Muse 9 (ONC 2020)

Chapter 4

The Muse 8 rested comfortably on my back, feeling lighter than my Muse 5, which I had placed into my pack. My old dagger rested in my belt, two smaller ones strapped to the inside of my calves, hidden under my leather greaves. You could never be too wary, down here in the Grid.

With a light pack fastened over my shoulder, provisions, clean water, tools, a first aid kit, and some other supplies stored inside, I stood in the center of my shop, turning slowly in a circle and trying to check everything off in my head. The problem was, I seemed to have everything I needed.

Well. Most everything.

For a moment, I closed my eyes, giving myself one moment more before I moved on to my last preparatory task. I did not want to do this. I didn't. But I had to.

Damn you, Luktor.

Tapping my hand against the rifle on my back, I sighed. Time to take a walk down memory lane.

[----]

Luktor's shop was chained up tight. Despite the fact that he could probably afford to live in one of the villages under the grates, his work was better done in the dark. It was highly illegal.

I walked past his shop, casting my gaze over it, before continuing on. I needed to loop around and back behind the building to better get inside.

The puddles sitting in the dips in the rough concrete path provided obstacles for me to jump over, me not being in a mood for wet feet. The other locked up buildings looked empty and defensive, and I picked up my pace, not wanting to be observed and noted by suspicious dwellers.

Cutting through an alleyway to reach the narrow path leading behind Luktor's shop, I kept my guard up and my eyes flicking from side to side as I swiftly walked back to my brother's place. Once I was behind his shop, I took a running start and launched myself at the wall, grabbing at the slight protrusions on the face of the metal surface. My toes landed in a slight crevasse in the wall, the edges pronounced enough to hold my weight and keep me from sliding back down to the ground as my hands wrapped around a spike.

With a grunt, I began to scale the wall, finding the smallest holds to boost myself up. In no time I was on the patchwork roof, crawling towards the concealed hatch I knew was located just above the sleeping space. Despite our differences, Luktor and I did think very much alike.

The hatch was right where I knew it would be, give or take a few inches. Covered with thin strips of metal, it blended in with the rest of the roof. I removed the metal and, taking a prytool from my pack, jammed it between the door and the roof. After some wiggling and manipulation, I was able to break the inner seal and pull the trapdoor open.

Slipping through the opening, I landed in a crouch. Only about four feet of space existed between the rafters and the cold metal floor, but that was plenty of room in the sleeping space.

A simple mattress with its blankets tucked under the edges was pushed into one corner, an empty holster nailed to the roof above the pillow for easy weapon access. Aside from the clothing chest sitting near the bed, there was a metal box shoved up by the trapdoor that led down into Luktor's office. His shop had the same layout as my own – it was a standard design for those in solitary shops down here in the Grid.

Crawling across the space, I stopped before the box and touched the lid cautiously. The smooth metal exterior was cool under my fingertips, and the lock holding it closed was a recognition lock. All it needed was the familiar touch from the object Luktor had programmed it with to open.

Fortunately for me, I had his most beloved object in my belt.

As soon as the scalpel blade touched the sensor pad on the lock, it sprang open and I shoved the lid up. A memory chip and leather bound book sat in the bottom of the box. Picking up both, I sat back on my heels and examined the two items.

A leather strip was wrapped around the book, holding it shut. The rough pages were bound unevenly and several were jagged along the edges from long use. This was what I needed. This is what I remembered him holding, that day in the Drain so many years ago.

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

Cold droplets shivered down the back of my tunic, coasting down my spine and making me shudder. The wet trails on my cheeks weren't caused by any stray droplets, however.

Morath Eurykhan's hand was heavy on my shoulder, but only because he was unused to having to comfort children. Luktor stood on the other side of him, drawing a long, shuddery breath.

Despite being young, both of us knew not to allow ourselves to sob.

"Why?" I asked, my voice surprisingly steady.

"Why'd they die?" Eurykhan shrugged. "Sometimes people die, little girl. Nothing we can do, exactly."

"Sable," Luktor corrected, a bit forcefully. "Her name is Sable."

Eurykhan looked slightly annoyed. "All I can tell you is, the Drain is particularly bad to visit if dying isn't in your immediate plans. Your parents knew the risks."

"What now?" I asked quietly. "They're gone. What do we do?"

"Survive," Eurykhan said gravely. "Go back to the Grid. Pick up a decent trade, make a living."

Luktor moved to stand beside me, grasping my wrist reassuringly. His light brown hair was damp and stuck to his forehead, and his green eyes held a fierce, albeit uncertain, determination in them. "We'll survive," he vowed. Squaring my shoulders, I nodded stoutly.

Eurykhan glanced at the two of us, two new orphans who had nobody else but each other. Wiping his thick black hair out of his face, he sighed as he removed a book from the pouch on his belt. "Your parents were good people, for Gridirons. You too will be okay. I swear on it."

Opening the book, I flipped slowly through the pages, letting mixed dread and relief flood through me. Eurykhan was the only person I knew of who had any sort of actual knowledge about the Drain. He used to hunt down there – what, I never knew.

But now I had the final thing I needed before entering the Drain.

It was time.