Local Time: 10:41 PM | Earth Year 3252 | Planet: Queen’s Gate | City: Whibley Slums | Market Square

Each of Brompton’s six slums had its own outdoor market which ran all day, every day, even when it was raining. Maintaining the shuffle everyone would recognize and expect, Rory headed to the market stall he knew far too well. Stopping in front of it, he noticed that Margaret was manning the shop tonight.

“Out late, aren’t ya, Rory? Late ain’t good,” she said to him in her familiar rough voice that sounded like she inhaled smoke for a living.

“Hey, Margie,” Rory replied with a weak smile. “Yeah. It was a tough night in the mines.”

“Sorry ta hear that. Sorry indeed. So how many?”

Sighing, Rory told her, “Can only afford one small. It’s my last shilling. Especially after the night I had.”

Margie reached under her table and placed a dark bottle the size of Rory’s fists one on top of another.

He reached for it and tried to pick it up but she didn’t let go and said in a low voice, “Ya didn’t bring back the last bottles, ya know.”

The local moonshine was only affordable to him because he returned the empties. It was part of the deal he had with Margie as a repeat and constant customer of hers. His mum had quickly learned many years ago that she couldn’t break the shine bottles or there wouldn’t be money for more. Her motivations were clear to him at least.

“I know, I know.” Rory had expected the reminder and explained. “Like I said I had a late night and never made it home. I promise I’ll bring em tomorrow. I’ve haven’t stiffed you since the first time, have I?”

“No. No, ya haven’t. And ya made up fer that one.” Rory mentally sighed that she was willing to let it go this time. Margie could be… volatile. “See ya tomorrow then,” she said she let go of the bottle.

Rory only went to the market when it was late on the occasions he had something to sell because it was its least busy time. The fewer people that saw someone with something worth anything, the better. In this evening’s case, he tried to hide that he was wearing a bag under his school jacket. It was holding what he was hoping would get him out of debt.

So he started to walk home with his bottle when he quickly took a deep breath and darted into an alley. He moved along it, making sure to dodge the various detritus on the ground which included just about any and every disgusting thing one could think of, including an occasional body of someone either starved to death or had been killed and dumped. Needless to say, the smell was not pleasant so Rory held his breath until he reached a red door, the area around which was kept clean of the worst smelling debris. Letting out his breath for first time since entering the alley, he knocked on the door in a four then three then four pattern.

Behind that door was the shop he sold most of the stuff he found in the mines to. The guy who ran it was named Mick and he had connections nobody understood or dared ask about. He was able to sell just about everything worth anything, and he could acquire the same when asked. Of course, the markup for purchasing from Mick was outrageous and few in the slums had enough to make it worthwhile for anything except the most dangerous or illegal goods. Rory personally had never been able to purchase anything from him, but he had sold quite a bit over the six years he had been scavenging.

Rory looked left and right constantly, cautious of anybody who might – correctly for once – think he had something to sell. He never went in the front door. That was a good way to get beaten and robbed. He’d learned that at eleven years old when they’d first moved there. Henry, had helped a Rory a lot in the early years, teaching him both how to find things as well as how to hide what little he found. It was actually Henry who spoke on Rory’s behalf to Mick, granting him the same allowance to use this very side door.

After a minute or two, it opened a few inches and Rory looked up at Marvin, one of Mick’s muscle guys. Marvin was huge, just like all of Mick’s guards. He was at least six and a half feet tall, nearly three feet wide at the shoulder, and muscled like a boulder. He also showed about as much emotion as one whenever Rory had seen him.

Finding the knocker was Rory, Marvin moved aside and let him in. He closed the door and silently guided Rory, who still maintained his stooped posture, to Mick’s salesroom. It was a room entirely made of gray flexcrete. In it were two chairs and a table upon which sat a few tablets and other small gadgets that Rory didn’t know how to use or care to learn.

Rory pulled off Henry’s… his backpack and sat opposite Mick. The fence was a slim man with slicked back hair that was black as the clouds above Queen’s Gate. His eyes were dark brown and always serious, and focused, and he had never had facial hair that Rory had seen.

Getting settled, Rory put the bag in his lap and pulled his hood down showing his freckles and red hair.

“Hey, Mick,” Rory said as an introduction.

“Rory.” Mick was looking between the bag and Rory’s face.

Rory got the hint. Okay. Not in a talkative mood today.

Thus, he dug right in. “Mick. I got something new today. I had a good find. But I don’t know what it’s worth. I’m kinda at your mercy here.”

