The Quillan Games

QUILLAN

I know I’ve said this before, but I’ve never felt so alone. Another Traveler had died and I never even got the chance to meet him. Whatever the territory of Ibara was, it no longer had a Traveler. Unless, of course, there was somebody who was going to take Remudi’s place, but I had no way of knowing that. I couldn’t stress about it, because I had my hands full here on Quillan, and the one person who could help me make sense of it all, Nevva Winter, was beyond my reach because I was trapped inside that twisted castle and forced to play idiotic, deadly games.

Worse, it was Nevva who set me up to play these games in the first place by leaving challenger clothes for me at the flume! Why did she do that? I had assumed it was Saint Dane’s doing because seeing me getting beat up was just the kind of thing he liked doing. But another Traveler? She was supposed to be on my side! Why did she put me in this spot? Could the answer be that she was an idiot? No, that didn’t fly. If there was one thing I could tell about Nevva Winter, she was smart. And efficient. She wouldn’t have made a dumb mistake like that. There was more to it than that. Nevva promised that my questions would be answered the next day. There was only one problem with that.

She didn’t come back the next day. Or the day after that. I kept waiting for her to show up and get me the heck out of there, but she didn’t. What was she doing? What had happened? It was making me nuts. I was still as much in the dark about how Quillan worked as when I arrived, and the one person who could help me understand, the Traveler from this territory, had abandoned me.

At least I can say that while I was stuck there, I was comfortable. Veego and LaBerge weren’t kidding. I was treated like royalty. The food was great; my new room was big, comfy, and clown free; I had the run of the castle and even had a servant. Fourteen. He was always there to get me anything I wanted. Short of freedom, that is. Doesn’t sound too horrible, does it?

Well, it was. I felt as though at any moment I’d get thrown into another one of their wicked games. Like with that Hook game, I feared that whenever I turned a corner or walked by a closed door, I’d be rudely sucked in and my life would be on the line. It’s not a good way to live. The challenger party I saw was making all sorts of sense to me. They were blowing off steam and believe me, no matter how sweet the place was, steam built up. It was like being on death row, not knowing when the executioner would come knocking at your door.

I guess it shouldn’t have felt all that odd to me. In many ways it was exactly how I’d been living my life for nearly three years. Ever since I left home with Uncle Press, I’ve had to live with the fact that any moment might be my last. Usually there’s so much going on that I don’t think about it, which is a good thing. I’d have gone out of my mind long ago.

But hanging around that castle, bored, wondering where Nevva was, and waiting for something to happen-man, it was slowly driving me insane. Bored and scared aren’t a good combination. When you’re bored, your mind wanders. I ended up worrying about things that I normally try not to stress about. I guess on the top of the list was the constant question of how I ended up here. I’m not talking about Quillan. I mean the whole Traveler gig in general. Why me? How come I was the lucky one who got to be the lead Traveler and match wits with Saint Dane? I’m not proud to admit this, but lately when my mind goes there, I get angry. Where before I’d been confused, frustrated, and scared, I now had to add anger to that list. I’m not even sure who to be angry at, which makes me even angrier! Who put me in this spot? Uncle Press? He definitely started me on the journey, but was it his choice to make me the lead Traveler? Or was he just following orders? That’s the big question. Who started this whole thing? Gunny’s theory is that there’s some big cheese out there who selected the Travelers and is running the show. I guess that’s possible, but I have no idea who it might be or how it could work.

I’ve wondered about all this for a long time, of course, but like I said, lately the thought has been making me mad. Sure, I know that stopping Saint Dane is huge. There’s no question. But who the hell is he? How did he get those powers? Where is he from? Since it’s my job to stop him, I think I deserve some answers. Right? Am I being unreasonable? I put my life in danger every day, but nobody has explained any of these things to me. I think that’s just wrong, and it’s starting to piss me off.

What if I decided to give up? I could do it, you know. I could jump into the flume, head home to Second Earth, and never look back. I could start a new life. I’ve learned enough about getting along to do that. What would happen if I did? If I’m really as important as everybody seems to think, then maybe I’d force somebody’s hand so they’d have to step up and give me some answers. I’ve thought a lot about doing that. I’m beginning to think that maybe it’s time to start playing a little hardball and force the issue.

