DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the rights to the Dune series at all. Don't even act as if I do or anything. This is just a fan-fic; I admit the fact that whoever owns the rights to the Dune series (I think that it's Brian Herbert…? Or is it his deceased father, Frank Herbert?) does, in fact, own the rights to the Dune series. And I just thought that I'd let you all know that I'm just using the Dune universe, not any of the characters (save for brief mentions of Muad'Dib. As far as David Infrix goes, I have the rights to him.
The second sentence is pretty deep if you read it without the stuff in parentheses.
Mmmyep.
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He noticed them, even if they didn't know it.
David Infrix walked slowly through the streets of Arakeen. All around him, tan buildings were crowded, outside and in, with multitudes of people; merchants selling second-rate wares, pilgrims coming to see the capital of Muad'Dib's planet, streets-side entertainers playing on balisets, and, approximately twelve paces behind him, several assassins, probably hired Tleilaxu or House Ordos mercenaries.
Infrix was a tall, gaunt figure, with jet-black hair and piercing green eyes that seemed to read every emotion when he stared at you. He wore a still suit underneath dark blue robes, which hid a crysknife and a katana kept in two separate sheaths attached to his belt, along with a maula pistol.
Infrix was a sword master, supposedly of the Ginaz 10th level, though he had never truly tested that supposition. He was also a mentat, trained in the ways of logic and human ingenuity. He was, to put it simply, a human computer highly adapted in the arts of killing. And, at the moment, someone apparently wanted him to be quite dead.
He briefly stopped at a merchant's table and glanced at the wares. To any onlooker, he was simply interested in what the wizened old lady was selling there; in reality, he was looking in a mirror that had been set up for people to look at themselves while trying out jewelry. He was watching the assassins approach him from behind. They were steadily drawing closer.
David walked faster, turning right at a three-way intersection up ahead and walking towards the spaceport. He had done what he needed to do on Arrakis, and now that the hired swords were closing in on him, he decided that it was time to leave.
Guild freighters were taking off and landing in a very large number at the Arakeen spaceport, most of the incoming flights harboring pilgrims and the exiting ones laden with the invaluable spice melange. Infrix walked directly up to the ticket line and attempted to get to the front.
"Hey, whatcha' think your doin' there!?"
Infrix turned to look for the source of the outburst, and suddenly wished that he hadn't. A very, very large, heavyset man with bright orange hair, long sideburns, a plaid skirt-looking thing, and a set of bagpipes stood about three people from the front of the line, staring at him with hateful intensity. "I've been waitin' here a good three hours, I have, and I won't have no half-rate, skinny man like yourself come cuttin' every citizen of Maud' Dib just 'cause you're in a hurry!" Infrix had trouble placing his accent, but he had a gut feeling that it was one as old as the legend of Old Earth itself. He decided that the man could easily crush him, and that his fat could absorb thrice as many blade wounds as any normal man, so he attempted to reason with him. "I don't think you understand," Infrix said hastily. "I'm being chased by a group of assassins and I really need to get…"
But the fat man cut him off. "Yeah, you an' everyone else here! Now get to the back of the line!" He waved his bagpipes in Infrix's general direction in a menacing way. With a heavy sigh, Infrix obeyed and made his way to the back of the line. There were at least twelve people in front of him, and there seemed to be trouble with the group of Ixians at the front. Something about not accepting Visa MasterCard.
As he waited, Infrix scanned the crowd around him for any sign of his pursuers. He spotted them within five seconds. They were moving quickly, trying to find where he was. Infrix bowed his head down and tried to avoid being noticed.
One member of the group came to the edge of the crowd, looked around, and suddenly whipped back in the other direction. He quickly gathered his comrades, and they began heading in Infrix's direction.
"Oh crap…." he thought to himself. "They've spotted me…."
"Hey! You there!" the one in the lead called out, obviously yelling at Infrix. "Yeah, you! That's right!" Infrix sighed, turned around. "You owe us some money, buddy." What was interesting was that Infrix had never borrowed money from anyone in his life, and definitely didn't owe anyone anything. "You owe us a nice amount of spice, freeloader," the man continued. Infrix got a good look at him. He had buzzed hair, a roughly shaved goatee, and a small scar running down his left cheek. "Now, are you going to pay us back, or what?" The man's two friends stood beside him, tall and muscular, but obviously harboring little or no intelligence whatsoever.
"Oi! Not again!" Infrix turned around; the fat man was back at it. "You three! Quit buggin' the man! Yeah, that's right, I'm talking to you! Stop tryin' to cut him in line and get to the back!" The three men looked at the heavyset, and the one with the scar and the buzz -cut gave a loud laugh. "And what do you think you're going to do about it?"
The fat man turned to the person behind him, politely asked for him to save his spot, and walked over to the assassins. "I'll roll you over and crush you beneath my belly, that's what I'll do!" Though Infrix found this quite humorous, the anger and sincerity in the man's voice only frightened the assassins. "I'll eat you and your bebies for breakfast! I'm a big man, and I gots to eat!" At this point, the three assailants were slowly backing away. The lead one was muttering, "Yeah, man, okay. We didn't mean any harm, we just…"
In five minutes it was done. The three mercenaries were sulking at the back of a twenty-person line, the fat man was purchasing his tickets, and Infrix was very close to getting off Arrakis alive.
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Twenty minutes later, Infrix was making his way to Guild Frieghter 511, bound for Caladan. He planned on purchasing a house on the beach and retiring there to live out the rest of his live in peace and in luxury, due to the large amounts of spice he now had in his bank account.
Infrix had just found Freighter 511 when he heard someone yell his name. He turned and was not surprised to see the group of assassins running up to him, the smaller one in the lead brandishing a short sword. Infrix sighed, placed on foot in front of the other and his hand on the handle of his katana.
"We're here to collect on your bounty!" the lead man said triumphantly as they came within five paces of Infrix. "Or in the local custom, we're here to 'steal your water.'" At this, the man let off a very long, coarse burst of laughter. Apparently he thought the Fremen customs amusing.
At the end of the laughing fit, the man gave a hand signal. His two comrades each pulled their own swords from inside their cloaks.
Infrix moved very fast, pulling his katana out of its sheath and leaping at the lead man in one fluid motion. The assassin leader attempted to dodge, and succeeded only partially, his arm being cut deep. The thug on Infrix's right leapt at him then as he landed, but he sidestepped and stabbed through the man's personal shield and into his ribcage, puncturing a few vital organs. Yanking his katana out of the already dead man, Infrix simultaneously took out his crysknife and stabbed it into the left eye of the other thug rushing to avenge his fallen brethren. That assassin staggered back holding an empty eye socket as the lead assailant came at Infrix again. He parried with his katana and stabbed his crysknife up into the man's lower jaw, cutting up into the brain. The last thug, missing one of his eyes, rushed Infrix again, but was unable to correctly measure the distance to him. He tripped and fell, landing on his dead friend's blade and killing himself accidentally. Infrix calmly reached into his robes, produced a cleaning rag, wiped both blades, and placed them back into their sheaths. He then turned and walked sure-footedly into Guild Freighter 511.