Eye of the Storm [Complete]

[Jim Raynor]

Jim shuffled through the desert. His eyes trailed over the simmering sands as he trudged over it, the relentless heat baking him and undoubtedly his captor. Raynor flicked his gaze upwards on occasion, expecting to see some sign of their destination, but only the juxtaposition of the sky against the dunes with a blazing white sun interrupted it. Tracks of footprints headed in the same direction they were, though the fickle winds ground more grains of sand over them and gradually wore them away.
 
The barrel of the pistol still dug into the base of his spine. The unnecessary pressure would likely leave a bruise; though his skin was tougher than that in regular circumstances, the crash landing of the medivac dropship had left some parts of him squishier than he would've liked. Most of his torso thudded dully in time with his heart beat, but he was pretty sure he wasn't bleeding internally. His left foot screamed every time he put a modicum of his weight on it, and so he suspected it might be broken. His captor bore a portion of his mass from the left, which let Jim limp on that side without seriously setting off the agonising injury. It'd prove a hindrance when he tried to make a break for it, though.
 
"Enjoying your trek?" the bandit said, grimacing. "Don't expect this kind of luxury where we're headed."
 
"You mean my prison's gonna be hotter than this damned sun?" Jim swiped his forehead with the back of his hand. The leather of his glove came away wet. "Shoulda put a bullet in my head before. Woulda been a kindness."
 
"After what your men pulled, the last thing we'll be doing you is a 'kindness.'"
 
Raynor hoped his new squadron were still alive. He hadn't seen any blood soaking into the sands on their journey, but that didn't ease him any; the bandit said that his troops took down some of their thieving number, so even if he had seen blood, it wasn't necessarily that of Sergeant Baxter or his ilk. The question alighted on his tongue, but he swallowed it down. The bandit would probably lie or just outright mock him if he asked about their wellbeing, and anyway, he'd see if they were in one piece soon enough.
 
For the first time, to Jim's surprise, he considered his revolver as a swift option for freedom. Even with a broken foot, a fast enough movement could dislodge the bandit's gun pointed at his pelvis, roll over the scorching sands and produce his weapon before any retaliation could be made. He only had an extra six bullets spare on him, so he'd have to use his two dozen wisely; he had no inkling of how many more bandits awaited at their base. A shot between the eyes wouldn't be so hard; he'd have to account for that cursed glare brimming from the sands, but a bullet to the head worked as long as it landed.
 
Surreptitiously, Jim's fingers crawled down his thigh and quested for the handle of his revolver. Finding nothing but more leg, he cast his sight down. The gun, along with the holster, had been removed.
 
Figures. Why wouldn't they disarm me after what my crew did? Heh, shoulda thought of that. This sun must be cookin' my brain.
 
At least his captor hadn't noticed his movements. He didn't disbelieve his words about his worn patience, and Jim wasn't game to test it.
 
Jim felt three birthdays go by before they passed a thick, upright stick buried in the sands. A yellow piece of ragged cloth, tied to the top, flapped in the humid breeze. Remembering that a yellow flag was supposed to be the marker for the bandit hideout, Raynor perked up, peering through squinted eyes for the entrance. Maybe it was the heat, the dehydration, his injuries or all three, but all he saw around him was an abundance of golden, blistering sand.
 
They stopped walking. Somehow, Jim's skin sizzled more by being still.
 
"Turn around," came the bandit's voice. A jab in the back of his spine with the pistol emphasised his point. "Now."
 
Raynor sighed and did as he was told. "Fine." He swivelled about until his back was to the bandit. "Sand's prettier over here anyway."
 
Jim heard the shuffling of the bandit's boots, a silent pause, and then a mechanical whirring. He turned his head halfway about until the cylindrical barrel poked him again.
 
"I said no turning around."
 
"Sorry. I'm the curious type."
 
Jim focused on the sound. Some sort of motor was driving an action. He guessed it was an automatic door slowly winding back. The bandit must've been opening the entrance to his hideout, but didn't want Raynor knowing how he had done it.
 
