Water: Andrew

"Welcome to Water," said a voice, before Andrew even opened his eyes. Reluctantly, and with some effort, he turned his head towards the voice. Sitting next to his bed - or more accurately, the bed he so happened to occupy at the moment - was a square-jawed woman with dark hair and skin. She was wearing a light blue tank top, and her hair was cut to a short frizz around her face.

"Nrgh," he said.

The woman smiled. "I'm Max," she said, "and you are Achindra James. It's an unusual name." He grimaced. "Is it Sachi?"

"It is." He buried his fists into the mattress, trying to pull himself into an upright position by sheer force of will. "It means perfection, and it is not my name."

"Is that so?"

Andrew slowly scrambled up, his head spinning. "Andrew," he mumbled.

"Okay, Andrew." Max ran a finger over a tablet in her lap. She tapped at the screen for a moment, before looking up again, with a smile. She looked tired. "Consider it fixed."

"Am I a prisoner here?"

She shook her head. "Not at the moment.You came to us, after all, but you'll understand we had to check you over, for security reasons. You'd be surprised by the things people try to smuggle into the Walker." Her eyes slid away, towards the door, just for a moment.

Andrew stared at the door on the opposite wall, trying to decide whether he should be embarrassed about what they had undoubtedly found, or angry that they undoubtedly took it. "Yeah," he said, "well. That explains why these are not my clothes." He plucked at a sleeve, threw a satisfyingly bitter glance Max's way.

She nodded, spread her hands. "I'm sorry about that, but you were kind of passed out on our doorstep."

"Yes, yes, you had to do it. I understand, but excuse me if I'm not too happy with it." He wriggled a leg free of the sheets. His skin felt strange against the clean fabric of the pyjamas someone had put him in. He realised it was the grit of accumulated dirt, and a quick rub against his head confirmed greasy, unwashed dreadlocks still in place. Andrew tore his other leg free of the entanglements of the clean sheets, feeling a little queasy. Glowering, he looked up to see Max still watching him, calmly.

"There's a bathroom behind the blue door," she said, standing up from her chair. "I'll give you  moment."

Andrew sat on the edge of the bed, wondering if he would fall over if he tried to stand. He asked: "Will you be watching me?"

Max paused at the door, the white door, the door outside, and turned around. She rubbed her eyes, a guilty smile on her face. Her square shoulders set off her square jaw, but now that she was standing, Andrew noticed something odd about her right leg. "Well," she said, "Not me. But, yes."

"Okay," Andrew said, and pushed himself to his feet. To his immense pride, he only swayed a little. "I can live with that."

She smiled, and opened the door. "Get something to drink," she stepped outside, "you look like you could use it. Someone will check in you in an hour."

For a moment, Andrew stared at the door, as it clicked shut. With an awkward hop, he stumbled to the other door and tore it open. Inside was a bathroom, complete with shower and sink. He grabbed hold of the plastic edge of the sink and prodded the tap carefully. A drop of water plunked out into the white plastic. Andrew wondered if it was really safe to drink. He had been drinking water from sealed bottles all his life, but it looked clean and he was desperate enough to at least try.

For a full ten minutes, he stood by the sink, drinking water and letting it run over his hands. It was cool and tasted slightly of sand and metal, but there was no detectable trace of chemical pollution, or worse, human waste.

By the time he felt more reasonable again, his legs were shaking, and he carefully turned off the water and sat down on the toilet. His hands left grimy smears on the white cloth of his shirt, and he decided that was a good sign as any that he should take a shower. He had stopped worrying about the safety of the little plastic cabin. His apprehensions seemed to have ebbed with the water, and now he was too tired, his stomach too full and sloshing to rationally care what would happen next.

He stepped into the cabin naked, and angrily wiped his damp finger over the touch pad until the shower turned on. Despite the tap, he had expected an air system, and when the water crashed into him from above, still cold, he nearly screamed. The water slowly turned lukewarm, and the floor of the shower turned into a streaming rainbow of greys, reds and yellows.

His fumbling fingers found a small bottle of soap, and he massaged his skin clean of all dirt. The whirlpools of colour turned lighter, a sandy tan colour that washed off his skin together with the dull layer of sand. The yellow whirls thinned into transparency after a while, and Andrew poured a generous helping of soap into his hair.

He watched with interest as the shower washed down a seemingly endless stream of greenish grey gunk, until he could feel clean dreads rolling between his fingers. When he looked down at his chest, the contrast of his hair against his skin startled him. Even wet, the dreadlocks were now, for the first time in months, lighter than his skin.

He picked up a lock of hair and rubbed it between his fingers, letting the water from the shower come down on him. When he shut off the shower and got a look at himself in the mirror over the sink, he looked almost healthy. His skin was a reddish ochre, with darker lines on his cheeks and around his sunken brown eyes. He had gotten used to looking at a dusty grey face in the mirror, and the sight was satisfying. As his hair was drying, it was lightening into a yellow flax, nearly white in contrast with his skin. He looked thin, even to himself, and quickly wrapped a thick towel around his body, stumbling back into the main room.

He spent a moment looking at the thick window over the bed, double glass with layers at least a meter apart, revealing a view of rocks and sandy dunes under a brilliantly blue sky slowly scrolling away to the right, its colours filtered and its sunlight dimmer than Andrew knew it would be from outside the double windows.
He scratched his cheek and yawned. Shambling towards his bed, he stuck up a final two fingers at the desert before toppling over onto the white sheets, and all but passing out.