The medical center was abuzz with much more activity and noise than before. In fact, a few of the chairs were now occupied by a growing "audience," all male and more or less important-looking. Rip did not see Marcela anywhere, and assumed the salt-and-pepper haired lady had finished her task and left.
As opposed to the last time, Rip was immediately noticed upon entering the room. Two aides rushed over and directed her to the central operating table. Even though she did not need help getting herself up, Rip accepted the proffered hand of the blonde female aide. These last moments of human-to-human contact were suddenly desirable and precious.
"I was expecting this to be cold, but it actually feels quite warm to me," Rip ventured regarding the surgical table, as the other girl pulled the pilfered lab coat off of her bare shoulders.
"That's understandable. There's a temperature control panel underneath so that it can stay cold enough for cadavers. I turned it to a heated setting for you," she said while helping Rip lie down and adjusting her long blackish braid to be out of the way.
"Thank you," Rip said, covering her chest instinctively. Her body had been examined, poked and manipulated many times in the name of science leading up to this occasion, but this was the first time she had felt quite so exposed. She stole a worried glance over to the side to see if any of the invited guests were gawking at her, but for now it seemed everyone was preoccupied.
"Your hair is so long! Would be such a shame to lose it. Shall I cut it off now and save it for you?"
"No! I mean, yes, if there's absolutely no other way. But I was going to ask Dok to let me keep it..."
For several minutes, she lay there on the hard table, staring up at the ceiling and wrinkling her nose at the antiseptic smells as activity buzzed all around. Equipment was wheeled into place, introductions were made, settings were adjusted then readjusted. She didn't understand much of the medical jargon being thrown about, but she did hear that the two young aides were actually twins. They were a brother and sister who were studying directly with Herr Doktor in some sort of apprenticeship. Rip surmised that they must be very gifted to have achieved such an accomplishment at their age. Either that, or there was something more sinister going on due to Dok being a lover of all things genetically unusual or abnormal. At this moment, though, there was not much time to speculate about them.
The first discomfort came after the male aide had Rip roll onto her side, while he inserted a thermometer into her backside. He apologized but said that it was to remain there for the entire procedure. "It's the most reliable method for monitoring your vitals. Sorry if this is your first time." Rip winced at this strange and awful sensation and tried to keep her breathing even. She had a heart rate monitor affixed to her chest now and was aware that the whole room would be able to hear how fast her pulse was with its incessant beeping.
Despite her best efforts, the monitor's frequency increased rapidly when they began to strap her arms, legs and midsection to the table. No longer able to cover herself even a little for privacy and comfort, and now restrained completely, panic began rising in her chest. She desperately searched for something visual to focus on, something appealing or beautiful, but the chaos of the room only seemed to intensify as more people came to be in attendance.
Suddenly she heard a burst of static, followed by a small crackling noise, coming from the base-wide intercom system. Rip Van Winkle's eyes watered and her lip trembled at the sounds that followed. It was not an announcement thanking her for her heroic service and sacrifice, which would certainly have been appreciated. No, something even better than that.
It was recorded music, specifically Tchaikovsky's 5th symphony. And it was playing just for her! The Major must have permitted this, probably even made the selection himself, for he was the only other music aficionado that she knew.
Rip looked around again to see if anyone was reacting to this new development, but everything was business as usual. She wished she could at least wipe her eyes before anyone saw her emotional outburst, but of course her hands were…
"Guten morgen! And how are we today?"
It was Herr Doktor himself addressing her, and from the sound of it, he was in the best mood she had ever seen him.
"I'm fine," she croaked, trying to clear her throat of the sudden emotion. "Just a bit thirsty."
"Of course, of course," he said sympathetically, checking her restraints one by one and tightening or loosening them as he saw fit. "We'll get some fluids into you soon."
"That is a relief. For a minute there I thought you were just going to let me die."
Dok seemed to scrutinize her face from behind his tinted lenses as he directed the light of an overhead lamp to the exact spot he wanted. His face was nearly unreadable as ever, but she squinted into the bright light and smiled reassuringly that she was only joking. From this angle, he looked more like a madman than ever.
Seeming to ignore the cheeky comment, he brought his hands to her face and stripped off her eyeglasses.
"My hope is that you won't be needing these at all after today. Your last eyesight exam was especially appalling."
He pocketed the glasses, at least that's what she thought she saw now that everything was a nearsighted blur.
"Try to relax," he offered as a final thought and then moved out of sight, as busy as ever.
"Relax," she repeated as a mantra and exhaled. Rip allowed her senses to refocus onto the music, which was still playing and which Dok seemed to be tolerating in his lab today.
