Stay hydrated

    by Ian Reeve

Tom was woken by the sound of rousing, patriotic music coming from the wall speakers. "Time to get up!" said a woman's cheery voice. "It's a brand new day and the weather's lovely. What are you doing in bed when the sun's shining and the birds are singing? Get out of bed and enjoy this brand new, lovely day."

Tom groaned miserably. How could it be morning already? He rolled over and pulled the thin blankets over his head, but beside him his roommate was stirring. "You awake?" she asked, nudging him with her elbow. "Tom? Is that your name? Tom?"

The voice grated on him, setting his teeth on edge like fingernails on a blackboard. He rolled over to look at her and saw a thirty year old woman that only the most charitable of souls could have called pretty. He struggled to remember her name. "Harriet?"

"That's my name, yes," she grunted as she climbed out of bed and pulled on a dressing gown. "The woman assigned to be your roommate for... God, how long has it been?"

Tom couldn't remember either. It had been years, surely, but how many? "What's wrong with me today?" he muttered. "I can barely remember anything."

"Sounds like a blessing to me," said Harriet as she made her way to the small bathroom. "Why would I want to remember living with you?" She closed the door, and a moment later the sound of the brushing of teeth came through the thin walls. From the speakers, the much more melodic voice of Stacey White, the Regime announcer, was still urging him to get up, with echoes coming in through the open window from other apartments on the same level of the huge dwelling block. "Loyal, patriotic workers are never late for their duty shift," she told him as the stirring music continued. "Do your part to keep this the greatest country in the world. Get up, and don't forget to start the day with a lovely glass of water. A hydrated worker is a happy worker."

Tom's mouth tasted like a cat's litter tray, but reaching for the glass that stood on his bedside table seemed like just too much effort. With a sigh, he pushed the bedsheets back and swung his legs across to the floor. Then he pulled on a dressing gown, went to the window and pulled back the fading curtains. The sun wasn't visible yet, he saw, still being hidden behind the grey, concrete blocks of the dwelling complex, but the yellow haze that filled the air allowed its rays to be seen slanting upwards from behind the ugly pipes and tanks of Crystalmere Industrial Complex; the place where both he and Harriet had worked for as long as he could remember.

How long had it been since he had last seen the sun? he wondered. Even in summer, he was in the factory before it was high enough to be seen, and by the time his shift ended it had sunk below the rooftops of his own block, where only those who'd been assigned rooms on the other side of the building could see it. He looked across at Block Three, which was being lit by rays of the sun that managed to squeeze between the huge natural gas storage tank, currently raised to almost its maximum height of the twenty metres, and the cooling towers of the power plant. There was a man on the twelth floor, he saw, also at the window, squinting his eyes against the sun. Lucky bastard, thought Tom. From that height he could probably see the farmlands to the south. What must it be like to be able to see green, living things from his window?

He sighed again and followed his roommate into the bathroom. Harriet had finished brushing and was holding her toothbrush under a running tap while she rinsed her mouth out, spitting it out into the washbasin. "Nearly finished," she said in her nasally voice. She turned to look at him. "God, you're ugly." She filled a glass with water, took a drink from it and rinsed it around her teeth before swallowing it.

"Good morning to you too, dear," said Tom as she left the room. Above, the ceiling creaked as the people in the apartment above also rose to start the day. He imagined the people below could hear him in the same way. The whole apartment block would be alive with people all starting the day at the same time, all having been urged out of their beds by the cheerful voice of Stacey White.

Harriet was still wearing her dressing gown as she ate her breakfast in the joint living room and kitchen, and she beamed at him as he joined her there. "Lovely day today," she said cheerfully, a spoonful of cereal halfway to her too-wide mouth. The mouth that made her look like a toad.

Tom nodded. She was always grumpy first thing in the morning, he seemed to remember, but cheered right up after her first glass of water. He wondered idly whether they put something in it. For some reason the thought brought back a memory that stood out vividly from his other memories because of its clarity. It was a memory of one of the other factory workers who'd been notorious for his disturbingly unpatriotic views. One day the police had come to take him away, none too gently. A parasite had taken root in his brain, the foreman had told them, and he'd needed emergency surgery to remove it. When he'd returned, he'd had a scar above his right eye and seemed much happier and contented.

