Eye of the Storm [Complete]

[Jim Raynor]

Early morning light trickled through the window and fluttered over Jim's eyes. He sat up on the thin, dirtied cushions of the sofa that he had spent the night on and stretched his arms above his head, his bones cracking. Grimacing at a sore muscle awoken by the movement, Jim shot a glance into the corner of the room. His CMC-400 armour was still there, visor down. He didn't want to leave his battle suit, what with all the uncertainty of this new universe, but he couldn't sleep in that tin can. He half expected to be awoken as soon as his head hit the pillow by the returning bandits, and as such left his revolver holstered in his thigh, but they hadn't returned, and Jim was thankful for the shut eye that the unbroken peace afforded him. Yet for some reason, he wasn't as refreshed as he reckoned he should've been.
 
A dream teased the edge of his memory. Jim tried to remember it, but the harder he concentrated, the more ethereal it became.
 
Running a hand through his cropped beard, he took a moment to absorb the room. It looked like an old office of the sheriff's, and from the thin film of dust that covered almost everything, 'old' was probably too kind a word. He could even see the imprints of his feet as he first entered last night. A desk was pushed against the wall opposite him, heaped with books and manila folders and loose papers. A stained coffee cup and an empty box of revolver rounds were the only objects not related to cataloguing witnesses or crimes in the room.
 
Jim looked to the doorway and a shot of excitement leapt through his chest.
 
"Swann?!"
 
Rory Swann stood before him, a grin on his broad face, arms crossed over his chest. "I was wonderin' how long it'd take you to notice me, cowboy."
 
Raynor sprung to his feet and embraced his old friend. He recoiled from the cold steel of Swann's metal arm on his singlet and opted for a shoulder grasp instead. "Swann! How did you get here? "
 
Rory scratched his head. "Huh, I was hopin' you could tell me. Don't remember much at all." His eyes swept the old office. "Where is 'here,' anyhow?"
 
Jim snatched up his pants and shirt, slinging them on as he spoke. "Still workin' that one out. Figured out we're in some place called the Omniverse, and we're in the Endless Dunes. Seems like a big ol' desert, so name seems about right."
 
"Omniverse?" Swann repeated. "Never heard of it." He cocked an eyebrow at Jim. "This ain't some screwy Protoss or whatcha call ... xel'naga thing, is it?"
 
Jim slipped on his jacket and checked that the spare revolver bullets and grenades were fastened tight before flopping on the couch and pulling his boots on. "Guess we can't rule that one out just yet. Still, if it were somethin' Artanis knew about, I get the feelin' we'd be hearin' from him by now."
 
"Yeah, unless somethin' went wrong."
 
Raynor clasped Swann on the shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. "Let's think positive for now, huh?" He let go and turned to his CMC-400 suit. "Feel free to get negative the moment we got cause for it. I'm sure you will."
 
Swann scoffed. "I won't let you down, hotshot."
 
"Don't suppose you heard from any of the other fellas?" Jim patted the chest plate of his suit, stirring a fine fuzz of dust. It had settled on his armour overnight? He'd have to tell the sheriff to vacuum this old room. "Matt? Valerian?"
 
The bearded engineer walked over to Raynor. "Nah. Like I said, I don't remember much. I just sorta ... appeared, outta nowhere. No one else standing beside me, is there?"
 
"Huh. Guess not." Jim stared at the painted skull on the visor of his armour. He hoped the rest of his crew was all right. Though he supposed with some hope, maybe only him and Swann had been dumped into this world. Still, no use rejecting the idea out of hand. He need more intel, and thankfully old Rory Swann was a great man to have around in any circumstance.
 
 "How's the ol' girl holdin' up?" Swann asked.
 
"Got me here and kept me safe. I think the stimpack system's outta whack though. Plus some of the scannin' equipment's busted."
 
Rory struck the plated arm of the armour with his metal claw-hand and listened to the deep clunk that resonated within it. "Hmm. Yeah, sounds like a wire's loose or somethin'. Can probably patch it up, providin' we get our hands on the right tools."
 
"Morning boys."
 
Jim's hand moved like a striking cobra, snatching his revolver from his leg holster and levelling it at the source of the voice as he spun. He dropped his arm when recognition overcame reflexes. "Sorry sheriff. Not used to friendlies sneakin' up on me in weird places."
 
