Eye of the Storm [Complete]

[Jim Raynor]

Jim sighed. Rope lay limp on the barren ground, the grappling claw clasping the bent chassis of the humvee. The other half of the vehicle was embedded in a sandy dune just outside of town. Raynor, Lewis, Sandra and The Hammer stood around awkwardly, waiting for someone to break the silence.
 
"Sorry fellas," Jim said, retracting his grappling rope into the CMC suit. "Guess I shouldn't have told ya to floor it."
 
Adam Carlton, one of his marines, stumbled from the driver's door, which creaked and collapsed quietly on the sand. "Hoo! Feels like dropping out of orbit!"
 
The other marine, Roy Salvatore, jumped to his feet from the roll over the dunes. He managed to leap free of the car before it ploughed heedlessly into the sandy rise. "That thing had brakes, Adam. Next time, try using them."
 
Adam laughed, though from the situation or a potential concussion, Raynor couldn't say. "Brake pads don't work when the car's a rear wheel drive and the rear wheels are back where we started!"
 
Swann jogged onto the scene, tutted, and shook his head. "Don't think that's even worth fixin', cowboy. Geez, I could'a told ya that old girl couldn't pull you and a firebat too."
 
Jim's massive spherical shoulders rose and fell. "Didn't think a hardskin would rip a vehicle like that in two so easily. Hell, I used to sandsurf back on Mar Sara."
 
"Bet you didn't use a grapplin' hook though, did ya?" Swann said, slapping Jim's metal leg with his prosthetic arm. A dull clang sounded from the impact. "Or a damn marine suit."
 
"So ... what's the plan now, sir?" Sergeant Baxter asked. "Our only mode of transportation is ... unavailable."
 
"Heh. Good question."
 
The sheriff ran out to them after hearing the humvee shear in two. His face was stern, but Jim couldn't pick a time when lines weren't creasing the old cowboy's face. "You without wheels, Jim?"
 
Jim looked away. "Heh. That obvious?"
 
Ronald took a look at the scene, rubbing his chin. "Swan'll take too long to fix that. The town can't be without those supplies for too much longer. You need to get there sooner rather than later."
 
"So, how do you propose we do that, sheriff?" Raynor asked. "And please don't tell me you want us to march through the desert."
 
"You remember our discussion about how Swann got here?"
 
Jim nodded.
 
"If you can bring your friend here, you can bring anything here. Including a vehicle that will hold all of you plus those big bulky suits of yours."
 
Of course! Jim had nearly forgotten about their breakfast conversation. Omnilium, that rainbow coloured substance that he could will into existence, could be weaved into any object he so chose.
 
"Be warned though," Ronald said, tipping his hat as he walked off, "it'll take some time, and it'll be draining."
 
"Wait!" Jim called out. "How do I do it?"
 
The sheriff looked over his shoulder. "Just picture in your mind what you want to make, concentrate real hard on it, and the rest will come."
 
Jim exited his marine armour and sat, considering his options. He needed something big enough to transport them all and their various weaponry without breaking. Hmm, something fast would be a boon too. Maybe something that could do a search of the area, perform some analysis of the landscape. Or at least allow his adjutant to utilise such features.
 
"Got it," Jim said, and closed his eyes. From the darkness behind his eyelids came an image of a medivac dropship, a flying craft used heavily by all terran forces. His mind's eye crawled across its cockpit, the thin and curved wings at its back, the two maneouverable engines situated at the rear ... and felt energy begin to leave him. It was subtle at first, and not at all a familiar sensation. It somewhat reminded him of being attacked psionically, except he was in control of the outcome and it was far less painful.
 
Hours crawled by as Jim kept the medivac in his thoughts, funnelling the omnilium out of his body and into the material world. Finally, something tweaked in him as if his monumental task was complete, and Raynor opened his eyes. A fully fledged medivac dropship rested in the sands just outside town, its cargo bay opened.
 
Swann rubbed his eyes. "How ... how'd you do that, cowboy? You feelin' OK? You've been out of it for a while now."
 
Jim rose to his feet and a wave of fatigue pulled him downwards, immediately dropping him to his knees. "Whoa ... yeah I'm good Swann. Just need a rest."
 
Lewis kneeled by Raynor. "You sure, sir? Nothing we can get you?"
 
