The Quillan Games tpa-7

by D. J. MacHale

  “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)

  QUILLAN

  I had a restless night. You know that feeling where you can’t get to sleep on Christmas Eve because you’re so excited about all the great things that will be waiting for you in the morning?

  It wasn’t anything like that.

  Except for the not being able to sleep part. I was excited, but it wasn’t because I couldn’t wait to see what amazing things Santa had dropped off for me. I was more worried about fi
nding out what Saint Dane had been cooking up in his diabolical workshop. Everything that had happened since I landed on Quillan kept running through my head. Unfortunately, nothing I thought of got me any closer to figuring out what Saint Dane’s plot was. The only hint I had that Saint Dane was even around was the original invitation he’d sent me through the flume from Veego and LaBerge. Though Saint Dane and I were enemies, he had never sent me on a wild-goose chase. Just the opposite. He wanted me to follow him. I suppose I should be grateful, but in truth it confused me. If Saint Dane’s goal was to tip each territory toward chaos, why did he always let me know where he was headed next?

  The only explanation I could come up with isn’t a happy one. I’ve said this before, but with each new adventure I believe more and more that it’s true. For Saint Dane it isn’t only about tipping the territories toward chaos and ruling Halla. Yeah, I think that’s his ultimate goal, but given all that’s happened, I believe there’s more to it. I think he wants to control Halla all right, but I think he also wants to beat the Travelers… and me. Why else would he always let me know where he’s going next? He could easily sneak off to a territory and make it that much harder for me to track him. But he doesn’t. It’s like he wants to make a game out of it. Why is that? We’ve stopped him on five territories. Obviously we’re up to the challenge. Yes, we’ve paid a steep price and lost many Travelers, but the bottom line is, we’re winning. Still, things are never what they appear to be with Saint Dane. He sets the rules. All we can do is react. So even though we’ve stopped him five times, he’s still calling the shots. It makes me wonder. Are we really winning? Or is everything that’s happening just one small piece in some grand scheme of Saint Dane’s? I want to be happy about our successes, but I can’t help but think that in some way, he’s playing us.

  I have to believe that question will be answered in time, but it doesn’t stop me from wondering. That’s why I couldn’t sleep. I was excited and scared. Excited that I wouldn’t have to sit around anymore, and scared because, well, I guess that’s obvious. Whatever was going to happen the next day, I had to believe it would bring me closer to Saint Dane.