"You're tellin' me," Swann said, hand on his chest. "You scared me outta my skin!"
 
Ronald Deschain frowned, or at least Jim thought he was frowning. It could be his default face, judging by the lines creased into his aged skin. "There was only one of you last night, I'm pretty sure?"
 
Jim slipped his revolver back in its holster. "You ain't crazy, sheriff. It was just me. Somehow my old buddy Swann here woke up in the room with me."
 
Swann shrugged. "Can't make this stuff up."
 
"I had a feeling about you," Ronald said, nodding gently as he spoke. "You a Prime, son?"
 
Jim shared a glance with Swann. "Mind cluein' me in on what a Prime is?"
 
Ronald's eyes narrowed further until Raynor wasn't sure that they were even open anymore. "Didn't realise you were so green. Come on, we'll have breakfast and have a chat."
 
Swann gripped his pot belly. "Now that ya mention it, I could go for a feed."
 
"I ain't about to argue," Jim said. "Lead the way, sheriff."
 
The sun met them with a vengeance as they ambled out of the sheriff's office. Small orbs of sweat dotted Jim's brow, and he wiped them away with the back of his fingerless gloves. "Hot, steamy, lotsa desert ... kinda reminds me of Mar Sara."
 
"Ah, every desert world or warm breeze reminds you of that damn planet," Swann grumbled.
 
A second glowing object drew Raynor's attention. A huge rounded structure loomed over the town's borders, a yellow pulse generating inside. It looked like an old oil lantern, but impossibly huge, and that weren't no flame burning inside it. "Sheriff? Any inklin' what that thing is?"
 
Ronald urged them on. "I'll explain inside."
 
Deschain barged through the swinging bar doors of the worn building across the way from his office. Jim spotted a painted sign overhead, the letters peeled, but didn't catch it in time as he strode out of the merciless sun. Inside, a bar was set against the far wall, and every other bit of empty space was taken up by worn old tables and chairs, with the exception of a pool table and jukebox adjacent to each other on the wall to Jim's right. A few souls already staked claim to barstools, backs slouched to the entrance as they nursed their beers. The pungent history of spilled drinks wafted from the stained floorboards, stinging even Jim's seasoned nostrils. It was like uncorking a bottle of Scotty Bolger's Old No. 8 premium bourbon, mixing it with jet fuel, chewed tobacco and ... was that exhaust fumes?
 
The sheriff pulled out a chair at a circular table and motioned for them to do likewise. "Bacon and eggs for three hungry men, barkeep." The barmen nodded and hobbled off into a back room.
 
"A shot of bourbon'd be mighty calmin' too," Jim called after him.
 
"So sheriff, fill us in," Swann said, elbows propped on the table. "Mind tell us what the hell this place is?"
 
"Don't know what you know," Ronald said. "Tell me what you've pieced together."
 
"Haven't had a chance to do much sleuthin'," Jim said, running a hand through his greying hair. "All I know is I'm in some place called the Omniverse, and it's all linked together with portals, kinda like Protoss tech but different. Don't remember how I got here, or with how many men I might've got here with. Plus Swann droppin' outta the sky only makes me more confused."
 
The sheriff nodded. "You remember having a chin wag with Omni?"
 
Jim crinkled his brow. "Omni? Sounds ... familiar." He stared hard at the table, willing the memory to the surface. "Is he a little ... bald guy?" The shape of the glowing silhouette flashed briefly in his mind's eye, but calling it blurry was an understatement. "Said somethin' about rainbows?"
 
"Yep. You're a Prime." Ronald cast a glance at the bar, apparently impatient for his breakfast.
 
"And what does that mean?" Jim asked.
 
"Means Omni, who's pretty much God as far as I see it, brought you here. You've got some advantages in this place, let me tell you."
 
"Such as?"
 
Deschain nodded at Swann. "You brought him here."
 
Jim and Rory frowned at each other. "How'd I bring him here?"
 
"If you don't remember doing it?" Ronald shrugged. "You must have summoned him in your sleep. You dream last night, son?"
 
"I ... did. But I don't recall any of it."
 
"Suppose you woke up a bit worse for wear, too?"
 
Jim nodded slowly. "Was expectin' to be better rested than I was."
 
"That'd be it, then."
 
