Muse 9 (ONC 2020)

Chapter 2

The man seemed to read my mind. "With the Muse 8 finally completed, we are officially in the Ninth Era."

Each Muse rifle inspired a subsequent "era" where advancements were made in the copyist trade, with better performance than the rifle before it. The Muse 7 had been the top version for ten years now, and now it had just been made obsolete by the Muse 8. So the Eighth Era – the age to build Muse 8 – had just given way to the Ninth Era.

Despite myself, excitement began to flood through my veins. The Ninth Era – the legendary, fabulous, dark Ninth Era – it was here. I had lived to see it. It was upon us, it was before us, it was beckoning to us.

"Yes," the man said. "The Ninth Era. Many thought we'd never see this age. An age where old magic is revealed to be science. An age of myth."

It was the last line that quelled my excitement. He was right – the Ninth Era was a myth. The legends that told of a rifle that powerful – no, they couldn't be true.

"So why are you here?" I asked, my voice quiet.

"Sable Huntris, we are impressed by you," the man said. The blood had seemed to stop flowing from his arm now, but I could tell he'd lost a significant amount already and was wondering if he'd pass out and if so, if there was any chance of me taking on the two behind me and winning. "Your copyist skills are impressive for one so young, and so underequipped."

I raised my eyebrows. "By years, I may be young, but by experience, I'm not."

The man feigned a smile, but his eyes were sharp. "That is exactly why we are here, Huntris."

The man stood and came out from behind my desk, running the fingers of his good arm over the Muse 8 as he did so. I watched his fingertips stroke the rifle's metal, wishing to just hold that weapon in my hands, at least once. "You have been recommended to us by a contact, Sable Huntris. You are said to be adept in the technology used to construct the Muse rifle in general."

I nodded. "I suppose you could say that."

"We have a job for you."

I held up my hands, causing the pressure in my shoulders to increase quickly. "Whoa," I said to my guards. "I'm not doing anything."

The pressure decreased slightly and I sighed. "Look, I was just gonna ask. Who are you? And I might as well say it: I don't just take jobs."

The man bared his teeth in what might have been a smile. "Who we are doesn't matter, Huntris, for we have someone you need dearly."

I didn't even have time to register what he said before he just told me. "The infamous Luktor Huntris has fallen into our grasp. I believe that he's your brother."

Stark.

I inwardly cursed. If they had Luktor, they had me. It was as simple as that. He was the only human on this cursed earth I would do anything for, and the same applied to him concerning me. Well, the only one on this earth that I knew for sure was still alive. He was only a year older than me, but that made a great deal of difference when you're orphaned young, in the Grid, no less.

"How do I know you have Luktor?" I asked calmly, hiding my frustration at being caught and manipulated like this. "How did you catch him?"

"The same way we caught you."

Okay, he's got me there.

"But how do I know you have him, for real, and aren't just lying to me?"

The man reached into his belt and withdrew an object from the pouch there. Slapping it down on the desk, he looked at me with the barest hint of satisfaction on his face.

Yep. Stark, they've got him.

Luktor's scalpel sat on the desk before me, the crude initials of our mentor inscribed on the side. The peculiar twist at the tip of the blade couldn't be replicated anywhere else – hence how I knew they had Luktor for real. He would never willingly part with that thing, the same way my stylus would never leave my sight.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, silently admitting that they had me now.

The man looked down at the Muse 8, laying his index finger on the thin silver piece. Turning his gaze to me, he was silent a moment longer before speaking.

"We need you to build the Muse 9."