Those are the kinds of thoughts that bounced around in my head while I was hanging out in that castle waiting for… something. The more I thought about them, the more worked up I would get, and I’d have to calm myself down and focus on reality. As much as I’d like to, I can’t go home. Saint Dane cannot be left to do whatever he wants, no matter how unfair it is to me or how angry I get. The only thing I can do is not let it get to me. Being angry doesn’t help. It only makes me feel bad. I have to put those feelings aside, now and forever. That was the way it was meant to be, whether I like it or not.

Thanks for letting me vent, by the way.

To keep my mind off things while I waited for Nevva to come back, I spent a lot of time working out. That’s a great way to burn off energy… and anger. I’d go for runs through the dense forest around the castle. A few times I got as far as the high wall that surrounded the place. But whenever I got too close, a couple of those goon dados would appear from out of nowhere and stare at me as if to say, “Don’t even think about it, red boy.”

The castle had a pretty cool gym, too. I worked out with free-weights and did stretching and even worked out on a couple of odd machines where the base moved and rubber arms swung at you. It was a device to help build agility and reflexes. It was fun, once I got the hang of it and stopped getting thwacked in the head, that is. I was in pretty good shape too, I’m proud to say. The training that Loor and Alder gave me on Zadaa had stuck. No, better, I built on it. I don’t mean to sound cocky, but I was getting pretty confident in my abilities as a warrior. That sounds so weird to say. Warrior. I’m still Bobby, and if I had the choice, I’d never raise a weapon again. But I know as long as I am a Traveler, I have to. Given that, I was pretty confident that I could handle myself in most any situation. Though it was kind of chilling to realize the reason they had all this gym stuff was to keep the challengers in peak physical condition, so they could put on a good show while trying to kill one another. That kind of took the edge off the “fun” part.

I tried to meet the other challengers, but that wasn’t easy. They mostly kept to themselves. I’d pass one in the corridor of the castle and try to start a conversation, but they would just nod and keep moving. I guess you’d call it a polite blow off. I asked Fourteen about it. He came for a run with me one day, and I took the opportunity to pump him for some information.

“I don’t get the other challengers,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Fourteen said. It bugged me that he wasn’t short of breath, even after running for a couple of miles. I was pushing it, getting my heart rate up and building a sweat. Fourteen cruised along calmly like he wasn’t being stressed at all. Which he wasn’t. He was a robot. Duh. Still, it bugged me.

“We’re all in this together,” I said. “You’d think they’d like to open up a little bit, I mean, if only to complain.”

“I cannot say for sure,” Fourteen said. “But from what I have heard, they do not wish to know their opponents. They fear it would be difficult if they entered into a friendship with someone they might have to kill.”

Oh. I guess that made sense. It was scary, but made sense.

“Where do most of them come from?” I asked. “From the city? What’s it called? Rune?”

“Some do,” Fourteen answered. “But Veego spreads her net wide in looking for worthy competitors.”

“How does she get them to come here if they know it means death?” I asked.

“They do not have a choice,” Fourteen said. “Once a candidate is found, dados are sent to retrieve them.”

“Retrieve,” I repeated. “Like cattle being rounded up for slaughter.”

“I do not know what that means,” Fourteen said.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said quickly. “So they come here and train and get chosen for events and as long as they win, they stay alive.”

“That describes it,” Fourteen said. “We try to make them as comfortable as possible during their final days.”

“And what do the challengers get in return?” I asked. “Besides death?”

“Their families are paid a handsome sum when they win,” Fourteen answered.

“And if they lose?”

Fourteen hesitated, then he said softly, “Their families are given the ashes.”

Life on Quillan was turning out to be cruel.

“So what about the party?” I asked. “If the challengers don’t hang out with one another, what about the party I saw the other night?”

“That is an exception,” the dado answered. ‘After a competition there is always a celebration. Like a reward. It is the one time that the challengers socialize with one another, though they never discuss the games. They talk about their former lives and their homes and families, but never about the games. For that very short time they allow themselves to be… how would you put it? Normal.”

Normal. Yikes. There was these challengers were treated. They were expected to perform like trained dogs, put their lives on the line and for what? A couple of bucks for their families? And a party? How wrong is that? I was beginning to get the picture that Quillan was a pretty messed-up place. There were a lot of disturbing puzzle pieces flying around. I needed to start piecing them together.