Tom poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down opposite Harriet to eat it. From the wall speakers, Stacey White was now telling them about the President's visit to Fort Benfleet, to thank the heroic men assigned to fight the enemies of the regime on the other side of the border. Her voice was just a little bit too loud, he thought. "Back in the old days," he said, "you could have turned down the volume, or even turned the radio off altogether."

"Why would you want to do that?" asked Harriet, looking puzzled. "You'd miss the news."

"The news is always the same," Tom told her. "Everything's wonderful here. Everything's awful everywhere else in the world. Our armies are the best in the world, always winning. How many times do we have to hear it?"

"Well you're grouchy this morning," she said, smiling brightly. "Are you sure you're hydrated properly?" Tom ignored the comment as he started eating.

"I had a visit from the fertility bureau yesterday," said Harriet as she took her bowl to the sink to rinse it out. "They wanted to know why we don't have children yet."

"We're trying," Tom told her. "I service that fat, ugly carcass of yours every day. What more do they want us to do?"

"They say they might assign me another roommate," she added. "They said I might be more fertile with someone else."

"How would you feel about that?"

"The Regime knows best," she said, smiling brightly. "I'd miss you, of course, but the Regime always needs more people for the factories, and it's one of our duties to provide them." Suddenly she frowned. "Haven't I had children already? I seem to remember..." Then her face cleared, though. "Silly me. Always being carried away by flights of fancy."

Her words had triggered another memory, though, and Tom struggled to find it. There'd been a little boy... What had his name been? He remembered supreme happiness, playing with a small child. What has happened to the boy? Had there been a boy? The memory slipped away before he could get a proper grip on it.

He finished his breakfast, then took his bowl over to the sink to rinse it out in the luke-warm, slightly cloudy water that flowed from the rusty tap. He was careful to keep any water from splashing on the damp patch on the wall . He'd been hoping it would dry out as the summer progressed, but the patch of black mold was still spreading. He'd have another word with the housing officer, he told himself. Maybe he'd do something this time.

"Nearly time for your duty shift to start," said Stacey White in the same eternally cheerful voice. "Don't be late. Tardiness is unpatriotic, and we all want to do our bit to keep our country the greatest in the world."

The cereal had made him thirsty, so while he was at the sink he poured himself a glass of water. As always, the water was gritty and tasted of chalk, but the moment he swallowed it his head cleared and his mood improved. He took another swallow, for no other reason than to relish the feel of the clear, sweet water going down his throat, and then he turned to look again at his beautiful wife.

"Every time I see you, you look more lovely," he said, going over and putting his arms around her waist. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Whatever it was, just keep doing it," she told him, beaming with delight. "I can't believe how lucky we are. We have so much to be grateful for."

"Yes, we do," said Tom, looking around the beautiful apartment. "We are so lucky. Lucky to have the Regime that provides everything we need. Lucky to live in the greatest country in the world."

"And it's up to us to keep it that way," said Harriet as she followed him back into the bedroom to get dressed. "I can't wait to see the other girls in the factory again, so I can tell them that I have the greatest roommate in the world."

"You're wrong about that," said Tom with a mischievous grin.

"Am I?" said Harriet, her brow farrowing with puzzlement.

"Yes. I have the greatest roommate in the world."

"Oh Tom!" She flowed into his arms and gave him a long, warm kiss. "Can't wait 'till our shifts over," she whispered in his ear, "so we can try for a baby again."

"The fourteen hours will fly by," Tom promised her, holding her tight.

Time was pressing, though, and it wouldn't do to be late. The Regime needed them. They finished dressing, therefore, and hurried out of the apartment, holding hands as they trotted down the dimly lit stairs. Beams of sunlight came slanting in through the small, grimy windows on each floor as they went, and when they emerged onto the concrete path that led to the factory the cloudless, yellow sky was bright with the full light of day.

Hundreds of other workers, all beaming happily and all dressed in the same brown coveralls, were also emerging, from their own building and the others, all on their way to start the new shift, and they merged into a steady stream of humanity that crossed the wide, empty courtyard to the factory. As they went, Stacey White's voice followed them from the speakers mounted on tall poles along the path, reminding them of their patriotic duties and to keep drinking plenty of water throughout the day. "Because remember," she said in her eternally cheerful voice, "a hydrated worker is a happy worker."

So true, thought Tom as he reached the grey, steel doors of the factory. It was going to be a beautiful day.