Riding the Worm

[Paul Atreides]

Dune. Arrakis. Or as close as Paul would get to it. His lungs sucked in the dry desert air and his soul was at peace with himself. Gurney, ever the attentive friend, had traveled  this far with him and he had been joined recently by the Atreides swordmaster- Duncan Idaho. The two stood some distance back as Paul completed a sort of informal ritual of returning to the desert- he never knew he’d missed this place so much. He was as a fish returning to the seas of Calidan- the silky sand slipping under his feet in a welcoming gesture.

“Are you alright master Paul?”

“Yes Gurney, very much so.”

“Shall we continue then?” He pressed, Paul rejoining his two friends.

“Yes. Let us.” Paul agreed and turned from them once again to survey the sandscape before them.

“Where... exactly... might that be Paul?” Duncan asked, a little quizzically. Gurney shot the much younger swordmaster a glance but Duncan just folded his arm and set his hips. The two did this dance often and it did Paul’s heart good to see it once again; having lost Duncan to sardukar, the swordmaster sacrificing himself to afford Paul and his mother time to escape.

“Where the sands will take us Duncan. Wherever our path will lead- it is where we will need to be.”

That was a very un-Fremen thing to say. Wandering without purpose on Arrakis would have been effective suicide- a method they used for capital punishment. Put this world was not near as hot or foreboding. If Dune was torture to the body, this was a lightly skinned knee. The temperature, at least here, was nowhere near as hot, and he could even see scraggly vegetation hartley clinging to life around the occasional rocky outcropping.

“I think it would be best, master Paul, if we formulated a-” Gurney began but the Duke cut him off.

“It matters not where we go... now we have desert power.” Paul said distantly, a great plume of sand erupting into the air several miles away in the open desert.

“Is that a spice blow?” Duncan gasped and Paul flashed him a smile.

“Yes Duncan... and it is our ride.”

Paul wasn't sure if he had summoned it or if it was a part of this world already... but where there was a spice blow- there was a worm.

[Paul Atreides]

Across the dunes, Paul and his two secondaries plowed atop a great worm. Paul knew this not to be one of the beast’s of his homeland but some sort of creation of his own mind. Omni must think this his vehicle and Paul knew instinctively that the leviathan would not stay his for long and would aid him not in any sort of conflict. Still, it felt good to bind such a creature to his will. The desert here was too moist for a true sand worm and as they got closer to their destination it became less and less hospitable for a worm.

Soon the sands gave way to badlands and the badlands gave way to scrag and crags. Dismounting in true Fremen fashion, Paul and his companion disembarked and the sandworm sunk back, impossibly, below the surface to sleep off it’s confinement at Paul’s hands.

Somewhere on the horizon, across the great scragland, Paul laid eyes upon a ramshackle town of low structures. This was where he was due to arrive, though when he set out he knew it not. His mount gone, he settled into his easy traveling stride that allowed him to effortlessly travel for days at a time across the desert. While the desert had been moist compared to the Arrakis of his memories he did his best to conserve his body’s water. To a Fremen it could be equated to life. His stillsuit, fitted in deep desert fashion, was more than a match for the temperature here. Still, Paul could not resist the urge to dig the roots of one of the scrag plants up and scrape the moisture from its roots- replenishing a degree of his body’s moisture by chewing the roots and helping his friends do the same.

The, something tipped him off to danger. He could not speak to what it was, but he could feel it sure as day. He flickered backwards, his body collapsing impossibly and snaking to it’s target, crysknife drawn.

The clicking of firearms cocking filled the air and his men raised their weapons- Duncan his sword and Gurney his oversized lasgun. Paul had slipped the distance between himself and a man with a gun with the weirding way- his arm wrapped around the man’s gun arm in a binding gesture and his crysknife pressed to the man’s throat from behind. Paul knew not how the 12 men had snuck up on him and his companions but here they were...

“Y’all better drop ‘em fancy guns an’ swords boys. Might hurt someone wid’ ‘dem.”

Neither of his men moved. These bandits, at least that what seemed reasonable to Paul at the moment, were softer men than the likes of Gurney Halleck and Duncan Idaho and it seemed almost an insult that they lay down their arms to such wet-behind the ears men. Sure, they looked “hard”- bandito bandanas covering the lower parts of their face, stubble and all, and large hats atop their heads, but they did not stand like trained killers. They were arrogant and wild- not trained and sincere in their murderous intent. A true killer would have taken out two of Paul’s party then asked their question of the third so there would be no chance of the three overtaking them. They were perhaps better trained in bravado than in killing and Paul had no doubt he could slit three of their necks before they pulled the trigger.

When they saw that Paul and his men would not drop their weapons, the one who spoke grew sour.

“No don’t be like that! It’s a fair trade! You ate our ‘delicious’ crops and you gotta’ pay ‘fer them!”

Paul hoped this was intended as a jest as it was the worst lie he’d ever heard.

“I will offer you a deal in counter, one we hope you refuse- for once drawn a crysknife cannot be re-sheathed unless it has tasted blood. You see, the blade, when unfixed, needs some degree of moisture to maintain its edge and- as I have drawn it I would not like to waste my blood upon such a... unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Oh! So the body speaks!” The fat-lipped man who had so pathetically lied to him before exclaimed in mock amusement. “What is this oh-so-generous offer?”