"All right." Raynor was thrust around one eighty degrees and hurried forward. A yawning gap in the dunes had appeared, drinking sand as it slowly cascaded down the angled cavern. Darkness only held back from the very mouth of the entrance, and Jim spotted a flickering flame deep within.
 
As soon as they passed over the threshold, Jim took a sigh. The moment the sun stopped assaulting his skin, a faint pleasure wound its way through his body. His first breath, however, stifled that sensation instantly. The air drew thickly into his lungs, and the humidity already drew fresh beads of sweat on his roasted skin. He traced fingers over his forearm and recoiled at the tender shock that ran through it from the weak touch.
 
He must have hissed, since his captor commented. "A bit sunburnt there, huh?"
 
"And you ain't?"
 
A flat palm slapped Jim's forearm, and a thousand wasps sunk their barbs into his pink skin. Raynor cried in surprise, disbelieving that his captor could be so childish, and returned to grimacing. He desperately wanted to rub at the stinging, but his brain convinced him such an action would slough off the skin on his bone. Instead he endured it, deciding to keep a better perimeter around his chapped, peeling lips.
 
They reached the tiny flame that Raynor had seen upon entering the cavern. Its meagre light revealed a steel door set in a wall that Jim could barely see in the dark. His captor twisted the knob and the door opened inwards. He shoved Jim through the gap and entered after him, closing the door behind them.
 
The temperature was no better in here, but at least his eyes had some welcoming news. In one large, rusted cage, Jim saw the majority of his squadron locked up. Their equipment was stacked against the wall, while a handful of unwashed thieves pored over the two marine suits that belonged to his privates as if looking for some secret compartment. Seems one marine suit was still drowning in sand somewhere outside.
 
Aside from an aging kitchen and table set and a torn lounge chair, there was a large ute at the back of the room, its tray packed with wooden crates. Bulbs blinked above their heads at regular intervals, threatening to cut out altogether at any moment. Old oil slicks on the rocky floor caught the flickering in faded reflection.
 
"Nice place you got here," Jim said, unable to poke fun at their shoddy living standards. "Ever thought about openin' a resort?"
 
The captor shoved Raynor in the back, slamming him into the cage's metal bars. His squadron had risen to their feet as soon as Jim entered, though none had said anything, probably because any words right now were pointless. A set of long, rounded keys appeared near Jim's waist, and the bandit flicked through them to find the one he wanted. He guided it into the lock, twisted it, and pulled open the door. Immediately he thrust Raynor into the cage, using his body to block any vaunted escape attempts on behalf of the current prisoners, and quickly secured the door once more.
 
"I hope you enjoy your stay," the bandit said, grinning and showing his plaque encrusted teeth. He and his comrades chuckled at their joke.
 
Anger boiled in Jim's chest, but now wasn't the time. Pressing his back against the metal bars, he slid down to the floor, taking a moment to appreciate the respite from the forced march and the abrasive sunlight.
 
"Are you alright, sir?" Lewis asked, crouching next to Raynor.
 
Always the kiss ass, in the nicest possible way. I can see why the Dominion promoted this kid so early.
 
"I'm fine, son," Jim said. "Nothin' a little R&R won't fix."
 
"I don't think you'll be getting much of that around here," Sandra said, standing at the cage door. "I don't know what they want to do with us, but it won't be pleasant."
 
"Please," Roy said, wiping sweat from his brow. "If they wanted to kill us, they would've done it out in the sands hours ago, after we shot some of their friends. They're going to ransom us off to someone, probably Roland. We're obviously no use to them dead."
 
Jim stared at the marine. "That's where you're wrong. They know we probably ain't worth much, or at the least no one's got the coin to pay for us." Raynor's gaze fell upon the loaded ute. "See that?" The others followed his line of sight. "I bet my last buck that's the missin' supplies. If they're keepin' us alive, I reckon they're doin' that to find out more information. Supply deliveries, defences in the town, that sorta thing. Then when they've heard what they wanna hear, they'll kill us. But it won't be quick." Jim looked back at Roy. "Think 'crucified in the desert' kinda quick."
 
"So ... what's the plan?" Adam asked, scratching at his sand encrusted beard. "I'm not ready to die to a bunch of losers."
 
