Chapter 10: A CHANGE OF HEART

Edilio was in the kitchen behind the facility's mess hall, cooking up an array of meat. All different kinds, from steak to bacon to hotdogs to chicken.

It all smelled amazing.

Justin had told the Rockborn Gang a bit about what Schrödinger liked. His tiger instincts had blended with his human tastes until all he craved was meat. He wouldn't want it raw, he was still human enough to be repulsed by the thought. But, meat. It was all he had talked about for days while he and Justin had slowly starved.

It was still a risky plan. Even half-starving, Schrödinger might have the presence of mind to ignore the food and go for Francis instead. But Dekka thought that was unlikely. She knew what starvation felt like. She knew how hard it would be to ignore salvation from that pain, even when you knew that you were acting against your own best interest. At some point instinct takes over. At some point, intelligent thought cannot override the primitive urge for food.

They needed to get past Schrödinger first, before they could release him back into the "real world." They would escape to safety in the dimension that Future-Malik had crafted for them (they were blindly counting on him having finished creating that pocket reality by now, but there was no way to make sure before they launched their plan). Only then, and only if Schrödinger didn't follow them, would they send Francis and Shade to play round two of the highest-stakes game of "tag" that either of them had ever played in their lives.

"I wonder what will happen when Schrödinger shows up in the real world?" Francis wondered, unconsciously making a happy face towards the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.

"If all goes to plan, none of us will be hanging around long enough to find out," Dekka said wearily.

"I just mean . . . you know, his injuries. I can't tell if it's an effect of Over There, or if it's something to do with his powers, but you know how he looks injured but doesn't act it?" Francis said, obviously concerned. "If it is just a side-effect of Over There, then the instant he pops into the real world, those injuries would become real. He'd die in seconds. There's no way he could de-morph in time."

Dekka blew out a loud sigh. "You're feeling sorry for him? Need I remind you that he worked for Vector. Vector, who infected a man with every disease known and hung him on the wall as a display. The guy you're feeling sorry for, saw that horrorshow, and thought, 'Yeah, this Vector guy seems alright, I wanna help him!' Save your sympathy."

Francis shot Dekka a hard look. "We know nothing of his motivations. And I'm not saying he's a saint. But he also isn't Knightmare. As far as we know, Schrödinger hasn't personally killed anyone. And there's a lot of people who ain't saints that sure don't deserve to die, either." Francis's eyes widened. She looked like she'd just caught herself cursing in front of her parents. It was the first time she had really spoken her mind against one of the other members of the Rockborn Gang, Dekka realized.

Good. It was about time she got over her hero worship and realized that they were all at the big kids' table together.

"Look, I'm glad you care. We need people who care about other people," Dekka said gently. "But Schrödinger cannot live Over There forever. Sooner or later, he will have to come over into the real world. And he's already on borrowed time. He's gotten a lot more time than he would have had, should have had, to live. Just . . . please remember that you weren't the one who gave him the injuries that killed him. That was Armo . . . and, me." Dekka sighed again. "If he dies, you did not kill him. I did."

That did not appear to make Francis feel any better. She looked sadly at Dekka. But before she had time to say anything-

"Dinner's up!" Edilio called from the kitchen.

It was time.

Schrödinger could smell the meat cooking, even from Over There. His mouth watered. He was no longer quite on the verge of starvation, Francis had managed to sneak him enough food to make sure of that, but he was still plenty hungry enough to salivate in anticipation of the smorgasbord of meat.

It took some practice to be able to hear sounds in the "real world" from n-dimensional space, let alone interpret speech, but Schrödinger had had many long days with nothing to do but to eavesdrop on strangers. So, by now, he knew all about the Rockborn Gang's oh-so-clever little plan for him. And he'd caught enough snatches of Francis and Dekka's conversation to get the jist of their concerns, as well.

He had not even begun to consider, before Francis had brought it up, what would actually happen to him when he got back to the real world. "He'd die in seconds," that's what Francis had said. That was only if his injuries stayed "real," while whatever was keeping them from actually affecting him ended. But that probably wouldn't happen. No, no, it certainly wouldn't happen. He was Schrödinger! Alive-and-dead, injured-and-whole!

But, how had he become what he was? Was this his own mutant Rockborn power at work? Or had this girl, this Francis, done this to him?

"Doesn't matter," he muttered angrily to himself. Life or death, he was not willing to spend the rest of his natural lifetime in this hideous limbo realm, this kaleidoscope of reality. Alone. No matter what, he would not die here. No matter what, he would not die alone.

If that meant he would die in seconds in the real world, well, then, so be it. He would welcome his death with gratitude.

Schrödinger mentally prepared himself for the arrival of the Rockborn Gang, as the one called Edilio hollered that his dinner was ready. He tensed, ready to . . . but wait, why did he still want to attack? No, no, that would be stupid, and he wasn't stupid. So, instead, the tiger-morph awkwardly sat down, crossing his strangely invisible legs, closing his eyes, and holding out his frost-ravaged bleeding-yet-not-bleeding hands in a gesture of peace. Despite himself, he was smiling.

After all, the Rockborn Gang was mere moments away from giving him everything he wanted. Too little too late, perhaps, but they were at least trying to undo some of the damage that they had done to him. It was very hard to hate them for that.

He had only attacked out of desperation before, he lied to himself, when he'd thought he had no choice but to force them to let him out of this hell they had trapped him in. No choice. He'd had no choice! They had left him no choice.

Yeah right. Maybe Dekka was right about him. "Save your sympathy," she had said. With a twisting feeling of guilt, Schrödinger made himself acknowledge that he, desperate and acting on instinct though he may have been, had attacked a young girl. A girl who had, in turn, risked several more attacks just to make sure he wouldn't starve. She'd had no reason to care about his well-being, and yet, she had.

That was the thing that had stuck with him. No matter how many times he had pounced at her with clawed hands outstretched, no matter how many times her friends had told her she was being an idiot and to stay the hell out of n-dimensional space, she had kept sneaking back with as much food as she had been able to smuggle away unnoticed. She had fed him like he was an angry stray cat, completely ignoring the fact that he had kept trying to bite the literal hand that fed him. And now she was even worried that he might die. He, who had done nothing but hurt her. Yet still she cared whether he lived or died.

It reminded him of . . . but Schrödinger shook his head savagely. Clearing away memories that were still far too painful to touch.

He had to show them that he had no reasons left to fight. He and the Gang would never be friends, perhaps.

But maybe they still had time to be something better than enemies.