The Tillamook Escapade
Act IV - Cheddar as a Verb
“When we get down to the floor move behind those pipes,” G.G. directed. “From there along the wall and behind the vats. There’s a pressure relief valve on the intake pipe we can trip to get a sample of the milk as it comes in. How much will you need?”
“One drop,” Gadget replied. “If there’s anything in there more dangerous than saturated fat, my analyzer will pick it up.”
“I thought your instrument would only pick up the toxin. What about the staph bacteria that produces it?” Gordon asked.
“See there?” Gadget indicated a line of large machines below them. “Those are the pasteurizers. The milk goes straight in from the trucks and any bacteria in the milk should be safely dead at that point. On top of that, the aging process ought to kill anything that might survive. But the toxin itself might not be destroyed.”
Gordon attached a spring clamp to a duct support and readied two thin lines. “Use the sliders and go down the main line like a fire pole. Don’t touch the second line, or you’ll release the clamp and drop. Move to cover over by the wall as soon as you hit. Ready?”
Everyone nodded. Gordon dropped a line deployment bag. It spilled out the descent lines on its way to the floor. G.G. grabbed a slider and was on the way before the bag hit. Gordon was after her a second later. Gadget hesitated for a moment at the decision point, where she had to step off and literally put her life on the line, then she slid down and landed softly. Gary was right behind her and she sprinted to follow Gordon behind the leg of a huge, elevated milk vat. Gary yanked the release cord the instant he landed and ducked the clamp as it whizzed down. He stuffed the clamp and lines into the deployment bag and followed Gadget.
“Where’s the valve?” Gadget asked.
G.G. answered, “Right over here. It’s pretty strong to hold the pressure.”
“Gordo, go with them,” Gary instructed. “I’ll go up high and keep a lookout. Be sure you have a hiding spot picked out. You’re very exposed over there.”
Gordon followed G.G. and Gadget to a point where the large delivery pipe came out of the wall near the floor on its way to the pasteurizers. A short distance from the wall the pipe was interrupted by a spring loaded relief valve. The valve had a plunger through its stem instead of a conventional twist handle which in turn was moved against the spring tension by a lever. G.G. was straining to push the lever when Gordon trotted up. Gadget reached in alongside G.G. and added her weight. It didn’t budge.
“Let me try something,” G.G. said as she stepped back several paces. She launched a well-executed flying kick at the lever. Gadget saw her intention and put the plastic sampling bag she carried in place under the outfall, hoping to catch the single drop she needed. The valve bounced G.G. back without yielding.
“I don’t think this is going to work.” G.G. dusted herself off. “We may have to find another spot to get a sample.”
“Let me try it.” Gordon tested the lever with a couple of hard pushes. Then he squatted in front of the valve, pressing his chest against the lever. He got a firm grip on the edges of the valve, took a few deep, full breaths and began to pull his body against the lever.
Gadget watched awestruck as Gordon applied increasing pressure to the lever. His muscles bulged and rippled, easily seen through the thin materiel of the Nitrile coverall. When she thought he’d given it his best, he closed his eyes and redoubled his effort. Every square inch of his body seemed to join in. Gadget held her breath as Gordon presented her with a new definition of “definition.”
G.G. barked, “Gadget! Catch it!” Gadget quickly put the sampling bag under the valve again and caught the trickle of milk that finally flowed. Gordon slowly let himself back away from the lever, maintaining control until the end.
“Ow,” he groaned as he pressed both hands against his chest. “Ooooo, that’s gonna leave a bruise.”
“Are you okay, Buttercup?” G.G. asked him with a smile.
“I’ll be okay in a minute, Blossom,” he responded.
“Hold it,” Gadget said as she unlimbered the analyzer. “Does this make me Bubbles? ‘Cause I’ve been Bubbles before.”
“Naaaw,” Gordon joshed. “I thought you’d be Miss Bellum.”
“Oh, great,” Gadget said. “All body and no head.”
“Okay,” G.G. chuckled. “You can be Bubbles. You’re both blonde.”
“I wanted to be Professor Utonium,” Gadget pouted. “Closer to my character.” She poked the probe into the milk sample.
“You’ve got it, Professor,” Gordon said. He craned his neck to try to read the panel of the analyzer. He couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. Clearly, Gadget had used a sort of instrument shorthand that only made sense to her to keep the device small. “What’s the verdict?”
“Nothing wrong here,” she answered. “You could feed this to baby mouselings right out of the cow. Whatever the contaminant is, it’s not in the dairy end.”
“What do you want to check next?” Gordon asked.
Gadget pointed. “Over there, where it comes out of the Cheddarmaster.”
