Login

Jim Raynor · 01-20-2017, 05:22 AM

Rory let the squad traipse into the bar ahead of him. They were good kids, fighting the good fight before all of this nonsense happened, but he wanted to chat with Jim. There would be plenty of downtime for Swann to bond with the troops, but he got the feeling his old commander might have more demands on his time now that he was a deputy.

He watched Adam dash in after his teammates, though the firebat stood some distance away, the metal head staring at the bar door. The dying afternoon sun glinted in her visor.

"Hey! You comin' in to celebrate?" Swann called out. "I think Jimbo's shoutin'."

The Hammer lingered another moment, turned and strode away without a word in the opposite direction.

"Yeah, OK," Swann shouted out, then to himself, "have a good night."

A hand patted him firmly on the back. He knew who it was without turning around.

"What's goin' on, Swann?" Raynor asked, a friendly smirk on his ruddy face. Must've forgot the sunscreen today. His new deputy star badge shone in the sinking sun's rays. "Thought you'd be in with the rest drinkin' on my tab by now."

"Hey, cowboy," Swann said. "Why ain't the firebat joinin' in on the festivities?"

Jim squinted in Hammer's direction. "Dunno. Not the social sort, from what I understand." He turned his attention back to Rory. "She'll be fine. Probably just wants to get out of that hot suit. C'mon, let's go in."

The two old comrades passed through the swinging saloon doors and into the bar. The squad had pulled a few smaller tables together so they could all sit around with a mug of ale and chat. They were the liveliest mob in the establishment, with a balding middle aged man at the bar the only other patron this afternoon.

Rory plonked down on a stool at the bar and Jim claimed the one next to him. "Hey barkeep! Two cold ones, and the deputy here's buyin'!"

Jim fished a couple of notes from his trouser pockets and slid them to the barkeeper. "And this is for that plate I shot a little while ago." The barkeeper frowned, but took the money. "Won't happen again, I swear. Can't be committin' property damage now that I'm helpin' the law 'round here."

Rory chuckled and sipped his ale. Strong stuff, and cold somehow, despite the aggressive heat. He felt the chilled liquor funnel down his throat and coil into his stomach, cooling him from the inside as it went down. Perfect after a hard day of tinkering with machines.

"So, what'd you get up to today while we were out?" Raynor asked, leaning on his elbows.

"Hah, nothin' as excitin' as you, I'm sure," Swann said. "In fact, it was mostly work so basic I wouldn't let my apprentice touch, but since the sheriff's been so welcomin', I figured I could get my knees a little dirty to repay 'im." He took another swig from his mug and wiped the foam that clung to his moustache. "You?"

"Oh, y'know, the usual," Jim said. "Gettin' shot down and crash landin' in the desert, takin' hostage by a bunch of thugs, almost gettin' ourselves killed breakin' out ... all in a day's work."

"Huh. I wondered what ya did with that dropship." Swann glanced over his shoulder, noting another absence. "Where's that protoss you saved?"

"In your workshop," Raynor said, turning around in his bar stool to stare out the door. "Bein' a phase-smith, he likes to tinker with stuff too. Thought he might find somethin' of interest in there."

Swann frowned. "Why not invite him in for a drink?"

Jim raised his eyebrows, then after a pause, he patted his mouth. "'Cause protoss don't drink, Swann."

"Oh yeah." Swann spun around on his stool. "Don't know how I forget that."

"Karax doesn't make you ... uncomfortable, does he Swann?"

Rory instantly felt flustered. Something about the protoss race creeped him out. The lack of a mouth and nose meant facial expressions, if they even had them, were all but impossible to read. Plus even the shortest protoss was taller than most men, and that psychic voodoo ... ghosts he could handle, but not something that could create lightning with its mind.

Swann brushed it off, though he knew he was overacting. "Psssh, the protoss? Nah. Just ... not as used to dealin' with telepaths as you are, cowboy. Y'know, voices echoin' in your head? Takes a bit of gettin' used to."

Jim narrowed his eyes and his lips pressed together. "Karax is a phase-smith, Swann. He's like you, 'cept with khaydarin crystals and warp fields. His caste never got formal combat training. He'd be as useless as you on a battlefield."

The Hyperion engineer didn't let it show, but knowing the protoss couldn't mind-fry him if he was in a bad mood put him at ease a little. Or maybe it was the ale, calming him down. It was potent stuff. "I think there's an insult in there somewhere."

"Just relax," Jim said, slapping Swann's shoulder. "He's stickin' around for a while. Maybe you could both learn from each other, huh? Imagine what you could do if you could stick protoss tech into ours."

Swann took another slurp of ale. The concept of fusing protoss and terran technology had always appealed to him. He could only imagine what sort of inventions and weaponry he could build with the knowledge of that ancient race. If he could just get past his trepidation of them, he could make use of that phase-smith and see some of his dreams come to life.

From the bar, Swann saw Karax wandered into his workshop, inspecting objects, crouching down and examining everything he could find. He didn't seem to be touching anything, which was at least respectful of the terran engineer and his workspace. Perhaps there were some overlap between their two roles after all.

"I have always wanted to learn how they zap stuff around and make them shields," Swann said, tipping the last of his drink down his gullet and banging the mug on the bar. He smoothed the ale from his beard and hopped off his bar stool. Curiosity, or maybe the drink, overcame his caution. "He's lookin' a mite lonely. Not fair that a race as advanced as his can't enjoy somethin' simple like a beer. Might go keep 'im company."

Raynor lifted his mug in salute. "Right decent of ya, Swann."

Rory stepped foot outside the bar, the dust pluming at each step. The sky had darkened into a deep navy, with a light blue ribbon running across the horizon. The heat absorbed by the ground still resonated, but in mere minutes the cold of night would set in and he could appreciate some time without sweating from every pore. He considered if protoss could even sweat, seeing as how their skin looked scaly and dry even in good conditions.

He reached the workshop. Karax had his back to him, blue eyes scanning over objects on Swann's bench. He hadn't noticed Swann's arrival, apparently. The experienced engineer flicked on the lights, and the protoss phase-smith spun immediately as if caught in the act of theft. Swann couldn't tell if he wore a guilty face or not, seeing as there wasn't much to go on in that department.

<Oh,> the voice echoed in Swann's head. <Rory Swann. You startled me.>

"Takin' a look through my workshop?" Swann asked, folding his flesh arm and metal claw over his chest. "Like what you see?"

 the phase-smith replied. <It's primitive, eventually decays to rust, can often be volatile and dangerous even to the user.> He paused, picking up a part from Jim's CMC-400 armour that Rory had dismantled earlier. <It lacks polish and refinement.> He met Swann's eyes. <Yet it has a certain level of charm.>

"Charm?" That wasn't a word he thought a protoss would use to describe terran tech. "We have charm? That's what you think of us?"

 Karax said, placing the part back on the bench. <But in comparison to the protoss, you've only just begun your technological journey. I believe it's still customary for terrans to utilise nuclear weaponry. Is that the case?>

Rory sniffed. The protoss was being pretty arrogant, though probably not intentionally. Besides, Karax wasn't completely wrong. He'd seen what their fleets were capable of; highly concentrated laser beams, teleportation, shielding, long range energy blasts ... it was truly incredible, far beyond anything he could scrape up. The Yamato cannon was probably the best example of human firepower that didn't include splitting the atom, but much of their arsenal still relied on plugging hot chunks of accelerated metal through an elongated tube. Still, he didn't like how the protoss was looking down his nose at it. Well, figuratively speaking.

"What's wrong with nukes, huh?" Swann said, sounding more aggressive than he meant to. "Does the job, don't it?"

Karax studied him for a moment. <It is quite powerful, but it's indiscriminate and messy. At least from a protoss point of view. To combat the zerg, terran weapons are very effective.>

The phase-smith's tone was still level, as if he hadn't picked up on Swann's annoyance with how casually he disparaged the entire military history of humanity. The Hyperion engineer set his jaw, trying to bite his tongue, but Swann was never one to speak up when pride was on the line. "Listen here, you-"

"Hey! What's goin' on in this room?"

