Rachel the Warrior

Rachel the Warrior

Part Eight

by G. Lawrence

Rachel's final decision

Secretly held prisoner by Nomad since the space station was destroyed two months before, Rachel has cooperated with her captors. To a degree. But several of Nomad's inner circle believe she is a danger to their organization. This is part eight of eight.

* * * * * *

Chapter Fifteen

FATEFUL CHOICES

Colonel Joković led Rachel to a jet hangar under heavy guard. The pre-dawn hour was warm due to a summer wind, the grounds surrounded by wheat fields. Rachel saw a lake and trees in the distance. All remained outside the massive doors except Joković, Gruda, and Popov as Rachel was taken inside. There was a scorched space capsule on the flatbed of an old truck.

"Is this why you had Dr. Volker detained?" Rachel asked.

"He has developed feelings for you," Gruda said. "There is no room for feelings in this business."

Gruda went to a locker, pulling out the damaged space suit Rachel had worn on the orbiting platform. It was in rough condition. Parts had been cut open when they were pulling Rachel's unconscious body from the wreck.

"It will be easier if you dress in the suit yourself," Gruda suggested. She was armed with a Russian pistol. So was Popov.

"I would rather not disrobe in front of the men," Rachel replied.

"You will not be needing such modesty," Popov grimly told her.

Rachel climbed up on the truck to look in the small craft she and McKay had flown into outer space. The instrumentation was badly damaged. A section of the heat shield was torn away from hitting the water too hard. Rachel was surprised none of her bones were broken.

"Going to drop me in the ocean?" Rachel guessed.

"After setting you on fire. To destroy the evidence," Gruda replied, showing her a book of matches. Rachel stepped back, eyes wide, catching her breath.

"No one gave me this instruction," Joković objected.

"We are in authority here," Gruda commanded.

"At least give her a drug to knock her out," Joković urged.

"The fire won't destroy her body entirely," Gruda said. "Drugs would be detected during autopsy." Gruda and Popov lifted the spacesuit up on the flatbed.

"Put the suit on now or we'll call the guards to do it for you," Gruda threatened.

Rachel slowly stripped off the coveralls Natasha had found for her, turning her back.

"The underwear, too," Gruda ordered. "They can't find you wearing garments from our commissary."

Rachel obeyed, saying nothing, but getting into the suit proved difficult. She needed to sit on the truck bed, push her feet in first, and then try to put her arms down the sleeves. The bulky material was stiff. No one offered to help. The zippers were damaged, only going halfway. She didn't like the way the men were staring at her. Finally, she managed to partially seal the chest flaps.

"It's scratchy," Rachel complained, the torn lining rubbing against her bare skin.

"It won't be scratchy for long," Popov said.

"Am I allowed to write any last messages?" Rachel asked.

"We think it's better that you don't," Gruda denied. "Get in the capsule."

When Rachel didn't move, Gruda drew her gun. Popov stood back, choosing to observe.

"Dr. Frey should be called," Joković said, getting worried.

"There is nothing here that concerns him," Gruda insisted.

"This is not on my schedule," Joković protested.

"You are here to obey, Colonel, not ask questions," Gruda reminded.

"I still think he should be called," Joković repeated.

There was a pause, Gruda and Popov growing impatient with their security chief. And then an interruption.

"Call me about what?" Frey said, suddenly striding into the hangar. He looked hurriedly dressed in a light brown suit, his shaggy gray hair unbrushed.

"About the change in plans," Joković explained.

"What change in plans? Popov, what's going on here?" Frey asked. Popov didn't answer.

"They are putting her in the capsule, and they are going to set her on fire," Joković reported. Frey looked at his compatriots with a frown.

"This action is premature. I've given no such instructions," Frey said.

Rachel waited next to the capsule. She did not say anything. It was between them.

"We cannot be weak," Gruda said. "The decision has been made."

"The others are expecting the American in the pod tomorrow. To test her theory. How do you take this upon yourselves?" Frey questioned.

"We need no permission," Popov said. "All are equals. All make decisions when they must be made."

"My decision is to delay this action," Frey said.

Gruda turned, her gun ready. Popov drew his gun. Frey was unarmed. They all looked to Joković. Joković looked up at the quiet young woman standing near the bent capsule.

"What do you have to say, Miss Montgomery?" Joković asked.

"About what?" Rachel answered in a soft voice.

"About dying," Joković said.

"It's not her decision," Gruda angrily intervened.

