The Odd Couple

[Jim Raynor]

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?"
 
<I am somewhat up-to-date on the latest terran technology,> 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?"
 
<I don't mean to cause offense, Rory Swann,> 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."