The Quillan Games

by D. J. MacHale

  Hook? I said to myself. What’s Hook?

  Instantly the door spun open. Yes, I said “spun.” The door twisted on a center axis, like a revolving door. I was so surprised, I didn’t have time to react and got swept inside. What kind of wicked fun house was this? I got thrown inside a room that was pitch dark. Limbo dark. My every sense went instantly on alert. I crouched down and closed my eyes, trying to feel if anyone or anything was in there with me. I wasn’t scared. I had been there before. It was like the ordeal that Loor and Alder put me through on Zadaa. I knew how to fight in the dark. Only back on Zadaa, it was for training. This was for real. I didn’t move. Whatever was going to happen, I was ready.

  I heard a bright chime sound. In the distance a white light appeared in the shape of a door. Because the room was so dark, I had no sense of depth and couldn’t tell how far away it was. It could have been a small rectangle only a few feet away, or a large door on the far side of a long room. It seemed suspended in space, glowing brightly, beckoning me. I didn’t move. There was way too much mystery between here and there. A moment later another chime sounded, and a lighted number appeared over the rectangle: 70. Huh?

  There was another chime. I was relieved to see a series of spotlights kick on and illuminate the room. Some were in the ceiling, casting sharp patterns of light to the floor; others were in the floor, pointing straight up. There must have been a hundred lights shooting beams in both directions. The room was big. Really big. The ceiling must have been twenty feet high. It was a long, narrow space that I realized ran the same length of the hallway where my clown room was. I could now see that the rectangle with the number 70 above it was indeed a door. I guessed it was fifty yards from me. Fifty long yards. As much as the spotlights gave me a sense of the room, they also created dark areas in between the brilliant light from their beams. Danger could be hiding in dark areas.

  A bell rang. I jumped. Do you blame me? I looked at the number to see a countdown had begun: 70 . . . 69 . . . 68 . . . With each tick there was a little blip sound. Swell. There was a time limit. But for what? What was I supposed to do? Go for the door? What if I didn’t go? What if the blipping number reached zero and I was still crouched on the floor next to the revolving door? What would happen to me? Would I have to go back into that clown room without supper? And if this was some kind of game, why was it called “Hook”?

  The answer to that last question came a moment later, and it hurt.

  I felt a sharp, stinging pain across my back and shoulders. A second later I was spun around like an unraveling yo-yo. The force came so fast and so hard I lost my balance and crashed down on my shoulder. I popped right up and spun around to see who had attacked me.

  I was face-to-face with a dado. He stood with his legs apart over one of the up-facing spotlights. The bright light shining up on him from below made him look even more imposing. He was well over six feet tall, with wide shoulders and strong arms that looked ready to burst the seams of his sleeves. He wore the same dark uniform as the other dados I’d seen, but he didn’t wear a helmet or a gun. His weapon was a six-foot-long curved stick with a ball on the end. I guessed that was the “Hook.” It looked semirigid, like it was made out of soft plastic. It wasn’t as long as a whip, but he used it like one. I knew it had to be what he had slashed me with. It wasn’t a lethal weapon, but if he knew how to use it, he could control me.

  I had no doubt he knew how to use it.

  More frightening than anything was his face. It was like a mask, with a big sharp jaw and eyes that had no life. He was bald, too. It was at that moment that I finally remembered where I had seen dados before. I’m not talking about the arcade, or the city street. I mean in the flume. Remember the floating images I described? One of those images was of tall muscular guys running. Dados. They looked imposing then, and even more so in person.

  The number blipped down: 64 . . . 63 . . . 62 . . .

  I jumped for the revolving door I had just come through. I didn’t want to play this game, no matter what it was. I hit the door hard. It didn’t budge. Why was I not surprised? If I wanted to get out of there, I was going to have to get past Franken-dado and run to the far side. Without a second more of hesitation, I sprinted for the rectangle of light. I figured if I was fast enough, I might catch this goon by surprise and beat him there before he hooked me again.