“I’ll scout ahead,” Gordon announced. “Okay, Siegfried, moving now, south.” He sprinted for the next machine.
“G.G.,” Gadget said cautiously, “I didn’t see any part of that body to be ashamed of, did you?”
“Ummm, no. Not a bit,” G.G. added admiringly.
“I heard that,” Gordon’s voice came through their headsets. “Hot mikes, remember? You’re clear to move.”
Gadget winced at being found out. G.G. only grinned and dashed for the next hiding place. Gadget followed a moment later.
They stopped in the shadow of the Cheddarmaster, a curd processor that resembled a cross between a monster clothes dryer and an amusement park thrill ride. The vibration and motor noise of nearby machinery made normal conversation impossible, so they relied on the headsets. A worker had just stopped and opened the door of the enormous machine.
“I don’t think you’re going to be able to get a sample,” Gordon scanned the area. “They’re too many workers watching the process and the transfer belts are just too fast.”
“I agree,” Gary chimed in from his hidden vantage point. “If the machinery doesn’t snag you the - - G.G.!!”
G.G. had clambered up a support unseen until she was level with the open door of the Cheddarmaster, then with a single powerful leap, landed inside the drum.
“Damnation, woman!” Gary roared. “Get out of there!”
A long, horrible moment later, G.G.’s head appeared over the edge of the opening. She hopped onto the rim on all fours and bounded clear. On landing, she neatly stepped out of sight behind an electrical conduit. She scuffed her feet on the floor to remove any residue and give her traction, checked that the worker was busy sealing the Cheddarmaster’s door, and scooted back to Gordon and Gadget, grinning from ear to ear and covered in gooey pre-cheese curd from head to toe.
“Got your sample, Gadget,” she said proudly. “Ain’t I a stinker? Scrape it anywhere it won’t tickle.”
“That,” Gadget scolded, “was foolhardy and unnecessary and Gary watch your language!”
“How else were you going to get a sample?” G.G. demanded.
“We were going to get it elsewhere!” Gadget retorted. “If that man had slammed the door on you, you’d have ended up as a pile of little bones in the middle of a loaf of extra-sharp cheddar!”
“So help me, Hot Lips,” Gary added, “you do anything like that again and I’ll come down there and blister your butt!”
“Go for it, Hawkeye,” G.G. snarled. “I’ll let you choose which of your elbows I shove in your ear!”
“Both of you STOP IT!!” Gadget shouted. “If this job is important to you, get on with it! You can tear out each other’s emotional scar tissue later!”
Gadget scooped a handful of the cloying curd from G.G.’s arm and jabbed it with the analyzer probe. “This is negative, as well. Gordon, we passed a water faucet back there. Take G.G. over and hose her off before she leaves a trail even the humans can’t miss. I’m heading for the pressing towers, Gary, moving due west.”
“Gadget!” Gordon called. “Don’t do anything alone!”
“I’ll just scout it out. I’ll wait for you.”
Gadget moved quickly but carefully through the plant and soon stood near a pair of conveyor belts that ran past the skyscraper-like continuous-operation cheese presses. A short distance up the line, rectangular blocks of cheese-to-be that emerged from the presses were vacuum wrapped in clear plastic before being stacked to go on to the aging rooms. Gadget watched the belt and the workers in their routine, trying to gauge their rhythm and choose the moment when she could make her move.
Gordon and a squeaky clean G.G. crossed beneath the conveyor belts and joined Gadget.
“I have to use a long probe for this,” Gadget explained. “I’m going to wait near the press that’s furthest from the wrapping machine. That’ll give me the most time to check the block.”
“Are you sure you’re getting enough samples?” G.G. asked, “You’ve only had small amounts at each location and no re-checks.”
“I’m also using a very sensitive instrument. And remember, from the moment the milk comes off the trucks, we are essentially dealing with one continuous piece of cheese. If any part were contaminated, it would all be contaminated.”
Gary came up on the headsets again. “You should be well out of sight if you stay under the conveyor belt. You’re clear to move.”
They headed to the far end of the conveyor. Human workers checked this automated part of the production line only now and then. The race, Gadget knew, would be between the cheese, the wrapping machine, and herself.
“Watch your timing,” G.G. cautioned. “If you get caught by the wrapping machine, you’ll suffocate before we can get you out.”
“I’ll watch it. Just stay out of sight. Fred, you’re my partner.”
“Start the music, Ginger,” Gary replied.
