Vega knelt by the quarian, uneasy at the long trail of dark liquid leading up to the rock against which the man had bunkered down. Or, rather, against the rock to which the quarian had withdrawn to die.
Vega snipped the thought. He didn't give up on people until he had a reason. The guy was still breathing. That was enough.
He might have missed the man altogether if not for the blood trail and the faint sound of labored breathing.
If you popped a quarian's suit it was bad…but that was about all he knew xenomedicine-wise. His exposure to quarians was minimal until the last few days. Logic suggested 'medigel to plug the flesh, omnigel to plug the suit.' When in doubt, rely on common sense.
"Hey, man," he said, hoisting his best Mr. Fix-It expression into place, taking a knee near the quarian, close enough to grab his wrist of the guy went for the gun near him but far enough back so as not to seem too threatening.
The quarian started as if he'd been asleep or, worst case, hovering somewhere near death. The quick motion elicited a pained groan, and the quarian planted a hand over a wound—probably the one bleeding worst.
Vega was glad that Javik was still back on the Normandy. He could almost hear the frown of disapproval the Prothean wouldsurely have given. The guy had no milk of sapient kindness. He had no idea why Shepard kept the Prothean around—the guy was such an ass—but she wanted him and what Shepard wanted with regards to the people she took into combat, Shepard got.
His apprehension was tempered by general trust that Shepard wouldn't allow anyone on the ground crew she didn't trust with the rest of the team's lives and by the fact that Javik had never made any kind of move against Shepard. At the end of the day, every day, the man took her orders even if he ran his mouth about them. It was enough, and Vega made himself focus on what was in front of him, not what was back on the ship.
"You…you heard my message? I…sent out a distress call…" the quarian almost whispered, grabbing at Vega's arm with his free hand as if to ensure that he wasn't hallucinating.
"Nah, sorry. Comms are down. Let's get you a little medigel, get this hole plugged up," Vega announced, reaching for one of the tubes secured in his web gear.
"Save it," the quarian answered shakily. "I'm lost too much blood."
Deep down he wasn't surprised. A blood trail like that, visible even in the failing light? Not good for the one leaving it. "You a soldier?" If the man had lost too much blood, the most he could do was sit here and chat with him. Dying sucked. Dying alone sucked more.
The quarian gave a slightly hysterical chuckle, but waved in the negative when Vega produced a tube of medigel. Then, to Vega's horror—which, deep down, he supposed was to abolish the idea of even trying to save the guy, the quarian's helmet depressurized and he shakily took the visor off.
Vega had never seen a quarian without the obscuring visors, and found himself resisting the urge to stare at the novelty. They looked fairly humanoid, the bones seemed a bit more delicate, no hair or eyebrows, the nose barely a bump to allow for nostrils.
The quarian sighed, his bright eyes rolling up to look at the starry sky. "I'm maintenance. I clean engine parts."
Vega frowned. "So what're you doing out here all by yourself?"
The quarian gave a soft hiccup. "I thought…I could buy the others some time. Fight some geth…" he shook his head slowly. "But there were so many."
Tell him about it. This wasn't the quarian homeworld, not really. This was Geth Central. And the quarians thought they could retake Geth Central with glass cannons and pocket pistols.
Some leadership. It was case-in-point for the seven Ps: Piss poor planning produces piss poor product.
And it was everyone but the Admiralty paying for it. Well, this Koris guy was supposedly okay. And Sparks was okay too. Still…the rest of them, though…
"You know…this was the first time I ever held a gun."
"What's your name, man?"
"Dorn'Hazt," he answered. "You need to go. Find the Admiral. Destroy the jamming tower…you can radio him."
"We're already headed that way," Vega said, slipping his arm loose and gripping the quarian's hand. Three fingers tightened around his, but the tightening was weak.
"Please…the Civilian Fleet…we didn't want this war."
"Don't worry. We're gonna get them out of this." Was it just him or was the quarian getting paler?
His eyes were certainly beginning to brim with tears. "Tell my son, tell my Jona…that I made it to the Homeworld."
Better to tell the kid his father loved him, but maybe that was something that went without saying, something the messenger was expected to fill in.
"Jona…what ship's he on?" Vega realized that he had just been given his first time writing The Letter, as Shepard called it. He shoved the thought aside. That was something to worry about later. Once he was sure the Admiral wouldn't need one.
"Kwib-Kwib. I…" But whatever Dorn meant to say was lost in a slow exhale of breath.
Vega sighed as he got to his feet, looking down at the limp body. There was nothing that could be done, though he opened his omnitool and entered a few notes.
Dorn-Hazt. Son: Jonah. Station: Quib-Quib. He added the coordinates for the body, hoping someone might be able to retrieve it later.
He'd probably misspelled half the words, but maybe Sparks could help him put that right. There was only one thing he could do now, and that was to move on. "Come on," he said firmly, looking at the others. "We should get a move on, in case the Admiral's in trouble."