"I want to hear what she says," Joković replied, a hand on his sidearm.

"If the Level 13 clone dies with me, that might be a good thing," Rachel shakily responded.

"Our Level 13 will not die with her," Gruda denied.

"Yes, it will," Rachel said. "You have no idea the power you're dealing with. I'm glad for that."

"Will you help us stabilize our matrix?" Frey asked.

"I won't make any promises, sir," Rachel answered.

"Get in the capsule. Get in now," Gruda demanded, waving her gun. When Rachel hesitated, Gruda fired a shot over her head, the bullet hitting a rafter. The sound echoed throughout the big hangar.

Rachel slowly climbed in, settling into the bucket seat. She thought to reach for the hatch, but it wasn't there. Someone had removed it.

"Joković, get her out of there," Frey ordered.

"No, I will not permit it. Joković, start the fire," Gruda said, throwing him the book of matches.

"Yes, do it," Popov agreed. Both were pointing their weapons.

Joković climbed up on the truck to find a ten-liter can of jet fuel. He stood over the open canopy, staring down at his victim, ready to pour. She glanced up with big brown eyes, clutching her hands. When she dipped her head, he heard her mumbling a prayer. The words were too soft to make out.

Joković raised the canister. The high-octane smell was strong, a splash soaking into his heavy gloves. There was no reaction from inside the space capsule. He paused.

"Montgomery," Joković called.

Rachel didn't respond.

"Montgomery, answer me," Joković urged.

She looked up for the briefest second, finding him hovering over her, before staring back down.

"Rachel! Look at me!" Joković demanded.

"Yes, sir?" Rachel said. She was shaking, her breathing labored. There were tears in her eyes. It was the first time he'd ever seen her so frightened. But she wasn't crying. She didn't beg.

"Do it! Do it now!" Gruda demanded, firing two shots above their heads.

Joković looked back at the three Nomad scientists, sensing how big the hangar was, and how small they seemed. Then he studied the woman awaiting her fate.

"Give me your hand," Joković said, reaching down.

Rachel wasn't sure what he meant. She looked up, seeing a determined expression. He grabbed a shoulder pad and pulled her from the capsule in one powerful motion, setting her on her feet.

"Put her back in! Goddamn you, put her back in!" Gruda yelled.

When Joković refused, Gruda fired another shot, this one much closer. Joković did not duck. Rachel didn't, either.

"I can do it," Rachel said. She placed her hands on the side of the capsule and tried to pull herself in. Her first effort failed. She tried again, but her legs grew weak. She slid down, falling on the truck bed. Joković reached for her.

"I'm okay," Rachel whispered, struggling to get up. She didn't have the strength.

"This is your last chance, Joković. Follow your orders," Gruda warned.

Joković stood tall before them, glaring angrily as he set the fuel can down on the truck, and then kicked it into the hangar. Fuel spilled out, spraying Gruda and Popov as they jumped back. He lit the book of matches and threw it in their direction. They scrambled away as flames spread across the floor. Then Joković picked Rachel up, finding her limp in his arms.

"What do you want me to do, Dr. Frey?" Joković asked.

"Take her back to her room," Frey replied. He gave Gruda and Popov a hard look, gauging how far they'd go. He wasn't surprised when they skulked away.

* * * * * *

Dr. Volker stomped down the corridor like an angry lion. There was a young corporal outside Rachel's door standing guard. Volker reached for the knob and was blocked.

"She is not to have visitors," the youngster said.

"Do you know who I am?" Volker asked.

"Yes, Doctor. But I have my orders."

Volker grabbed the impertinent guard's jacket, lifted him off his feet, and hurled him across the hall into the wall.

"Find her nurse. Now!" Volker demanded. The guard picked himself up and dashed away. Volker directed his personal security to take up positions at the ends of the hallway.

He entered the suite cautiously, not wanting to startle the prisoner. The small kitchen was empty. He went in the bedroom, finding the bed made. Rachel's battered spacesuit lay on the carpet. The sound of running water came from the bathroom. He knocked. When there was no answer, he opened the door.

"Mein Gott!" Volker exclaimed.

Rachel lay in the shower, curled in a ball, naked. The water was cold. She was shivering. Volker dragged her out to the bathroom floor. She was conscious but unresponsive.

"Come from this place," Volker said, carrying her to the bed. He quickly had her wrapped in blankets, massaging her arms and legs. She was staring blankly, her tiny hands clenched in fists.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Natasha asked, arriving with a First Aid kit.