"I appreciate the concern, junior, but I'm fine," Jim said, and he was. Rest was definitely in order, but he'd been in worse conditions than this. He looked up for the first time in hours and noticed the dark velvet of the night sky high above. How he didn't feel the icy chill of the desert at dark until now was beyond him. "I've been doin' this all afternoon?"
 
"Sure have," Rory said. "Tried snappin' you out of it a few times, but you were focused. Thought it best to leave you after that."
 
Jim stood, using Swann's stature for support. "Gonna need a rest first, all. Let's sleep on it and regroup in the mornin'."
 
The next day, after the team had eaten and geared up, they embarked upon the medivac dropship.
 
"Nice to see some familiar scenery," Adam said, his marine suit footsteps clanging on the ramp landing as he ascended it.
 
"Yeah, nothin' like a little bit of home to get a man all weepy," Jim said from the cockpit. He waited while the remainder of his crew clambered aboard. Including his CMC armour stowed in the back, a force of three marines, two ghosts and one firebat were ready to embark and hunt down the bandit hideout.
 
"Hold on to your seats!" Jim said as he began the launching procedure. The ramp into the cargo bay retracted and the door sealed shut. The engines blasted out flame and the dropship catapulted into the sky. Soon the vast, sandy wastes rolled before Raynor, a single lumpy line separating blue from yellow.
 
"Adjutant."
 
A holographic image of a female robot's head projected from the control panel. "Yes, commander."
 
"I need you to run a scan, look for any deep holes or caverns in the sand. Might find some life signs in there as well."
 
"Understood, commander," the adjutant said in her calming tone. "Initiating scan now."
 
The medivac dropship skipped through the clouds, passing over a massive rocky spire that jutted out of the dunes. The early morning sun cast its shadow long and sharp, the shaded tip touching upon an old and worn steel marker. Around and beneath the monolith sat rotting houses and rusted vehicles. If he had taken a closer look, Jim reckoned he would've seen some old, sand-beaten bones amongst the wreckage of that settlement. That must be Sundial. Bastard bandits. Why can't they just leave good folk alone? Remembering his discussion with the no-good bandit locked up in the town's cells, Raynor redirected their path, heading north-east as they skimmed over the decayed remnants under the shadow of the rock.
 
"Adjutant, also keep a lookout for a yellow flag. Mighty hard to spot that colour among all that yellow sand."
 
"Yes, commander. Adjusting search parameters."
 
A buzz and crackle came from the intercomm and Jim picked up the mic. "What's up?"
 
"Sir, I just thought you should know," came Lewis' voice, "that both Corporal Davis and I are sensing a telepathic presence out here."
 
"Telepathic?" Jim asked. "You thinkin' there's a psychic out here somewhere?"
 
"Yes sir. If both of us can feel it, I'd say it's pretty certain."
 
What would a telepath be doing all the way out here? Didn't make much sense. Did the bandits have one as a prisoner? Or was the bandit leader some all powerful psionic master? "Do either of you have an inklin' which way the psychic is?"
 
A pause. "No, sir. Nothing that can point us in the right direction. But we both definitely feel it."
 
"All right," Jim said. "Let me know if that changes." He hung up the mic and peered out over the sandy dunes. "Adjutant, have you located anything yet?"
 
"No, commander. Nothing has matched your parameters." A series of three bleeps sounded, and the adjutant's holographic head reappeared. "Commander, my scans indicate a hidden cave and network of tunnels running beneath the sands at this location." Her head vanished and a translucent map overlaid the cockpit window, a blue glowing dot announcing the spot of her findings. A second blue dot shone on the actual sand dune as they approached also, the augmented reality of the cockpit screens allowing the marker to show in real-time.
 
"Excellent work," Jim said, grabbing the mic once more. "People, looks like we've found what we've been lookin' for. Get ready."
 
The adjutant's head reappeared in curved light form. "Incoming message."
 
A gruff male voice spoke. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but hovering around my airspace is not on! Enjoy a little parting gift from me to you."
 
"Welcomin' sort, isn't he?" Raynor said.
 
"Alert," the adjutant said. "Incoming missile."
 
"Incoming what?" Jim said. "This thing doesn't have any offensive options!"
 
"Suggest evasive manoeuvres."
 
Jim grabbed hold of the controls. "Got that damn right!" Into the mic, he yelled, "hang on, people! Got some heat on our tails, gonna try and lose it!"
 