Rory was always one hundred percent honest with Mick because the minute he caught you in a lie, you were done with any special treatment (like using the side door) and became one of the normal suckers. The other benefit was that he was always honest in return. At least that was the agreement. Who knew the truth?

Mick nodded, showing both his understanding and appreciation of Rory’s bluntness.

Rory reached into the bag, pulled out an empty myst cell from the vault, and placed it on the table. “I know it’s empty but it’s still worth something, right?”

Mick’s face changed to surprise, and then suspicion, and then anger. “You’re not bringing me hot goods, are you?” he growled.

Rory raised his hands in surrender and shook his head emphatically. “No way, Mick. I swear I found them in the mines. I’d not risk nicking something. You know I can’t afford to get fined.”

People from the slums who got arrested and fined but couldn’t pay it ended up a ward of the Empire and were “rented” to a rich person or a big corp until the debt was paid off. Of course, nobody would risk having whatever happened while indentured reported to the authorities, so it was basically a death sentence. At least that’s what all the folks around the slums said. For Rory, even if he could get out of the fine with a small stay in the local glasshouse, he’d be away from his mum for too long and she’d totally lose it without someone to provide her swill.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Leaning back in his chair, Mick put his hands on the table and stared at Rory who did his best to look back and appear honest. After all, he wasn’t actually lying about anything. That didn’t mean that Rory wasn’t nervous though. He had nobody else to go to sell something like empty myst cells – at least, without who-knew-what consequences. Sure, he could try another slum or even the city, but he didn’t know the other fences and selling in the city was just asking to be arrested as a thief.

After a full two minutes of silent staring, Mick nodded and said, “I believe you.”

Rory exhaled in relief as Mick picked up one of his testing thingamajig machines and touched it to one of the ends of the myst cell. It beeped and Mick looked at it. His eyebrows rose in obvious surprise, but he didn’t stop his assessment. He put that device down and picked up another, running it up and down the cylinder and he looked at that too. With whatever scanning he needed to do done, Mick picked up a tablet he used to research pricing and reach out to his mysterious contacts.

Rory looked at the tablet with envy. He’d love access to GalNet. Especially now.

Here in the slums, any tablet you saw was an old model. Tablets were basically M-steel frames that grew and shrunk as required. Inside was a projected view of whatever was being requested and – using force barriers – would act as opposing pressure for the fingers to push against so one could interact with whatever the interface looked like.

The quality of the projection, amount of size change, age, etcetera were what dictated the cost of the device. In the more posh areas near his school, he had seen people with tablets that could show vids and shrink to the size of a fingernail, although Rory had no idea why someone would do that. It seemed to him like a good way to lose something that cost an awful lot.

Tapping his older model and reading it for another few minutes, Mick put it back down and said, “How many did you find?”

“Can you tell me what it’s worth first?” Rory didn’t want to be taken for a ride, but he also didn’t want to give away too much.

“Well, first of all, this cell isn’t empty. It has a trickle. No more than three or four myst. But it’s enough that it can be refilled and reused, which increases its resale value. I can give you thirty pounds for any that have at least three myst and five pounds for any that have less. Those are mostly good for scrap, which is still not bad cause they’re in good shape and made of quality materials.”

It was obvious to Rory that he was getting ripped off, but he reached into the bag and placed seven more on Mick’s desk anyway. There was just nowhere else to go to sell it with even a modicum of confidence.

Mick looked at him over the pile.

“I had a good find,” Rory said placidly.

Mick just kept looking. The room was silent again until he asked, “How many?”

Rory debated what to tell him. He could lie, but that was a terrible idea with Mick. He could decline to say, but what good would that do? He needed to sell them and he needed the quid. Now.

“Seventy-two more,” Rory told him with a sigh. He had counted forty on each wall.

“You’re not putting me on, right?” Mick asked with wide eyes.

Rory shook his head. “It was an old science facility.”

“I see you’re using Henry’s bag. Is he in on this as well?” Mick asked.

Rory looked down and thought about how to answer. He couldn‘t tell the whole truth, it would sound like lunacy. Rory almost laughed at himself thinking of it.

Why Mick, Henry turned into glowing golden god-human who was chased off by a giant black death snake who happened die so his snake sister could live as an ice creature who is now asleep inside my soul.

Yeah… no.

Clearing his throat, Rory said, “Henry and I worked together on it, but he… found what he went there for and left. He wasn’t after the cells, but something else. Either way, he took it and is long gone to who knows where.”