Gadget clambered up the leg of the conveyor belt and balanced on the edge away from the moving parts. Here, forty pound blocks of compacted milkfat emerged from the pressing towers. The belt stopped and started sharply as each block was pushed out of the presses, and again as each was automatically wrapped in heavy industrial strength sheet plastic at the end of the line. Gadget waited for the right moment and stepped onto the belt as it stopped. Just ahead of her, the press shoved onto the belt a block so large that she could have turned it into mouse condos. The belt carried her away as she jabbed her sensor probe into the block. Her instrument didn’t register a thing.
Gordon began paralleling Gadget’s progress from the floor even though she was out of sight, almost as if he could see her through the machinery. G.G. took her cue from him and followed along the opposite side of the belt.
Gadget pulled the probe back just as belt jerked to a stop, causing her to stumble. Another block was pushed onto the belt behind her. The edge clipped her and sent her sprawling. She sprang up, unhurt but annoyed at making no progress. Concerned that she might be missing something, she stepped up and jabbed the probe into the second cheese block. Again, nothing.
Just as she withdrew the probe the belt started again. Off balance, Gadget smacked against the block and landed flat on the belt. She shook off the impact as Gary called, “Gadget, bail out!”
She had missed her timing. The spider-like arms of the wrapping machine loomed above her, moving at a relentless, steady pace, already stretching airtight plastic over the block and sweeping towards her as if directed by a malevolent force. The other block cut off any chance of retreat and pinned her within easy reach of the arms. As the lethal transparency closed in on her, Gadget played her only chance. She rolled off the conveyor belt and plunged head first toward the concrete floor.
Gordon had stopped directly under her. He braced himself as she dropped out of control. He caught her head and fell underneath her to cushion her head from the impact. Her body would have to take whatever injury he couldn’t absorb. Her momentum propelled Gordon into one of the support legs and both of them hit the pavement hard. G.G. rushed across and dragged both of them out of sight under the conveyor.
G.G dropped to her knees between the them. “Gadget, are you all right?”
“Ohhhh. Owww,” was her response.
“You’re fine,” G.G. decided, and turned quickly to Gordon. “Gord, is it bad?”
Gordon grimaced and wrapped his arms across his chest. “This is never gonna heal,” he groused.
“Let me see,” G.G. insisted. “You might have broken a rib.” She slid her hand down inside his suit and felt for any sign of a fracture.
“I didn’t break anything,” he said. “Whoa! I know I didn’t break anything THAT far down!”
G.G. withdrew her hand and breathed a deep sigh of relief. “You had me worried there, buster.”
“‘Scuse me,” Gadget said. “Wasn’t I the one who dived head first off the conveyor belt?”
“I saw you.” G.G. helped Gadget to her feet. “Gordon took the whole impact for you and probably kept your head from cracking like an eggshell.” She stage-whispered to Gadget, “You can offer him your body in gratitude once we’re out of here.”
“G.G.!!” Gadget was aghast, “I would do no such thing!”
“Too bad,” she responded. “It sure makes him turn pink.”
Gadget looked toward Gordon. Even with the hood in place, the rising color was visible in the tip of his muzzle.
“You can see why she usually works alone,” Gordon said dryly.
“If you’re all quite finished,” Gary said through the headsets. “Gadget, is there anything else we need to do?”
“I don’t understand it,” she replied. “I thought for sure one of the machines would be the source.”
“What about the aging process?” G.G. asked.
Gadget shook her head. “Those blocks stay wrapped, airtight, until they’re finished aging. Then they go into packaging and please don’t ask me to go where the slicing is done! I had a very bad experience with an industrial cheese slicer once and they still give me the willies. There isn’t much chance of a staph infestation in finished cheese, anyway.”
“All right, we’ve taken enough risks,” Gary decided. “I’m coming down. G.G., point the way out.”
Once together, G.G. avoided the high traffic areas that went to and from the aging rooms and led them past the packaging lines. Skirting a rank of Gadget’s nemesis’, G.G. directed them under a wooden pallet stacked high with boxes of the finished product. She waved everyone clear as a forklift slid its giant tines under the pallet and whisked them out of the factory and on to the relative safety of the loading dock. With dawn still hours away, it was an easy matter for them to take cover away from the workers among boxes that had been damaged on the dock and set out of the way.
“Everyone, take a break,” Gary advised. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
Gadget pulled the hood of the Nitrile suit back, grateful to let the air at her scalp at last. She felt like she had been working in a portable steambath. “Isn’t there something else we should do?” she asked, reluctant to give up. “Somewhere we should be investigating?”
“Since the plant checks out clean,” G.G. said, “we’ve done our part. It’s like Gary said, it goes to a higher level now.”
A higher level, Gadget thought bitterly. The next level up from failure.
* * *