The Quillan Games

by D. J. MacHale

  A shrill whistle blast shattered the calm. Without thinking, I ducked back into the doorway of a store that sold soap. Across the street and a block to my right, I saw two big dado dudes run out from an alley, headed for the street, toward me. My first thought was How did they find me? I was about to turn and run when I realized that I didn’t have to worry. I wasn’t the quarry. Directly down the sidewalk to my right was a young guy running to get away from the dados. He looked terrified as he desperately tried to get through the people on the sidewalk. I figured he must have been a thief or something, because the dados definitely looked like police, with their gold helmets and dark green uniforms. Nobody would give the guy a break and get out of his way. Nor did they try to stop him. It was like he wasn’t even there. Even when he banged into a woman, nearly knocking her down. She didn’t say a word. All she did was put her head down and continue walking as if nothing had happened. It was like these people were brain-dead! On the other hand, about a half block behind him the people in the street parted to allow the dados a clear path. I didn’t know if the people wanted the dados to catch the guy, or if they were just being smart, because if they didn’t move, they’d probably get bowled over. It looked like it would be only a matter of time before the dados caught the fugitive.

  When the guy ran by me, I saw that the loop on his arm was glowing yellow, just like the guy who’d gotten carted off inside the arcade. I wondered if the big crime this guy had committed was that he had lost a game. As he ran by, I saw the panic on his face. He was breathing hard and sweating. It wasn’t just because he was tired either. No way. This guy was scared. I felt bad for him, but then again, maybe he really was a thief and deserved to get caught. Either way, it wasn’t my business. The guy continued past me, dodging pedestrians. I looked back to the chasing dados, who would soon pass by. I stepped back into the shadow of the doorway. I didn’t want them to give up on the scared guy and pick on somebody who wasn’t moving so fast. Me. Everyone parted to let them pass. I crouched down, but peeked out from between two people to get a better look at these dado guys. I actually thought they looked strangely familiar, but couldn’t imagine where I might have seen these thugs before. Still, there was something about them that I recognized.

  It was at that moment that a woman riding a motor scooter shot off the street, headed for the sidewalk. She jumped the curb, shouting: “Look out! The throttle is jammed!” She was out of control. People dove out of the way. The woman maneuvered the bike into the space the pedestrians had cleared for the dados to run through. You guessed it, there was a collision coming.

  “Help!” she shouted, and turned the motor scooter toward the running dados.

  “Clear the way!” shouted one of the dados. His voice made me shudder. It didn’t sound human. It was low and gravely and monotone, like he was some kind of, yes, I’ll say it, like he was some kind of robot. Could it be? Were these dados actually robotic? His warning came too late. The woman saw the dados headed toward her. She screamed, and bailed off the bike. The bike fell on its side and skidded right toward the sprinting dados. They didn’t have time to dodge it. The woman couldn’t have hit them any more perfectly if she had been aiming. They were running side by side, and the careening bike hit them both at the ankles. They tumbled simultaneously, like circus performers. They hit the ground, rolled, and got tangled up in each other. It was a jumble of arms and legs and would have been kind of funny if the whole scene weren’t so intense.

  The woman tucked and rolled a few times. I wanted to run out to see if she was okay, but I had to keep a low profile. I wasn’t on Quillan to get involved in minor disputes. I had bigger game to worry about, so to speak. So I stayed back and observed. The woman looked dazed as she sat up. Oddly, nobody else went to help her. If anything, all the pedestrians backed off even farther. There was now a wide circular clearing on the sidewalk, with two crumpled dados, a trashed motor scooter, and a dazed woman in the center. The woman looked pretty young. I’d say she was in her twenties. That was good. If she’d been really old, she probably would have been hurt by the fall. As it was, she looked to have only skinned her elbows. She sat on the sidewalk, looking as if she were trying to clear her head.

  A few feet from her the dados were getting their act together as well. They both surveyed the scene. I truly don’t think they knew what hit them, until they saw the bike and the dazed woman. One of them jumped to his feet and looked in the direction that their quarry had gone. He started to go after him again, but the other grabbed his arm to stop him.