Paul shot him a glance with his blue in blue eyes, pressing the knife against he bandit’s neck a little harder, drawing the tiniest drop of blood from his hostage’s neck. It rolled down his neck like perspiration, and mingled with his body’s water that had already left it in fear.

“You leave with your lives, leaving your guns and your ammunition at our feat, and blood will not be spilt. You may retrieve them once we are far enough away.”

Paul could see what appeared to be small holes with tarps cast aside. That was how they had snuck up on them- an ambush. This must be one of the main roads traveled by those entering the city. Still- he had checked the path ahead and had not seen them. The tarp looked odd- marked with queer symbols and etchings that resembled writing. He would have assumed it was some sort of technology but his mind told them that it was some sort of symbolic language. Magic? Something “psychic”? He could not truly tell- this world was still foreign to him and his mentat facilities needed more information.

The bandits began to laugh, great belly-laughs that shook their forms. Even his hostage nervously giggled.

“Oy- shitheads. Do yer’self some math-o-mathics! We outnumber you by-”

A low hum pierced the air, followed by one more. Vibrations that would have called a worm in the wilderness but here called nothing but the reaper.

Shots rang out and a man’s voice screamed as Paul slit his hostage’s throat. The dust kicked up by the bullet storm was immense but was pierced by a lasgun shaving off limbs and heads. Within the dust Duncan’s sword flicked in and out of the men, just as deadly as Gurney’s lancing laser. Paul slipped from target to target, wasting no energy as he plunged his dagger into their chests and other vital places.

When the dust cleared, Paul and his men deactivated their personal shields.

“Not nearly as effective as in our world...” Gurney observed, a graze on his arm showing that not only did the slow knife pierce the shield- but enough fire power did too.

“Omni suggested as much...” Paul said analytically. Duncan, running his swords once more through the skull of one of his fallen foes, announced, “swords work just as well however”.

Gurney chuckled, cleaning off the few flecks of blood that had got upon his boots.

“You did what you could for them Paul. They were black-hearts, one and all.”

Paul looked at him with hard eyes, “No Gurney. I knew they would be moved to action with that offer. I wanted them open when I slew them. This place has no law. Here, the knife is the judge of men and the desert is their executioner.”

He paused and Gurney nodded in dark understanding, “Collect their water- whatever they have on them then we will bury them in their holes. Though we must do it in a fashion that will let others see their failure- a warning to other bandits in the region.”

His voice was icy despite the desert winds. The three set to work and soon had all fourteen corpses buried with their heads sticking out of the sand, a knife planted in one, and their six-shooters and bandoleers laid out before each of their heads. Carved into the shorn head of one was a single world, a word of power.

Muad'dib

[Paul Atreides]

Two more bandit groups were laid to waste, their bodies left buried in the sand with the word “Muad'dib” left as the only indicator of who had done such a thing. Paul worked by the law of the desert- those who would harm their fellow man in such a harsh place were “iduali”- water insects, not to be trusted with the water of others. The term had a distinctly Fremen meaning, as “water” and “life” were thought of as much the same thing. Paul had little issue and took little pleasure in dispatching bandits when he saw them. They were... rabble. Untrained bravos with a thirst for material things and no respect for human lives. That last part made them soft- life was sacred and if you did not fight like it was, there was no feral motivation to survive. It had to come from a deep place because survival was all that was needed in the desert- everything else was just baggage.

“Another my Duke?” Asked Gurney, polishing his knife under the shade of a rocky outcropping in one of the deeper parts of the sandy wastes- within a day or two’s walk from the Town they had avoided.

Paul only responded to his man with a small, careful, nod- not taking his eyes from the caravan some distance beyond. Muad'dib, as he was more commonly thinking of himself as these days, and his two men had watched them from a safe distance from some time. Just yesterday the caravan had been ambushed by harriers in the scrub lands and taken hostage. Why they were traveling this deep Paul could only speculate- even with his mentat mental facilities. The most logical path of reasoning was that that they were heading to whatever base of operations they had out here as they had drastically altered course after taking the caravan hostage. They had left two dead bodies in their wake and Paul could see no recourse other than the elimination of the iduali- it was the fremen way. Besides, a caravan that size probably had enough spare water to keep Paul and his companions in good supply for weeks if they used their still suits.

As night fell, the caravan drew around itself- the five covered waggons circled and a fire lit. Only fools lit a fire in the desert- it sucked moisture and called attention to one’s self. The smoke trail could be seen for miles in the open bled. The creatures he saw were strange to him- anthropomorphic caricatures of men. The bandits were wolves and weasels while the settlers had the appearance of sheep and cows. He had seen stranger in his times in the Omniverse, short though it was comparatively with other primes, and he was sure they’d bleed all the same.

Under cover of darkness but with no special attention to stealth he made his approach- alone. The sentries were sloppy, masters of no special perceptive skill of their own, and it drew up to the edge of the camp without challenge.

“Subakh ul kuhar...” He offered in greeting, though his voice was low and not at all inviting.

The sentry, his attention now called to Paul, approached- leveling a revolver at him in a threatening manner.