"Popov and Gruda took her to the space capsule and ordered Joković to set her on fire. They were almost successful."

"They are monsters. I am sorry, doctor, but they are," Natasha said, climbing on the bed. She looked into Rachel's eyes and took her pulse.

"What is wrong with her? She won't talk," Volker asked.

"It's a deep dissociative state. Deeper than any I've seen," Natasha concluded. She took out a syringe, giving Rachel an injection of her medication.

"Find clothes for her," Volker said.

Natasha went to the closet, then the dresser. Both were empty.

"Dr. Gruda's staff got here first. All of Rachel's things are gone," Natasha reported.

"Those Cossacks. They will pay for this," Volker swore. "How can we revive her?"

Natasha spent fifteen minutes holding Rachel's hands while whispering her name.

"It's a bad haze," Natasha concluded. "They've been getting worse the last few days. Whatever they did to her, it must have been terrifying."

"Keep trying," Volker urged.

"Rachel? Rachel? It's me, Natasha. Rachel?" Natasha whispered. Rachel stirred but didn't speak. Volker grew impatient.

"Take two of my guards. Find what she needs. Clothes. Tea. Hot soup. On my authority, don't take no for an answer."

"Yes, doctor," the nurse agreed, rushing out.

"Rachel. Rachel," Volker softly summoned.

"Dr. Volker?" she finally mumbled.

"Yes. Rachel, I am so sorry."

"I'm okay. Please go away now."

Volker used an extra wool blanket to wrap her more warmly. She neither cooperated nor resisted. Then he sat against the headboard and cradled her in his huge arms.

"How can I help you?"

"There is something."

"What? Whatever you want."

"The next time they come for me, will you shoot me first? I don't want to be burned."

"They won't come back for you."

"Yes, they will."

"You have been so brave for so long," he whispered, pressing her head against his shoulder. "You will need to stay brave. But you are safe now. I won't let them hurt you. Not ever again."

"I was scared," Rachel confessed.

"Of course you were," Volker replied. "Now it is time to get those tears out, and then you will sleep. I will be here, holding you. I am not going anywhere."

Rachel sobbed quietly for several minutes, the strong embrace comforting. She gradually fell asleep. Volker took out his gun and laid it within easy reach, keeping an eye on the door.

* * * * * *

"I promised Mom not to join the attack. I didn't promise not to be nearby," Rory said as they disembarked from a private jet in Budapest.

Tom, Eric, and McLane were with her. Other elements of the raiders were arriving separately, some in different cities, to avoid detection.

"Sheba arranged for a disaster relief camp to be set up near the border. It's filled with our equipment," Tom said. "We'll take the Red Cross markings off the helicopters at the last minute."

The airport wasn't busy. Recent terrorist threats had depressed travel throughout Europe. Dressed casually, the Americans attracted little attention.

"We've hired trucks to take us to Brăila," Eric said. "Ro and I will be at the hotel coordinating with Sheba. The moment you're back over the border, we'll have the jet ready to take you out of the country."

"When we reach the Nomad base, you shoot the bad guys," McLane said to Tom. "I'll find Rachel."

"It's a big complex. How are you going to do that?" Eric asked.

"I've been following her around for six years. I know how she thinks," McLane replied.

"Do we know anything about how she's being kept? Locked in a cell?" Rory asked.

"Almost nothing. Nomad maintains tight security," Eric replied. "All we know for sure is they guided her capsule down to a lake, a recovery crew arrived, and there was a medical team. Then a large object was moved to their complex. Probably McCay's space capsule."

"Sheba is sure Rachel is still alive, isn't she?" Rory said.

"As sure as we can be," Eric replied.

"We won't leave a stone unturned," McLane promised.

* * * * * *

The pit was alive with workstations and monitor screens. The steel pod mounted in the center had its heavy door open anticipating a crew. Maria, Fournier, and Popov were coordinating with their chief assistants. The surrounding walkways, twenty feet above the floor area, held a score of observers and security personnel looking down on them. The only elevator was guarded. Frey arrived to oversee.

"We're almost ready," Frey said. "Tell Joković to bring the woman."

"She's on the way," Popov grunted.

On the upper walkway, Rachel appeared with two sentries, once again wearing her powder blue coveralls. Volker was with her garbed in a white lab coat. They saw Dr. Gruda holding a clipboard, waiting for the elevator.

"Diandra," Volker said, stopping in front of her.

