[Original Novel] Not Long Now, Part 13

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I turned the cold steel device over in my hands and sure enough, Grandpa’s familiar monogram was etched along the back. If only I’d found this sooner! The effective length of the journal doubled, if not more than that, as a result of this development. I wondered how many more years it would take to absorb and understand the rest.

I worked into the night painstakingly decoding a single passage, character by character. Nothing obviously meaningful yet. Some mundane explanation of how eukaryotes at some point in their evolutionary history trapped another species of single celled organism within, which became what scientists now call mitochondria.

An unexpected foray into biology for a man principally concerned with machines, I thought. I briefly wondered at the reason for it, hoping it would become clear once I finished decoding that entry. A few more sentences in, weary from the mentally tedious nature of the translation process (which in truth I have never had much tolerance for) I decided to take a break.

More precisely, I decided to walk about the darkened corridors of the structure. To explore more of it, ideally without being accosted by Frederick this time. To that end, electric lantern in hand, I once again sought out the monogrammed vent cover from the other night.

I found it still unscrewed, and still leaning up against the opening. I cursed myself for not remembering to properly replace it. Lucky for me that it wasn’t noticed, which also saved me the trouble of unscrewing it again.

This time I crawled down the cramped service passage in the other direction. Eager for fresh insight into what goes on in this place after hours, and away from prying eyes. Save for my own of course. If I’m honest, I got something of an illicit thrill from spying on the inner workings of the orphanage.

All this time I felt very much a stranger in a strange land, a newcomer welcomed only by Agnes and then only because of my relation to Grandpa. These covert explorations and observations supplied a feeling of control which had been lacking in my life since the accident.

Even though I remained subject to the rhythm, order and strictures of the orphanage, I could at least know more of its inner workings and of the lives of its inhabitants than I was meant to. While I enjoyed the feeling of belonging, of simplicity, I also found myself yearning for some wiggle room ever since Frederick dragged me off to tighten that nut the other night.

As a result, the idea of doing something mildly subversive brought me some unexpected satisfaction as I pressed on through the narrow, sooty tunnel. I wondered what ol’ Freddy boy would say. Or what Agnes would say, for that matter! She’d throw a fit most likely, then who knows what sort of punishment she might subject me to?

It struck me as I thought about the day we met, that she was worlds more put together than anyone else in this place. Sharp as a tack! Not so much as a hint of the dopey, slow witted stupor I’d seen in Frederick and the others. Better breeding, perhaps? Grandpa must’ve seen the same qualities in her, to assign her a position of power within this orphanage.

I was hoping for another machine room. The last held a clue to Grandfather’s plans, with any luck there were more I’d not found yet. Instead, the first grating I came upon looked out into a nursery. Babies? Here? I suppose many of the workers I’ve seen were old enough to conceive. Provisions for the care of their offspring would be necessary.

It’s truly self sufficient, I quietly realized. Even if the steady stream of unwanted orphans from the city were to one day cease, I could see here a means of maintaining their numbers indefinitely. Girls, aged ten to twenty, walked up and down the rows of cribs to check on the gurgling infants within.

Here and there, diapers were being changed. A tangled mess of clear rubber tubing suspended from the ceiling carried milk or some other pale nutritional fluid to each of the cribs, each terminating in a rubber nipple similar to those found on baby bottles.

But for some curious reason, about a quarter of the cribs were segregated from the rest. A glass divider wall and a door separated them from the larger nursery, though the quality of their care appeared identical. Another door in the far wall led me to suspect I might spy some answers through the next grating, so I continued down the duct.

What I saw through it only confused me more than what I’d seen through the last. A recurring theme in this place, though so far I’d found nothing so strange about it that I couldn’t adapt. Babies from the smaller, separated section of the prior room were being washed and otherwise pampered.

One of the caretakers sprinkled the baby on the table before her with what I took for hygienic powder. When some of it reached my nostrils, I noticed it smelled strongly of cinnamon. Just then a team pushing a wheeled dolly came through double doors in the rear of the room. On the dolly was a familiar decorative jug.

As resplendent as ever. Not yet sealed though. I wonder if they meant to feed some of the broth to the little ones, though I should hardly think they could appreciate such a sophisticated flavor. Instead, something queer followed. The top half of the jug was unscrewed and set aside.

One by one, the naked little bundles of whimpering flesh were gently deposited into the jug until it was filled. I could just see little hands and feet flailing feebly over the rim of the jug’s lower half as the top half was replaced and screwed tightly to the bottom.

The team of youths operating the dolly then wheeled it abruptly out of the room for parts unknown. I just couldn’t make sense of it. Surely there are simpler, safer ways to transport young children. But then, is it for me to question how things are done here? It’s bad enough that I’m peeping.

I shuffled along until I reached the next grate. This room looked more like what I came in search of! Rusty pipes snaked to and fro across the ceiling, as well as up and down the walls. Valves protruded from the pipes at various junctures, a veritable crow’s nest of rusty, tangled iron.

I kicked out the grating with modest effort, again cringing at the thought it would be discovered. But the more I saw, the more questions arose. I could hardly make myself stop now, as I felt closer than ever to uncovering the mysteries of this place. It proved to be a bit of a trick to navigate the convoluted mess of pipes on my way across the room.

It didn’t look as though anybody was ever meant to come in here, except for rare maintenance. It simply wasn’t designed to be traversed by people. I ducked under a great ponderous pipe at waist level, listening to water rush through it as I did so.

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 14!}