The Movement

Chapter Seven - Part 10

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Troy cracked open the door, peering cautiously inside before entering. The walls inside the main level were brightly colored-red, yellow, green and blue. The four doors varied in color-two purple, two orange. The main floor looked very much like the other building he’d seen, albeit the much different color schemes. Again, there was a door to his right, probably the elevator as in the others.

Troy walked to the back door on the left side. It was one of the purple doors. He opened the door, peering his head inside, careful not to disturb those behind it. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of rows of neatly lined incubators filled the large room. Dozens of women, some young and others old, strolled through the aisles between the incubators. No matter their age, the women all donned white dresses and red ribbons around their hair tied up in a bun.

Troy closed the door behind him as quietly as he could, not even making a sound. An old woman, strolling the aisle nearest him, noticed his presence. She waved him over, pressing her pointer finger against her large lips. Troy tiptoed to her aisle. The perfectly arranged incubators were home to infants, not any older than a week. Glass lids enclosed the incubators, and some of them had tubes running through it, feeding directly to the infants’ mouth and nose.

Although elderly, the woman was in great physical shape. Troy could not help but notice her athletic figure, displayed with her tight white dress. The red ribbon tied up her dark brown hair, streaks of gray racing through it.

Still tiptoeing ever closer, the woman smiled coquettishly at Troy. He halted his approach, stunned by the woman’s venerable beauty. Still staring at her in disbelief, she winked at Troy, gesticulating her finger at him to move even closer.

Only several feet from her now, Troy noticed her bright blue eyes outlined by wrinkled cracks. She smiled again, revealing her milky-white teeth.

“Hello?” whispered Troy.

The woman continued to smile at him in silence.

“Hello?” reasserted Troy, this time a little louder.

He looked to his left and to his right across the room, noticing that every woman was now frozen in place, standing wherever they were dispersed across the room in their aisles. Each woman faced Troy and the beautiful old woman, their hands crossing below their navel. Troy’s eyes shifted quickly from each woman, then back to the beautiful one, her smile now replaced by a grave look.

Now bewildered with fright, Troy began to panic. Perspiration materialized on his neck and forehead.

A faint echolalia rang through the room. The old woman signaled for Troy to cover up his ears. The quiet sounds of baby talk quickly transformed into whimpers and cries, inflating in volume until Troy clasped his hands against his ears. The screeching sounds pierced through Troy’s hands. Troy opened his clenched eyes. The nannies stood unaffected. Suddenly, the loud cries returned to the faint peeps, then silence once more.

“What is going on?” shouted Troy, angrily.

The old woman stared back at Troy, surprised by his lost temper.

“Sir,” she began in a motherly voice. “The Newborns were feeding. They almost always cry when the food is removed. Say, what is your name?”

“Mr. Duckworth,” replied Troy, agitated with the old woman. “I am President Barber’s advisor, observing The Nursery, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh,” she said, taken aback by Troy’s rudeness. “Well, welcome to The Nursery, Mr. Duckworth.”

The woman turned her back, returning to stroll the aisles as she had been before.

“Wait, ma’am, what is your name?” asked Troy, realizing his discourtesy.

The woman stopped, then turned back around to face Troy.

“My name is Melinda. Melinda Lockhart,” she said. “Have a good day now.”

Expecting to converse with the woman, Troy shrugged his shoulders and paced the aisles as the nannies did. The children slept in the incubators, eyes shut tight. Each incubator displayed a number-letter code on the glass lid. A younger woman was approaching Troy as he stopped at a newborn’s incubator, observing the code.

“May I help you?” she asked in a friendly voice.

Troy looked over at her, pretending he didn’t notice her arrival.

“Oh,” he said, “I’m only observing for The Movement. What are these codes for?”

The young woman smiled.

“They tell us who The Newborns belong to. Well, I mean, it tells me who the biological parents are,” she answered.

“Of course,” said Troy. “Each of The Newborns belongs to The Movement.”

“Certainly,” said the woman, still smiling. “The identities are confidential. Only the Nannies and the computers know whom the biological parents are. But that’s unimportant. What is important is that these Newborns are taken care of until they advance upstairs.”

“What’s upstairs?” he asked, interested.

She paused, lowering her head.

“The Infants,” she said quickly.

Troy blushed.

“Who determines when they get moved up?” inquired Troy.

“The Newborn does, sir. When a Newborn is able to sleep on its own and wake up without crying,” she explained.

“Well,” said Troy, wanting to know more. “How many levels are there?”

“Sixteen in all,” she answered.

“How old are they when they leave here?” he asked.

“Usually around age two. Not all get transferred at the same time, of course. There is no progress by age, that doesn’t matter too much. Each level has a set of tasks that each Newborn is required to complete before being transferred to the next. They’re quite simple tasks though. I mean, after being born, their first task is to open their eyes. I’m not sure what the tasks are for the other fifteen levels, but they do undergo some cerebrum scans and intelligence tests,” she explained.

“So they have to pass those before they move on to The Youth?” asked Troy.

“Yes, nearly all of them do,” she said.

“What happens to the ones who don’t?” he questioned.

“We keep them at that task, allowing four more attempts, providing a week in between each attempt. Usually the only ones who don’t pass are the ones with clear signs of mental retardation. I’m not sure what happens to them after that,” she went on.

“I see,” replied Troy. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Troy lowered his head, then walked hastily toward the door. He stopped at the door, turning around to take one last look. The old, beautiful woman glanced at him, smiling from across the room. He quickly exited through the door, doing his best to ignore her.