“Gone? Old Henry?” Mick asked with raised eyebrows.

“He offered to take me with him, but I declined,” Rory said with a nod. “Can’t leave my mum. You know.”

Mick did indeed know all about Rory’s mum. He nodded slowly as his fingers started tapping the tablet. After another few minutes of silence, he stood up, said, “I’ll be right back,” and left the room. Rory followed him with his head and saw Marvin outside the door. Marvin looked in and then closed the door.

A few minutes passed and Mick reentered the office carrying a small palm-sized gray box in his right hand which he placed in front of him on the table. Then he looked seriously at Rory and held his hands crossed in front of him. “That wrist commo you’re wearing. You know it’s very old, right? Probably at least a hundred fifty earth years?”

Rory nodded. “It was the best we could afford at the time. It basically took half of everything we had left to buy it. I thought I was lucky to get it.”

“What do you know of modern commos?” Mick asked while tapping the box before him.

“Nothing,” Rory said as he shrugged. “Aren’t they all the same except more modern looking with better projection quality or whatever?” How would Rory know anything about stuff like that?

“No,” Mick answered with an indulgent smile. “I mean, sure they’re all those things and more. But the big difference is that they offer something you’ve probably never heard of. A good-quality commo would have something called a Soul Vault. They were insanely expensive back when they first were available and only the richest of the rich could have one. Now, depending on size, they’re more middle to high class, and not just for the elite class. Most of the real people outside of the slums and in cities can afford at least a small one to keep their knickknacks.”

Rory tried to think back but couldn’t remember ever hearing the term “Soul Vault,” even back on Earth. Tilting his head, he asked, “What’s a Soul Vault?” In his mind, Rory imagined that room behind steel door filled with myst and couldn’t figure out why anyone would have or want such a thing.

Interrupting Rory’s imagination, Mick explained. “Don’t ask me how it’s done, but a Soul Vault, or just ‘vault,’ is a room filled with shelves where you store things, except it’s inside the commo. Each vault is different in both the number and size of the shelves.”

That didn’t make any sense to Rory. A shelf?

Mick must have seen the confusion on his face because he tried again to explain. “Imagine if you wanted to move this desk.” He tapped the steel table between them. “You could put it into that thing on your wrist if it had a vault, move to another room, and take it out of your commo.”

Rory felt his jaw drop. “Seriously? That’s a real thing? No bloody way!”

“Yes way,” Mick confirmed. “They are very real. The downside is nothing can live in the vault. Anything in there dies.”

Why in the bloody hell does that matter? If I had one, I wouldn’t be hiding people in it, but stuff actually worth something.

“If you really have access to seventy more cells like these,” Mick said as he pointed at the group on his desk, “I’m going to propose a bargain. Interested?” Rory was curious, and of course skeptical, but he nodded. Mick then opened the small box in front of him, withdrew a shiny silver-colored ring, and showed it to Rory. “You take this commo and use its vault to transport all the cells in a single trip. The shelves are three-by-three-by-three feet and it has twenty-five of them. That should be more than enough. When you bring them back, I’ll give you ten percent of their value in quid, but you get to keep the commo.”

Rory exhaled as he leaned back in his seat and thought the offer over. He had absolutely no idea how much that ring would cost, but he knew he’d not be able to afford one for a long time, if ever. That said, he was positive that a Soul Vault would be super valuable to him. At the same time, he was confident that the myst cells in the vault would be worth at least fifteen hundred pounds and as much as twenty-five hundred depending on how many had at least three myst in them. That amount could get him and his mum a better place and food every day without having to scrounge or starve.

With that, just selling the cells and then returning the ring was incredibly tempting. But he knew it was also short-sighted. So what if he got a better place and food? Then what? It wouldn’t last forever and after the money was gone, he’d be back to where he had started. Beyond that, he still didn’t know how to make money as a Soul Warrior, which he knew was his real ticket to getting out of the slums and being fully self-reliant. That would be a much better long-term solution because, if he was right, it could support him and his mum for life, or at least a really really long time.

That said, Rory had to solve the most immediately problem facing him: paying off Mycroft. So if he took to the deal, he’d get ten percent of the fifteen to twenty-five hundred pounds, leaving him with between one hundred fifty and two hundred fifty. That was more than enough for the short-term. Beyond that, he figured he could try to get a little extra since he was making Mick so much all at once. So yeah, he’d take the deal, but with a little haggling he didn’t think the fence would have too much of a problem with.