Concrete Skies

Author's Note: Hey, for school I had to write a 1000-2000 word short story or the first chapter to a novel. I chose to write the first chapter of a novel and decided to share it on here. It's a rough draft, but I don't think its terrible. The "novel" is called Concrete Skies, and its a Sci-fi action story about a teleporter technician. I hope you enjoy.

P.S. Most of the formatting from the original doc is taken away when put onto my site, so if some stuff seems out of place, I'm sorry.

Concrete Skies

By Phillip Garrett

(Approx 2000 words)

Chapter One

“Mr. Cummings,” said the gentle voice of a disgruntled secretary, “the technician is on his way to the warehouse as we speak.”

A heavy-set man in his mid-40s swiveled around in his grandiose leather exec chair; he slowly looked her up and down, ankle to eyes, and said, “Thank you, Madeline, darling. Now, if you wouldn’t mind coming over here for a minute, it’s time to repopulate the earth.”

Not much can be seen in the alleyways of Dallas except for the heavy rain that pelted the sidewalks. Skyscrapers stood over thousands as the rich sat in their high-up chairs, looking down on the roaming below like ants. A solemn, average-looking young man stood at the center of it all. Rain washed his face as he wondered what it was like to look down into the alleys instead of up. He’s been in a few towers in his time, but working indoors was something the majority of people wouldn’t experience. But the young man didn’t care and ultimately preferred it down here. Less people saw him, like really saw him. He was just another face in the crowd. 

“Hey, Grant,” a hand slaps the shoulder of the young man. “I herd ya got a big warehouse job today, a Teleware warehouse, no less.”

Grant turned around, slightly startled, and said, “Oh, hey, John, you heard about that, did ya?”

“Yeah, man, that’s a big deal! Teleware only invites the best techs to fix up their mistakes. You’ll probably be a millionaire up in wunna dem towers by next month.”

Grant quickly gazed up into the rain falling between the towers around him; drops landed in his eyes, but he didn’t flinch. The towers threatened him from up there; he didn’t like it. “I don't know, man; I don't think I’d wanna be up there even if I could be. I hear all the execs are assholes.”

“Well, you’ll find out later, won’t you?” John pat Grant on the shoulder a few more times before he said, “Welp Grant, I’ve gotta go fix sum ol’ bats Telechip. Lemme know how things go back at HQ.” John tucked his rough hands into his overcoat pockets and disappeared into the wet crowd before Grant could tell him he wouldn’t see him later since he would be having dinner with his mom tonight, but it didn’t seem worth the hassle.

Johns always like that, Grant thought, always so positive. Grant didn’t know why, but it pissed him off. He pulled out his GPS and looked for the address he was supposed to be going to for his job that afternoon. “Damn,” Grant whispered. The address was a 40-minute walk through Dallas; he could use a Telewareport, but he never really trusted those things, no matter how much he knew about them. 

Grant pressed on into the crowd, forced to rub shoulders with every type of person you could think of. People popped out of the street corner Telewareports as lines formed outside them to get where they needed to go. There was usually a fight behind some dumpsters or in front of one of the many noodle shops that served the hungry folks on their lunch breaks. Blinking signs drew people to different types of capitalism or smut. Grant liked to watch people come out of these shops so that he knew who to avoid. 

A few left and a few rights deeper into the Dallas alleys, Grant got to watch as the Tele-cops beat a young black man outside a convenience store. Nothing seemed to change much around here. In fact, Grant was sure he’d seen that kid get beaten more than once. He always wished he could help, but realistically, he could do nothing. He basically worked for Teleware, any run-in with their pigs would mean certain blacklisting from every Tech advertising site known to man. Teleware has monopolized almost every industry and has the firepower within the government to back it up. Stab them in the back, and you will be just another starving kid on the street getting beaten by a bunch of segregating cops, too. 

A few more streets down, the crowds started to die down as Grant got closer to what used to be known as South Dallas. Most avoided these areas; there wasn’t much reason to come here, especially if you could teleport to the other side. The industry was mostly dead in South Dallas, too, but there was a large gang presence, of course. Grant didn’t shy away from the crime-ridden areas of Dallas, though, he didn’t like conflict, but in his time, he learned that the best way to avoid conflict was to act like you weren’t scared of the gangbangers. And having been in the Telewareport tech biz for a few years now, and having walked to most of the jobs he did, many knew of him. Not to mention, being a tech gave you a little bit of immunity in this city. Almost no one could get around as easily as they’d like without the teleports, so if you off one of the techs, that's less people keeping you moving around. This was especially good for the criminally innate folks of the city, easier getaways. 

Grant turned the final corner to his destination. A smallish clearing was made within the wall of towers, and alone sat a single warehouse. This was the most of the sky Grant had seen in a long while, not that there was much to see beyond the incessant rain. There were a few groups of young thugs crowded around dying barrel fires. A few took notice of Grant walking down the alley. Grant popped the leather collar of his trenchcoat and kept his head down as he strolled. 

