Jim Raynor drifted in and out of sleep while he and his Wraith drifted through the expanses of space, not knowing or caring where he was going or where he would end up. It had been a lonely two weeks since he had killed his Confederate superior, and stolen the Wraith from a museum back nearby the fort he had been stationed at. He had had nobody to talk to, and nothing to do but talk to himself and make a few small repairs on the Wraith. He didn’t bother to pilot the thing, since it didn’t matter where he went. The only reasons why he sat in the cockpit was because there was nowhere else to sit, and he liked watching all the stars go by the ship.
Jim knew that if he did not find a habitable planet soon, he would be in dire trouble, because he was running low on fuel, food, and water. He had also nearly exhausted the life-support systems on the Wraith as well, soon he would have no air to breathe. Wraiths were not meant for long-term space missions without other support such as Battle cruisers, which could hold any supplies needed for the smaller Wraiths.
He woke up for about the fifth time in ten minutes as he felt a shuddering on the ship, which was accompanied by a loud bang.
“Damn. Must have hit some more debris.” Jim talked to himself frequently now; it was something he had just gotten used to. At least this new problem would give him something to do, he reflected.
As he untangled himself from his harness, he felt heard another dull thump from the back of the Wraith. Suddenly, he realized what was going on: he was being boarded by another ship! That’s what the other noises were, another ship latching onto his!
“God damn it.” He hissed vehemently. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?” He had not thought for this; there was nothing he could do. He had no way of knowing who (or what) was boarding his Wraith. It could be the Confederates, it could be space pirates, it could be anyone!
He did not remain uncertain for long. The hatch to the cockpit opened, and in stepped five men, one after the other in a straight line.
“Jim Raynor, right?” the one in the front asked.
Jim swallowed in a dry mouth. “Yeah. Who’re you? And what the hell are you doing on my ship?” He said more bravely than he felt.
“Your ship? Your ship? What a joke.” The men, in coordination, started laughing.
“We know you stole it, Jim. No point hiding it. But I’ll answer your questions. We’re on your ship so we can, umm, talk to you. Yes, that’s it. And who are we? I reckon that that’s better left unsaid, Jim.” The man grinned. “Besides, you’ll guess eventually. I have no doubt of that.”
“What do you want to talk to me about?” Jim asked angrily. “I ain’t exactly in the mood to talk to people who just busted onto my ship without permission, besides the fact that if you’re here much longer, my oxygen tanks will run out. I ain’t got enough air to support six people for the next three hours while you talk to me.”
The man shoved his face right up to Jim’s, and leered at him. “Well, sonny, I guess you’ll have to make do. Cause we gonna be here a lot longer than that. You sure as hell better talk fast…” the man finished sarcastically.
“Just tell me one thing: what’s your name?” Jim asked in a whisper.
“It should sound familiar, boy. My name’s Itarka Netone. Ring a bell? Thought so.” Jim licked his dry lips. He pulled out the crumpled piece of paper he had gotten so long ago, while he was still in prison. He read it all the way down to the bottom, and saw the signature: Itarka Netone. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Jim looked up into the man’s smirking face. Jim’s stomach fell. This, he decided, would be a very long, interesting talk.
Netone sat in the pilot’s seat, while his men surrounded him throughout the cockpit. Jim sat in the co-pilot’s seat, sweating. He recognized the dark haired man whom the Raynor’s had met at the space station, which seemed so long ago. He still had bruises around his neck from where Jim’s brother had throttled him. The man glared at him stonily.
“So, Jim.” Netone began. “After you killed my good friend the Lieutenant, you took this piece of crap Wraith and put it back together until it could actually get up off the ground. I’m impressed.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Jim mumbled. He was trying to be unruly and piss the man off, but Netone remained calm.
“Jim, it would be in your best interests to listen to what I say. Cooperating could make your life much easier. By the way, we’ve already been here about half an hour.” He gestured towards the dial on the front of the cockpit, which told how much oxygen was left in the tanks. It was down to less than a fiftieth of what it would be if it were full. Jim started sweating more.
“What do you want to know?” Jim asked, quickly.
“No need to hurry, Jim…” he leered, “we’ve got all the time in the world.”
“No, no, go on, I want to know what you’ve got to say. Really bad. Yeah. So, uhh, don’t let me keep you from saying something…” Jim finished nervously. He was keeping one eye on the dial.
“Jim, when you get right down to it, I don’t have much to talk to you about.”
“Sure you do, your just being, ummm, modest, yeah, that’s it.” Jim started fidgeting around in his seat.
“You seem to be becoming more and more inarticulate. Is that a sign of nervousness in you?”
“No!” he shouted. “I mean, no, of course not.”
Netone smiled. “Look at the dial, Jim. The oxygen level is falling faster than I thought. Wow. Seems like its reaching dangerously low levels…” he said softly, pointing again at the readout. He was right. There was less than five minutes worth of air left on the Wraith. Jim could already start to feel his legs weakening from the lack of oxygen. Also, carbon dioxide was staring to be a problem as well. Black spots were dancing around him, and he had trouble seeing. Netone seemed oblivious to it all.
“On a side note, Jim, did I mention that I’m incredibly glad I brought these portable oxygen tanks? Unfortunately, there are only five of them. Looks like someone will be left out.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out where this one was going. Netone’s men each picked one up and put the oxygen mask on their faces with huge smiles. Netone did the same. Jim was almost to the point of blacking out, but he could still reason. He swiveled quickly in his chair, and slammed his elbow onto two buttons in quick succession. He pressed the trigger to set off the missiles, which shot at point-blank range into the hull of Netone’s ship. The ship broke away, and the second button also had its desired effect: the Wraith started to self-destruct. A loud automated voice boomed out over the ship, announcing how many seconds were left until total annihilation of the ship.
Jim had the pleasure of seeing the look of enormous surprise on Netone’s face as he slipped into unconsciousness from the lack of air.
“Sixty seconds left until self-destruct sequence completed… fifty-nine…”
Netone struggled in a fury, trapped by his own prisoner. The humiliation was too great for the man to bear. The only solace for him was that this fool had doomed himself along with Netone, so that Netone knew that he would not get away with what he had done.
Jim drifted, unrestrained by a harness, without any artificial gravity, since the self-destruct sequence automatically disabled all systems. There was nothing he could do. Since he had passed out, he could have no idea of what was going on. But somewhere in his shutdown mind, a small, questioning voice made itself heard: “Is this how it’s going to end?” there was no definite answer to that question, despite the fact that there was an obvious one.
So Jim Raynor, floating unrestrained in the cockpit of a doomed vessel, was not even conscious to see what his fate would be. The other men in the ship already knew their own fate; they could rationalize easily and determine what would happen to them. But Jim, in his semi-delirious state had already forgotten what he had done, so he had no way of knowing.