Rory spun at the sudden voice. Jim sauntered in, mug of ale still in one hand, though his eyes were clear and without that glassy sheen they got when he was drunk. The greeting was friendly, as if he stumbled into the workshop and found some new drinking buddies, but Raynor rarely did anything without there being a bigger purpose to it.

<Good evening, James Raynor,> Karax said.

"Oh, uh, nothin'," Swann said, scratching at the back of his head. "Just havin' a chat."

"Oh yeah?" Jim said. "What about?"

<The variance in protoss and terran technology,> Karax replied. <Swann has been questioning the effectiveness and elegance of his own kind's technology, asking me as if I understand it better than he does.>

"That right?" Jim said, sending a narrow-eyed glance at Swann. "Don't s'pose he's been unfriendly?"

The phase-smith lifted an eyebrow. <No, James Raynor. We've been merely chatting.>

"Well," Raynor said, taking a draw from his mug, "I'm glad to hear that. Sounds like you two'll be good friends in no time."

Karax seemed confused by the sentiment. <Yes. That would be ... advantageous.>

Dammit Jim! Didn't he hear any of what that psychic freak was saying about terran tech? Swann had been studying and mastering it his entire life, and then this bozo strolls in and starts badmouthing - badminding - it? Where was his honour?

<Well, if you two don't mind, I believe I will retire for the night. It's been a long day.>

"Sure thing, Karax," Jim said with a friendly grin. "Head on in to that office over there. I'll come in and get things comfortable for you in a moment."

The phase-smith inclined his head. <Thank you, James Raynor. Your hospitality is appreciated.> His gleaming blue eyes settled on the engineer. <Good night, Rory Swann.>

"Yeah, night," Swann said, trying to inject some enthusiasm. "Don't let the uh ... bed bugs bite."

Karax frowned. <Bed bugs? How do I stop them from biting me? Are they venemous?>

"Go on in," Jim said, waving his hand. "Just an old terran expression."

<Ah,> Karax said. <For a primitive race, there is still much complexity to you.> He wandered out of the workshop, leaving Jim and Rory alone.

"Mind tellin' me what you were about to say before I walked in on it?" Raynor said, brow furrowed. "Didn't sound like it was gonna be real neighbourly."

"He was trash-talkin' terran tech! What, did you wanna let 'im do it without me sayin' somethin'?"

Jim squinted at Swann. "Do you think a protoss was purposefully makin' fun of terrans, after we saved his life? The only protoss I know who'd do that is Alarak."

"But-"

"If he really was doin' that, I bet it was a misunderstandin'. That or you're just blowin' things outta proportion."

Swann felt his mouth drop open. "What? Why are you takin' his side?"

"Look," Raynor said in a lower tone. "It's been a rough day. Let's just ... leave it."

Rory clenched his teeth. He wanted to keep fighting. Why was Jim so quick to defend the alien? They were old buddies. He didn't hear what it was saying about terran achievements. He didn't hear how it was trivialising Swann's life and the work he had dedicated himself to. Yet when Jim said an argument was over, it was over. He remembered a time when Tychus Findlay didn't simmer down after getting drunk and starting trouble, and it ended with Jim sticking an exposed electrical wire into his back.

"Sure thing, cowboy," Swann said, his tone low. "Let's hit the hay."

Jim nodded. "Night, Swann."

Rory frowned as his commander ambled away. "Night."

Jim Raynor · 02-22-2017, 08:11 PM

Rory fumbled out of bed, wiping the drops of sweat that stuck to his face. Stripping down to his singlet and 'I love Diamonbacks!' boxer shots had done little to assuage the stifling heat of the desert town. A pedestal fan blew air on his stout body, but the air carried the same stuffy dryness. Rory flicked the switch, finding relief in having the fan off.

He'd been hotter; his quarters on the Hyperion, while cramped, were still larger than the other living areas of the crew, his chief engineer position having some advantages over the rank-and-file, at least. Yet his room backed against the 'blacksmith shop,' an area for reforging steel, soldering and other manual metalworking jobs that they didn't have the machines or money to fix. A heat-absorbent sheet of insulation had been installed in that separating wall, reducing the temperature by more than it should've been, but it still got toasty.

Yet since Raynor's Raiders had been instrumental in ousting former emperor Arcturus Mengsk, they had joined forces with his son, Valerian, in order to stop the universe ... well, from being destroyed. Once they were brought into the fold of the Terran Dominion, Rory's quality of life improved dramatically. Three square meals a day that weren't necessarily gruel, air-conditioning in almost every ship (and it got installed on the Hyperion), and more resources than he could poke a stick at.

Being dropped back into the rough life of the scraping by, kill-or-be-killed existence was a shock to the system. The old Swann knew it well, especially after the events on Meinhoff. Letting go of the good life ... well, it would take some time to readjust.

Rory yanked on his trousers and boots, slid on his jacket and affixed his welding goggles to his forehead. Sighing, he pushed open the door of his tiny sleeping quarters and stepped outside. The baking sand sent waves of blistering heat absorbed from the fierce sun up his body. Rory ran towards the bar, his skin warming every second he stayed out of the shade. Clambering up the stairs, he burst through the saloon doors and jammed palms onto bent knees, panting.

"Phew! Hot mornin' today!"

A lazy ceiling fan, its rotation wobbly, creaked as Swann made his way to the bar. Hoisting himself onto a well worn stool, its surface busted and the stuffing puffing out the gaps, he waved over the bartender.

"A beer. The coldest one you got."

The sweat on the bald man's scalp indicated that the locals were feeling the heat too. "Sure thing." He bent down, grabbed a mug from behind the bar, and plonked it before Swann, foam swishing from its edge.

"Put it on the marshal's tab." Rory brought the ale to his lips and almost spat the first mouthful back onto the counter. "What the hell? This ain't cold at all!"

"Still my coldest," the barkeeper said with a wry smile. "Sorry it isn't to your liking."

Rory spun in his stool. "Bah! How does anyone live in a hell like this?"

"Now I know the heat ain't known for coolin' a temper, but can ya try a little at least?"

Jim waltzed through the door, his trademark grin wrinkling his face. He dropped onto the stool next to Swann and tapped the bar. A shot of whiskey soon slid in front of him.

"Hope you ain't still mad about our little quarrel last night," Raynor said, tilting his head and tipping the three fingers of spirits down his throat. "Didn't mean for it to be so confrontational."

Swann wasn't sure if he was still perturbed by Jim's defence of the protoss in the workshop the night previous. The clammy humidity was probably responsible for most of his crabby mood, but the air still needed clearing. "I know, Jimbo. Keepin' my cool ain't one of my strong points. But I gotta ask. Why did you side with the protoss?"

"Because Swann," Jim said, signalling for another nip, "protoss ain't like you and me. They don't think about how they sound to terrans when they speak to us. A lot of 'em are ... well, arrogant, to put it bluntly. But even those that ain't, like ol' Karax, have trouble recognisin' when they say somethin' rude to us. Karax doesn't know how you take pride in your work, or maybe he just thinks terran tech is rudimentary and simple, and compared to what he works on, he's probably hittin' the nail on the head."

The second shot followed the first, and Jim wiped his lips with his palm. "In any case, Karax is a straight shooter. He'll say what he's thinkin' and it'll be ignorant of terran civility. If he says somethin' that peeves you off again, try to see where he's comin' from. Plus remember that he's out here all alone. He needs all the friends he can get."

Rory frowned. "Yeah, I get it, cowboy. Doesn't mean I gotta like it."

"Didn't say you had to." Jim clasped Swann's shoulder and gave a wan grin. "Just try, all right? Who knows? Maybe you two'll end up thick as thieves and build some sorta Yamato warp ray or somethin.'"

Rory barked a laugh. "Yeah. S'pose this is a good opportunity to learn from 'im."

"That's the spirit, Swann." Jim hopped off his stool. "Gonna see the sheriff. See you 'round." The new marshal passed through the saloon doors and into the unforgiving day.

Rory downed the remainder of his breakfast and headed outside again. Maybe he could find the protoss, try and be friendly with him. A lot of what Jim said made sense. Swann just had to remind himself of the great divide between their two species, and hoped that would dampen his pride.