"What do you want, Konrad?" Gruda replied.

"To keep my promise," Volker answered. Then he grabbed her jacket, lifted her off her feet, and went to the railing overlooking the deep pit.

"Volker! Stop! Put me down!" Gruda shouted. A score of scientists looked up to see the giant German holding their comrade above his head. And then he threw her into the pit, the thin body sailing through the air before crashing on the tile floor with a thud.

"My God," Popov said, jumping from his station.

Gruda lay crumpled at his feet, blood running from her nose and mouth. Several went to check her, some of them medical doctors before becoming terrorists. Gruda groaned incoherently.

"Don't move her. I think her back is broken," one said.

"Call the medics," another urged, waving for help.

Rachel and Volker stood on the walkway above the chaos.

"You didn't need to do that. Not for me," Rachel said.

"She was warned. They all were," Volker replied. "Are you displeased with me?"

"Oh, no. She had it coming," Rachel explained. "I just don't want people madder at me than they already are."

"I will kill Popov for you," Volker offered.

"That's okay. I could kill him myself if I wanted to."

"What are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm sorry to have been so much trouble last night," she sheepishly apologized.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You've been in a haze all morning."

"I need to do this. I want answers as much as you do."

They took the elevator down to the main floor, finding silence. A medical team arrived, strapped Gruda to a gurney, and whisked her away. Everyone got back to work without further comment.

"Is the pod ready?" Frey asked.

"Yes, Gustav. All primed," Fournier confirmed. Popov stared sideways at Volker, keeping his head down. Wondering if he would share Gruda's fate.

"Remind us. What are we doing?" Frey said for the benefit of the teams.

"Miss Montgomery and I are going to test the stabilization," Volker confirmed. "If there are no problems, we'll perform a preliminary installation. If the path isn't clear, we'll power down and look for an explanation."

"We'll be tracking the procedure," Maria said, giving Rachel an encouraging smile. "Just do what you can. What we can't accomplish today, we'll accomplish tomorrow."

"Thank you, Maria," Rachel responded.

She entered the pod, strapping down in a chair before the control panel. Volker sat next to her, signaling the hatch closed. The heavy locks sealed them in.

"This is not like Level 12. You need to be careful," Volker warned.

"You are in more danger than I," Rachel replied. "Level 13 has scrambled my brain twice. I know what to expect. Do you have your oxygen mask? It helps if you get dizzy."

"Right here. And one for you."

Rachel picked the masks up and checked the valves before setting them down on the floor.

"Let's do this," Rachel said, signaling the power.

The pod began to hum. The teams outside watched through small windows, but only had communications through their panels. Volker performed the initial groundwork, activating the screens, priming the inputs, and setting the parameters. Rachel was familiar with all of it. The entire system was based on her work.

"We know your Level 12 gathers and distributes data on a planetary scale," Volker said. "Level 13, as designed by your government, is command and control. Designed to dominate targeted networks."

"Like your team did with the space station," Rachel teased.

"Until you began overwriting their codes."

"Level 13 is inherently unstable," Rachel explained. "It creates gaps in the layering that can be exploited."

"As you have proven. What is the solution?"

Rachel took over the controls, donning a headset, pressing pads against her temples, and adjusting the microphone for whispering instructions. The screens showed long rows of swiftly moving numbers going left to right. Rachel increased the speed until the figures were difficult to follow. Then secondary rows of numbers, in different colors, began flowing in the opposite direction. Some moved up and down. The patterns were dizzying.

"Careful," Volker warned. "Those drawn into the matrix suffer brain damage. For some, it has proven permanent."

Rachel didn't respond. She was moving deeper into the patterns, turning numbers into fractals. They would jump, retreat, swirl, and reform in ways that engulfed their senses. Some resembled squares or circles. Others fluttered like snowflakes. Volker was starting to feel sick. Rachel found an oxygen mask for him.

"I see no progress," Volker said, taking a puff.

"You do not see enough," Rachel replied, starting to take the experiment to a new level.

Outside, Frey was looking over the shoulders of Fournier and Maria.

"What the hell is she doing?" Frey asked.

"Not anything we expected," Maria answered. "She's rewriting the Level 13 stabilization protocol. Turning it into something different."

"She's sabotaging it," Popov mumbled. "Gruda and I warned you."

"No, this isn't sabotage," Fournier disagreed. "And it's no accident. She had this planned from the beginning. It's why she added Xs to the bottom of her notes instead of writing them out."