Raynor throttled the engines, blasting off from their hovering position. The constant beeping of the dropship kept him well aware that the missile was only seconds from hitting them. Out here in the middle of the desert, there were no great canyons or valleys that he could dive through, hoping to lose the missile or have it careen into something else and detonate harmlessly. He could only try to outrun it, and judging by the increasing frequency of the beeps, the projectile was gaining on them.
 
It soon dawned on Jim that he was only delaying the inevitable. He forced the dropship into a sharp freefall and grabbed the mic. "We ain't gettin' away from what's comin' for us. Best shot we got here is jumpin' when I get her close enough to the ground. Hopefully the sand'll cushion some of the impact. Either way, it's better than bein' in this bird when it goes up in flames." Jim hit a few buttons and felt the cargo bay door open in the rear. "I'm gonna cut the engines. That's when you jump. No arguments. Get ready!"
 
The beeps were so quick and fast that they would soon bleed into one long sound. Raynor powered down the engines instantly, knowing that any escape attempt from the back would end badly if the flames were still belching from them. The dropship immediately lost its ability to stay alight, and Jim grasped the control panel as the lift from beneath faded. His stomach lurched into his chest as the metal bird sank towards the sand.
 
"Now!" Jim shouted. He couldn't tell if his squad had actually leapt or not, but the radio silence helped him believe it. The chance of survival was much better than if they stayed in the cargo bay and the missile had collided with them.
 
The medivac dropship slammed into the sand, jostling every bone in Raynor's body. A spray of golden grains cascaded over the ship's visor, leaving nothing but a small wedge of sky viewable. A good crashing landing, if not for the missile about to plough into his back.
 
The beeps finally congealed into one, terrifying note, and Jim braced himself for the worst. He knew there was no time for him and his crew to escape, and Jim would always pick the men and women that served him before himself.
 
The dropship shuddered as the missile made contact. Intense rattling drummed through Jim, and a heat more potent than a Mar Sara midday sun roasted at his back. He pinched his fingers into the console so tightly they stung, but it wasn't enough. Another enormous jolt ran through the cockpit and Jim's hands slipped free, launching him backwards. A solid smack to the back of his head pulsed hot and hard and everything went black.
 
Raynor felt a pressure on his chest. He swatted at it weakly, but it didn't move whatever lay on top of him. With unwilling and stinging muscles, Jim's eyes fluttered open. The glare of the sun threw everything into blurry white, but slowly his vision realigned. He focused on a black, scuffed boot planted right on his sternum. He tried following the khaki trouser leg upwards to its owner, but his eyes were not up to the task.
 
"So, you survived that crash, huh?" a voice said, a little distant and ringing in Jim's ears. "You're either really brave or really stupid to try and brunt the force of something like that."
 
"Heh, a mix of both, I reckon," Jim got past his chapped lips, hardened by congealed blood. He licked them but his tongue and mouth were as dry and barren as the sands that surrounded him. "Say, don't suppose you've seen my friends out here, have you?"
 
"Your friends? So those sons of bitches that took five of our men down jumped out of your ship, huh?" The man went silent for a moment, and Raynor heard a click. If he didn't know any better, he could've sworn that was the sound of a revolver being cocked.
 
Jim laughed, but it came out more as a good spirited cough. "Sounds like we gave you bastards a hard time. Sorry 'bout that. Really."
 
A sleek, long barrelled object drifted over Jim's eyeline. "Oh, don't worry about it so much. At least you didn't cause us any trouble, right? One less penance to account for."
 
Another voice spoke up further away. "Hey! What are you doing?"
 
"Shooting him. What's the big deal?"
 
"Don't shoot him, you dipshit! Look at him! He's probably a marshal or something. He might be worth a bounty."
 
Jim let out another feeble chuckle. I was a marshal once, but even then I wouldn'ta had much of a reward on me for my safe return.
 
The barrel of the gun squished against his nose. "Something funny, arsehole?"
 
"Hey! I said cut that shit out!" The barrel swung out of Raynor's face. "Just get him on his feet and into some shade before the sun does what you almost did with that damn pistol!"
 
An arm curled around his back and his body lifted limply. Jim put some of his weight on his feet but he would've collapsed in a bruised, bleeding heap if not for the one supporting him.
 
A long, rounded object pointed into the base of his spine. The cold of the barrel penetrated his shirt and cooled the blazing surface of his skin, but it wasn't enough to enjoy. "Now, walk. If you don't, I'll just kill you anyway. Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?"
 
The man chortled at his own joke and Jim stumbled on, too throttled by the crash to do anything but comply. He only hoped his squadron were in better shape than he was.