My run with Fourteen ended up at the place called the “garden.” It was on the far side of the wooded compound, surrounded by trees. We jogged into a clearing and I saw a familiar sight: the octagonal platform where the Tato match had been played. The match that killed Remudi. This was the “garden” the guy out in the street told me about.

It was a strangely forlorn place, mostly because nobody was there at the time. I stopped running and stepped onto the platform. It seemed big, but I’m sure it felt much smaller when it was towering high in the air. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be on this tilting platform, desperately trying to keep my balance. I glanced past the platform, wondering where Remudi might have fallen. I know this sounds weird, but even if I hadn’t seen the match, I would have known that something tragic had happened to a Traveler there. I don’t really know how to describe this; it felt just as weird to me as I’m sure it does to you reading it, but it was like I could sense the loss of life. I know, you’re thinking I’m getting all cosmic on you, and maybe I am, but I swear, I felt as if a cold hand had grabbed my heart.

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked Fourteen.

“Forgive me,” he said. “This is on the way to the field where a game is being played.”

“Then let’s go,” I said, jumping off the platform. I didn’t want to be there anymore and hoped I’d never have to set foot on it again.

The two of us jogged back into the woods, away from the octagon and the cold feeling of death that had settled over me. A few minutes later we came out of the woods to see a big playing field of grass. It could easily have been a football field or a soccer field. There was a game being played that involved not only challengers, but horses.

We quickly climbed up into a tower that was an observation platform. Looking down on the field, I saw two teams of four challengers on horseback. Each team had two girls and two guys. They weren’t wearing their personal challenger shirts. Instead they had team colors. A white team and a black team. They still had the familiar diagonal stripes across the front, though. The playing field was about the size of a football field. There were large nets at either end that looked like goals. I saw pretty quickly what the point of the game was. Each of the riders had a long stick with a net on the end. They fought over a soccer-size red ball, trying to scoop it up. They would then pass it to a teammate to throw into the opposing team’s net. It was like lacrosse on horseback. Sort of. There was more.

Each team had three more players, but they were on foot. They could run with the ball or kick it like a soccer ball. It was a dangerous position to play. I saw one guy get whacked with a stick. It wasn’t an accident. He was running with the ball, and got clocked so hard he dropped the ball and landed on his head. If he hadn’t rolled out of the way, he would have been trampled. That didn’t look like an accident either. The guy who nearly ran him down was trying to get him.

“This is insane,” I said to Fourteen.

“The challengers on foot are those who are less gifted,” he said in his flat, monotone voice.

“The guys who still live near the clown room?” I asked.

“Yes,” Fourteen answered. “They will never compete in the individual challenges. They are expendable.”

“So it’s okay in this game to run them down?” I asked in horror.

“It is encouraged,” he answered. “LaBerge feels it adds to the excitement.”

I glanced up above one of the goals to see a scoreboard flashing numbers. This was a game that was being broadcast throughout Quillan. It was hard to watch. Wondering who was going to score wasn’t nearly as nail biting as wondering who was going to get hit, or trampled. I couldn’t watch. The sounds of the pounding hooves often gave way to sick dull sounds of bodies being pummeled. It was absolutely barbaric… and strangely familiar. I felt as if I knew this game, but that made no sense because I definitely never saw anything like it. It was kind of like lacrosse and polo and soccer, but it felt more familiar than that.

I had no idea why, until I asked Fourteen, “What do they call this game?”

“It is called Wippen,” he said.

Wippen! I did know this game! Wippen was a game they played on the territory of Eelong. The catlike klee would ride on zenzens, which I know you remember were horses with extra leg joints that made them tall and gangly. On foot were the poor gars, the humans, who often didn’t survive a game. This was the exact same game that was played on Eelong, right down to the name! But how could that be?

“What do you know about Wippen?” I asked Fourteen. “I mean, is it a traditional game played on Quillan?”

“I do not know,” he answered. “You would have to ask LaBerge. He designs the games.”

The more I thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense that it could be a total coincidence. Maybe it’s possible that two games could be developed on two different territories that were exactly alike, but to both be called “Wippen”? That was too much. Yet another confusing twist had been thrown into the soup.