Outside, it had not cooled down a wit. Swann leaned against the saloon wall, sheltered in the shade cast by a ratty old awning. The engineer's sight fell upon a tall figure standing directly in the sun, his glowing eyes cast out into the great sand dunes beyond.

Strange creature. What was the protoss doing, baking in the sunlight, staring at nothing? How does a terran relate to such a weird alien? How did Jimmy manage to do it in the first place?

He said somethin' about ... bein' friendly. Gotta put myself in the protoss' shoes. He's probably all alone, no one of his kind out here, surrounded by us. Rory humphed. Must be tough.

Swann scampered out into the sun. "Hey, uh ... Karax!"

The protoss turned at the engineer's arrival. <Good day, Rory Swann.>

Remember, be friendly. "So uh ... whatcha doin' out here?"

<Two things. I'm consuming sunlight, and ->

"I'm sorry, what?" Swann said. "You're consumin' it? Eatin' it? Like a plant?"

<It may seem unusual to you, Rory Swann, but yes. We gain energy from the sun in a similar process to photosynthesis. After all, we have no mouths with which to ingest food.>

"Huh." Didn't see that comin.' "So how do you drink?"

<In a similar manner. Protoss absorb water from the air into their skin. Though admittedly, there is little moisture to be had in a desert town.>

"So if I poured a beer on your arm, would you absorb that?" Rory said with a grin.

<It is a process we can control, as you can choose to accept food and drink by opening or closing your mouth. And no, I would not absorb alcohol. There is little point.>

Seems Swann's joke flew right over Karax's scaly, bald head. "Ah." A few awkward moments passed as the terran scrambled for another topic. He hated forcing small talk. If he wasn't sweating from the sun already, he would've started. "You mentioned you were doin' two things?"

Karax turned his gaze back into the bumpy horizon, as if Swann had reminded him. <Yes. I now remember what it was I was doing before James Raynor and his team rescued me.>

"Yeah?" Swann said, finding an interest in the mystery. "What were you doin'?"

<When I arrived in this dimension, I met another terran who offered to take me to a warp gate. He didn't say it in those words, but his speech and manner indicated that he knew my kind and how to contact them. I journeyed with him to this desert and beyond, into the dunes. He took me to a disused terran facility, the purpose of which was not well understood. My travelling companion informed me that if I activated my distress beacon, the Spear of Adun would sense it from here and take me back.>

<Of course, I was naive to follow the terran. Once he saw me retrieve the beacon, he clubbed me over the head and stole it. I have spotty recollections of the time after that, but I believe bandits happened upon the facility and captured me. They believed that an alien such as I would fetch a good price. Then James Raynor saved me.>

"That right?" Swann stroked his beard. "Know who the terran was who whacked ya?"

Karax shook his head. <I do not. My interactions with your kind have been limited outside of James Raynor and selected terran officials, all who have been courteous and professional. I had little concern that I was being tricked when I took up the terran's offer.>

"Damn shame," Swann said. "Some people are right bastards, and ya can't tell till they stick the knife in ya back."

<There were no attempts at physical harm by the terran, Rory Swann. Other than the hit to my head. But I believe that was to procure my distress beacon rather than render any serious damage to myself.>

"Ah ... yeah." Terran sayin's ain't this guy's strong suit. "But why would he want your distress beacon?"



Swann frowned. "Wait. You ain't talkin' about headin' out into that desert just to find a distress beacon, are ya? There's miles and miles of sand out there! How'd you ever find it?"



Is this guy crazy? "Why would you risk your life to get back some beacon? You ain't exactly in distress right now, but you will be out on those scorchin' sands!"

Karax looked at Swann. <While the beacon pulses, it is possible that another of my kind will sense it and attempt to rescue me. However, I will not be there. They may suffer a worse fate than I did. I cannot allow such a trap to exist for another of my brethren, especially since my short-sightedness created the opportunity in the first place.>

Honourable, for an alien. "I don't think this is a good idea."

<It's not about what is a good idea,> Karax said. <It's about what is right.>

"Ah geez. Can we at least talk to Jimbo about it before you go?"

Karax tilted his head for a moment. <Yes. It would be wise to seek James Raynor's counsel.>

"Good." Rory didn't think that would do it, but perhaps he underestimated how much Karax respected the old rebel. Surely Jim would talk the protoss out of his suicide mission. "Let's go find him. I think he said he went to see the sheriff."

<Indeed. Let us go.>

Jim Raynor · 02-22-2017, 09:16 PM

First day as a deputy sheriff. Couldn't be hotter if it tried.

Jim strolled through the Town With No Name, heat dancing on his skin from the sun's rays and churning in his stomach from the whiskey. It felt weird, wearing the badge of law enforcement once again. After so many years of being a rebel, branded as a terrorist and made out to be some sort of boogeyman to the people of the Terran Dominion, to be holding a position of state-endorsed authority almost felt like he was pretending. Yet he had been a marshal on Mar Sara an entire lifetime ago, so riding a bike and all that, though his legs wobbled and the pedals moved in jerky motions.

He gave an errant thought to Swann and his rocky relationship with Karax. Swann was a good man, but it didn't take much to put him offside, especially if you were a stranger, and even worse if you're an alien. The chat in the bar earlier seemed to get through his stubborn skull; Jim just hoped it wouldn't bore its way out and float off into the sky.

The door to Roland's office clapped against the frame repeatedly, the wind attempting to slam it shut but without any luck. As Jim drew closer, his communicator arm bracer beeped.

"Incoming transmission," the adjutant's honeyed voice said.

Jim stopped. Who would be contacting him? Had someone else from Koprulu space seen his Dataverse message?

Pushing a button, Raynor accepted the call. The oval screen on the unit displayed a blue line that peaked and wavered as the voice came through. "Hello? Is this James Raynor, located in the Endless Dunes? More specifically, the Town With No Name?"

Jim frowned. It was a recorded message. Why was he asking something he wouldn't get an answer to?

"Oh, forgive me if it isn't, but I'm afraid I'm in an unenviable situation," the voice said. "My name is Doctor Regal. I have discovered something quite alarming, and I need all the help I can get. There is an organisation called Nebula, that are ... well, I don't want to get too much into it now, but what they're doing is concerning for all of us who live in the Omniverse. Very, very concerning."

"In any case, I've heard of your exploits, Mister Raynor. In short time, you've become a deputy sheriff of the Town With No Name, which I understand is a great accomplishment. I hear Sheriff Deschain doesn't hand out badges like candy, so you must be something else. It is because of this that I humbly request an audience with you to explain this threat and hope that you may lend your assistance to the matter. I have uploaded my location in Corsucant, Tier 2, to your device. Simply follow the map."

"I hope to hear from you soon, Mister Raynor. I appreciate that we're strangers, but this is a dire situation."

The transmission ceased.

There was a lot to take in. An organisation up to no good, a request for help from a complete unknown doctor ... the issue sounded urgent. If this doctor had stretched out to find Jim on the off chance that he would listen, then things must've been desperate for Regal.

It wasn't in Jim's nature to leave a call for help unanswered. At the least, he could visit this Coruscant and speak to the doctor. Might be nice to take a trip out of the desert anyway.

Jim quickly returned to the workshop and entered his CMC-400 marine armour. Noisily stomping back to the sheriff's office, he pushed the door open and peered inside. Roland sat at his desk, scribbling on papers.

"What can I do for you, Raynor?" Deschain said, his eyes staying glued to his administration work.

"Headin' to Coruscant for a spell, sheriff," Jim said. "Got someone in trouble who might need my help."

"You banking on returning from there? I hope I didn't make you a deputy for you to suddenly skip town."

"Just a visit, then I'll be back." Something occurred to Raynor before he continued on his way. "Oh, and let Baxter and the crew know where I am. They can stay here. Tell 'im you're in charge till I get back."

Roland nodded his head, eyes still down on the desk. "Will do."

Jim released the door and let it flap in the desert breeze. "Adjutant, bring up the location of this Coruscant. I got a feelin' we've got a long walk ahead of us."

Jim Raynor · 04-09-2017, 07:49 AM

"Sheriff!"

Swann peeked into his office. Roland was at his worn desk, a bottle of whiskey a glass island in a sea of papers. His head tilted at the desk, he looked through his eyebrows at the visitor. "Yes, Rory?"

