The next morning, Rory was standing in front of a door to what was likely the cleanest and poshest building in their slum. To the left of the door were three markings that told Rory where he was. None were projected, they were all physical objects. The first on top was a plaque that said “Chief.” The second just under that was another similar plaque that said “Whibley”. Those two had made sense to Rory while the third, a symbol, he had never figured out. It was a was a large red “M” made to look like a snake.

Putting his curiosity aside, he glanced down at himself to make sure he looked acceptable. He was wearing the newish clothes he had bought the prior night. It was his nicest long sleeve set without anything repaired. They almost looked new, at least to Rory. He even treated himself to a pair of brand-new boxers and an undershirt from Mick. He was also wearing his newly acquired fingerless gloves, which he knew would become something of a necessary accessory if he wanted to hide his inscriptions. Gloves weren’t particularly common or uncommon in the slums, and they weren’t fancy-looking, so he felt they would not stand out that much.

As the top sign said, Rory was standing before the office of “Chief.” That was it – just Chief. No first or last name. He was the guy supposedly in charge of their little slice of heaven. He was also the guy Rory and his mum had borrowed from to hopefully get themselves out of the slump with some minor inscribing. That it hadn’t happen wasn’t Chief’s business.

Looking back, he realized it had been an idiotic thing to do, but they had just been so desperate. They’d stopped receiving the Crown’s deceased benefit for his da because Rory was a legal adult. It had been a terrible few weeks at the mine, he hadn’t been able to afford shine for his mum which meant she had been close to hurting someone or herself, and they had quite literally been a day or two from starving to death.

So he had gone to Mycroft’s boss and begged. Chief had offered the lowest amount he lends, ten pounds at two hundred fifty percent interest. And they hadn’t paid back so much as a penny.

Letting out a breath, Rory knocked on the door. As was the only way to guarantee safety in the slums for the rich and important blokes, a guard opened the door.

Twice since Rory and his mum had lived in Whibley Slums, there had been small wars over territory or business between slum chiefs. The man he was about to meet was actually the second “Chief” they’d had. The first had been… replaced. Three years in, the old one lost whatever the fight was over to the guy Rory was hoping to pay his last debts to today.

Rory had only been to this building once when he originally borrowed the ten pounds, so he didn’t know – or want to know – any of the names of the well-paid blokes who worked there.

How did these people eat so much to get so bloody big?

The guard stared down at Rory who looked up at him. He was at least eight inches taller and probably twice as wide as the teen in front of him. He had short straight-cut black hair and a square face which held an expression that said, “You had better have a good reason for being here, or else.” The “or else” being the laze pistol in his other hand.

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“Rory Sheehan. Here to pay off a debt,” Rory quickly told the large man.

The guard did an up-down scan and directed him, “Wipe your feet.”

Rory looked down and saw a scratchy mat made of some sort of hemp or something. It had the word “Welcome” on it. Rory ran his new (to him at least) boots along it a few times and the guard stood aside.

As soon as the door closed behind Rory, the guard had a new order. “Arms up.”

Rory did as instructed and he was patted down from red hair – which was thankfully clean due to the newly purchased shampoo – to his mostly nice boots. It was done by a guard Rory hadn’t been able to see from outside the door. Unlike with Mycroft’s thugs, this man was quick and professional.

After he passed the inspection, he was guided through the nicest home he had seen since he’d arrived on that planet. The guard and Rory eventually reached a door with a carved wooden plaque appropriately labeled “-Office-” a little lower than Rory’s eye height.

The guard knocked twice and a muffled, “Come” sounded through.

The guard opened it and stood aside. Rory stepped through far enough to allow the door to close behind him and scanned the room. What he saw probably held more material value than his entire apartment complex.

Behind a polished old-style wooden desk with swishing curved legs and wavy things on the sides and corners, sat a slightly older gray-haired and balding man in a dark blue suit, white button-down shirt, and striped tie. On the bridge of his nose he wore some sort of glasses that only had the bottom half. Behind him was a piece of art of a starship in the starry blackness of space. The walls of the room held similar art around the room but they were projections of planetscapes, starships, and even one still pic of a space battle with flashing lights and exploding ships. Funnily enough, there was also an old-fashioned cloth Union Jack in the corner on a M-steel pole.

Rory stayed standing, not wanting to risk dirtying the expensive rug or furniture. The last thing he needed was the boss getting angry.

Said boss’s voice was strong despite his age but did have a slight roughness to it, like his throat was dry. “Sheehan. I understand you’re here to pay your debt?”

Rory nodded. “Sorry to take your time, sir. Mycroft was supposed to be by last night to get what I owed but he never showed. So I’m bringing it to you.”

Rory reached into his pocket, took out a twenty note, a ten note, and a five-note and, careful not to touch the polished wood, placed them on the small table to the right of the door.

Chief looked at the small stack and Rory saw his glasses flash something across them.

He looked back at Rory with a raised eyebrow. “I believe you only owe twenty-five.”

Rory nodded. “Yes, sir. But it took us a long time to pay you back even a shilling and we offer the extra hoping you won’t be too upset for inconveniencing you.”

Chief folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward. Then his fingers started tapping and he watched for a moment. The sound was a stressing Rory out a little, which he quickly figured was probably the point.

Finally offering a genial smile, Chief spoke in a relaxed tone. “I appreciate that.”

Rory let out a breath he hadn’t realize he was holding. That meant they were good.

Looking at the money again, Chief’s smile fell. “And you haven’t seen Mycroft lately?” he asked.

“I saw him a few days ago when he… reminded me of our debt and we agreed to have him come by last night to get it. After that, I haven’t seen him,” Rory told him.

Leaning back in his seat, Chief looked at Rory. “Well, I’ll let him know you paid up and we’re in the clear.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll not take up more of your time,” Rory responded in his most respectful tone. Then he left and immediately headed into the city to next steps of his plan.