“Yeah? Well hack-petewie to you too.” The wolf-faced creature said, hocking a loogie in the desert sands. Internally Paul smiled- this bandit didn’t know that spitting was considered a sign of respect in Fremen culture. He would have to live up to that notion.

“You are well meet friend.” Paul said, his eerie blue-in-blue eyes as static as stone- piercing the man with supernatural clarity.

“Not yer’ friend pal.” The wolf said and the noises of others rustling about- roused by the conversation could be heard inside the camp.

“Very well. If you will not have me as a friend...” Paul began as the other four bandits fell in behind the sentry, each pulling iron in turn.

“Then you will have me as an enemy.”

Shots rang out- two great lances of light carving up the now-corpses of two of the bandits as Gurney and Duncan’s las rifles split them in two like shaved meat. They rose from their sand-covered pits three hundred yards from where Paul now stood, having infiltrated earlier in the evening.

Paul slipped like marbles on glass, a liquid form dancing between the remaining three men. The sentry fell first, the crysknife set in the base of his spine before he could pull the trigger. The other two hit air, Paul removing the life from one with a knife strike through the eye socket and the second he snapped the neck of in an exotic use of his martial prowess. Lowering the last body to the sand his senses reached out to clear the area of any other threats.

Gurney and Duncan joined him and together they freed the caravan people without a word. They were trembling and Paul couldn’t help but hate them. Water-fat city folk who dishonored the desert with their soft ways, they should have respected the dangers it presented and prepared more. Still... this was not Arrakis and these were not creatures who had wronged him. Though, for their sloppiness, he took from them six liters of water (2 for each of his party) as payment for their frivolous disregard of Shai Hulud’s teachings.

He spoke little, sending them back in the direction of the town from whence they came. They regarded him with a mixture of fear, awe, reverence, and thanks. Paul needed none of that- his ways craved none of those things. At least not yet. He knew that if he did this long enough he would have the resources he needed to establish his power base again but also knew that with such actions he’d eventually establish something else too... a reputation and maybe even a following...

Yes. This was his new Dune after all and he'd remake it in his own image...

[Paul Atreides]

The bodies, and water, piled up. Paul had no respect for the belgians who would steal from others though such work was far from being to his liking but he didn’t mind the work. It was hard work- brutal work, but it suited him and his men. They gave no word of complaint- these rag-tag bandits were nothing like the Sardukar and hardly ever measured up to a Harkonen dog looking for scraps. Paul had now felled eight bandit parties and left his mark of “Muad'dib” on them. Sometimes it was carved into their bodies, other times upon the ground with rocks, or even painted with blood upon a nearby surface. He had displayed their bodies in a very visible fashion- most commonly burying the deceased up to their neck in the sand and leaving their weapons and evidence of their crimes before their bloodied heads. There was going to be a new name- a promise of swift and brutal punishment for those who transgressed against the ways of the desert. For Paul however- this was the first step in obtaining his beloved desert power, which to him was the only power in a place such as this...

For his trouble Paul had stockpiled a small store of water, with his stillsuit he doubted that he and his men could go through it in a year, and a number of weapons. Some had been archaic, other futuristic. None was of particular use but he could use them in trade and had no special love for them. He understood the concept of Omnilium and had drained some of the criminals he had found or reverted their equipment to it and consumed it. In this way he had grown stronger- still a blip on the radar of primes but he doubted he would go unnoticed for much longer. When sending a message like this- others were sure to figure it out. He had considered this and made no attempt to contact the nearby town nor make more than passing and informal contacts with the natives of this strange place. He could, for the most part, live off the land even in the desert- a fremen skill he was blessed to have been taught. What little he needed, he traded for or took from the people he saved. He never took anything of great value or in great supply- but a few rations here, a tool there, and never anything more. He and his band moved from place to place, abandoning all but their water and most necessary tools as they did so. He had thought about summoning more- his Chani... but he felt it was a danger. He was lean now, no baggage and no great power. None could track him without a special effort.

So it was that he was surprised by the special effort put forth to find him, a bloody passion that could not be subdued by all the subtlety and subterfuge he had employed to remain hidden. No... this was a bloody passion that could be no more suppressed than the changing of the tides on Caladan. After felling his ninth bandit squad, a small group of robotic men who had cut to ribbons a small farming community on the edge of the desert, he felt eyes upon him.

“Duncan...” Paul said in a low voice, not giving any indication of what he felt.

“I know Paul. I feel it too.” Hissed Dunce back, rummaging though the effects of the man-shaped robot that had just ceased moving.

“What would you have us do?” Asked Gurney, also pretending not to notice the presence watching them from atop the hill..

“Nothing. They are just eyes Gurney Halleck.” Paul cautioned as he finished his message in the sand- laid out in scrap metal.

Then came the call and they were not simply eyes anymore.

“ATREIDES!!!!” Came the cry and the voice was unmistakable.

Those eyes were the cruel eyes of a Harkonen and they would not close until he lay dead.

[Enzo Matrix]

Oh, for…
 
Matrix looked around at the small savannah he’d arrived in upon exiting the gate. He’d been in such a hurry to get away from the chaos that was unfolding in the Nexus that he hadn’t even paid attention to where he was going. As a result, he’d passed through the wrong gate without even noticing. Of course, the immediate surrounding was certainly not the bustling city of Costa del Sol, which obviously tipped him off.
 
