Sanitation footbaths are required for factories (Excerpt from ‘Dancing in the Purple Rain’ included)

The oddest of details will find our manuscripts. And we really do draw on our personal memories.

For me, it was the pink sanitation fluid from my time at working at a dairy factory that found my novel Dancing in the Purple Rain.

Sanitation footbaths are legally required for food factories

From December 1996 to February 1997, I worked as a student engineer at the dairy factory in Edgecombe, New Zealand. I had already finished my Bachelors of Engineering and was heading back to the university to start a Masters. But like all youths in their twenties, I wanted some money to help get me through my studies.

Besides, having that summer job looked good on my resume.

Well, I was stationed with the maintenance team and had the opportunity to get my hands into the nitty-gritty of a lot of automated machinery.

There are a few moments that stand out clearly in my memories all these years later. One in particular was walking through the pink sanitation bays as you headed into the individual factory buildings. Once inside the factory buildings, you had to go through locker areas where you changed out of your “outside” clothes and into issued white overalls and white steel-cap gumboots. And the reason that we needed to do this was because of legal requirements that were associated with sanitation practices for factories of food-related products.

So, when I came to write the scenes of my main character walking into an area that was filled with sanitation practices, I knew that the pink sanitation fluid that ate at the threads of your boots needed to go in. And so did the locker room, where we changed out of our “outside” clothes.

I embellished a lot, adding in the nudity and the advanced scanners. But all of it fit within the world that I had created in my head.

It just goes to show how our personal experiences from decades ago still have an impact on us, giving us those little details that are needed to make a story “real”.

As you read Chapter 4 from Dancing in the Purple Rain, no doubt you will see my real-world experience of walking into a sanitized zone leaking onto the page.

Enjoy.

(Chapter 4 is 2,600 words.)

If you missed the previous chapters, you can find them at the following links.

• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3

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Chapter 4 from Dancing in the Purple Rain

As the doors to the transport tube opened to the underground entrance into Sector 14, I took several deep breaths of the filtered air—the cleanest air in the city controlled by one of the most sophisticated air filtration systems in existence. As much as I hated coming here, or more appropriately hated what coming here meant, it was always a relief for my body to breathe in such freshness.

With the clean air bringing some much-needed energy to my tired muscles, I headed toward the employee tunnels, scanning my pharmachip at one of the five pedestals at the first security checkpoint. Upon stepping into the first of the sanitation bays, I had to splash through three shallow pools of pink sanitation fluid designed to kill any germs tracking in on my boots. Each pool was three and a half meters long, nested in the ground and stretched wall to wall. Even if you took long strides, you were still forced to walk through them, with both feet getting wet at least once—each time. And that pink fluid killed the bugs alright, but it also killed the stitching on your shoes.

How many more passes through those baths could I get away with before I needed to replace my boots? I hung my head in despair, because I didn’t have the money to buy new boots. Gah! I didn’t want to even contemplate the number of courier drops I would need to make to afford new boots.

I entered the bustling locker room and headed to the far corner where my locker was tucked away. I pressed my wrist to the sensor pad and waited for the telltale click as the locker door released. Dragging out the inevitable, I removed my display glasses, mask, jacket, and gloves, allowing my favorite song to finish playing. It would be several hours before I could listen to it again, so I made the most of it while I could. When the song finished, I placed my earbuds on the shelf next to my display glasses and proceeded to remove my boots and every strip of clothing I wore, including my underwear. I folded each item as I put it in my locker. Nothing from outside Sector 14 could be brought into the sector—not through these entrances, anyway. Food and industrial supplies were brought in through service entrances on the other side of the sector under the watchful eye of trigger-happy grunts.

With all my belongings stowed in my locker, I turned my display glasses to face outwards and enabled the motion-detection recording system. My locker was supposed to be my locker, but sector security had the authority to override security protocols to inspect any locker they wanted. And a few of those security guys had sticky fingers. Virtual display glasses were encoded with genetic biometrics and were never on the list of things stolen. High-quality boots and RDF signal-blocking jackets, on the other hand . . .

I closed my locker, punching in my personalized lockout code, then headed out into the hall toward the health scanners, naked as the day I was born. It was one thing about working in this place. Any insecurity you might have had about body image vanished as soon as everyone around you was also naked. A little flab here and there was nothing compared to the shriveled-up junk that dangled between some guys’ legs. At least my breasts were still perky, as I was once told. But as comfortable as I was in my own skin, I still felt exposed and vulnerable—without my jacket to hide the signal from my pharmachip, or a mask to filter the air in the event of an environmental system’s failure. Or without my earbuds to play Purple Rain to help keep me calm and focused.

