Teleport Toronto

TELEPORT TORONTO.

By

BERTRAM ELLIS

Copyright BERTRAM ELLIS. 2013

Smashwords edition

Chapter One

Mike Mulberry stared morosely at his work assignment. What the hell did I do to deserve this? he growled.

’EXPEDITER MULBERRT. BULK DISPOSAL SITE 4. MON 14th –FRI 18th. REPORT TO SUPERVISOR STANLEY CENCOM. END’.

"Oh Lord. Not only do I hate, handling garbage, but Francis Victor Stanley is a pain in the ass. Mike had never worked under Stanley, but he’d heard stories that he usually blamed the expediters if there was a problem.

Cargo had become a large part of WTS, World Teleportation Systems business. It was heavy work handling specially constructed containers. Although small compared with containers used on cargo ships, they were bulky and difficult to handle. And now the brains in the business office had come up with a new line of profitable business, Garbage disposal. The city of Toronto generates tons of garbage every day. Nearby landfill sites had been filled years ago. The cost of trucking garbage to distant sites that were rapidly filling to capacity was a major problem. In spite of rigorous programs to recycle anything that could be reused the volume of garbage kept growing. When WTS offered to dispose of it at low cost politicians and media accepted it with delight. The WTS plan was to compact the garbage into combustible cubes, then teleported them to the edge of space. As the cubes fell back to earth friction generated temperatures incinerated the garbage and reduced it to dust. The scheme worked perfectly.

Mike reported for duty on Monday morning. He was given coveralls, a hard hat and gloves. A labourer escorted him through the huge terminal to his work station. It was noisy and dusty. Trucks rolled in continuously, dumping trash into the loading area where it was compressed and wrapped into cubes. The cubes were fed onto a conveyor that led to the teleport loading ports.

Mike was assigned ports 50 through 60. He walked in and tapped the shoulder of the expediter he was relieving. Hi, how’s it going?

The man was red-eyed with fatigue after his nights work.Thank God you’re here. I’m bushed. Watch number 56. The others are okay, but 56 keeps hanging up. I hate this damn job even though it pays more.

Yeah. me too. I got it.

Mikes ID flashed on the screen. He was now on duty. He watched the flow of cubes into the ports. Confirmed the destination code was locked and the cargo dispatched. It was a dirty, boring, repetitive, automated job and he hated it. A load rolled into one of his ports and was despatched every thirty seconds. Tons of garbage disposed of during each shift. The rumble of conveyors, the hiss of port doors opening and closing. The bang of magnetic locks slamming home, a cacophony of harsh noise. He yearned for the calm and peace of the public teleports.

The morning passed slowly. It was hard to think clearly. Port 56 kept hanging up. He had to reprogram it several times during the morning. Each time it jammed the conveyors would push another cube into the loading area. The line would stop and Supervisor Stanley would appear screaming at Mulberry to get the stuff moving again.

. By the end of the week, Mike was determined that if they put him on this shift again, he’d call in sick. When he saw his assignment for the following week he was relieved to see he was back to his regular job.

Monday morning he was back in his familiar sector with a smile on his face. The smile didn’t last long. When he logged on the screen blinked with a message from Central Communications.

‘EXP MULBERRY REPORT TO OFFICE. EXP BROWN RELIEVE MULBERRY , CENCOM.’

What the heck now? he muttered.

The WTS office windows, on top of the office tower built over the old Union station, gave a clear view of Lake Ontario in the morning sun.

Good morning, he greeted the receptionist. She ignored him, a bad sign.

Manager Hubbard, a tall thin man with a habitual scowl, glared at him as he entered the office. I might have known you were at the root of the problem, Mulberry, he growled.

Morning, sir, Mike felt his guts tighten. What the hell were they blaming him for now?

You were on garbage detail last week?

Yes, Mr. Hubbard.

Ports 50 through 60?

"Yes." He’s going to send me back, he thought. I dont want to work there again, sir.