"Don't suppose you seen Jimbo lately, have you?"

The sheriff's eyes lingered on the engineer a moment longer and then returned to his papers. "As a matter of fact, I did. He's gone out to Coruscant for a spell."

"Coruscant?" Swann had never heard of the place. Why was Jim heading there? Why didn't he tell anyone? "What's he wanna do there?"

"Playing the hero, it sounds like. Seems like your friend likes being a good samaritan."

"Heh, you got no idea," Rory chuckled, then grew serious. "So, he just up and left?"

"Yep."

"Any inklin' when he'll be back?"

"Nope."

"Shit." Swann took a glance at his protoss friend. "Was hopin' some of Jim's patented wisdom'd stop this guy from headin' into the desert by himself. Don't suppose you wanna talk him out of it?"

"He's free to do whatever he wants, as long as it doesn't hurt my people," Deschain said. "Now leave me be. I've got work to do."

"Dammit."

<Rory Swann?> Karax said. <Where's James Raynor?>

"He ... uh, stepped out for a bit," Swann said, scratching at his beard. "Not sure when he'll be back."

<Oh.> Karax turned away. <Then I must be off.>

Swann screwed up his face. "Oh come on, Karax! You'll die out in the desert! There's no one around to feel your brain pulse or whatever it is! You can't go!" Dammit Jim, why'd you have to be missing right now?

Karax strode towards their shared workshop with long, ponderous steps. 

The sun beat down on Swann as he scrambled to match the lanky protoss' gait. "You're not listenin' to me! There's no fancy warp engines or shield matrices out there to stop the heat from cookin' you alive! You'll get lost and the sands'll bury you!"

<Nonsense. I can feel the pulse of the beacon. It will always direct me in the right direction.>

Rory clamped his metal pincer for a hand onto Karax's forearm. The psionic alien stopped and jerked his head at the stocky terran. His glowing blue eyes narrowed.

"Please, Karax," Swann said, his tone defeated.

Karax removed Swann's iron claw. <I thank you for your concern, Rory Swann. It is ... touching that another specie could be so invested in my wellbeing. It is not what the stories of the terrans I've heard are about. But I will not leave a potential trap left wide open for a kinsmen of mine to fall into. Do you understand? It is my choice.>

Swann took a deep lungful of hot desert air slowly, his chest inflating like a balloon, and then jetted it out of his lips audibly. "Yeah, I get it. If I knew somethin' like that was out there that might get Jimbo caught up in it, I'd be screechin' 'cross the sands too, danger or no danger." He chuckled to himself. "Maybe we're more alike than I thought. Well, 'cept the mouth thing."

Karax gazed at him a moment, then inclined his head.

Swann sighed, taking a look around the dusty streets. "Well, can't let ya go out by yourself. If ya goin' to these lengths to help your people, then you'll need someone with you. Who knows what's waitin' for you out there? As Jimbo would say, it'd be down right indecent of me to let ya go on your own."

<You'll ... accompany me on my journey?> Karax asked. <You've been adamant that I am heading towards certain doom. It makes no sense that you would join me.>

Swann shrugged. "I learned the importance of stickin' together no matter what, even if the other person sounds crazy or drunk or somethin'. Ol' Jimbo and me have been to friggin' Char for cryin' out loud. Don't get much scarier than landin' on a lava world full'a zerg." He chuckled. "Matter'a fact, the desert don't seem that bad when I think about it."

Karax furrowed his brow. <You are a perplexing creature, Rory Swann.>

"I'm pretty simple once ya get to know me."

<If you wish to aid me in my quest, I will not turn you away.> Karax beckoned him with his hand. <Come. We must prepare.>

An old motorcycle rusted in the corner of the workshop until Swann arrived in town. Finding it under a dust smothered sheet, he had rolled it out and tinkered with it in his downtime. Not much was wrong with it, and the previous day he managed to start the engine. It even had a side car welded shoddily to the side, so it would seat both of them. Swann gathered food and water from the town shops, grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the bar, and stuffed it all in a bag. He tied a tattered tent to the back of the motorcycle with their supplies, attached a spare can of fuel, and pushed the bike out.

<That is our transportation?> Karax said.

"Not much choice here," Swann said, hauling himself onto the seat, hands on the handlebars. "Most'a the vehicles here are out of commission. Plus I just fixed this one up yesterday so I know it's safe."

<And I'm to ride in ... >

Swann tapped the rusted metal bowl clinging inexpertly to the cycle's frame. "Yep. The sidecar. Don't worry. Once your skin's been bakin' for hours, you'll barely notice your spine bendin' outta shape."

Karax considered his riding spot. <Maybe I can pilot the vehicle.>

"Sorry pal, but you don't know how to work it. It's much easier if I drive. If we come across some protoss ship, I'll gladly hand you the keys."

The psionic alien stared at the aged motorcycle, then lowered himself into the sidecar. He shuffled around, unable to squat inside comfortably until he hung his knees over the edge.

"There! Comfy?"



The terran engineer chuckled, zipping up his jacket. "No, 'spose not. But we all gotta make sacrifices." He hawked and spat onto the ground. "So, which way is this beacon of yours?"

Karax twisted his head, examining the town as if searching for something on the walls. <The pulse is weak, but ...> He lifted a thin, grey finger. <That direction.>

"All right!" Swann pulled his goggles from his forehead and snapped them over his eyes. He turned the key and the engine rumbled with a jolt, grey fumes spewing from the exhaust. Rory twisted the throttle a few times, the revs rising and falling like a wave. Its age became clear in the halting clicks and grunts, but it would run. "Let's find your beacon!"

Releasing his grip from the brakes, Swann leaned into the wind as the motorbike lurched forward and accelerated out of town.

He took it slow to start with, making sure that the old girl wouldn't fall to pieces as he pushed it hard up a sand dune. It grumbled and growled, its revs thick and inconsistent, but they managed to climb it and soared down the other side. Even if it was hot wind, it caressed Swann's face in a way he could never experience from piloting starships or SCVs. He drank in the golden ocean before him, and grinned as it rushed passed him. He let out a "whoop!" as they skirted another dune at full pace and crested a small rise in the sand that lifted the wheels from the ground for a split moment.

<Are you enjoying yourself, Rory Swann?> Karax asked, limbs flailing out the edge of the sidecar.

"Haha, you better believe it!" Swann shouted over the angry engine. "Nothin' like the wind in ya face! It's freein', after bein' cooped up in that town for the past few days, in a weird place I never been to before and never asked to come to!"



"'Course! Don't protoss like zippin' 'round the place on their high-tech wizardry?"

<We do not employ magic, Rory Swann,> Karax said. <It does not exist. But no, we do not get a thrill from such rudimentary activities.>

Swann shrugged, hands firm on the handlebars. "Your loss, buddy!"

Yet as they spurted sand and smoke in their wake, Rory's mind alighted on something he mentioned moments ago. He'd arrived in the desert town because of Jimbo. It wasn't his fault, but he hated that he did it. Things were finally coming together in the Koprulu sector; the wars were ending, old rivals were becoming allies. Peace was within reach, and then he was thrown down onto the rotting equivalent of Mar Sara with no way home and no knowledge of why it had all happened. He missed the thrum of the Hyperion's engines, the twinkling stars that imparted their light to a dim and inky galaxy, even the food wasn't that hard to stomach.

But now ... what? Jimbo was gallivanting around, saving lives, being the big hero he was always born to be. Where did that leave Rory? As his second fiddle? Raynor was his friend for life, but their relationship had changed here. Under Raynor's Raiders, he was his commander, and technically still was. But back then, they were fighting a war, rebelling against the tyrannical Terran Dominion of Arcturus Mengsk's doing. Here though, what were they? Jimbo had taken up residence as a deputy, but Swann's skills were going to waste fixing up technology from hundreds of years ago.

<Rory Swann?> Karax said. <Is something the matter?>

"No, why d'you ask?"

<You've gone quiet. You were quite exuberant a moment ago but it seems to have faded.>

Focus on the now, Rory. Life's all about sortin' stuff out. Work it out when you go back and Jimbo's there.