"Don't worry, I've been in worse situations than this before." Jim's brow creased. "Wait, where's Hammer?"
 
The other four of his squadron looked at each other, then Lewis spoke up. "We don't know, sir. We assumed she was with you."
 
Jim's frown deepened. "You mean she's still out there, bakin' in that damn firebat suit?"
 
Baxter kept a flat expression. "I guess so, sir."
 
"Gonna have to speed this up then." Jim patted his jacket and trousers, searching for anything the bandits didn't have the intelligence to take from him. His grenades were gone, plus his revolver and extra ammo, and his AGR-14 assault rifle. He patted his left and right gloves, shaking loose the sand that accumulated within. His psi-blade would still work, but the light and sound would set the bandits on them quickly, even if he managed to slash the cage bars to ribbons. He could fold out his shield, but it would only hold for a time, and they would all eventually be shot to swiss cheese.
 
He paced about the small cage, eyes wandering for some feature to strike him. Stopping, Jim slipped off a boot and poured the grainy contents free, shaking it to get the last recalcitrant specks out. He felt something move inside the sole, and his eyes relaxed.
 
"All right, here's what's gonna happen," Jim said, retrieving a small disk small enough to fit in the heel of his boot. "When I say, get all the bandits over here. I'm gonna crouch in the back, and I need you all to block view of me. Once they're all here, I'm bustin' us out. Then head for your gear and we'll take 'em all out. Everyone clear on the plan?"
 
Everyone nodded. Disciplined from their training with their respective terran military organisations, they didn't prod for more information; they had all they needed to carry out the mission.
 
Baxter's lips parted. "Sir, just one thing before we proceed. That psychic signal that Sandra and I sensed from the air? Well, it's in this cave somewhere, and it's strong. It could be another prisoner."
 
Raynor considered the new information. "Can't say I know many psionic bandits, but we can't know for sure. We'll look into it when we're outta danger."
 
Jim jostled his way to the back of the cage and sat on his knees. He flicked the disk through the gaps in the bars softly, making sure to prevent any noise. Looking over his shoulder, he observed the bandits pawing through the squad's weapons and equipment, taking special fascination with the two marine suits.
 
Take a good look, fellas. Won't be 'round much longer.
 
"OK, cover me."
 
Lewis, Sandra, Adam and Roy stood in front of Raynor, though they kept leisurely poses.
 
Jim lifted his left forearm and pushed back a strip of leather on his glove. It revealed a small input screen. He pressed on it and held his finger, watching the small disk. A couple of clicks sounded and it extended. Little spider-like legs unfolded from its sides. A red lens rotated out of its front. In a few moments, the widow mine stood up and scuttled around to face Jim. He saw his own face in the input screen.
 
It was a miniature version of the type he normally carried, and he was lucky that he always kept one item of importance stashed in his clothing. It couldn't wreak havoc on the same scale as a standard size widow mine, but for the purposes of their jailbreak, it would be enough.
 
Sliding his fingers over the input screen, the widow mine skittered across the dirt strewn floor of the cave, weaving past discarded rags and rubbish, until it stood between the bandits and the doorway. Its small size and swift movement went undetected by the bandits, who were starting to fight over who claimed ownership over which pieces of their equipment.
 
"Now," Jim whispered.
 
"Hey, ugly!" Adam called out. They all turned to face him. "Hah, you all looked!"
 
A couple of the bandits strode over. "Do you not realise the shit that you're already in? You want to make it worse?"
 
"Please," Roy said, shrugging his shoulders. "You losers are nothing compared to us. If we didn't have these bars here, you'd all be lying in a puddle of your own blood by now."
 
A few more bandits joined their associates at Salvatore's challenge. "Yeah? That right? You think you can take us?"
 
"Tell you what," Adam said. "You let me and Roy out to fight all seven of you. I bet you 500 credits we'll win!"
 
The last of the bandits walked to the bars. "You don't have any money on you. We searched you when we took you all in. You're bluffing."
 
Jim's fingers danced over the input pad. They were all in position.
 
The widow mine scurried to its left, its red lens zooming in on its targets. A compartment on its head flicked open, and a small missile poked its head free.
 
Raynor smiled. "It's been real nice visitin' you boys, but we got things to do."
 