I dont trust you enough to send you back there, Mulberry. A simple job like that, and you screwed it up, he shook his head in disgust.

How do you mean, sir? There weren’t any problems when I logged off.

I’ve spoken with your supervisor. Stanley told me he had to order you, repeatedly, repeatedly, he said to check your destination codes. And what did you do? his face flushed and he half stood behind his desk. You fell asleep on the job and landed us in a heap of trouble.

Sir, I never fell asleep on the job. It would be impossible in all that din .There was a problem with port 56. I kept my eye on it . . .

You may have, but you messed up the destination code. As a result your port, I repeat your port, dumped tons of garbage on a small town in Virginia. They are going to sue us. I can’t blame them. Apart from the legal costs, this could close a very profitable line of business.

I checked the destination codes. I had been told to keep an eye on the ports I serviced, Mike said.

You knew there was a problem with number 56?

Well yes. I had to keep re-entering the code.

And did you report it? God, Mulberry. Why do I put up with you?

I did report it to Mr Stanley and so did the expediters before me.

You are responsible for the problem, you can go fix it.

Me. How?

Get the trash cleaned up and trucked back here. And make those people of Fairview, Virginia, happy so they don’t sue us.

Me, sir?

Yes. you sir. You have a week to make it right or you’re fired. He pointed at the door.

Mike left the office, his head in a whirl of confusion. He stepped into a port. Fairview Virginia, USA, he said. The light blinked and the door opened. He stepped out into a small terminal, twenty ports. The expediter greeted him.Hi, you the guy from Canada come to get rid of the crap?

Yeah that’s me.

Everyones mad as hell at your division. My name’s Hank. Anything I can do to help give me a shout.

Thanks Hank. I’m Mike Mulberry. Where do I go now?

The council is waiting for you in the school. Just walk up the street you can’t miss it.

Thanks.

A short distance up the street, Mike entered the grounds of a red-brick school. He heard the sounds of raised voices and followed the sound. The gymnasium was being used for a town meeting. A couple of dozen people turned and looked at him when he opened the doors. A thin faced woman greeted him. Youre the man from Canada. We’ve been waiting for you. I’m Doctor Olive Stanton. I have to tell you the health hazard WTS Canada has created has us all worried.

Angry voices echoed her sentiment.

I’m sorry about that. I’ve been sent to get the garbage cleaned up and trucked away.

Mike was introduced to the mayor and members of the council.

I don’t know how your company did it, dumping your crap on us. It’s a disgrace. The mayor was a heavily built man with a bald head. The jowls on his cheeks quivered with indignation.

Now then Mr. Mayor, we will sort it out. If we sue WTS we can pay off the town’s debt. So look on the positive side. An attractive woman in a riding jeans and a leather jacket said.

His honour, looked disgruntled but, managed a smile as he said, Well young man, what are you planning to do?

I need to see where the garbage landed, sir. I’ve been ordered to get it cleaned up and trucked back to Toronto.

The council members looked at one another. Then come along. The mayor said.

Mike was led out to the parking lot and into a pickup truck. Council members and other people climbed into cars and pickup trucks. The mayor stepped into his car and led the procession out of town and into the pleasant Virginia countryside.

Mike could smell the garbage before it came into view. Several fields of pasture and a wood lot were littered with piles of it. The cubes had broken open on impact and scattered the stinking mess. The townsfolk stepped out of the vehicles and voiced loud expressions of disgust as they looked around.

Mike heart sank. It would be a major job just to gather it up.

Lookit the damned mess you people made of my land, a farmer growled.

We can’t put the livestock out to pasture and we sure as hell can’t plant anything in these fields, another man said.

"Pity it didn’t land in the old soapstone quarry. Thats been an eyesore since it closed years ago, Dr Olive said.

What are you going to do, Mr. Mulberry? the mayor asked.

I’ll get it cleaned up as quickly as possible. I’ll rent tools and hire workers, Mike said.

Well see to it.