"Nah, I'm fine. Just thinkin' about somethin'." Swann slammed the throttle. "But let's go back to havin' some fun!"

Jim Raynor · 05-16-2017, 02:39 AM

The sun was relentless. Despite his thick beard and skin tempered by forge fires, Swann's face blushed with warmness. His exposed biceps, the only other part of his body unshielded from the blazing fireball in the sky, had taken on a pale ruddiness. His fingers, moist with sweat inside his leather glove, ached from gripping the handlebars of the motorcycle for so long; thankfully his metal arm had no such weakness. His thighs thudded with soreness, having straddled the stiff machine for so long. He considered pulling over for a break, but what good would that do? With no trees for shade or rivers for water, it would only delay them and continue baking their bodies. Swann could endure a little discomfort.

His protoss friend, however, was struggling with their mode of transportation. Having found his original legs-over-the-side arrangement distasteful, he rearranged his lanky body until he awkwardly kneeled in the side car, back bent over its front to keep stable. His pallid skin hadn't burned from the harsh sun at all, though Rory recalled him saying that his people consumed light through their pores. But could he overeat? Was it like someone trying to shove cake in his mouth when he closed it? Rory mused on whether he should pose the question, but decided not to.

He wondered if he should say it anyway, since their uneventful trip had been silent save for moments where Karax redirected their path. Swann was used to gabbing to his team when plying his trade, or doing anything really. Yet the protoss warp-smith had been reticent to initiate conversation, perhaps finely focused on the mental signal that guided them through the baking sands. Still, the sound of the wind sweeping past his ears was growing monotonous. He had to do something to break it.

"So ... we gettin' closer to the beacon or what?" Swann asked.

Karax kept his shimmering eyes on the horizon. <We are always growing closer, Rory Swann, or else I would advise you to change course.>

"Huh ... yeah, right. Makes sense." Swann growled quietly, the sound hidden by the muffling breeze. That didn't work. Man, why was it so hard to start a conversation with this guy? Didn't he know there has to be some give and take for it to happen? Isn't he feeling weird about how quiet they were together? Surely they should try to get to know one another a little? Road trips were always fantastic for that.

The terran engineer cleared his throat. "So, uh ... when did you start followin' Artanis 'round?"



"It doesn't!" Swann said. "I'm just tryin'a make some small talk! Ya know, cut the silence for a bit? Get ta know you?"

<There is no need. I am focused on the task at hand, as are you.>

Swann furrowed his brow and stared over the handlebars. The sky's sheer blue was bleeding away as the sun sank towards the edges of the horizon. "OK, OK, I get it. I'll shut up."

Karax took his gaze from the dunes for the first time in hours to look at Swann. <I'm sorry if I am making you uncomfortable, Rory Swann. I simply do not see the purpose in->

"Yes, Karax, I understand," Swann said in a defeated but good-humoured tone. "Sometimes I gotta remember we ain't the same species. There's gonna be some stuff we don't think the same on." Geez, that doesn't sound like me. Must be Jimmy rubbin' off on me.

Karax's eyes crinkled as if he were smiling. <Indeed. I will ... endeavour to accommodate your ... different viewpoint. But for now, I think it would be best if I->

Rory nodded. "No sweat, bud. Get back ta scannin' and I'll keep this hunk'a junk movin'."

<Thank you, Rory Swann.>

The miles steadily rolled by them as the sun continued its faithful descent. Swann's eyes trailed the hilly desert before them and stopped as a sparkle drew his attention.

"Hey Karax, uh, are we close to the beacon?"

<We are getting closer, yes. I do not believe we are far from our goal.>

"Is it in that direction?" he asked, pointing at the glinting object.

<Yes. Why do you ask?>

"I think I can see a building out here. Could be where this damn beacon is."

<Yes. Yes I believe you may be right, Rory Swa->

A great rumbling shook the dunes. Swann's teeth rattled in his jaw, his eyes wobbling like jelly. A low booming flooded his hearing until he couldn't hear his own shouted question to Karax. He slammed on the brakes, unable to feel the jostling of the old motorcycle's engine over the quake. He stared at the sands, able to make out the tiny grains shifting and oscillating in place, tumbling down the dunes in golden streams.

<I'm not sure what you said, Rory Swann, but I do not know the cause of this disturbance,> Karax's telepathic voice emanated within his head. <However, I am very concerned about its source.>

Swann wanted to say "you're tellin' me" but before he could utter it uselessly amongst the white noise, a massive shockwave blasted the sands before them into the sky in a thick, unified sheet. Swann was fired from the motorcycle seat like an artillery shell out of a siege tank and plummeted into the yielding sand, raking a trench in his wake. Sitting up and spitting grains from his lips, he spotted Karax lying nearby, coming to his senses as well.

"How the hell ..." Swann said as he stared at the yellow wall that loomed over them. The sands reached the apex of their height, and in a terrifying wave, swept downwards towards them.

"Holy shit!" Swann scrambled to his feet and tore towards Karax. He grabbed the protoss' arm and yanked him up. They sprinted as the sands collapsed behind them, sending out an ear-ringing crash. The wave rumbled after them, sounding like a thousand glass mugs smashing against the ground, ringing until Swann wanted to tear his ears off. He slammed his hands over them and continued sprinting, elbows pointed to his sides.

 Karax projected into his mind. <The sands are moving too fast.>

Swann opened his mouth to retort, but sand piled in, and an irresistible force shoved him in the back. The scouring grains poured over his skin, and he held his breath as a fresh tomb rushed over the top of him.

Jim Raynor · 05-28-2017, 10:30 PM

A noise from somewhere, blunted and foggy, disturbed Swann. In the dark he shuffled and squirmed uncomfortably, thoughts fleeting and wispy. His confusion reached fever pitch as the muddled sounds took shape and finally started making sense.

<Rory Swann! Can you hear me?>

That telepathic 'voice' in his head, something heard and yet completely without sound, became an anchor. Swann grabbed it, using the thoughts that scrambled to identify the owner of that voice to hoist himself out of the bewildering mire.

It was ... Karax! Karax was talking to him!

<Please, Rory Swann. You have to wake up. I do not have the necessary attributes to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. >

Now that was a concept that warranted rebuking.

Swann jerked up, eyes ablaze. "Don't you go gettin' fresh with me! We-"

<Rory Swann! You are OK!>

Another bout of befuddlement hit. "What are ya talkin' about, Karax?"

<Oh,> Karax said, the protoss phase-smith knelt by his side. Even crouching, he almost stood taller than Rory did at his full height. <Perhaps you have memory loss.>

Swann frowned and looked around. Dunes of sand spread out in every direction all around him, all the way to the horizon. A motorcycle tire stuck out of sands nearby, still attached to the axle, while the rest of the vehicle protruded out from a hundred metres away. Sweat drenched his face even though the sun, reduced to a semicircle couched in soothing oranges and pinks in the distance, no longer assaulted him as it had earlier. He touched his forehead lightly and hissed at the sting. He was burnt and badly.

Everything came back to him. "How did we survive that?"

<You were buried rather quickly,> Karax said, rising out of his kneel. 

Swann snorted. "For whatever that's worth now. The bike's wrecked. We got no way of travellin' onwards or travellin' back 'cept walkin', and the desert nights are as bitterly cold as the damn desert days are burning hot."

<We cannot give up hope,> Karax said, staring out into the warm peach sunset. <The threat has still not been removed.>

Getting up, Swann brushed off the piles of sand that managed to collect in the tiniest creases of his clothing. He wedged a pinky finger into his ear and screwed it around until the sand grains dislodged. "Don't worry, I ain't one to pack it in when the chips are down." Swann scanned the horizon, and the metal object that caught his eye before the explosion of sand was still there. "Let's head towards whatever that thing is. Might be an old building, or a vehicle I might be able to get started again. It's our best bet."

Karax joined him. <Yes. It would be best to find shelter for the night.>

Without another word, the two travelling companions crested the dune and walked down the other side. The cool dusk winds caressed Swann's burned cheeks, providing some relief, but he knew soon enough it would turn to ice in a matter of hours. Without the sun to consistently bake the sands, heat vanished from the landscape incredibly quickly.