He turned to look at the gate, and simply let out an annoyed grunt. If he wandered back into the Nexus, he’d just get caught up in the brawl that had been about to unfold. Or, he’d find out it had ended months ago. Time was kind of weird in the Omniverse.
 
Still, giving it a little bit of time wouldn’t hurt. He could take this opportunity to look around another segment of the Omniverse. He’d read about the Endless Dunes in his research, but knowing and seeing were two entirely different things.
 
His cybernetic eye finally came fully back online, as well. As soon as it re-established its link to the Dataverse he noticed that he had an email from a very worried AndrAIa. Mentally opening it, and keeping the text in the upper right corner of his vision, he read the panicked transmission from his girlfriend. He walked forward, stepping into the sand as he sent a return message. It was nothing detailed or fancy. He was alright, he was in the Dunes, and he was going to lay low, here, for just a little bit.
 
Satisfied that he made contact with her, he picked a direction and began to move. Normally a haphazard adventure into the desert would be ill-advised, but he had learned the difficult way that Omni meant it when he said that one needn’t fear death in the Omniverse.
 
This was, however, much less interesting than the Vasty Deep. The landscape seemed the same, and he lost track of how far and how long he travelled. Supposedly there were a couple major towns, but he missed them in his traveling. As time passed, he did meet a few merchants or other travelers, and heard stories of bandits and those fighting them. Another eternal back and forth.
 
He came across no action of his own, however. The Endless Dunes certainly lived up to their name, and he didn’t know how he would expect to find anything that would lead him closer to Omni and his return to Mainframe in this place.
 
But it was on that thought that he heard sounds in the distance. The sounds of battle? Bandits, likely. Fighting amongst themselves or attacking undeserving travelers. Matrix grunted, and gritted his teeth. Whatever was going on, it was worth a look.
 
He broke into a jog as he tried to get close enough for his eye’s sensors to pick up some more information.

[Paul Atreides]

Paul flicked between the camouflage wearing soldiers, their Vietnam era uniforms, bulging muscles, and Rambo-esque equipment doing them little good as his form danced like a liquid between them. Paul’s two men, the short ugly warmaster, Gurney Halleck, and the swarthy-haired swordmaster, Duncan Idaho, dispatched the remainders. The bandit squad had been small, no more than a handful of men, but their crimes were sadistic and offended Paul’s Fremen ways. Water was as good as gold in the deep desert- and they’d slain three men for the water they carried. In Fremen, the term “water thief” was the worst insult one could give and came with a death sentence. Paul was more than happy to enact this himself, slitting the last man from stem to stern with a long draw up the man’s belly- stopping at his jaw. Gripping at it, Paul spun, tripping the man with a low sweeping kick, and the soldier’s insides became his outsides.

“We have a guest my Duke.” Gurney said, wiping the blood from his Kindjal (long, curved, knife), designed in Atreides fashion. Duncan sheathed his pulse sword, a thin, vibrating, weapon with a powerful disruptive energy playing along the length of the blade.

Paul, stoic and calm despite the exertion, laid eyes upon Enzo. The man, if that was what he was, had not jumped in on the behalf of the soldiers and looked to be of a different cut from them. Paul’s eyes, blue within blue from spice saturation, regarded him.

“You there... come closer.”

Paul could not be much older than Enzo- early twenties if a guess had to be made.

“Out dispute is not with the likes of you, lest you steal water from the lips of thirsty.”

He has a soft way of speaking that carried a sense of regal bearing, flowery, but direct.

[Enzo Matrix]

Matrix took a kneel at a ledge overlooking the battlefield. From his perch he watched these three men dispatch the squad of bandits with little difficulty. The bandits were varied, but definitely seemed like scavengers on the lower end of society, albeit violent ones. The other three seemed to be more civilized. Their attacks were fluid and coordinated, far less brutal than the flailing of their opponents. It was the mark of training and experience, and it stood out. Matrix was content to watch the battle from what he believed was the anonymity of his vantage point.
 
His eyes locked on the man the other two revolved around. He was clearly the leader of the bunch. Matrix found himself wondering what reality they existed in before entering the Omniverse, but their attire and demeanor made it seem like they were well at home in this desert. While he was pondering that, one of them spotted him. Instinctively, his hand went to his gun, but he did not draw it.
 
Instead, the leader calmly invited him down. He didn’t like the idea of it, but they didn’t seem too interested in a fight. He swallowed his gut feeling, and instead dropped down. The others were sizing him up, but the leader stepped forward and offered peace.
 
“I’m no thief or bandit,” Matrix responded gruffly. “My name is Matrix. And you are?”
 
His voice was deep and his tone blunt. It was a stark contrast to the individual he was talking to.

[Paul Atreides]

Paul pulled back a small covering on his black stillsuit around his mouth that let him speak easier. The skin-tight suit was augmented with a tan sash and sturdy hooded cloak that looked like it had seen years of use. He strowed towards Enzo with purpose and without hesitation,

“I have many named, but in the desert perhaps it is best if you call me Muad'dib.” He explained, a kurtness to his voice that spoke of the fierce survivalist he was. He stopped a few few shy of him, his knife now sheathed.

