Muse 9 (ONC 2020)

Chapter 3

The Muse 9. They were going to pursue building the Muse 9. They wanted me to build the Muse 9.

That was a lot to absorb.

"The Muse 9 is a legend," I said, a bit dubiously. "It will take years to figure out the design, not to mention gather the pieces and assemble it." If it's even possible at all.

"It would," the man acknowledged. "If we were starting completely from scratch."

I cocked my head, furrowing my brow. "What do you mean?"

"We have...an idea," the man said evasively. "About how to figure out the design."

"How?"

"By using the texts concerning the Muse 9."

I snorted derisively. "Those things have become so exaggerated that I doubt you'd be able to pull anything remotely helpful from them."

"Not those texts," the man corrected. "The originals."

My jaw must have dropped. The original texts written on the Muse 9? "How-how in the Grid's Drain do you expect to find the originals? They were lost decades ago, or possibly never existed."

"We have a lead," the man said, slowly. "We know where the texts are."

"Where?" I demanded, leaning forward. The pressure from the guards' hands on my shoulders increased.

"In the Drain."

The Drain.

I felt a shudder ripple down my spine. The texts were in the Drain? In the under levels of the Grid, where the dampness cut to the bone and the darkness felt even more unnatural than it did at the common depth? I hadn't been down there in years. Not since – "What makes you think it's in the Drain?"

"We have an...informant, of a kind," the man said, choosing his words carefully. "Through that informant, we have been alerted to the texts' location. They are in the Drain. So that is where you will start."

I slumped back in the chair, staring at the floor. The Drain. I had to go back to the Drain. They were going to make me go back to the Drain, holding Luktor's life over my head to ensure I went.

"If I'm doing this," I said after a long silence. "I at least ought to know who I'm working for."

The man narrowed his eyes at me, seeming to consider my remark. "If you value your brother's life, you will be content with whatever information we choose to give you."

"What are you willing to tell me?" I asked casually, yet I couldn't keep the slight hint of challenge out of my tone.

The man's eyes were ice as he picked up Luktor's scalpel using his injured arm, casually, as if a dagger hadn't just been stabbed into his shoulder, and placed it back into his belt. "Just that you don't want to upset us, Sable Huntris. For your sake, and for your brother's."

I tried again. "How do I know where the texts are? The Drain is unmapped and very complex, not to mention dangerous and unstable. How am I supposed to find them?"

"You are Sable Huntris, are you not?" the man challenged. "You'll figure it out. Luktor has faith in you. Then again, you are his only chance."

"Little girl, the Drain is a stark-awful place."

Another shudder passed through my body. I wasn't exactly sure I wanted to figure it out.

Then again, Luktor was counting on me. I probably shouldn't let him down. "Deal," I said. "I'll find the texts, build your Muse 9. But only under one condition."

The man raised an eyebrow as I continued. "Besides promising Luktor's release on receiving the rifle, you give me his scalpel. Now."

[----]

The bloodstains on my floor stubbornly held out as I scrubbed at them viciously, dulling their dark shine against my old metal, slatted floor.

The strangers had left, the two guards flanking the one in charge as they had silently exited out into the darkness of the Grid. As soon as they had left, my first action was to bar the door again, stringing a thick cord around the doorway to ensure that anyone who entered would find themselves on the ground rather quickly. After ensuring my tripwire was firmly in place, I had walked the perimeter of my shop, trying to figure out how, exactly, those three had got in in the first place.

Nothing had been disturbed in the public part of my shop, and at first glance, the back room seemed untouched also. That is, until I noticed that one of the metal panels in my back room had been removed and then slid back into place after the infiltration.

So after re-securing my walls and double checking my work twice, I then set to scrubbing away the blood on my floor, which refused to come up with the steel cloth. With a muttered curse and a hurling down of the cloth, I sat back on my heels and sighed. "Fine, whatever."

Staring up at the ceiling, I allowed myself to fall back. How in the world did they capture Luktor? Luktor doesn't get caught. He just doesn't. He wasn't raised that way.

Well, neither was I, and look how today went. Stark, we Huntris siblings are slipping.

I turned Luktor's scalpel over in my fingers, rubbing the engraved initials, the ME rough but comforting to my fingertips. The blade was my brother's everything. It was a key tool in his field of expertise as an operator, where precise incisions were imperative. The twist in the blade's tip had been an accidental addition, but it had actually improved Luktor's craft. He was the best in his field, and he attributed quite a bit of his success to the little scalpel.

Sitting up, I placed the scalpel in my belt and got to my feet. I needed to grab some gear and prepare to head into the Drain. According to my captors/coercers, time was of the essence. The Ninth Era had just begun, and the race to build the Muse 9 was about to start. With everything leading to the Drain, however, I had a natural head start. No one knew the Drain. No one went there.

Except for a couple.

And no one knew it well except for one.

Little girl, the Drain is a stark-awful place.