  “He will not get far,” the second dado said in that same eerie, low robotic voice. The two turned their attention to the woman who had allowed the guy to get away. Both took a step toward her. They didn’t look like they were worried about her well-being. They looked angry.

  “What is your sequence?” the first dado demanded.

  The woman looked up and was about to answer, when another guy suddenly pushed his way through the crowd and into the circle.

  “Hey!” he shouted angrily at the woman. “What is wrong with you?” He looked even angrier than the dados. It was a guy with graying hair who could have been the woman’s father. “I lend you my scoot and this is what you do? Drive like a crazy person?”

  The woman didn’t answer. She seemed too dazed. The guy didn’t stop to help her. He went right to the scooter, or “scoot” as he called it, and picked it up. “If this is damaged, it’ll come out of your pay!”

  One of the dados grabbed him by the wrist and said, “Do you know this woman? She has obstructed a pursuit.”

  The guy cowered a bit. He may have been steamed, but it was clear he didn’t want to mess with a dado.

  “Sure I know her,” he said. “She works for me. But not for long if she keeps acting so recklessly.” He then turned to the woman and barked, “Get back to the store now!”

  “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, and started to get up. “I lost control. It was the throttle—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” the guy snarled. “Go!” The guy smiled at the dado and said, “Forgive me. She won’t be driving a scoot again anytime soon. At least not one of mine!” Without waiting for a response, he started to wheel the scooter away.

  The dados looked from the guy to the woman, as if they weren’t sure what to do. Finally one of them said to the other, “Come. We must continue the pursuit.” Without another word the two dados took off running after their quarry.

  The excitement was over. The crowd started to move along again. I didn’t. I kept my eye on the woman and the man. Something didn’t feel right. What happened was an accident, sure, but it all seemed to happen a bit too perfectly. The woman on the bike hit the sidewalk at the exact right time to nail the dados. Was it intentional? Who knew? Maybe it was a total accident. But one thing definitely happened because of it. The guy the dados were chasing got away.

  There was one other thing that made me think there was something more going on. It happened a moment before the crowd filled up the sidewalk once again. The woman got to her feet, brushed herself off, and looked to the older guy. I followed her gaze. The older guy was looking back at her. His anger seemed gone. That’s when it happened. He reached up and clasped his hand over his left biceps. It was an odd move. I quickly shot a look back to the woman in time to see her do the exact same thing. Her expression didn’t change; all she did was clasp her right hand over her left biceps. It was fast. By the time I looked back to the guy, he had been swallowed by the crowd.

  I stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what I had just seen. Maybe I was reading too much into it, but it sure seemed as if these two people had given each other a silent signal. I couldn’t begin to guess what it meant, but there was no question, the accident allowed the running guy to get away, and the older guy made sure the woman didn’t get in trouble for it. It all happened so fast, the dados didn’t know what hit them. I couldn’t help but feel that I had witnessed something important.

  I didn’t have
much time to think about it. There suddenly came a huge fanfare from the overhead screens. It was much more dramatic than anything I had heard up until then. It was an electronic trumpet tune that called everyone’s attention to the screens. Everyone stopped and looked up at them. Literally. Everyone. All at the same time. This was way different from when the other announcements were made. The people barely paid attention to those. But not now. I felt an excited buzz travel through the crowd. People came alive. They exchanged looks. They chattered to one another. All the way up and down this crowded street, you could feel the electricity. Cars stopped, which wasn’t that big a deal because they weren’t going anywhere anyway, but the drivers got out of their vehicles to look up at the screens. Whatever was going to happen, they were excited about it. Thousands of people were suddenly all staring up, in anticipation of . . . what?

  Naturally I looked up too. The screens were all blank for a few more seconds as the fanfare built. Finally, as the music reached a crescendo, a single word appeared in a shower of light and drama.

  BLOK.

