The Quillan Games

QUILLAN

The screens up and down the street turned white and the words tato champion-challenger green! flashed in glowing red letters. Most of the crowd went crazy with cheering and hugging and car-horn honking. Their champion had won. It was like New Year’s Eve in Times Square.

I stood in the center of the swirling craziness, feeling very alone and very stunned. Another Traveler was dead. How could this have happened? Who was he and why had he played that deadly game? I didn’t even know the poor guy’s name! I knew I would find those answers. I had to. But I also knew that when I did, it wouldn’t change the fact that he was dead. I had the faint hope that, like Loor, he could beat death. After all. Travelers weren’t like normal people, right? But that was a fleeting thought. Travelers did die. Something had happened between Loor and me in that cavern on Zadaa. She was dead, and she came back. But that was different. I was there with her. Whatever bizarro cosmic power we Travelers had, it was stronger when we were together. Here on Quillan, Challenger Yellow was alone. He had fallen from a four-story-high platform. Nobody could survive that.

Saint Dane was clawing his way back into the battle for Halla. Or maybe he was never out of it. Was he just toying with us? Was the battle for each territory secondary to his overall plan of conquest? It sure seemed like it. As I stood there on that busy, lonely street, I made myself a promise. I would avenge the deaths of the Travelers. All of them. I didn’t know when. I didn’t know how. I was certain that Saint Dane somehow played a role in Challenger Yellow’s death, and for that I would make him suffer. It couldn’t be as simple as killing him. I’d already discovered that couldn’t be done. Besides, I’m not the killing type. Something else had to be done. Something significant. Saint Dane would pay for what he had done to Challenger Yellow, and so many others.

But first I had to find him.

Music echoed through the canyons created by the towering buildings. The crowd continued to celebrate. Most of them, anyway. I wondered how many people had actually bet on the outcome. Glancing around at the crowd, I saw that a disturbing number of “loops” on people’s arms were glowing yellow. Could it be? Could that many people have actually bet on the outcome of this death contest… and picked the loser? I’m sorry to say the answer was, yes. No sooner did the loops begin to glow, than I heard a far-off siren. Followed by another, and another. The panicked look on the faces of the losers told me all I needed to know. If what had happened in the arcade was any indication, the sirens meant one thing:

The dados were coming for the losers.

The people with the flashing armbands scattered. Some jumped out of their cars and started to run. The people celebrating didn’t do anything to help them, or show any concern. They were too busy being happy. Or relieved. Or, in many cases, oblivious. A moment later I saw three dados on motorbikes charging along the sidewalk. They must have been inside the buildings, waiting for the Tato match to end. Waiting to begin the round-up. People scattered to give them room. One woman with a flashing yellow armband ran into the store behind me. A dado shot up on his motorbike, jumped off, and was right after her. She didn’t stand a chance. More dados swarmed into the crowd, rounding up people with flashing loops. Some people fought the dados, refusing to be taken. Others seemed resigned and went quietly. It didn’t matter either way. The dados would not be denied. They grabbed their quarry and quickly hauled them off. Their victims were every sort of person you could imagine. Older men, young women, middle-aged people… at least there were no kids. That’s one consolation. This all led me to a really disturbing question: Why were so many people gambling? And what exactly were they betting so that as soon as they lost, the thugs came to get them? Did the people running the contests automatically assume they weren’t going to pay? It made me wonder how big their bets were.

A moment later the woman who’d ducked into the store was dragged out by the dado, fighting against the much bigger guy. “I have children,” she whined. “I had no choice. Please. I have resources. I can make amends.”

The dados didn’t care. They simply carted her off roughly to… who knows where? I imagined there was some central place where everybody who lost a bet had to go to pay up. The real question was, why? Who was collecting these bets and why did they have an army of scary robotlike guys to round up the losers? The whole scene was disturbing for all sorts of reasons.

I kept to the shadows, observing. I didn’t want to get in the way or be involved. What I really needed to do was find the two nut jobs from the video screen. Veego and LaBerge. Whatever Saint Dane was doing on Quillan, it was obvious that Veego and LaBerge had something to do with it. Since they seemed to be the people who staged the contests, and I was given the uniform of a challenger, the pieces of the puzzle were coming together in a way that made me a little nervous. Would I eventually end up high on that platform, fighting for my life the way the Traveler from Quillan did? The thought made me want to find my way down to the warehouse basement, dump these challenger clothes, and get the hell off Quillan. But that’s not the way it was meant to be. I needed to be here and face whatever Saint Dane had set up for me. That’s the way it worked in the life of Bobby Pendragon, lead Traveler.

“Do not move,” came a stern, gravelly voice that had the unmistakable growl of a dado. I really, really hoped he wasn’t talking to me. Slowly I turned to see…

He was talking to me. Swell.

Two dados stood side by side. I wasn’t sure if they were the same goons that had chased me out of the arcade. It didn’t matter. One of them had his golden pistol out. It was aimed at me.

“You talking to me?” I asked innocently. “I didn’t bet on the contest, see?” I took off my jacket to show them that my loop wasn’t flashing yellow. It was flashing purple. I had forgotten. Oops. What the heck did purple mean?

“Challengers must never enter the city without an escort,” the second dado said. “Come with us.”

I wasn’t going with them. No way. I needed to be on my own to find Saint Dane. Besides, I didn’t want to be the next one on that platform and risk facing the same fate as Challenger Yellow. I pulled my jacket the rest of the way off and took a step toward the dados.

“Okay,” I said casually. “But first let me do this-” Without warning I shoved the jacket into the face of the dado with the gun. At the same time I ducked down, spun my leg, and swept the legs out from under the second dado. He slammed into the dado with the gun, knocking him off balance, making him fire his gun. The sound it made wasn’t a crack like you’d hear from a gun on Second Earth. It was more like a short, sharp discharge of energy that gave off a hollow echo. Fum. I had no idea what kind of ammunition it fired. I didn’t want to know. I needed to get away. Before they could get their balance back, I took off into the crowd. The chase was back on.

(CONTINUED)