I followed the stream of naked sector employees through the sanitation walkways that blasted the body with various rays meant to kill external bugs. All the while, health scanners imaged my insides and compared them to the scans on file, actively on the hunt for internal bugs.

A woman some distance in front of me was pulled out of the line by those wearing yellow hazmat suits with fully sealed face masks. No doubt the scanners detected some infectious bug trying to hitchhike into Sector 14, using her body as the transport.

Everyone around me just kept facing forward, not really paying attention to the pleas from the woman being hauled away. Centuries of pandemic after pandemic had a habit of making people jaded to the desperate souls who carried infectious disease. And an outbreak in Sector 14 would spell disaster for the entire city.

The doctors in the early 2100s were geniuses when they decided to risk aggressive vaccination schemes on pregnant women and their unborn children. Never mind that somewhere along the way, someone stuffed up the cocktail, resulting in audimentia, aka White Rabbit syndrome. But other than the symptoms of audimentia, I’ve never spent a day sick in my life. Some doctors called me the perfect specimen of health—except for the fact that my brain didn’t work quite right.

I stepped into the main health scanner. The last hurdle into Sector 14. The glass door closed behind me and a red X appeared in front of me.

“Please keep your eyes open and look forward,” said the technician over the intercom. “The scan will start shortly.”

I rolled my shoulders and breathed in slowly, counting to five as I inhaled, then counting to three before I exhaled to another count of five. I kept my eyes forward and my hands by my sides. My fingers lightly tapped on my thighs—an uncontrollable action.

The scan in this machine wasn’t like the scans moving between sectors. This one would be a full sequence, taking at least thirty seconds to run. And it would report everything about my physical health to the technicians—including my climbing audimensase levels.

The system hummed and slight vibrations radiated up through my feet as I waited to be released from the cage.

Twenty-nine. Thirty.

The red X still shined brightly, and the doors still hadn’t opened.

Fifty-three. Fifty-four.

My heart rate sped up, and my breathing was getting a little shaky. What I wouldn’t have done to have my earbuds right then.

Eighty-five. Ninety. One hundred.

“Is there a problem? The scans don’t normally take this long.”

The hum from the intercom was more like a squeal, and I winced as the technician’s voice filled the space around me. “I’m sorry, Agent Davison, we’ve detected an abnormality in your system. We’re just waiting for the all clear from the medical team.”

“An abnormality? Like what?”

“Nothing that will compromise the health and safety of others in the sector. But medical want to see you as soon as possible. You’re free to enter Sector 14.”

The red X was replaced with a green checkmark, and the glass doors in front of me opened.

I exhaled in a rush, then proceeded forward.

That was a record scan length time.

I continued down the hall to the uniform pickup. Each uniform issued was of a different design and color configuration, intended to indicate a person’s assigned role within the sector. Some people were issued beige overalls. Others were given white suits or white lab coats. My uniform consisted of a long-sleeved, form-fitted, black tunic and a pair of black tailored pants. On top of the pile rested a pair of thick black socks and a pair of combat boots. While in Sector 14, I was a protector, but not just any protector. The deep purple stripes that ran down my sleeves marked me as a member of PentWave, an elite unit that was given the authority to take whatever steps were necessary to ensure the safety of the entire city. I wore those stripes with pride; I worked hard to earn them. I just wished I had known about the terrorist-style tactics that came with those stripes before accepting them.

With my uniform on, I headed to the equipment desk, where I was issued with an earpiece radio and a head unit with a flip-down optical display that rested over my right eye. While in Sector 14, I was part of sector security, but I was only to act on security matters in the case of a significant breach. The entire time I had been part of PentWave, not once had I been called upon to play the role of security guard. Because of it, I always turned down the weapons they wanted to issue me. Besides, in close quarters, a gun was just as much as a danger to me as it was to an assailant.

Fully equipped, I headed down the halls leading to the main entrance into the sector plaza—where all those entering the sector got to see the true splendor that was Sector 14.

Trees dotted around the place surrounded by lush green grass where people could enjoy a picnic lunch. The high-rise buildings were covered in green ivy; manicured garden balconies were scattered up the sides of the buildings. But the most spectacular feature of Sector 14 was the sky—blue with the odd white cloud floating overhead. I closed my eyes and tilted my face upward to enjoy the warmth of the sun.

It was all an illusion, of course. Projector technology interwoven into the dome that sheltered us from the outside world—from the real sky that was dark and dingy, and likely filled with acid rain. Within Sector 14, special environmental controls were used to ensure that all those inside the sector had the luxury to forget about the mess that the generations before them had made of the world outside.