“I don’t want to watch,” I said to Fourteen, and climbed down the platform.

As we jogged back toward the castle, an idea came to me. “Hey, does this mean there will be a party tonight?” I asked.

“Yes,” Fourteen said. “Would you like to attend?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

This was going to be my first real chance to interact with the other challengers, other than trying to keep them from killing me in a game, that is. I didn’t want to miss it. I ran back to my room, took a shower, and got dressed in a clean Challenger Red uniform. Fourteen brought me a delicious dinner of grilled meat, vegetables, and a tasty, buttery pile of fluff that reminded me of mashed potatoes but, I was told, was mashed tribbun. Who knew I would develop a taste for such an odd fruit? Or vegetable. Or potato? Whatever.

After eating, I lay down and closed my eyes to rest up and think about what to say to the challengers. I needed information about Quillan. It was the only way to piece together what Saint Dane’s plan might be for the territory, because Nevva Winter wasn’t helping much… or at all. I was beginning to worry that something had happened to her. I didn’t know what her life was like here on Quillan, other than that she was some kind of lowly assistant to the trustees. Whoever they were. Veego and LaBerge answered to them, so they must have been a powerful bunch. I decided that I’d wait for her until the time came that I had to enter another match. No way I was going to die for the amusement of these losers. If I had to play again, I’d use the blocking diode that Nevva had given me and beat feet out of there.

As usual, all this thinking meant I didn’t get much rest before Fourteen came for me. Oh well. As we walked down the corridor toward the party room, I found myself getting butterflies. I felt a little bit like I was going to my first middle-school dance. Only I wasn’t nervous about asking somebody to dance with me, I was more concerned about being accepted enough to start learning more about how Quillan worked.

By the time we arrived, the party was already jamming. It was even bigger and rowdier than the party I saw before. Fourteen must have sensed my surprise.

“Nobody died today,” he told me. “That makes for a more festive event.”

“Thanks, dude,” I said. “Don’t wait up.”

With that, I stepped into the action. I wasn’t sure how people would react to me, since I was pretty much a stranger. Turned out, I didn’t have to worry. No sooner did I set foot in that room than I was greeted like a long-lost friend.

“Hey! How are you!” “Red!” “Good to see you!” “Whooo!”

It was like going to a party at Courtney’s house. Guys were clapping me on the back, girls were hugging me, big smiles were all around. I was handed a silver goblet of that green drink that everybody liked so much. It tasted like warm Gatorade, but what the heck? I liked Gatorade. The same band of Fourteen clones was in the corner playing an upbeat tune. A girl pulled me onto the dance floor, and I was instantly in the middle of a mosh of jumping and bumping. At first I was a little thrown. I really hadn’t planned on partying, but it was hard to resist. Soon I was dancing for the first time since that Winter Solstice dance back at Stony Brook Junior High. The only difference was that I didn’t know any of the tunes. But it didn’t matter. It may have been a bizarre situation, but it was fun.

I wasn’t the only one given a big welcome either.

Everybody got the same reaction when they showed up. It was like a dam that was holding back all this pent-up emotion had been thrown wide open. In between parties everybody pretended not to know anybody else. But there, we were all best buds. I went with it. Why not? I deserved a little break too. The music was odd, but fun, and I liked to dance. At one point a full-on wet-down fight broke out where everybody threw the green drinks at everybody else. I got soaked and sticky, but didn’t care. I had no idea who any of these people were, but in some strange way we were all connected. I tried not to think about how I might be dancing with somebody who I would be asked to fight to the death the next day. It made me understand why they normally avoided one another.

As great as it was, I had to force myself to remember that I wasn’t there to have fun. I was on business. I wanted to find out more about these guys and the games of Quillan. I hoped to find out who the mysterious Mr. Pop was, and how he fit into the program. I needed to know everything. I approached a couple of challengers, said hi, and got the same big “Hey! How are you doing!” greeting. I was just as friendly back. But when I tried to get them to talk about themselves, or how they ended up getting captured to be challengers, I always got the same reaction. They gave me a sharp look and said, “Uh-uh.” Some didn’t even say that much. They just frowned, shook their heads, and moved on. Bottom line? Nobody wanted to talk about anything that was even close to serious.