“These are my men. Duncan Idaho of the Ginaz school and warmaster Gurney Halleck he added, addressing the rakish swordsmen and ugly lump of a brute that were rummaging through the dead men’s belonging for water. They discarded weapons and valuables for such things meant nothing in the desert.

“They are good men and Gurney plays a mean baliset,” He continued, the smallest touch of levity, “But do not mistake them for men of inaction. They are well-versed in the ways of violence and find it no great hardship when necessary.”

The implication was clear. Paul’s men were not above killing (or trying) Enzo if he was thinking about harming Paul.

“However, if you are thirsty- these men had water enough for many days. Drink with us if you will.”

Paul offered water, something that was against his Fremen training- but more in line with his hidden Ducal lineage.

[Enzo Matrix]

Matrix listened intently as this man, Muad'dib, spoke. His hand left his holstered firearm, which was answered with the other two relaxing. Matrix was never one to appreciate threats of any sort, but he bit his tongue. After all, these people were just trying to survive and get along in a strange world. Then again, it didn’t seem terribly off to them.
 
“I’m a man of action, myself,” Matrix’s own return warning was enough to satisfy himself.
 
The sprite reached forward and took the jug, happy to sip a bit of water and just get a general break from the non-stop chaos he’d been a part of. Come to think of it, he really hadn’t stopped moving since his last time back at his temporary home in the Omniverse.
 
“I take it you were used to the desert before you arrived here?” Matrix calmly asked, taking another swig.
 
He made sure he left plenty of water in it as he handed the jug back. After all, manners and customs were AndrAIa’s thing, not his own, but he was certainly trying. He’d have to, if he was to survive. This wasn’t the Net.
 
“Funny. If you wandered into the portal to the Vasty Deep, where I make my home, there’s more water than you’d be able to handle. Yet, here it’s worth fighting over,” Matrix scoffed at the absurdity of the situation.
 
He looked down at a bandit’s corpse and rolled it over with his foot. His eye scanned the deceased man and he tried to learn a little more about the scourge that was plaguing this verse.

[Paul Atreides]

Paul nodded, “I come from a place where water is worth more than Spice.” He said, implying some special reverence for the substance.He was clearly equating it to a valuable commodity, like gold, but the term was oddly placed.

“But I was born on a blue planet known as Caladan in a castle upon the sea.”

Paul paused, smiling in quiet reflection for a moment after mentioning Caladan.

“However... it doesn’t matter what it is. Men will fight and kill for whatever fuels their greed. Spice, land, gold, hard currency- it doesn’t matter. These men were animals- unable to control their bestial urges and were put down.”

There was a harshness to the way he spoke but also... remorse. He clearly didn’t relish the thought of killing the men as he had- Paul seemed far more concerned with their actions.

“It’s a plague on the lands. Men are driven mad in times where there wants cannot be meet. I have not been to this ‘Vasty Deep’, but it seems like a land of plenty. I was in Camelot recently and even there there can be found excess. The trail of a man is not what they do under the best of times but under the worst. Here in the Endless Dunes we see what men are really willing to do. Who are men and who are beasts.”

[Enzo Matrix]

Matrix suddenly burst out into a roaring laughter. Not much amused the stoic and perpetually grumpy sprite, but this man’s fervor and streak of justice was too much for him. The man he was speaking with remained calm, with even a bit of a smile, but the other two were watching the green sprite far more carefully. Matrix noted their shifted stances and waved a hand to dismiss any notions of violence or mockery.
 
“I’m sorry, it’s just a relief to see someone like you,” Matrix apologized. “Everyone in this place is so self-centered and self-serving, and in this of all verses I meet you three, trying stop these 'beasts' as you call them for no other reason than they're acting like a bunch of viruses.”
 
Matrix shook his head. He had to admit, even he was focused only on himself and his friends. His quest to find a way out of the Omniverse had lead him from one objective to another. Even the favors he’d done for Cinnabar were with his own intentions in mind.
 
He paused, and thought for a moment. That fight was occurring in the Nexus. There was no telling how long it would last, especially with the warped passage of time in the Omniverse. He certainly didn’t want to wander through it and get caught up with his old allies and enemies from the Hero’s Graveyard again, so it made sense to wait.
 
Matrix studied the man in the brief silence. The man reminded him of Bob. He reminded him of the Guardians. Matrix could stand to be a little more altruistic. He’d helped countless systems come back from the brink in his travels back to Mainframe with AndrAIa and Frisket. How was being trapped in the Omniverse any different.
 
“You’re helping the innocents around here?” Matrix asked, with a small smirk. “I want in.”

[Paul Atreides]

The corner of Paul’s lips tugged a bit, revealing a smile,
“Viruses? I like that. Never thought of them like that but it’s a good analogy...”

Paul folded his arms, “I don’t know if I have a specific ‘mission’ here.I am merely invoking the law of the desert- survive.” He explained cautiously but then had a thought. He HAD been cleaning up the desert and, if there needed to be law, perhaps he could be that law. It would be a nice start for his base of power... a savior figure as the bene gesserit would have called it... the basis for a myth perhaps? No... if he was not careful it would become a religion... and if he was it could become one anyway.