As Swann traversed down, it occurred to him that it wasn't a dune, but a massive hemispherical indentation in the sands. Then it hit him all at once.

"The explosion!" Swann said to Karax, startling the tall alien. "What was that explosion?"

 Karax replied as they returned to their march. <There is no residue or smoke remaining, so I do not believe it was an explosive. The lack of any evidence leads me to think it was not any sort of detonation.>

"So, what? The sand just jumped up at us for no reason?"

<No. But I am uncertain as to its cause.>

"Well keep your eyes peeled. I don't want another wall of sand tryin' to bury me again."

Swann shivered as night settled in. The sun's waning light edged the horizon in a pale, neon blue against the deep navy, soon to be black sky. The first brazen stars twinkled serenely, their gentler kin soft and meek above them. As much as the desert was a deadly plain, there were moments of beauty that even Swann could appreciate. A scorpion scuttled over his foot as he took in the cosmic transition, and he kicked it away. Of course, there was more out here that would kill him than would provide a pretty vista.

Rory considered staying quiet, but with the endless acres of sand around them, he was growing bored. "Can ya feel that psychic pulse or whatever anymore?"

<Yes,> Karax said, his head tilted away from their destination. 

"Moving?" Swann said, furrowing his brow. "I take it it wasn't doin' that before?"

<You are correct in that assumption, Rory Swann,> Karax said. <It seems to be slowing now, but it was definitely stationary before the explosion.>

"Do ya think the beacon was stolen or somethin'?"

<It is hard to say.> Karax crinkled his brow, his wistful eyes still locked onto that invisible point in the distance. <Still, we cannot follow any further today.>

"Don't worry Karax. We'll get there."

The mysterious object that caught Swann's attention was coming into full view as they rounded another dune. A huge industrial building loomed over them, chimney stacks punching into the sky high above. Worn by winds and sand, jagged shards of glass clung to the sides of the windowsills, and doors hung on rusted hinges.

<Is this some sort of terran facility?> Karax asked. <What was its purpose?>

Swann walked around the dilapidated structure, then stopped and gestured to his protoss companion. "I think I got a better question than that."

Karax joined Swann and his incandescent eyes rose. <Yes, I believe you do.>

Half of the building was gone. The broken walls were serrated, the roof had collapsed onto the floor and the floor gave way abruptly to the sands. A huge rent in the dunes right next to the separated structure ran from the tall dune nearby and off into the distance in the other direction.

"What the hell?" Swann said. "Where's the other half? What the hell happened here?"

<Perhaps this facility met a similar fate to us,> Karax theorised as he stepped inside the roofless ruin. <Judging by the furrow in the dunes, another of these explosions may have detonated here and eradicated the missing portion here.>

"Could be. But that just raises more questions. And I'm gettin' tired of gettin' no answers."

Karax murmured. <Rory Swann, I detect faint hints of psionic remnants here.>

Swann shrugged his thick shoulders. "Wanna break it down for the dumb terran?"

<Either the psionic beacon was located here earlier, or ... there is another protoss in these sands.>

"Protoss you say?" Swann said, stepping into the destroyed building. "Which is more likely?"

<I do not know, hence why I posited both scenarios. If the beacon was particularly strong, it could leave a trail behind like this. Otherwise, the only other explanation is that another protoss was in this building.>

Rory shivered. The night had properly set in. Stars twinkled above, and goosebumps rose on his flesh. "Let's think about it in the mornin'. Let's get some rest and get back to it first thing tomorrow."

Jim Raynor · 06-09-2017, 08:47 AM

Swann barely slept.

His stout body shivered beneath the swag he managed to fish out of the sands. The night air was so bitterly cold that his teeth would not stop chattering. Just as he thought he might be growing sleepy, something sharp or blunt would poke him at an awkward angle, and he would have to shuffle around to avoid whatever piece of debris jabbed at his back. When he finally found something roughly approximating smooth rubble, the icy fingers of the desert wind crept up the nape of his neck and sent goosebumps racing over his skin, raising every single hair on the way. He found shut eye in between those moments, fleeting and sparse as they were.

Whenever his chilly, bumpy environment robbed him of another nap, Rory would shoot up and notice his protoss companion. Karax hunched in the opposite corner of the half-destroyed building, shoulder slumped hard against the wall. Not once did Swann notice the incandescent blue of Karax's eyes; obviously such sleeping arrangements had little effect on the alien phase-smith. Every time he saw the protoss catching forty winks, the terran engineer grimaced and grumbled, fidgeting with his swag as he repositioned himself and forced his heavy eyelids closed once more.

Yet as long as the night seemed to drag, it felt like no time at all had passed as the morning light splashed on Swann's face. Blinking, he groaned, consigned to his lack of rest, and sat upright, rubbing his gloved hand over his bearded face. The chill in the air had reduced, the sun chasing away the worst of its bite. Indeed, it was somewhat pleasant, but Swann knew it wouldn't last long. The higher the sun climbed in the sky, the hotter it would become. It behoved them to recommence their journey as soon as possible.

Karax, the lucky bastard, still snoozed away, tucked snugly in the corner. Swann chuckled mirthlessly to himself as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the only ration of food he had on him. Unwrapping the packet, Swann chomped on the firm, stretchy jerky and pulled a bite free with some effort. He stared at the resting protoss as he chewed on the processed meat, wondering if it would be rude to wake him. He didn't need to eat, having some weird alien way of getting all the energy he needed from sunlight, and there was plenty of that in the desert. Stuff it, he decided. No time for sleeping anymore.

"Hey, Karax," Swann said in between grinding the jerky between his molars. "Karax! Time to get up!"

The protoss phase-smith stirred, rolling his shoulders, and fell still again.

"Karax!"

Nothing.

Grumbling, Swann swallowed his first bite and clenched the remaining jerky in his teeth as he patted the ground, looking for something to throw. His fingers rubbed against a smooth object with a pointed end and immediately latched onto it. An icy sensation gnawed at his finger tips, but he ignored it as he tossed it and it tinkled serenely as it bounced off Karax's elongated skull and onto the ground.

Karax finally unfurled, stretching his lanky frame. <Good morning, Rory Swann.>

"Yeah, good mornin' yourself," Swann said, labouring another morsel of jerky with his jaw. "Looks like you slept well."

<Indeed,> Karax said, sitting up. <The cool desert night was refreshing. A pity that the day cannot stay so comfortable.>

"You're tellin' me."

Karax frowned, his blue eyes focused on something on the ground. He seized it with all three fingers and inspected it. 

"Huh? Oh that. I just threw that at ya to wake you up," Swann said, scratching at his chest. "Got places to go, ya know. Can't spend the whole day sleepin' on the job."

<Rory Swann,> Karax said, his telepathic voice trembling, <do you not recognise this object?>

Swann scowled and focused on what the protoss clutched in spindly fingers. A fragmented blue gem, a few chunks missing and more than a few fissures running over it, glinted in the rising sun's light.

"That ain't ... one of them protoss baubles?"

<A khaydarin crystal,> Karax corrected, though his tone seemed distracted. <There is no mistaking it. These minerals form the basis of much of protoss technology. It could be what I thought was a protoss mind signal. If there are a number of these within this building, my own psionic presence could have been reflected back at me, making me believe another of my kind had been here recently.>

Swann threw his swag away and dug about the rubble-strewn floor. He picked through chunks of wall and rock, brushed away dust and sand, and discovered a handful more crystals, all in differing states of disrepair.

"Looks like there's a few here," the terran engineer confirmed. "That'd help explain my terrible night tryin' to sleep."

Karax lurched over to the pile of khaydarin crystals that Swann had made and gingerly picked through them as if expecting to find something valuable in the damaged objects.

<Inconclusive.>

"What is?"

<I was hoping that one of these khaydarin crystals had an imprint of another protoss still etched in the lattices. There is no such imprint. I still do not know if a protoss is in genuine trouble, or if the beacon is the one stolen from me by that unscrupulous terran.>

Swann swallowed the last salty mouthful of jerky, hoping it would tide him over for the rest of their journey. "Oh well. No point gettin' all depressed about it. Let's set out and make some headway before the sun gets too high."

