Chapter 11: THE LAST SAFEHOUSE
The Rockborn Gang had been so certain that Schrödinger would attack, as he had already done several times before. So, the group was on edge, ready for a mad dash through n-dimensional space and a fight for their lives.
It took them a moment to even spot the tiger-morph, as still as he was. He just sat there, eyes closed, in a sitting posture that was so unlike a cat. As much as he tried to be calm, however, he could not quiet the tension in his muscles, and that tension was visible to all. His fight-or-flight adrenaline rush was surging, and that, too, could be seen in this place.
If he had been trying to put the group at ease, his sudden shift in behavior instead had almost the exact opposite effect. Their eyes darted around suspiciously, expecting traps or ambushes around every, well, one would normally say "corner" but even the idea of a blind corner was an impossibility in this place.
"I mean you no harm!" he said quickly when he saw them. "I only-"
"No harm?" Dekka interrupted skeptically. Her voice had the harsh edge of pent-up adrenaline, her own fight-or-flight instinct surging across her body. She gave a signal with her hand and the group set down the food they were carrying. "Where on Earth could we have ever gotten the absurd idea that you meant us harm?"
"You have no reason to trust me," Schrödinger began again, edging hungrily towards the food.
"Damn right," Shade interjected.
"But I want out of this place, which is the same thing you've now decided you want for me," Schrödinger continued as though Shade hadn't spoken. "I'm not just some rabid animal, okay? I'm not stupid. If you're going to let me out, and I have no reason to think you're lying, then why wouldn't I cooperate?"
"You eavesdropped on us?" Malik said. He sounded more impressed than angry.
"Then you know what might happen when you land in the real world," Dekka said before Schrödinger could get a word in edgewise.
Schrödinger shrugged and took a steak out of one of the containers without even bothering to open the lid. He just let it sort of phase through. "Still better than staying here. I'm willing to flip that coin. Take my chances." He looked down at his mangled body. "I don't feel like I'll die," he said, but somehow it sounded unconvincing when he said it out loud.
Schrödinger couldn't wait any longer. He tore into the steak, and it was easily the best thing he had ever tasted. The savory meat seemed to melt in his mouth. He waved a hand at the Rockborn Gang in a shooing motion, telling them to move along.
"Huh," Dekka said uncertainly. She was still twitching with energy, expecting the battle that hadn't come. "That was . . . huh."
They all gave a sort of collective shrug, not knowing what else they could do, and moved on, Shade and Dekka still keeping a wary eye on Schrödinger as they moved away. Leaving him well behind, they then moved towards the grey circle that would lead them back to Future-Malik, and more importantly to the realm of simulated reality that he could control.
They were putting an awful lot of faith in Future-Malik, Dekka thought uneasily. He could pretty much do whatever he wanted to the Rockborn Gang. They were fully depending on the fact that he had no reason to want to kill or torture simulated people that he had, albeit in a roundabout way, created.
Dekka didn't like that, didn't like putting herself and her friends completely at another's mercy, let alone someone they barely knew. Although they were familiar with their own version of Malik, he was not his alternate-universe doppelganger.
But what other choice was there?
The Rockborn Gang emerged, not into blank white space as they had before, but into a roomy lobby, with warm eggshell-colored walls and soft-looking couches and easy chairs, and a television that nearly filled one wall. The rest of the walls all had doors, three or four doors to a wall. The doors ranged from utilitarian to ornate. Eleven doors in all.
One door for each member of the Rockborn Gang. And one more door after that.
Future-Malik was nowhere to be seen. So the Gang unclipped themselves from Francis and set about exploring their newest home.
Sam pushed open a weather-worn door whose screened panels made it seem light and airy, and immediately heard the soft shushing sound of crashing waves beyond. His requested "room" opened onto a beach, with a little bungalow for him to sleep and work out, but otherwise just sand and waves.
Astrid, meanwhile, opened the most ornate of the doors, which seemed to be carved out of marble. Her "room" was immaculately neat, stacked high with books on everything from quantum physics to theology. It looked more like a library than a living space.
Edilio's door and room were practical, utilitarian. He hadn't requested much, only what he needed. But he had another door, and from there he had access to an armory and firing range. Just in case.
Simone's room looked almost like a movie set, with lighting she could adjust, and cameras on tracks. Not that she really thought she'd have the time to make movies while she was here, but hey, maybe. And other than the light that gave it that movie-set quality, it was a standard, if somewhat fancy, New-York-style apartment.
Armo's was an elaborate lounge, decadent and splendid, surrounding a pool. He had felt quite inspired by the accommodations in Las Vegas, it seemed. Sitting "outside" in a parking lot was a nearly perfect recreation of his long-since destroyed orange-and-white Dodge Viper.
Cruz's room connected to Armo's through a secretive back door. But where his was grandiose, she had gone for just a touch more subtlety. She had a small glade, trees and grass and everything, right there in her living room, a hammock strung up between trees. That would be her writing nook. And all around her were windows, looking out into various places in what she still thought of as the "real world," even though she knew that it, too, was a simulation. But even so, she didn't want to be totally disconnected from that world.
Malik's room was sparse, with almost a medical feel to it. Like he was living in a hospital. It was even more utilitarian than Edilio's. Shade peeked her head in over Malik's shoulder, a little confused as to why he would want to live in a place like this. This didn't seem like the Malik she thought she knew. But then again, the Malik she knew had changed, more than any of them. Even Shade didn't always know what went on in his mind.
Shade's own space was half relaxed, with a beanbag chair in one corner and a bookshelf with all the books about the FAYZ (plus a DVD of the movie) in another. But the other half had a control-room feel to it, with a row of computer monitors on a long desk along one wall.
Francis's room was small and cozy. Dimly lit, but not in a creepy way. Rather, the dark space had a feeling of warmth and comfort, like being near a fire on a winter evening. She had a beanbag chair, a gaming console, and a small bookshelf that together occupied most of the space.
Dekka's was a simple apartment, not so different from the place she had lived for the past four years. A little nicer, a little cleaner, perhaps, but still austere. She had keepsakes scattered here and there, remnants of her old life.
It was perfect, each member of the Rockborn Gang thought to themselves in turn.
The perfect safehouse, from which to watch the world burn.