“Very well Master Matrix. It will be our duty to do so and it would be an honor to serve with you in this endeavor.” He said very formally and he caught his two men giving him hidden, but clearly quizzical, looks. Paul was not a trusting man but he did have the gift of foresight, even if he truly did not understand it at this point. This Matrix... he was essential to something. He wasn’t sure what but his prescience told him it was something essential. Gurney and Duncan shouldn’t look so surprised. Good judgement of character was an Atreides trait that had earned both of them a spot on their court. Both of them had been born on the Harkonen homeworld of Giedi Prime, the nest of his family’s greatest rivals, and through their sweat and tears Paul’s father had employed them. Paul, using the same good judgement, allied himself with this man who called himself Matrix. That did not mean he would lower his guard but still, he felt as if he could trust him at least a little.

“We were to set out and hunt vipers... or viruses as you’d call them. A knot so thick we have delayed attacking it for some days now- picking off scragglers like this. It seems as if a local thug has deemed himself something akin to a warlord and has taken up hold in a cave system. If you are half the man I expect you to be- perhaps we could take him with your help.”

[Enzo Matrix]

Matrix nodded in agreement and confirmation. The search for home was at a dead end for now, so what harm was making the world a little bit better for others? It was supposedly engrained in his code, so he might as well live up to it. He gestured his hand out, offering the man to lead on. He figured he wouldn’t get to travel at the back of this pack, for suspicion from the other two that he might have less than honorable intentions. He didn’t like to turn his back to strangers, but he would have to deal with it for now, were he to actually help. He had to be smart, though. No one could be taken at face value, despite how much he wanted them to be truly good. They would have to prove themselves just as he had to prove his own worth.
 
While he was pondering that, a message appeared in the upper right up his vision, given to him by his cybernetic eye. It was a return e-mail from AndrAIa. She was brief in it, but she got the point across that she was coming to join him, to make sure he would be alright. Presumably Frisket was coming along as well. He knew there was no talking her out of it, so he settled for a return e-mail that simply told her to be careful and warned her of the Nexus. It would take her some time to get here, so he’d leave it at that for now.
 
These men seemed to be somewhat newer to the Omniverse, or at the very least had been mostly contained to their own circle as they acted. Matrix had slowly phased out some of his own phrasing and wording for something a little more universal, as he had been someone unintelligible upon arrival. Now he understood what he might have put Mewtwo and the others through, because he certainly didn’t know what Spice meant, but he was able to assign the importance it carried to his new friends.
 
There would be time to figure it out later. He may have had more time in the Omniverse, but he certainly had less in the Endless Dunes.
 
“How do we get around here, anyway?” Matrix asked as he looked at the appropriately named never-ending sands. Sure, he could summon up nearly any vehicle he liked, but it made sense to blend in, not that he had a clue how to do that, yet.

[Paul Atreides]

Paul looked at Duncan who unwrapped what appeared to be a small mechanical staff with a sliding weight on one end and a sharp tip to be driven into the sand on the other.

“That, Master Matrix, is no issue.” Paul said as he accepted the rod and drove it into the ground. He tapped a button and the strange mechanical device began to rhythmically thump.

“You see, in cities one harnesses the power of cars or Ornithopters... but in the desert you must harness the power of the desert to survive.”

As he spoke a small shaking shook the ground. In the distance a great bulge, billowing in the sand like a whale about to surface could be seen. Paul kneeled and produced a set of hooks with crowbar like flat tips as well as a length of braided rope.

“The desert is a dangerous place but you must learn to accept, embrace, and eventually bend that danger to your will if you wish to survive.” He said, calmly walking towards the open bleed where the great creature moving under the sand was coming.

“I have placed a thumper. Thumpers call worms. Worms are spice. Spice is life.” He said as if he was reciting some sort of mantra or imparting some profound wisdom.

Suddenly a sandworm, some 20 feet in length, burst forth from the sand- a ringed maw of glittering white teeth threatening Paul. Paul, however, did not move. An overpowering smell of cinnamon and ozone hit the group- pungent and almost intoxicating in the atmosphere of fear it invoked. Still, Paul seemed to push this aside, and approached the worm as it dragged its bulk across the surface at an alarming speed. Running alongside it he wedged a hook under its flesh, exposing the softer flesh under the great armored segments of it’s body, and the great cylindrical creature made a strange wincing noise as it rolled to prevent the sand from getting in the exposed flesh. Paul clung on expertly and once on top hooked his other hook in to help steer it. He lashed the rope to his hook and tossed it over the side of the worm. It dangled at the ground, a skilled climber could climb it with ease.

“To answer your question Master Matrix- today we ride a worm to our destination.”

[Enzo Matrix]

Matrix listened, hiding his confusion. The man’s words were little more than gibberish to him, as he had no understanding of where he came from and what significance they held. It was difficult to gauge what he meant, or what he intended to make happen. All doubt quickly subsided after a slight, concerning tremor.
 
The massive worm ripped out of the ground, and Matrix thought for a moment that he was being ambushed. None of the others panicked, or hardly flinched at its arrival, but Matrix immediately drew his gun and leveled it at the beast. Whatever it was, he had no intent on being devoured by it. Yet, his new ally, this Muad'dib, was unconcerned. The man instead calmly approached it as he spoke, but Matrix’s eye was already glowing a bright red as he locked on the target and was analyzing it for weaknesses.
 