Karax nodded. <An excellent suggestion, Rory Swann. Let me get my bearings.> The protoss narrowed his eyes and stared into the middle distance. <Ah. I can sense the pulse of the distress beacon.> He pointed a wormy finger towards the horizon. <It is in that direction.>

"That so? Wasn't it comin' from the complete opposite way yesterday?" Swann noted.

Karax craned his neck over his shoulder, then back forward. 

"Eh, anyway. As long as we got a direction."

<Indeed.> Karax bent over and scooped up a number of cracked khaydarin crystals. 

Swann shrugged and picked up his drawstring bag, stretching it open as Karax deposited his loot. Once full, Swann cinched it up and slung it over his back.

"Ready to go?"

<Yes. Let us proceed, Rory Swann.>

The two unlikely allies stepped from jagged concrete floor and onto sand as they left the half razed building behind them. As they crested the first golden dune, the morning light already heating up the sands, Swann could've sworn he felt the ground move beneath his feet.

Jim Raynor · 06-15-2017, 03:42 AM

Swann swiped his forehead with his glove. As he predicted, the morning sun barely waited to blast away the cool chill of the night, and blasted heat intensely as if it were already midday. He squeezed water out of the bottle, warm and unpleasant, but it was still water and he needed it badly. Even the drops that missed and ran down his chin were quickly snared by his questing tongue.

"Water?" Swann asked, shaking the bottle.

 Karax said, his long strides leaving far fewer footprints in the sand than his terran companion. <There is little water in the air, but I am able to sustain myself on it.>

Swann dropped the water bottle back in his bag and cinched it up. "Well, it's there if you need it. Not hopin' we'll refill it anytime soon, unless we come upon an oasis or somethin'."



As initially stunning as the golden sands and pure, unblemished blue sky were when they first departed the Town With No Name, it was starting to work Rory's nerves. Maybe it was the lack of food and water as well, coupled with a terrible night's rest, but Swann clenched his teeth as they traipsed through the desert, following the invisible compass in the protoss phase-smith's head.

"I don't think we can keep searchin' much longer," Swann said as the hot wind brushed over his face, adding to the stinging sun rays. "I got maybe one more day's worth of food and water, two if I'm stretchin' it a bit. And I don't think we'll find a shop out here in the middle of the damn desert."

 Karax said. < But I do not believe it will be long before we reach the beacon.>

Swann perked up at that. "That right? You think we're not far, eh?"

Karax shook his head. <Quite close indeed. In fact, the beacon is travelling towards us.>

"Huh, kinda like yesterday when it was travellin' away from us," Swann said. "You don't think it's runnin' away?"

<No. It's heading towards us, so it either doesn't know of our presence, or it's simply moving in irregular, randomised patterns.>

The sands shook.

"You feel that?" Swann said, his heart in his stomach.

<Indeed I did,> Karax said. <And there is a strange correlation.>

Another quake of the dune almost brought Swann to his knees.

"What?"

<The beacon signal is getting stronger.>

"You mean ... whatever we're followin' is makin' that quake?" Swann said.

<It's highly possible,> Karax said.

Swann ran to the protoss and spread out his arms. "But the last time we felt somethin' movin' beneath us, we almost got smothered by sand! Plus that factory ... what else coulda ripped it in two like that?" He paced away rigidly. "No, no this doesn't sound good at all! Whatever we're chasin' is gonna kill us, by accident or on purpose! We gotta go!"

The ground vibrated and threw Rory flat on his chest. Karax kneeled to the force himself.

The sands beneath Swann's fingers danced in a steady rumbling. "Oh no ... it's too late, isn't it?"

An eruption of sand exploded into the air, the shockwave flooring both the human and protoss. Swann rose his arms over his head as the groaning of sand filled his ears, but it failed to plaster him. Peeking out of an eye, he saw in the distance a deadly wall of gold flaring up and crashing back to the ground in a terrible wave, but far enough to avoid rushing over him and Karax.

His eyes settled on the creature emerging from the explosion, and his sunburnt skin went cold. A worm of monstrous proportions burst forth, its four-sectioned mouth split open, four hideous hooks hanging from the edge of each flap. Its entire body was segmented in thick pink flesh. Swann was sure that only a portion of the leviathan subterranean was visible above the surface, but arcing up and shrieking as it was, it had to have stood over thirty metres long.

"Oh cripes, what the hell is that?!" Swann shouted, pointing a frantic finger at the worm.

<A megafauna local to these deserts,> Karax said, his voice calm as he apprised the new addition to the landscape. <Amazing that such a creature could find enough sustenance to sustain its massive girth.>

"Yeah, and I'm guessin' I know how it sustains itself!" Swann said. "We gotta get movin'!"

Karax stood up as the beast flailed its head around, screeching. 

"You gonna tell me that thing is a protoss?"

<Far from it. Rory Swann ... the distress beacon is emanating from the worm.>

Swann shrugged. "So? That's a good thing, right? Well, for us I mean. There's no protoss in danger. That ugly thing just ate a beacon! No harm, no foul. We can head home now."

Karax shook his oval head. <No. The distress beacon is still transmitting. I came out to find the beacon and halt its signal.>

Swann's face fell, his eyes wide as it dawned on him what the protoss was propositioning. "Oh no. No! We've done enough. We are not fightin' a giant sand worm! Besides, what would we fight it with? My sarcasm?"

 Karax said.

"I was really hopin' you weren't gonna say that."



"OK, this is where the madness has to end," Swann said, shaking a finger.

<The threat still exists,> Karax said, as the worm twisted in the air. <Another of my kind could stumble into its jaws, thinking its->

"Yeah yeah, I get your altruism streak. Really, it's wonderful," Swann said, scowling. "But if we don't get outta here and back to the town, we will be the next ones stumblin' into its jaws. I mean, how are we supposed to get out of it once we're in? Did you think that far head?"

<Rory Swann,> Karax pointed to the horizon, <the worm is gone.>

Swann spun, bug eyed. A gaping hole in the dunes greedily ate the falling sand that cascaded into its depths, but no worm thrashed about in it any more.

The dunes shook.

"Oh no!" Swann yelled, running. "I ain't bein' no worm food! You're on your own now, Karax!"

A massive blast of sand burst from behind them, scattering to the sides like a curtain as the giant worm sheared through it. Its mouth flaps spread open, and a terrible stench of decayed meat washed over them as it shrieked in an impossibly high register. The wind blew backwards, sucking in thin trails of sand. Swann sprinted against the current, but found himself stuck in place. Worse, every terrified step dislodged more sand, vacuuming it backwards and giving him less to stand on. He was slowly losing the battle.

Karax, either resigned to his fate or intent on finishing his suicidal mission, went limp and flew past Swann, vanishing into the black abyss of the worm's throat.

"Karax!"

Swann's feet slipped from under him. He dug fingers and claw into the sands, but he was inexorably rolling towards the monstrous beast. He struggled and kicked and screamed the whole way until the worm's mouth flaps closed in around him and everything went dark.

Jim Raynor · 10-27-2017, 08:16 AM

The thick stench of rotting flesh surrounded Swann and filled his lungs as he took his first conscious breaths. Almost vomiting from the stink alone, he laboured to his feet, using the curved and spongy wall as a support. A few shafts of light shone into the darkness from far away, but Rory couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. His boots squelched in some slimy, viscous liquid which he surmised had to be either saliva or stomach acid. Since he didn't smell his leather boots dissolving, he was hoping it was saliva.

"Karax!" Swann shouted, his voice booming in the fleshy cave. "Where the hell are you?"

Two balls of blue ice coalesced from the dark. <Rory Swann. I am here. Have you sustained any injuries?>

"I'm in a friggin' giant worm!" he yelled. "What does it matter?"

<Calm down,> Karax said as the balls of blue hovered higher. <We will find the beacon, disable it and be on our way.>

Rory frowned and dropped his jaw. "Be on our way? I don't know if this has escaped ya notice, Karax, but we're in a friggin' giant worm! How the hell do ya think we're gettin' outta here that doesn't involve us gettin' squirted out the back end?"