  There it was again. Blok. What the heck was it? The way it appeared on-screen with such a flourish, you’d think people would cheer, as if their favorite wrestling champion had just been announced. They didn’t. They continued to look up with anticipation, but there was no cheering. The inspirational music continued, and a man’s voice was heard.

  “The competition is about to begin,” the voice said, teasing the crowd. He sounded excited, almost giddy, as if this news were as exciting to him as he was trying to make it for the crowd. I guess it worked, because I could feel a buzz growing. The people of Quillan were getting psyched up. “We are in midquad, which can only mean one thing!”

  Suddenly everyone in the crowd shouted out: “TATO!”

  Yikes! The roar was deafening. They all shouted out the word and began to applaud and cheer. It was like the fuse had reached the dynamite and the crowd had exploded. Whatever “Tato” was, the crowd thought it was pretty good. The word TATO flashed on-screen, which made them cheer again. I couldn’t imagine what was so incredibly great about this “Tato” thing that it could finally inject some life into this listless world.

  The man’s excited voice continued over the roar, louder, so it could be heard: “Place your bets, the time is near; the greatest games on Quillan are here!” He sang this out like a singsong children’s rhyme. The people responded with a cheer and applause. I didn’t. Rhymes. I had heard a rhyme recently. Where was that? Why did this give me an uneasy feeling? I couldn’t remember.

  On the screen the word TATO dissolved in a brilliant flash of orange. What was left was a close-up of the announcer. The guy had a big toothy smile. His hair was long and blond and totally wild like he had stuck his finger in a toaster. He was an older guy, in his forties maybe. Whatever age he was, he was way too old to be acting so crazy. He reminded me of one of those nutty guys in cheesy TV commercials who try to sell you kitchen stuff, or used cars. Or report the weather. His eyes were wild and always moving. Above all, he looked like he was having a great time. The people responded.

  “We are proud, so very proud, to bring you the greaaaaatest Tato match in history!” He was whipping the crowd into a frenzy. The shot on-screen widened out to include another person. A woman. She was as still and intense as the guy was animated and nutty. She stared out at the world with an unwavering glare. Her hair was dark and slicked back so severely, it almost looked like she was bald. Her features were sharp, like a fox’s. Whoever she was, she meant business.

  “The match will begin in moments,” she said clearly but with no emotion. “Wagering must be completed by the tone. Do not dally. If you plan to wager, the time is now.”

  What an odd couple these two made. The hyperactive nutty guy who looked like he was auditioning for a kids’ TV show, and the intense, glaring woman who was everybody’s nightmare of a strict teacher. Who were these two?

  The nutty guy gave me the answer. He sang out another rhyme that went, “The time is now; let’s have some fun; we’re ready for the show. Our games aren’t tame; you know our names, your friends LaBerge and Veego.”

  I remembered where I saw the rhyme.

  LaBerge and Veego. Veego and LaBerge. These were the guys who sent me that odd rhyming invitation to come to Quillan. I pulled the thick paper out of my back pocket and read it one more time:

  Riggedy riggedy white

  Come and spend the night

  We’ll play some games

  Some wild, some tame

  Cause if you will, you might

  Your hosts on Quillan,

  Veego and LaBerge

  More importantly, this invitation was in a box that was sent to me through the flume by Saint Dane. Somehow these two wack jobs on the video screen were tied in with the demon Traveler. I needed to know who they were, and what they were all about. My hunt for Saint Dane had officially begun.

  Veego said, “LaBerge and I feel this will be an exciting, well-played Tato. Not since the famous match of twelve-oh-six have there been two competitors who are so closely matched.” (She pronounced LaBerge like la-bearj. It sounded French, but there was no such thing as “French” on Quillan. As far as I knew.)

  “They are entering the Tato dome now!” LaBerge announced. “Last chance for betting. The action is about to begin!”