He hit the input pad one last time, and the missile launched.
 
The bandits turned at the noise and dove out of the way. The slowest thief was flung backwards from the small explosion and into the stained refrigerator in their 'kitchen.' The widow mine spun, finding its next target, and began loading the second missile.
 
Jim flicked his right arm, and a triangular blade of blue energy burst from the top of the glove's wrist. His squadron parted as he slashed at the cage's lock. Kicking it open, he and his team stormed out while the next missile went airborne.
 
"They're getting the stuff! Stop them!" a cry went out.
 
The closest bandit reached for them, grabbing Lewis. Baxter spun to deliver a punch, but the bandit caught it easily.
 
"Now now, no hitting."
 
The bandit opened his mouth to speak, but an unexpected projectile detonated in his face, smacking him into the ground. Lewis gave the moaning thug a good kick in the head, and he stopped moving.
 
Jim lead the charge, cutting down another bandit that stood in their way. "Adam, Roy, get in your hardskins and secure the cave! Lewis, Sandra, get geared up and find out what's causin' that psionic disturbance you keep prattlin' on about, see if it's friend or foe."
 
Raynor stood before his troops as they geared up. The remaining five bandits were on their feet. One had found the widow mine and chased it as it scuttled away from his big boots. The other four produced pistols from their sides and wasted no time training their sights on their escapees. Eyes widening, Jim flicked his left wrist. A rectangular prism of metal extended out, and a series of shutter-like panels of neosteel grew up and down from the first extension. At full deployment, the arm-mounted shield covered a little taller than his height and a touch wider than his full width. Instantly he felt the impact of bullets shuddering against his shield. Without his revolver, all the ex-outlaw could do was provide cover for his squadron.
 
"Come on now, on the double!" he shouted.
 
Almost on cue, two hulking robots lurched to his side, C-14 impalers gripped in steel hands. They raised their weapons and opened fire, filling the cave with light and the stench of gunpowder. The screams died out quickly as Adam and Roy plugged each bandit unlucky enough to live through the first round in the head with a final spike. Unfortunately, the fifth bandit had managed to crush the widow mine before succumbing to his fate, but at least it had served its purpose.
 
Lewis and Sandra stepped up, refitting their masks.
 
"Go find out what's goin' on," Jim said, and they vanished down another tunnel, into the network of caverns that no doubt honeycombed the ground beneath the dunes.
 
"What do we do now, commander?" Roy asked.
 
Raynor headed to the ute. "Keep watch in case any of their bandit friends come back." He pulled himself onto the tray and jimmied open a crate. Peering inside, he took in the contents; antiseptic, bandages, insulin and what appeared to be blood transfusions. Jim slammed the lid down. "Shit. We gotta move this stuff ASAP." Jim swung the driver's door open, smirking. The keys were inserted into the ignition. "Well, that solves one problem."
 
The whole cave shook, and a familiar mechanical whirring reverberated off the imperfect walls.
 
"Ah, commander?" Adam said. "I think those bandit friends are here."
 
"Damn it!" He had to get these supplies back to the Town With No Name, but he couldn't leave his troops stranded. The ute had enough room for two, maybe three unsuited people, seeing as the tray was packed as tightly as possible. But Jim didn't want to leave behind the marine armour, and even still two of his squad would have to remain. None of it was palatable.
 
Jim dashed from the driver's seat and scoured the room for a weapon. He snapped up a pistol, stuffed it into his belt, and grabbed two more from the fresh corpses. He kicked over the kitchen table and crouched behind it. "Adam, pull that crappy couch over here, would ya?"
 
Adam used one whirring arm to seize the couch and moved it in line with the table with an inhuman ease. He and Roy kneeled, resting their impalers on the disturbed furniture, aiming for the door in. Jim kept his breath steady, hands tight on the pistols. There was no telling how many of these filthy degenerates lived in this cave; for all he knew, the seven here were only holding the fort while the others raided off somewhere.
 
"We got this," Jim told his men. "Just keep a steady aim and a flat trigger."
 
The mechanical door's grinding was even louder from inside the cave. There was no way to tell how many were approaching.
 