But instead, it was tamed. Muad'dib moved in a way that showed great experience with such a beast, something not obtainable in the Omniverse alone. He was beyond familiar with this creature. Not only that, he threw a rope down that allowed Matrix to follow. His eye dimmed and Matrix dropped Gun, which immediately slapped back onto his thigh as if guided by powerful magnets. Matrix grabbed the rope and pulled himself up, situating himself as best he could.
 
He wasn’t comfortable sitting on this thing, so instead he dropped to a single knee. That way he kept one foot flat and able to propel himself off it this beast if things went terribly wrong. He had no reason to believe that would be the case, given the man’s expert handling, but then again, Matrix knew all about faking confidence and experience from his days as a young sprite and Guardian.
 
“This is one of the stranger things I’ve ever seen!” Matrix couldn’t help but chime in with his immediate observations. “…And I’ve seen some pretty strange things!”
 
He held on tight and hoped for the best. He was starting to miss the ocean.

[Paul Atreides]

Paul seemed more concerned with dealing with the worm than dealing with Matrix. His eyes were locked on the desert before him. Paul didn’t know that this, in the eyes of the omniverse, was considered a vehicle for him and would do him (or his passengers) no harm. He hadn’t even known, truly, that he had summoned it. It would take time, but he would eventually come to understand this- just not this day.

“To me, the rest of the world seems strange. In a way, this worm is the only expected thing I’ve seen since I got here.” He explained as the desert raced by under them- the great worm rhythmically sliding at a breakneck speed. Duncan and Gurney seemed more than a little nervous about their master’s mount but did not let it impact their duty to their duke.

It was not long before the form of a low tower could be seen in the distance. Paul dismissed the worm, urging his passengers to disembark before he did himself. Once off he trotted for a few steps to kill the momentum, as the correct way to leave one was to leave from the tail as it sunk below the sandy dunes. Meeting the other he pointed at the looming form.

“It is doubtful they have made notice of us. We should lay low until the sun had finished clearing the horizon before we make our approach.”

Paul was not convinced that this would be, in any way, easy prey. They would have to employ every advantage. Then again- only a fool would not do so.

[Enzo Matrix]

Though he was originally hesitant to partake, transport on the worm ended up being fairly relaxing. Perhaps it was just because the opportunity to rest was a welcome one, even if he still had to hold on tightly to the beast that he shared as a steed. The wind on his face reminded him of his early journeys across the Vasty Deep. He felt the individual grains of sand as they blasted against his face as well as the harsh sting of the wind. He took note of how it felt, as this level of depth and realism was not natural in his own domain. Now, having been to the Dataverse and learning about his own world’s existence inside a computer, he understood why. Still, it was going to take much more time to wrap his head around it all.
 
They dismounted, and took cover. The worm disappeared just as decisively as it had originally arrived. Matrix watched in amazement as the sands shifted after its departure, almost immediately giving the outward appearance that nothing had disturbed them, at all. Matrix shook his head in amazement, but then focused, gazing at the tower. It was obviously their objective, but he didn’t quite know what awaited them, there. Stealth was far from his strong suit, so he defaulted to the wisdom of the men that knew the desert a little better. Were it up to him, he’d charge in guns blazing. It had worked plenty of times, but also failed many others.
 
He took a calming breath. Eliminating this scourge was their project, and he shouldn’t mess it up. There would likely be ample opportunity to do things his way in good time.
 
Darkness came, and the desert grew cold. Having little experience in the land of sand, this was an unexpected development, but nothing terribly off-putting to the sprite, either. Matrix bided his time flicking his red yoyo. The childish toy was a stark contrast to his own gruff and overly masculine appearance, but he didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned over such details. The green skinned man also took the time to summon an Omnilium cape and hood with a tan color that matched the desert sands. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
 
Muad'dib signaled. It was time to move. Duncan and Gurney knew what to do, and Matrix just fell in with the group the best he could. He was quick to admit in the downtime that he was known less for his stealth and more for his overt destructive capacity. He wasn’t quick to trust many with his personal weaknesses, but this knowledge was not something worth concealing from anyone he would work alongside.
 
So, Matrix fell into the group, following and trying to learn from their movements. He would study and imitate them, for now. Once they got close enough, he’d be happy to share what he contributed to the team.

[Paul Atreides]

Muad'dib waited as the shadows grew longer without speaking. His secondaries milled about making preparations. They hadn’t understood yet that the weapons didn’t need maintenance- they were were creations, extensions of his will, like they were. With a brief expenditure of effort would remake or reform those weapons. He’d explained it, in passing, to them but maintenance of their weapons was so much a part of their nature that they didn’t even notice it. It was normality for them and he hadn’t the heart to take that from them as they waited for nightfall.

Turning to Matrix, Paul looked at him with an appraising eye.

“Matrix. I know that the denizens of this world have rather varied capacities and skills. And I suspect that you are capable of a great many things... unless I have counted you wrong you too are a prime. Am I right? I only ask because we are to assault this den of thieves together and we need to know each other’s abilities....” He said almost apologetically.