  I was wrong. No sooner did I take off running, than the number blipped down to 60. The number over the door flashed red and a harsh horn sounded. That wasn’t the problem. That was the warning. When the horn sounded, several silver cylinders the size of telephone poles drove down from the ceiling, slamming into the floor like demonic pile drivers. I barely missed getting crushed by one, as they hammered the floor so hard the vibration almost knocked me off my feet.

  Yikes! This room was a minefield! The cylinders quickly retracted into the ceiling. I had no doubt they’d be back. Before I had the chance to think, I felt the stinging slap of the hook around my ankles. The dado pulled and I was on my butt, feet in the air. What kind of game was this? I didn’t know the rules or have any way to defend myself. It was clear to me that my job was to get through that door on the far side before the number ran down, and before I got crushed by a giant cylinder. It was the dado’s job to stop me. . . . 57 . . . 56 . . . 55 . . .

  I rolled to the side wall. I wasn’t about to fight the dado. Though he had a weapon and outweighed me by a good fifty pounds, I was way more worried about the crushing cylinders. . . . 54 . . . 53 . . . 52 . . .

  I rolled until I hit the wall, hoping that the cylinders were more toward the center of the room. My plan was to hug the wall as I made my way to the far side.

  Bad plan . . . 51 . . . 50 . . .

  The number flashed red, the horn sounded. But the cylinders didn’t come crashing down. Instead another set shot up from the floor. I was directly on top of one. The cylinder lifted me into the air! I had to quickly roll off or it would have driven me through the ceiling. I hit the floor awkwardly and was lucky not to have broken or twisted anything. The silver cylinders continued up until they slammed into the ceiling, then quickly retracted. On the floor the dado was waiting for me. He whipped the hook around my neck and pulled hard, choking me. I pulled back, but that only made the hook pull tighter. In desperation I spun in the opposite direction and unwound myself. The cylinders had all retracted into the floor, and I lay there, gasping for breath. . . . 44 . . . 43 . . . 42 . . .

  The cylinders came out every ten seconds. I looked around for the dado but didn’t see him. After every attack he’d hide back in the shadows and give the crushing cylinders their turn to hurt me. He’d played this game before. I hadn’t. . . . 41 . . . 40 . . .

  The horn sounded as the cylinders from the ceiling crashed down again. I couldn’t tell exactly where they were, so I had no way of knowing where to jump to get out of the way. A descending cylinder grazed my shoulder. Too close. They slammed into the floor, the building shook, and they retracted. I looked to the far doorway to see I hadn’t gotten much closer. I had ten blips of the clock before the next cylinders would pile into the room. I figured if I sprinted for it, I’d make it.

  The dado must have sensed this. I wondered if he had done this enough times to know what to expect from his victims. I had barely started to run when I felt the sting of his hook around my waist. He didn’t pull me down this time, all he did was yank me a few feet and keep me there. I was still upright. What was he doing? I pulled away, but he held me tight. . . . 34 . . . 33 . . . 32 . . . 31 . . . 30 . . .

  Blaring horn. The cylinders came down. I was directly under one. The dado had positioned me to be crushed. I had nowhere to go but directly at the dado. I leaped at him and felt the falling cylinder brush my back. I hit the big guy square in the chest. He barely moved. It was like running into a tree. The guy lifted me up like a doll and heaved me across the floor. I slammed into one of the cylinders—they hadn’t retracted into the ceiling yet—spun around, but kept my balance and had the prese
nce of mind to keep running toward the door of light. . . . 27 . . . 26 . . . 25 . . .