Karax's eyes vanished, then swung into view. <This way. Once the beacon is stopped, we can turn our attention to our escape.>

"Well we ain't doin' much of anythin' in the dark." Swann patted his chest until the stout cylinder became obvious through his jacket. He slipped it free and tore the lid off. A blinding white flame bloomed atop the cylinder, gradually cooling to fill the intestines of the worm in red-white light. Swann grasped the flare with his claw and held it up.

Karax's crimson body took the lead, his two-toed feet splashing in worm fluids. Swann traipsed past splintered crates and twisted chunks of steel and concrete. Damp sand clung to his boots; unsurprisingly the colossal burrower ingested mounds of the stuff when it feasted. Swann pinched his nostrils as he passed by a ruby hunk of meat.

"We gettin' close?" Swann said.

<Very.>

Karax stopped and knelt in the disgusting worm water. He plunged his bony fingers into the dark with a splash and jostled around.

"Ugh. Hope you're diggin' for the beacon. Don't think the stink'll be off ya hand for a month."

The protoss phase-smith plucked a curved disc from the muck. A pale blue light blinked on its apex. <Here it is. The beacon.> Karax pressed the light and it extinguished. <My duty is done.>

"Great. Now how about a way outta here?" Swann said.

Karax deposited the distress beacon on his person, still kneeling, and picked up a grimy crystal. <More khaydarin crystals.> He looked further into the gloom. <Move closer, Rory Swann.>

The light of the flare advanced down the worm's insides and glinted in the crystals that peppered the viewable area. They pooled around a steel plinth with curved arms rising from the base.

"What am I lookin' at here, Karax?" Swann asked.

<A portable protoss teleportation device,> Karax said, moving closer. He ran his fingers along the plinth.

"It don't look too portable to me. Has it been used?"



"Can we get outta here with it?"

Karax poked the metal base and retracted his hand as if he put his finger in the mouth of a zergling. <Yes. The khaydarin crystals here should be enough to fuel our ->

The fleshy walls rumbled. Pallid green liquid oozed out and dripped from the rounded ceiling.

"The hell is that?" Swann said.

A droplet spattered on a nearby piece of metal and ate through it entirely.

<Digestive juices,> Karax said.

More leaked just north of Swann's boot, hissing on impact.

"Then get that thing activated and let's get outta here!"

Karax bent down and scuttled around the base of the plinth like a crab, his fingers moving like he was typing on a keyboard. Swann swung his head around, hopping out of the way of the falling acid as it rained down upon him. The walls pulsed and throbbed as more of the digestive enzymes pumped out, faster and faster until they were slick and shiny in the flare's light.

"Karax! It's gettin' wetter in here by the second! You worked it out yet?"

The floor of khaydarin crystals lit up like stars and the curved arms spun around the plinth. Fingers of electricity zapped from the arms' apex and into the centre. The air shimmered at the collisions, showing a desert image that waved like ripples in a pond.

<Now, Rory Swann! Jump through the portal! The khaydarin crystals are almost completely drained!>

"Ya don't have to tell me twice!"

Swann scampered through the sizzling rain and hurled himself at the portal. He collapsed on the dusty ground, the sun blazing in the naked sky. Scrambling to his feet, Swann turned back to the rip in space time to see Karax tumble through. The portal flickered once or twice and shrunk into itself.

"Hey, it worked!"

<As I thought it would.>

Swann turned his attention ahead of him. Nothing but golden valleys of sand greeted him. His throat tightened.

"Uh ... while I'm grateful we're outta the worm and all ... you have any idea where we ended up? Looks like we're kinda ... far from home."

"Not as far as you think, buddy."

Swann spun his head. Buildings filled his vision; the tavern, Sheriff Roland's office ... and Jim Raynor.

"Cowboy!" Swann yelled. "We made it back!"

Karax's eyes crinkled. <Of course, Rory Swann. I calibrated the teleporter to take us home. Apologies for the misdirection.>

"Come on, Swann," Jim said, beckoning him towards the tavern. "Bet you got a whole mess'a stories to tell me."

"Oh, the things I've seen, cowboy," Swann said, flicking a globule of worm saliva from his boot. "The things I've seen."

Jim Raynor · 10-28-2017, 03:56 AM

Swann emptied the mug in one tilt. The cold ale soothed his dry and sand-scratched throat. "Oh man. Nothin' like trudgin' through a desert and gettin' swallowed by a giant worm to work up a thirst."

Jim chuckled. "Can't say I've been eaten before, but I sure know the hot kiss of the desert." He took a sip of his beer and sighed. "And the cool one of a cold one."

Karax stood with folded arms behind Swann and Jim. The deputy sheriff's squad surrounded a table in the bar with the two heroes at the head, including the normally reclusive Hammer still ensconced within her firebat suit. They had listened with rapture while Swann unfurled the journey while Karax spoke up when he misremembered something. Jim mentioned his adventure chasing the dark chips, wondering if anyone in the squad had seen something but no one had. Talk eventually returned to the end of Swann and Karax's story.

"So did you wonder about how it came to be that the protoss gear got swallowed up?" Roy Salvatore asked, rubbing at his goatee.

<Of course,> Karax said. <The abundance of khaydarin crystals suggest there is at least one other protoss around. Perhaps they are a phase-smith as well, if they built the teleportation device.>

"Are you sure it's a protoss?" Sandra Davis asked, her ankles crossed on the table. "There could be someone else that has a teleporter or knows how to work protoss technology."

<Unlikely. It was definitely a device crafted by a protoss artisan. Also while it is possible to activate that particular teleporter without psionic energy, it beggars belief that someone not of my kind could discover how to operate it without prior experience or knowledge.>

"Not to mention those kay deer crystals. They sound pretty protoss-y," Adam Carlton said, resting his elbows on the table. "I'm guessing they're some sort of glowing battery?"

<Khaydarin. And yes. They are required to energise the teleporter.>

"And you think it was used by someone?" Lewis Baxter said, his beer still full. "Indicating that another protoss, at least, is nearby?"

<Correct, Lewis Baxter. The khaydarin crystals, while not empty, had been sapped. The most correct interpretation is that the teleporter was activated and the crystals were the power supply.>

"So more of your kind, huh?" Jim said, draining the foam from the bottom of his glass before gesturing to the barkeeper. "What are you gonna do?"

The squad looked to the protoss as his eyebrows rose and fell.

"He's gonna go chasin' 'em," Swann said. "He's too good for his own good. If there's one of his people out there, come hell or high water he'll find 'em."

Karax crinkled his brow. <Rory Swann is almost correct. I would like to find my compatriot or compatriots, as I'm convinced at least one more protoss is here somewhere. However, I have no place to begin my search. The teleporter did not record the destination of the previous portal. Not to mention that the human that stole my distress beacon in the first place is still at large and I have no idea why he robbed me of it or what he planned to use it for.>

"Well, you're welcome to stay with us as long as you want while you work out how you're gonna do that," Jim said, standing as the barkeeper delivered his next drink and clasping Karax on the shoulder. "We might even be able to help you somehow."

<Thank you, Jim Raynor. Your hospitality is appreciated.>

"Anytime, bud." Jim dropped back into his seat. "So Swann, meant to tell ya. Project Hellfire was a success."

Swann's eyes lit up. He brushed the beer away that drenched the whiskers around his lip with the back of his oil-stained glove. "Really? No foolin'? Nothin' went wrong with it?"

"Not a thing," Jim said. "Might wanna take off that password system though. Can't say I'm a fan of it."

"Heh, will do cowboy." Swann looked to Karax. "You hear that? Sounds like protoss-terran tech can fuse together better than we thought."

<It was merely a portable one-use teleporter attached to a missile pod launcher,> Karax said. <Nothing to be excited about.>

"Yeah but I was certain that warp field business would fry the circuits or the launch system. If it didn't, that means we got a lot more experimentin' to do. If we can work out the kinks, there's all sorts of weapons and gizmos we can build! The best of both worlds. Literally."

Karax nodded. <Indeed. It would be an interesting project.>

"Great! Then we'll get to work tomorrow," Swann said. "For tonight, let's take it easy and celebrate the fact we didn't melt into worm food."

Jim smirked. "Heh. Think we can all drink to that."

Login
Username:
Password:	Lost Password?
	Remember me