It was a challenging task to focus, however, as her body was invaded by half a dozen or more IVs, some of them with brutally painful entry points. One moment she would be caught up in the song, anticipating the next turn of musical phrase, when suddenly she would jolt and lose her place at some sharp pain offered without warning. Singing along with the music was certainly out of the question today.
Herr Doktor began speaking excitedly, addressing the assembled guests with a breakdown of what they were about to witness. She hardly noticed, however. Not his voice nor the heart rate monitor which incidentally had begun to slow a bit. Her ears were focused solely on the music. Some would say that Tchaikovsky's 5th was childish and repetitive, but she loved it for those very traits. Unfortunately there was no one to debate its finer points with at the moment.
Here was Dok again, masked now, forcing her half-closed eyes open and peering into them one by one. He turned and said something over his shoulder that she didn't catch.
She slowly blinked her heavy eyes to clear them, and suddenly it was the Major standing over her instead of the doctor. He was positively beaming at her, of that she was sure despite her inability to focus on his features.
"You're here, Sir," she slurred. "Thank you for coming to my show."
He chuckled coolly. "Wouldn't miss it, Fräulein. I hope you are enjoying the Fifth."
"Yes. Oh yes."
"'A complete resignation before fate, which is the same as the inscrutable predestination of fate.' Marvelous words of the composer, just so appropriate for today."
Rip sucked in her teeth at a sudden burning pain in her right hip. She lifted her head just enough to see Dok removing a syringe. He glanced at her, then at the Major. "Soon, Herr Major."
"Understood, Herr Doktor. Now then, have I ever told you the story of the famous wartime performance of this symphony, Fräulein?"
He had, but it was a good story and she wanted to hear it again. Also, it was a pleasure to have his undivided attention for these few minutes. She shook her head in the negative, gritting her teeth at another injection and attempting a pained smile.
"It was during our last great war. A concert in Leningrad, broadcast live to the citizens of London. The Russians thought it might boost morale during that terrible siege, and I cannot blame them considering their dire situation. Nevertheless, not even into the 2nd movement – stay strong, Fräulein, I know it's unpleasant – bombs began to fall in that very city. The English could even hear the explosions through their radios. But do you know what? Those musicians never faltered, not once. They stayed and played to the very last note, every one of them." Major wiped a phantom tear from his eye. "Ahh, such is the power of music. It can inspire even the most cowardly into heroic acts, if but for a moment in time."
"Major, we must begin now!"
"Very well, Herr Doktor. I know you need the fat man out of your way."
Rip heard him laugh at his own expense then felt him press something small and heavy into her bound and outstretched hand. Curling her fingers around it weakly, all she could tell was that it was metal and oddly shaped.
"For good luck, Lieutenant. We'll be seeing you again very soon."
He kissed her hand and then he was gone from sight. Rip wanted to turn her head to see if he was going to stay, but she felt heavy and much too weak. The panic began to rise again as her breathing became more and more shallow. Despite her best efforts, she could barely move her diaphragm to draw in air. Of the myriad IVs that were in her body some must be pumping drugs that were slowing her heart and paralyzing her lungs. She instinctively yanked against the restraints as she struggled to catch a breath. This was just too much.
For all the medical staff bustling around her now, no one seemed to pay her suffering any mind. She was merely a body at this point, a slab of meat to be worked on. Consequently the operating table had gotten noticeably colder over the last few minutes. That aide had been right: it must be for the sake of working on a dead body, which Rip herself would soon be.
Though the struggles of her limbs began to falter and weaken, her pains did not. She couldn't plead for them to stop. Not now. Such a cowardly act would do no good and would potentially harm whatever respect she held as a member of Millennium. No, Rip couldn't let that happen. Hadn't she been the one to volunteer for this dangerous ordeal? Hadn't the Major called her a "brave little soldier" when she had?
The symphony was in its last tumultuous movement now. She thought about what the Major had said, about those Russian musicians playing until the final chord of the symphony, even as destruction rained all around them. So would she too. And like their memory, she would live forever.
The pain was unimaginable; the muscles in her back locked up, and a dry foam began to form at the edges of her mouth. Rip's hand was clenched impossibly tight around the mystery object, her fingernails digging uncontrollably into her own skin. It was impossible to stop herself from gasping and straining at the agony, but she grit her teeth until the end and did not cry out. Not much, anyway.
Her very last thought was brief and confusing. Why had the Major addressed her as a lieutenant? That was not her rank and was an odd mistake for him to make. Unless…
The monitor flat-lined. Rip Van Winkle was dead.