  The horn blared. What was this? Only five seconds apart now? As the numbers got closer to zero, the pace increased. Worse, as the cylinders shot up toward the ceiling from below, I dodged one, only to see that the overhead cylinders were shooting down at the same time. They were now coming from both directions. My options just got cut in half. One wrong step and I’d be cut in half too. I looked up and down as the cylinders retracted, and learned something valuable. They were each right next to one of the spotlights. I guess I didn’t realize this at first because everything had happened so fast. But now that I understood the program, it was obvious. I knew where not to be when the cylinders released. I had to position myself directly in between the lights. Good plan, except that the dado had other plans.

  Ooof! I had been standing in one spot too long. I was a target. The dado threw a cross-body block at me. I felt like I’d gotten hit with a bus. The shot knocked me off my feet. I rolled . . . 22 . . . 21 . . . horn.

  The cylinders shot up and down. I was lying right over one. It hit me in the side, lifting me up. I rolled off and quickly scrambled to get between the lights, as all around me the cylinders blasted the floor and the ceiling. I was trapped in some infernal piston engine. There was no time for finesse; I had to get to the far side. I didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if I let the number roll down to zero. Before the cylinders had fully retracted, I started running again.

  Horn.

  No! It wasn’t even five seconds this time. The cylinders shot up and down. It was random now too. The bottom cylinders charged up and a second later the top cylinders hammered down. I was twenty yards from the rectangle of light, but it felt like a mile. I turned back to see where the dado was. He was coming for me, cautiously but steadily. He seemed to know the pattern of the cylinders. He’d jump forward and stand still as cylinders shot up and down around him. Then jump forward again and wait as the cylinders shot by. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn’t in any hurry. . . . 18 . . . 17 . . . 16 . . .

  I knew that if I started for the door again, he’d attack. If I had any hope of beating this game, and surviving, I’d have to do something drastic.

  I attacked the dado.

  I guess nobody had ever done that before, because the dado wasn’t ready. I lunged for him and grabbed the front of his shirt. I moved so fast and was so close that he couldn’t use his hook on me. I held on to his shirt and threw myself backward, pulling him toward me. It must have been a complete surprise because this guy was so big, if he had been ready, it would have been like trying to pull down a tree. But he came with me. As I fell back I jammed my foot into his chest. He tried to pull back but it was too late. I was in control. Gravity helped. I rolled onto my back, thrust my leg into him, and pulled the guy over my head. He was heavy, but I had physics on my side. I flipped him butt-over-head. He slammed the ground hard on his back. At that instant a cylinder came blasting down from the ceiling. The dado had landed in the wrong place. For me it was the exact right place.

  The cylinder crushed his leg. I heard it before I saw it. The crunching sound was unmistakable. It took me a second to register that in spite of the fact that his leg had just been crushed, he didn’t scream out. He barely even reacted. A quick look at my fallen enemy showed why.

  His leg was severed above the knee. Gross, right? Not exactly. There was no blood, no shattered bone, no gore. Jutting from the injury was a tangle of damaged metal, not unlike what I’d seen with the crushed spider near the flume. Any doubt I had before was gone. It was official. The dados were robots.

  And he wasn’t done. The guy pulled off the remains of his shattered leg, threw it away, and got up. . . . 12 . . . 11 . . . 10 . . .

  Robot or no, there was no way he’d catch me on one leg, so I bolted for the door. The cylinders were flying up and down randomly. I ran, dodged, stopped, jumped, and wove my way toward the door, barely skirting the pumping cylinders. An inch one way or the other and I’d have been hamburger. The clock ticked down to five seconds. I waited for the last cylinder between me and the door to retract . . . and leaped into the rectangle of light.

  I hit a revolving door like the one I had come through on the far side. The door spun; I fell through and landed, still in one piece. I stayed on my knees for a second, trying to catch my breath and stop my heart from racing. I didn’t even look up for fear I had landed in another game.

  “Bravo, Challenger Red!” came a familiar voice.

  Yet another voice said harshly, “You nearly failed.”

  The first voice scoffed and said, “I never doubted him!”