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s not real?” Another soul dressed in a black uniform slid up beside me and nudged me with his shoulder. His bright red hair sparkled in the sunlight.

“Morning, George.” For a brief moment, I rested my head on his shoulder.

“Morning, Mike.” He laughed as he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer, giving me a kiss on the top of my head. “I take it you got called in by the Ham?”

“Yes.” I sighed, not surprised by the new nickname for our handler. “Though I would have preferred to have gotten some sleep first.”

I pulled away from him and headed across the main plaza toward the tallest building in the sector, where the head offices and research facilities of Rhodon Corporation were housed. I inhaled as deeply as I could, enjoying the smell of white roses lining the walkways.

George walked beside me. “Yeah, well, sleep is for the weak. Hey, did you hear the latest news?”

“What conspiracy theory are they coming up with this time?”

“Not a conspiracy, but rather a story of revenge.”

“Oh . . . do tell.”

“Well, apparently Dr. Elizabeth Eason is dead.”

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Dr. Eason was the one we all called the Angel of Death.”

“You mean that geneticist who killed audimentia patients, hiding her failed attempts at finding a cure?”

George grinned. “The one and the same.”

“But I thought she disappeared a year ago. That she evaded authorities by leaving the city?”

“So did I. But she showed up this morning in a coffee shop in Sector 4.”

I about tripped over my own feet. I pulled on George’s arm and turned him to face me. “In Sector 4? Are you sure?”

“Positive. According to the news, while in the coffee shop, she was shot dead by the brother of her last victim. After he killed her, he killed himself.”

I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed in relief. “I can’t believe that someone finally got her.”

“Don’t you mean that you finally got her?”

“What are you getting at?”

“The death of Dr. Elizabeth Eason is not what is making headlines. The news is all worked up about how her killer managed to get a gun into Sector 4 in the first place. An unmarked gun at that. While the news first reported it as the work of pharmachip protesters, they’re starting to wonder if those with White Rabbit syndrome are lashing out, turning into a group of organized terrorists.” George glanced around, then ushered me into a side alley, away from the crowds moving through the sector plaza. “Mike, while the police are not looking for Dr. Eason’s murderer, they’re looking for a person with purple hair seen leaving the scene just before the shooting.” He reached forward and ran his fingers through my purple hair. “You were there, weren’t you?”

When George looked at me with those accusing eyes, it was really hard to stay silent. And I knew he was trying to read my thoughts. But I also knew how to keep him out. Not that it did much good.

He was my best friend. We had been through so much together. And I hated keeping secrets from him. But some secrets—

George sighed. “I thought so.” He stepped back, taking several deep breaths, and combed his fingers through his red mane. “Geez, Mike. I thought you said that you weren’t going to do anymore drops, that your request to transfer to STAR had been granted. You told me that you were scheduled to get your communications implant any day now. Why would you risk that to do the Pregutor’s dirty work?”

“I needed the money. They paid me fifty thousand credits to deliver that package.”

He blinked, and his jaw dropped. “Fifty? Shit. It still doesn’t explain why you would risk your future.”

“What future? We have audimentia, George. It carries with it a death sentence of its own. We’re all going to die. Some of us sooner than others.” I took a deep breath and held up my left hand. The shaking had amplified since I had come through the staff tunnels. “My audimensase levels have skyrocketed, and I ran out of Miransine.” Never mind that I had given the bulk of my supply away to a little girl in greater need. “I took that job so I could pay for my prescription.”

“Are you hearing voices?” His voice was just barely above a whisper, like he was not wanting to admit to the worst symptom of audimentia.

I averted my eyes.

“Mike, answer me. And don’t you dare try to lie to me. You know I can sense it when you’re lying.”

My chest grew tight, and my throat felt like it was being constricted. “Yes, but they’re not telling me to do things.”

“Not yet.”

We stood there staring at each other, knowing the truth.

He reached forward and pulled me close to his chest. “We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to do this alone.” He then pushed me back and brushed my hair from my eyes. “I want you to make me a promise. If you are ever presented with the opportunity to get out—to escape this life—take it.”

“I promise.” But it felt hollow. There was only one way to truly escape my mess of a life. Death.

A buzzing radiated from the earpiece I wore, and a message appeared on my eyepiece display.

››Do I need to send a STAR unit?‹‹

There was no sender ID attached to the message, but I knew who it was from.

George sagged and sighed, as he turned and led the way out of the alley, heading toward the Rhodon Corporation buildings.

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Dancing in the Purple Rain is now available from your favorite retailer.