Once I saw this, the party took on a creepy feeling. I realized that all of the happy greetings and friendly gestures had no basis in anything. Nobody truly knew anybody else there. All they knew was that they were all challengers, faced with the same troubles. I walked around the room and tried to eavesdrop on conversations. I quickly realized that it was all incredibly shallow. Nobody was saying anything that meant anything. It was an outpouring of positive emotion, but with nothing behind it. That’s how they were able to welcome me like some long-lost friend. Nobody really knew anybody, but they all went through the motions as if they did. They were all kidding themselves into believing they were among friends. But they weren’t. Just the opposite. They may have all been in the same boat, but it was a boat loaded with potential enemies. In order to have fun, they all had to pretend like they cared. That’s why they didn’t want to talk. If someone said something real, it would break the illusion.

It made me feel incredibly sad. What looked like a celebration was really a desperate attempt to pretend that all was well. I looked around at a sea of broad smiles and wild, laughing eyes. It could have been a scene from a blowout party on Second Earth. It wasn’t. It was a funeral. I wanted to be out of there. I backed away and turned for the door, only to come face-to-face with someone I had almost forgotten about.

Challenger Green had arrived. The guy stood there, holding a green drink, staring at me. He didn’t have the same wild party look on. He was more in control than that. He was big, too. Bigger than he looked on that screen during the Tato match. The guy stared at me with a knowing smile. It wasn’t a broad, false party smile like everyone else wore either. He was like a hungry cat who had stumbled upon a timid mouse. This was the guy who killed a Traveler. I know, it was part of the games. Still, he had killed a Traveler. I wasn’t about to put on a show, smile, and clap him on the back with a jovial, “Hey! How’s it going!” All I did was stand there, and stare back at him.

“So you’re the next big deal,” he said.

It surprised me, because this guy actually said something that had relevance.

“That’s what they tell me,” I said. “It’s not like I want to be.”

Challenger Green smirked at that comment and said, “Do any of us want to be?” He gulped back his drink and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. His red hair was combed back from his forehead. His skin was pale and freckled. I saw that his hands were big. I’ll bet he could palm a basketball, easy. Everything about him was intimidating. He was the main guy. If anybody could help me understand more about how the games worked, it would be him.

“Congratulations,” I said. “Breaking that record must have been-“

“Shut up,” he snarled.

It came out so fast and so harsh, I think I actually took a step back.

“Don’t talk to me,” he spat out. “Unless you want it to hurt when I kill you.”

He pushed past me and strode into the party.

“Nice to meet you, too!” I said cheerily.

Yikes. The guy was intense. I didn’t know if that was the way he was with everybody, or if he singled me out because I was the one being groomed to be in the Grand X. Either way, it was getting painfully clear that if Veego and LaBerge had their way, he and I would be going head-to-head in some game. I started to sweat. I was getting closer to my showdown with the champion, but no closer to finding Saint Dane. Something needed to happen, and it was beginning to look like I was the one who was going to have to make sure it did. I made a snap decision. It was time to take action. I decided to go back to my room, grab the blocking diode, and get the hell out of Dodge. But when I stepped out of the door. Fourteen was waiting for me.

“I’m going back to my room,” I said as I walked past him, and strode quickly down the corridor.

Fourteen kept pace with me and said, “I was coming to get you anyway.”

“Why?” I said. “I don’t have a curfew, do I?”

“No,” he answered. “But you need to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a very important day for you.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

“Why?” I asked. “Do I have a competition?”

“No,” he answered. “Miss Nevva Winter will be here early to bring you into the city.”

My heart leaped. “What for?” I asked, trying to contain my emotion.

“You are going to be presented to the trustees of Blok,” he announced with about as much fanfare and enthusiasm as a robot could muster, which wasn’t much. “It is a very big honor. You must be at your best.”

I stopped and looked at Fourteen. “Are you serious?” I asked. “Nevva is bringing me to meet the big bosses?”

“Yes,” Fourteen said. “They must be expecting some very exciting things from you.”

I laughed.

“Why is that funny?” he asked.

I said, “Because they have no idea how right they are.” The party was over. Or maybe it was just beginning.

(CONTINUED)