Paul wasn’t quite sure Matrix wanted his status as a Prime exposed but it was just Paul and his two secondaries. Paul had intentionally revealed that he too was a Prime, but he suspected that Matrix had gleaned that much about him when he had called forth the worm. Still, it was a countasy he was willing to extend. If Matrix was a Prime, like he expected, this mission would be quite easily resolved. Still- knowing the skillset of a teammate was a vital aspect of any plan. And, Paul was quite the planner. He could work out most thing with his mentat brain. (In his universe they had banned almost all digital technology and no networked computers were allowed so they had trained people as human computers- known as mentats.)

[Enzo Matrix]

Matrix’s robotic eye twitched, and slightly rotated. He bit his tongue ever so slightly. He had assumed that Muad'dib was a prime, given his actions. He’d seen some strange feats in his time in this realm, but the most fantastic were typically reserved for primes. Summoning that worm so effortlessly was definitely a clue. At the same time, Matrix had been careful and deliberate with his actions. He’d seen secondaries that could stand against primes in battle, so he had little issue with jumping into combat. Otherwise, he’d been quiet not to expose his status. Primes were a rarity, and with that status also came expectations.
 
But, he wouldn’t lie. The man and his secondaries had been straight up with him, and though he hoped the question wouldn’t be asked, he would answer it truthfully now that it had been.
 
“Yea. Yea, I’m a prime, too,” Matrix admitted after a pause. “Time flows kind of strangely, here in the Omniverse, so I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, exactly.”
 
He held his hand up, and let Gun snap from his waist and into his open palm. He gripped the weapon tightly, keeping the barrel pointed well away from his new friend, so there would be no misunderstanding. Only holding it a couple seconds, Matrix released the weapon and it returned to his thigh with a decisive motion. It was a simple and effective demonstration that the firearm was very much a part of him, and his comfort with it.
 
“I can shoot things, and I can punch things,” Matrix briefly outlined his abilities for his tactician friend. “And believe me, I’m very good at both.”

[Paul Atreides]

Muad'dib nodded, “Time does indeed flow strangely. I would not more count on it than on what lays over the next hill...” He said, a touch of chagrin added to his voice. He didn’t like all the unknowns here. His latent prescience did help him- but the notions Paul was aware of were thought of as “intuition” or “hunches” by his conscious mind. In this reality, unbeknownst to him, they may simply have been the machinations of Omni guiding Paul where he needed to go for his amusement.

The Fremen watched the display of Matrix’s abilities approvingly. The prime was strong- that much he could glean without any special knowledge.

Paul had a plan in his mind but information was scarce and the variables too many.

“One moment... I do not possess the same kind of mentat mental faculties I seemed to in life. I was trained as what you might call... I suppose the best way to describe it was a human mind trained to mimic the logic-functions of a non-networked pre-Butlerian computer. I seemed to be largely robbed of my higher capacities but still possess a glimmer of it. The projections will take... longer than they normally would.”

It felt like Paul had been robbed of something he had worked very hard to obtain. He had never become a full mentat, his training with Thufir Hawat had been interrupted. His family had one day hoped to be lead by a mentat-Duke but their hopes had been dashed by House Harkonnen. Still, he had been a natural mentat and progressed farther than most of his age. He would have to work to regain that mental clarity. Perhaps if he found Sapho juice... or created it... he could return himself to that level of logical proficiency.

Still, he centered his mind and to began to dissect the base from an analytic standpoint. For a moment he closed his blue-within-blue eyes to help. He couldn’t employ supra-logical hypothesizing, that was beyond him for some reason now. Still he could cultivate "the naïve mind", a mental state without preconception or prejudice that could allow him to perhaps see something he had missed. He took in the structure. It had 3 stories, was circular in nature, formed of stone, seemed to have been made somewhat recently, resembled 15th century Earth architecture, and had a gated portcullis on the lowest floor. Each floor had a single embrasure in each of the cardinal directions and were lit from within with a wavering light- logical protections told him it was a candle or something of that nature. The occasional interruption of the light told him that they were occupied. Every floor but the top one. The top floor was dark and there appeared to be no way to get in from the roof- it seemed unadorned and functional. As it too was stone, though conical, it was likely to withstand what was placed upon it.

“I believe I have our entrance, if you are willing to lend a hand Mr. Matrix.” Paul said respectfully as he returned to the external world and opened his eyes.

“Gurney. Lay down fire on the second floor. See if you can shoot though the embrasures or at least give the impression you are aware of it. Duncan, the second. Matrix, they will no doubt flee through the front gate- there are no other exits. When they exit they will be at a choke point and will be an easy shot. They may return fire from their positions but if you three use the sand dunes for cover they will not have a good angle to shoot you. You will draw the fire towards this, the southern side if the sun today could be trusted, and I will approach from the north and enter in the 3rd floor. Those that do not flee out to engage you will fall to me once I have infiltrated inside. My calculations... though they are not what they use to be, project a 73% chance of a lack of injury on our side and a 98% chance of a lack of casualty. We do have a sizable, 8-12%, margin for error in that the nature of the enemies are not known to us but we can assume they follow the same rules as the rest of the inhabitants of the Omniverse and be reasonably sure.” Paul explained in a militant fashion, though there was a noble, graceful, detachment that made his explanation seem almost casual.

Gurney and Duncan nodded and began to set up, drawing their newly cleaned weapons and laying them on rags on the sand atop a dune so only their barrels could be potentially spotted. The lasguns would make quite the light show in the twilight darkness- they only waited for Matrix to begin the show.