“Hey, white boi, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” a youthful black kid cried out. The group around him slapped his chest and told him to shut up. But the kid doubled down, “People don’t come out of there, man.”

Grant looked back at the kid; his face seemed urgent, and he didn’t seem to be trying to scare him off. Grant shouted back down the alley, “I think I got it. Thanks, though.”

“Hey, I tried to tell ya, but it’s your neck, not mine,” the kid replied while raising his hands, absolving himself of guilt. He turned back and warmed himself by the fire once more. 

Grant entered the large warehouse. The thin roof sang as it was pelted with rain. The warehouse was largely empty except for a single teleporter in the very center of the room—it was like nothing Grant had ever seen. Next to the teleporter sat a man in a poorly stabilized folding chair. The man rose to greet the visitor. “Ah, hello. You must be Grant Rao, right? Prodigy Teletech, I hear.”

“Yessir, but I’m not sure about prodigy. Are you the one who commissioned the repair?” 

“No, that was my boss, but I was told to stay here to make sure everything went smoothly and you had everything you needed.”

Grant looked at the Teleport. Usually, he could tell something was wrong just by looking at it, but the thing seemed fine. “Cool. Do you mind if I ask what’s wrong with the Teleport?”

The man stepped a little closer to Grant and said, “Well, son, I would suppose it's not teleporting.” The man gestured toward Grant to look at the device.

Grant pulled an Omnidriver from out of his coat pocket and circled around the back of the teleporter. “I’m just gonna check the main panel first,” Grant said. He could immediately tell that the panel had been tampered with, there were scrapes near each corner, and the screws weren’t screwed in by Teleware standards. “Is this device factory new, or has there been work done on it before?”

The man replied, “Oh–well, I’m not really sure. It's not my field of expertise at Teleware; that’s more of an inventory question.” The man poked his head around the back of the device. “Hey, do you mind if I take a call real quick, it won’t be long?”

“Not at all.”

A crying girl attempts to hide her sorrow behind her hands. She sits behind a large wooden desk with a scramble of papers, a brand new Telesoft Tech 8090 comp, and a heavily used Tele-receiver. Behind her stands an overly elaborate and expensive door with the name R. Cummings Jr. painted on and the words Teleware President underneath. 

 The Tele-receiver began to ring. The girl quickly wiped her face, cleared her nose, and picked up the call. 

“Hello– Madeline speaking.”

“Hey, this is the merc at the warehouse; I need to talk to Mr. Cummings immediately.”

“I’ll let him know, lemme put you on hold right fast.”

Madeline took a deep breath before entering her boss's office. He sat there with a proud look and a cigar in his mouth. “Ah, come back for more, have ya?”

Madeline let out a small whimper before replying, “Please, god, no–sorry, no, sir. You’ve got a call from the mercenary at the warehouse; he says he needs to talk to you.”

“Goddammit, ok.” Mr. Cummings picked up the call and swiveled to stare out the window. “Hello?”

“Sir, we’ve got a problem. I think the tech is on us. He didn’t check the internal receiver first like most techs do. He went to the main panel and could see something was off.”

Mr. Cummings rubbed his temple. “I paid you to get this job done, and I expect you to do just that, so get him in that teleport and do what you’re supposed to.”

“But, sit–”

Mr. Cummings slammed his receiver.

The man in the warehouse stared blankly at the wall as he lowered his mobile and walked back over to where Grant was still inspecting the device.

“Hey, I just talked to my boss, and he said that it’s been worked on before and that he thinks the problem lies in the internal receiver.”

Grant had pulled off the back panel and was inspecting its wiring. He could tell there was something wrong with its safety systems; it had been jailbroken, and it seemed as if the queue function had been turned off. They’re trying to kill me, he thought. Grant looked at the nervous-looking man, who wore the smile of a liar. “Yeah, okay, I’ll check it out.” 

Grant stood in front of the Teleport for a few seconds.

“You– ah– ok, kid?” the man said.

“Yeah, I’m good, just thinking.”

Grant took a step into the teleporter and immediately began to work. He typed in his house coordinates as fast as he could. Behind him, he could see the man reach for something in his pocket. Before he could pull out the makeshift remote, Grant had already disappeared inside. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” the man pressed one of the buttons on the remote. Immediately, another man appeared within the teleport.

The man who had just arrived looked confused, as if he were expecting a different outcome. “What happened? Why isn’t the tech in the port?”

“He got away. He ‘ported before I could get you here.”

“This is not good.”

Grant felt the familiar feeling that he hated so much as he rushed through the teleport. He closed his eyes tight; this part always made him nauseous. A few split seconds passed before he felt something underneath him, but it wasn’t the usual hard ground he was used to expecting from the inside of a Teleport; instead, it was soft and sticky. He looked down; a puddle of red fluid and chunks sat pooled on the floor; it slowly oozed into his living room.