Mike called the office on his cell phone and told them what he needed. He was informed that Hubbard was charging about the office like an angry bull, saying Mulberry should pay for the clean-up.

The next day Mike led workers onto the fields. He had purchased, work boots, coveralls, face masks, hard hats and gloves as well as rakes, shovels and plastic bags. Some of the workers were pleased to have a job, even short term that paid so well. He was paying the township union workers wages. The workers set to and started to rake up the garbage and pack it into plastic bags.

Three days later the fields were clean and the wood lot was almost clear. The bags of garbage were piled alongside the road

Mike reported to the mayor, Well, sir, the fields are clean. Now l want to hire a trucking company to ship the garbage back to Toronto. Can you recommend a company to me?

Our local company only has one small trucks. You can use my phone and here are our local yellow pages.

Thank you, sir.

Mike called the Ace Trucking company and asked for a quote to ship four large truckloads to Toronto.

Yes sir. What’s the cargo? the clerk asked.

Bagged garbage.

Garbage! You got permits, sir?

What permits?

You can’t transport dangerous cargo across State lines without a permit. sir.

It’s not dangerous. It’s garbage, Mike said.

It’s classified as a health hazard, sir.

Oh hell I didn’t know that. Can you get the permits for us?

If you’re prepared to pay for them, sure. First question is; where is the cargo now and whats the destination? Then before we can load it, you will need a State health officer to sign an affidavit that it is not hazardous. I have the form here, sir.

It came from Toronto and that’s its destination.

Which state is it in?

It’s not in America, it’s in Canada.

There was silence then some whispered conversation on the other end of the line.

"Seinham here. What’s this you’re telling us. You have trash to transport to Canada and you say it came from Canada. How the hell did it get here? Is this some kind of joke?

No I assure you. It came here by accident. I have to ship it back.

"Then ship it back the same way, mister. The line went dead.

Mike tried several trucking companies without success. What had seemed a simple task now seemed impossible.

The next morning he walked back to the site. The tall piles of garbage bags were neatly stacked alongside the road for several hundred feet. How the heck do I get rid of this lot? he muttered aloud.

Why don’t you dump them in the old soapstone quarry. Do us all a favour, someone called.

Mike jumped. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts he hadn’t heard anyone approach. It was Hank.

That’s a good idea, but how would I go about it? How do I get permission?

Buy the quarry and you can dump your garbage in it. My family own it and will be glad to be rid of it.

Buy the quarry? I doubt WTS will go for that. It’ll probably cost a bundle.

Not at all. Theres no market for soapstone since the Chinese flooded the market. Yet the owners still have to pay maintenance, insurance and taxes, so it’s a constant drain on them. You can buy it for a dollar and back taxes.

How much tax is owing?

I would guess it’s less than you’ll have to pay for trucks.

I don’t know what they cost. I couldn’t even get a quote. The garbage is classified as hazardous material.

Hank smiled. Youre screwed. I should have done a selling job on you. Back taxes are just over ten thousand dollars.

It would probably cost more than that for trucking and permits if I could hire them.

I know.

What would be involved in WTS buying the quarry?

I can arrange the title transfer for you, Mike.

You can, how come?

My dad is the owner. He’ll be really delighted if I get rid of it for him.

Mike wondered if he was being scammed. Oh hell, he thought, let Hubbard make the decision. He’ll probably get ballistic when I ask him if I can buy a soapstone quarry?

He phoned the office. Hubbard was out. He left a message and asked for authority to commit an additional twenty thousand dollars to the expenses.

An hour later his phone rang. It was Hubbard, angry as usual. What the hell do you think you’re playing at Mulberry? Buying real estate, get that garbage trucked up here and that will be the end of it. We will pay the truckers when the bill comes in.

I can’t get anyone to move it.

What are you talking about? The trucking companies are gasping for business.

They say it’s hazardous material.

For god’s sake. Tell ‘em its garbage and get with it.

"We also must have a permit from the department of health in each state that the trucks drive through to certify that the garbage is