swiftness to succumb to the murky waters of 'Hoth', as Eli had so aptly named it. Perhaps he is nothing more than an astrophysicist, and his expertise not much needed in the presence of Rush.
But was so bad about Salieri? Salieri was the Venetian who wrote breath-taking operas in three different languages. Sure, Dale Volker can only speak English and French, and certainly can't write an opera in either language, but he is here now.
Most of the others are already long gone. Greer has lost all of his limbs, Scott his eyes, Eli his organs. Young passed a mere few moments ago, eyes wide open and staring at the mess of bone and flesh that was once Chloe Armstrong. Now all that remains of the expedition is Dale Volker. Dale Volker and Nicholas Rush.
The older man lies next to him now, harsh breathing and occasional groans and moans painful to hear. Another thing that Dale Volker isn't is a medical doctor. He can see what he's sure is TJ, but Dale Volker knows that even Doctors can't survive without a head. So Dale can do nothing for Rush, except listen to the music of death, keep him company, and clutch his hand in what little comfort he can supply. He doesn't have long now.
But then again, neither does Dale.
The stench of blood is bitter to his nose, but he sniffs regardless: an anxiety reflex of his from an early age. Fighter or not, the gun in his hand would be of no use now. Slowly, lethargically, he closes his eyes. The screeching grows louder. Rush's grip on his hand tightens. Dale Volker chokes out a single bitter laugh.
Last man standing.
And then they are upon him.