The bartender arrived at the table and dumped three chipped plates laden with runny eggs and oily bacon before them. He dropped some knives and forks carelessly, making them clatter on the table. He set down a beer before Swann and Ronald, and Jim received his nip of bourbon. Swann snatched up his utensils and dove in to his meal, and the sheriff followed, if at least a little more civilly.
 
Jim examined his fork. "So, what? Am I the only one out here, then? Other than Swann? None of my men are out here with me?"
 
The sheriff's jaw stilled. Flecks of bacon fell from his lips. "Unlikely. Could be, but unlikely."
 
Jim stabbed a rasher and sawed through it with the dull knife. "No way to be sure?"
 
Ronald shook his head.
 
"Well if it's all the same to you sheriff," Jim said, stuffing bacon into his mouth, "I'd like to keep searchin', just in case."
 
A bulge travelled down Ronald's throat, and his fork and knife took to the task of slicing his fried, greasy eggs. "I won't stop you. Had any thought about how you'll do that?"
 
"The ol' fashioned way. Lookin.'"
 
"Out here? There's miles of desert. This town is the last place you'll find before the sun and sand devour you whole. And that's just the Dunes. You're better off putting a message out in the Dataverse. Maybe one of your crew'll see it."
 
"Dataverse. Good idea, sheriff." The adjutant had gleaned information from that datanet before. Shouldn't be too hard to put up a bulletin. That was a good option. "I suppose it'd be smart for me to stay put then. No use rallyin' the troops if I'm off searchin' for them."
 
Ronald's eyes lifted from his plate as he slipped a forkful of eggs into his gob. "You living here, then?"
 
Jim shrugged. "Don't rightly know, but seems like the smart thing to do. Course, if you'll put up with me, I'd be happy to earn my keep. Swann too. He's a good engineer, best you'll ever see. You got anythin' broke, he'll know how to fix it."
 
Swann said something like "yeah," but a wall of bacon and eggs muffled it.
 
"And you?"
 
Jim smiled. "Been known to do a lotta things, sheriff. Been an outlaw, a marshal, leader of a rebellion ... take your pick."
 
"Could've guessed, seeing how you handled those bandits last night. Don't think I saw you flinch at all, just walked up and started shooting."
 
"Yeah, those bandits," Jim said, stirring his eggs with his fork. "You get a lot of them attackin' your town?"
 
Ronald swallowed the last bite of his egg and tossed his fork onto the plate, smearing the yolk that leaked from his devoured meal. His fingers wrapped around his beer bottle. "Plenty. More than I can keep up with. Always looking for more souls willing to protect the good people of this town."
 
"Why don't you just go hunt 'em down?" Swann said in a rare moment between mouthfuls. "Ya know, pull out the weeds by the roots?"
 
"Hunt them down? In those sands? I don't even know where they're hiding. Might as well ask me to wring blood from a rock. Besides, who'd protect the town? They launch surprise attacks at all hours of the night and day, and I don't have the men spare for an expedition. Hell, you saw the defence last night, Raynor. Me and the townspeople hiding behind barrels." He sighed, taking a swig from his bottle. "Sinestro's around, granted, but only sometimes, and I just can't leave the town without me."
 
"Maybe I could help with that," Jim said. "You and this Sinestro fella can keep the gate shut, and I'll go out in the paddock and look for the strays."
 
Ronald examined Raynor, fingers stroking his chin. "You good with a pistol?"
 
Jim chuckled. "Sheriff, I know we just met, but -"
 
Deschain grabbed the edge of his plate and threw it towards the wall, eyes on Jim the whole time. Raynor jumped out of his chair, antique revolver snatched from its holster, and pulled the trigger. The gunshot boomed off the tavern's walls, startling the barflies and igniting a round of adrenaline fuelled cussing. The spinning plate shattered into fragments.
 
"Hey!" the barkeep shouted. "No guns!"
 
"It's all right, Stu," the sheriff said, raising a hand. "That one's on me."
 
Stu grumbled. "And you'll be paying for the plate too!"
 
Swann stopped licking the yolk from his plate and set it down on the table. His eyes landed on his beer and he seized it. "Sheesh. Friendly guy."
 
"He'll get over it," Ronald said. "Tell you what, Raynor. I got a problem you might be able to solve for me. If you do, well, you might just be worth keeping around here after all."
 
Jim sat and shovelled an orange-soaked bacon rasher into his mouth. "Sheriff, I'm all ears."