  I took a deep breath and looked to see what I now had to deal with. I was in another large, narrow room, though much smaller than the last. It was brightly lit by daylight streaming in through overhead windows. Yellow and purple flags lined the walls near the high ceiling. On the ground was a long wooden table surrounded by high-backed wooden chairs. It was a medieval-looking banquet hall, complete with huge tapestries on the walls that depicted competitors playing various games. The table was loaded with silver platters full of food and tall silver tankards with drink.

  Seated on either end of the long table, kicking back and casually sipping drinks, were Veego and LaBerge.

  Veego looked at me coolly and said, “You took much longer than others with fewer qualifications.”

  LaBerge was quick to say, “Don’t listen to her! You were stupendous! Let me be the first to say that you are now officially a challenger.” He held up a silver goblet as a toast.

  “And what if I’d failed your test?” I asked.

  LaBerge looked down at his plate. Veego smiled and said, “You’d be dead of course. Now please, join us. I’m sure you’ve built up a healthy appetite.”

  She was wrong. Whatever appetite I’d had was long gone.

  JOURNAL #25

  (CONTINUED)

  QUILLAN

  I was ticked. I think that nearly getting crunched would make anybody a little testy. I jumped to my feet and strode for LaBerge. I would have gone for Veego, but she gave me the creeps. The guy saw me coming and his eyes grew wide. He plunked down his goblet, splashing green liquid across the table, and pushed himself back into his chair.

  “Don’t be foolish!” he said nervously. “The test is over! You passed!”

  I grabbed the guy by the front of his robe and pulled him up to me. I don’t normally do stuff like that. It’s way too bold for me. But after having just barely escaped being turned into paste by those cylinders, I had had enough. If I had any hope of controlling my own future here, I needed to show some backbone. Besides, I knew this wheezy LaBerge guy wouldn’t fight back.

  “Look,” I seethed. “I am not a challenger, and I will not play your sadistic games.” I stared him right in the eye to show how serious I was. The guy kept glancing away and licking his lips. Wimp.

  “I understand your f-feelings, dear boy,” he stuttered. “But I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

  As if on cue, two dados appeared from behind his chair. They loomed over me, staring me down with those dead eyes. I had officially been out-intimidated. LaBerge gave me a smug smile. I let him go and backed away. No way I was messing with those robo dudes. Even if I wasn’t exhausted, two-on-one wasn’t fair. I’m not so sure one-on-one was fair either.

  “What do you mean I don’t have a choice?” I asked, trying to sound like I was still being aggressive, which I wasn’t.

  Veego stood and walked toward the dados. “Leave,” she commanded.

  They obeyed instantly. The two robots took a few stiff steps backward, but stayed within striking distance.

  “I said leave!” Veego said more forcefully. “This is our guest. There won’t be any more trouble.”

  The dados backed away and left through a doorway, though I was pretty sure they were standing right outside, waiting to see if there really was going to be any more trouble or not. Sneaky robot
s. Note to self: No more macho stuff in front of the dados.

  Veego stood by LaBerge, but didn’t look at him as she spat out with disdain, “Get hold of yourself, ninny.”

  I got the feeling that Veego didn’t think much of LaBerge either. They looked about the same age, but she treated the guy like an annoying little son. Though my mom never talked to me like that. Then again, I wasn’t annoying. Usually. LaBerge straightened his robe and took a drink of the green stuff that was left in his goblet, trying to calm his nerves. Veego, on the other hand, was all sorts of calm. I had the feeling that if I had gone after her instead of LaBerge, she would have stayed just as cool. Veego worried me.

  “I’m getting too old for this,” LaBerge grumbled.

  “You can go home anytime you wish,” Veego shot back.

  Interesting. These guys may have been partners, but they didn’t exactly get along. I had to remember that. I figured it might come in useful.

  Veego smiled at me, though it looked like it might make her face crack. “You must forgive us,” she said. “We know you are not from the city of Rune, or you would know of us and our enterprise.”