with the food stashed in the cooking pot.
They made the bed up together and Freya collapsed on it. “How do I know what time to wake up? I’m shattered and I don’t have a clock.”
“The bell rings in the morning at the beginning of the shift, and again at the end. Nobody has a clock. It’s down to the Vendu to determine the length of the day. You see, the suns never set at the same time. It’s never dark. That’s why there aren’t any windows. You’d never sleep with all that light.”
Freya slumped on the bed. “No night-time ever? It doesn’t get dark?”
“I’m sorry. My planet only had short days. It’s been hard.”
“How long have you been here?”
Tally shrugged. “Many, many bells. I’ve lost count. Best not to count.” She waved goodbye and closed the door behind her, shouting, “Lock it, just in case.”
Freya slid the bolt across before stumbling back onto the bed. She was too tired to worry about anything. The only daydream that revisited her sleep was the striking image of the governor—Marco. Would he remember her? Or was she an easy-to-forget thrill on his first day?
* * *
The bell was more like a siren. It lasted for ages, forcing the sleepy Freya awake and into the shower. The tepid water sprayed her body in a feeble fashion and the hard soap stung. She’d no towel, but the warm air quickly dried her skin. The overall was too long in the legs and she rolled up the hems. She slipped on the flat sandals—they at least had some style.
She managed a few crackers and something that resembled an orange, but not as sweet. The juice squirted down her chin.
Somebody was knocking at her door. She drew back the bolt and peeked through a crack—Tally.
“Hello. I thought I’d walk you to work.”
Freya smiled, relieved to have company. “Thanks. Where do you work?”
“In the bakery, where those crackers are made from corn.” She pointed to a distant building. “It’s roasting in there too.”
Freya blinked in the sunlight. One sun. The other was behind the horizon. It wasn’t as hot as when both suns were in the sky. All around her the others were heading off to work, whether in the fields to produce food, or the factories that turned basic resources into products. Tally had explained many raw materials were shipped in from other colonies and the finished products sent back out again. All produced for nothing. A free workforce that only needed feeding.
She parted company from Tally and having been allocated a press by Otto, she entered the designated room. The noise was intense and unending. The rollers, huge cylinders, were tracking back and forth, flattening the clothing, which had been laid out. It was a rudimentary setup, lacking in automation. Two women stood on either side, whipping the ironed clothes off and laying out crumpled ones. Steam billowed up.
One of the women hit a button and roller stopped. She jerked her head at her coworker.
“Hello. I’m Freya. I’m supposed to work in here.”
“Good. We lost somebody last week.”
“Lost?”
“To the washroom. They’ve a new vat in there. We’re down a person. You need to fold the clothes into batches. These are overalls for males. Three sizes. Keep them separate.”
Freya received a quick lesson in how to fold the clothes and which baskets to place them in. She also learned her new coworkers’ names and she approximated their strange names to English varieties: Jean and Abby. Jean’s eyes were bright and her hair trimmed short, whereas Abby had hers bundled into a bun. Both of them were shorter than Freya, which meant they had to move quickly over the press to position the cloth. The speed was relentless. Other than brief breaks for drinks or bathroom visits, they didn’t stop until lunch.
More dried crackers and chewy meat sticks. The addition of a cabbage-like soup nearly retrieved the meal from being totally tasteless. She managed to winkle out of her two companions that they came from