The handle twisted, and the door flung open.
 
Jim poked two pistol barrels over the upturned table. "Wait for my signal."
 
A pair of spotlights stole over the cave. The mechanical outside door finally fell into place, and the cave fell silent again. Whatever stood in the doorway was massive, but the shadows and the blinding spotlights hid the identity. It stooped over to fit through the doorway, taking confident strides inside. Jim felt the sweat bead on his brow, and his fingers slowly coiled down on the triggers ...
 
"Commander," came a familiar feminine voice. "I have located you."
 
"Weapons down, boys!" Jim said, and leapt over the fallen table. "Turn the lights off, adjutant."
 
The spotlights clicked off, and a marine suit stood before them, orange visor with the white skull down. It flicked up, empty within.
 
"What the?" Adam said, standing. "There's no one working that thing!"
 
Jim smiled. "My adjutant is. Got a failsafe for incidents just like this. The adjutant downloads herself into my marine armour in the first instance, or into my communicator on my wrist in the second. If she's in the suit, she locks onto my communicator signal and comes find me."
 
"Affirmative," the adjutant said. "Commander, I encountered some resistance at the entrance to the base, but it has been neutralised. A number of vehicles can be commandeered for the journey home. Also, The Hammer is here."
 
Sure enough, an orange firebat plodded into the cavern, smoke still wafting from the ends of its flamethrower arms.
 
"Hammer!" Roy said, lowering his weapon. "You're OK!"
 
"Good to see you, Hammer," Adam said, smiling.
 
The Hammer nodded her metal head, still no words crossing her lips.
 
Footsteps echoed through the cavern, and Jim turned. Lewis and Sandra walked side by side with the psychic disturbance they had found. Raynor's eyes widened. A tall, humanoid creature stared back with glowing blue eyes, its skin a pale grey.
 
"You're a protoss," Jim said.
 
<It is as you say, James Raynor.> Jim heard the words, but his ears did none of the work. That telepathic stuff never gets old.
 
"How are you feeling?" Jim examined the alien's body, finding little evidence of injury. His once glorious clothes bore tears and dust from his shabby treatment, but he seemed in good health otherwise. "How'd these stupid bastards catch you?"
 
The protoss angled his head down, its eyes crinkling like it watched the antics of a puppy. <You do not recognise me, James Raynor?>
 
Jim looked up and stared into the alien's eyes. He'd known a lot of protoss in his day, even fought with them, but without their distinctive clothes or accessories, he sometimes had a hard time telling them apart. Yet this one had a distinction that few others did; a collection of grey spikes of hair jutted out of his jawline in a pointed approximation of a beard.
 
Jim rubbed the back of his head and laughed. "Sorry friend, had a lot on my mind since I came to this place. Don't mean any disrespect."
 
<I won't forget you, James Raynor,> the protoss continued. <It was you who united your people with mine for the final attack on Amon.>
 
Jim frowned. How many people actually knew that he had travelled into the Void to take on that corrupted god? And then it came to him all at once. The voice, the beard, Amon - it all crystallised in a single moment.
 
"Karax? Artanis' phase-smith?"
 
<I see your memory has returned to you.>
 
Jim smiled and gripped Karax's forearm. The protoss returned the greeting.
 
"Sorry, Karax. Didn't recognise you without the big robot arms on your back."
 
<Think nothing of it. Now, can we leave? It stinks of blood and sweat in here.>
 
"Adjutant? How many trucks did you 'liberate' from the bandits outside?"
 
"Three trucks and two motorcycles, commander. Enough to ferry the remaining squadron and their armoured suits back, including the one I am piloting right now."
 
Jim's eye spotted his stolen revolver, still waiting in its holster. He snatched it up and strapped it to his body again. "Good work all. We got the supplies and took out a bandit hideout. Now everyone get back to town and have a rest. Adjutant, lead the team back to the Town With No Name. Karax, you can hitch a ride with me in the supply ute."
 
"Yes, commander," said the adjutant, walking mechanically out the door, his squad following her.
 
<You are a resourceful man, James Raynor,> Karax noted as they climbed into the cabin of the ute.
 
"Heh, that's one way to put it."