  The screen flashed white. Veego and LaBerge disappeared and were replaced by an overhead shot of what looked to be a sports court of some kind. It was a big platform in the shape of an octagon, about fifteen yards across. There was a red logo in the center that said TATO in the familiar block letters. Or should I call them “blok” letters? I saw five black round domes spaced evenly in a circle on the floor of the court, near the edges. Each looked to be a couple of feet in diameter and about a foot high in the center—like shiny bumps on the floor. They appeared to be made out of dark glass. Finally, there were two squares across from each other that were nothing more than marks on the floor of the court. I guess it goes without saying that this didn’t look like any kind of court I had ever seen.

  “Announcing!” came LaBerge’s voice. Music started to build. The excitement was growing. “He is undefeated in six Tato matches and is looking to set the new, unheard-of record of seven straight wins. Citizens of Rune and all Quillan, we present to you, everyone’s favorite . . . Challenger Green!”

  The crowd cheered. A chant of “Green, Green, Green” went up from most of the people gathered on the street. I watched as the contestant stepped up onto the platform and stood in one of the squares. Challenger Green was a guy who looked about my age with long, wavy red hair that fell below his shoulders. He was a big light-skinned guy who looked very much like an athlete. But what I zeroed in on was his shirt. It was bright green with five diagonal black stripes . . . just like the red shirt I was wearing. Things were starting to come clear. The bald guy at the arcade had called me a “challenger.” He must have thought I was one of the guys who competed at this Tato thing.

  It was not a realization that made me particularly happy.

  What I saw next made me even less happy.

  Veego announced, “Competing against Challenger Green is a newcomer. Though he has never entered the Tato dome, he has so impressed the judges that he has been fast-tracked into this very special match. If Challenger Green is to break the record, it will have to be against the most promising challenger to have ever stepped into the Tato dome. Introducing for the first time here in Rune or anywhere else on Quillan, today’s worthy adversary . . . Challenger Yellow!”

  Rune. What was Rune? Before I had the chance to think too much about it, the guy called “Challenger Yellow” stepped onto the octagon wearing, you guessed it, a yellow jersey with black diagonal stripes. I guess that meant I was Challenger Red. Lucky me. I wondered why exactly these challenger clothes were left for me at the flume. I would much rather have had something bland and inconspicuous, so that I could blend into the territory. I made the decision to ditch
this shirt and find some boring old Quillan clothes as soon as possible.

  I could see why Challenger Yellow was considered to be a strong competitor. He was taller than Challenger Green by at least a head. He was dark skinned, though not as dark as if he were a Batu from Zadaa, like Loor. He moved gracefully, with little wasted movement. I guess “fluid” was the best way to describe him. He was thin, but not skinny. He definitely had some muscle, but with very little body fat. He looked like the kind of guy you’d see competing in the Olympic long jump or something. These two guys were very much opposites. One was tall and lanky, the other broad and strong. I had no idea which was better for this game called “Tato.”

  While the two challengers limbered up on opposite sides of the octagon, the big screen showed them in close-up. First it was Challenger Green. He looked confident and relaxed. He didn’t look even the slightest bit concerned about Challenger Yellow dethroning him. He was the champion and fully expected to remain so. I wondered if Challenger Yellow stood a chance. To be honest, I didn’t care much either way. I had no idea what I was watching and had absolutely no stake in it. That is, until the big screen showed a close-up of Challenger Yellow. I stared up at the huge screen, not believing what I was seeing. I blinked. There had to be some mistake. It was impossible.

  Challenger Yellow had his arms folded across his chest. He looked nervous. I could see it in his eyes. He stared at Challenger Green, watching his opponent carefully. I could only guess what was going through his mind, probably a lot of things, but it didn’t seem like one of them was confidence. Challenger Green already had the edge in the mind game department. But that wasn’t what shocked me. I looked down the long city street at all the giant screens that projected the image of Challenger Yellow. I don’t know why, but I kept looking at screen after screen, expecting to see something different. No, hoping to see something different. That was idiotic, because it was all the same image, shown again and again and again. There was no mistake. The image was big enough for me to make it out clearly.