I felt like a needle about to jump into a haystack. It helped that I wasn’t wearing the bright red challenger shirt anymore. As we walked along, I never felt more insignificant. It was like being one of those fish that moved around in a giant school, with everybody turning at the exact same time. No, I take that back. At least fish have interesting things to look at. The city of Rune was nothing but a whole lot of gray, and loaded with zombies. I’d rather be a fish.
Nevva took me on a short tour, proving that everything Saint Dane told me about the territory was true. If anything, it was worse. Who knew? The demon wasn’t lying. I guess he didn’t fool around when it came to giving bad news. He enjoyed it too much. I told Nevva what Saint Dane had explained to me about Blok. I was hoping she would tell me he was making it all up, and it wasn’t as bad as all that. She didn’t.
She first brought me to the apartment of a family she knew. It was in one of the tall, gray, featureless buildings that lined the wide avenues. Their home was on the twentieth floor, with no elevator. We had to climb, and that wasn’t the worst part. Fifteen people lived in a one-bedroom apartment. Fifteen. It looked barely big enough for two. My first thought was that these people had fallen on hard times and had to make the best of their situation. I was wrong. Nevva told me their living situation was normal. The rents were so expensive that entire families had to live together in order to survive. I thought back to my home on Second Earth, and how Shannon and I used to argue over who was spending too much time in the bathroom-in a house with three bathrooms. It’s amazing how easy it is to take something for granted.
The food situation wasn’t much better. The family invited us for dinner. I wish they hadn’t. We all sat on the floor as a woman handed us each a portion. There wasn’t any meat. We got a slice of bread, a hunk of brown something that I think was a potato, and two pieces of a tribbun. That was it. I was hungrier after I ate. It killed me to take food out of the mouths of these people, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer. As bad off as they were, they still wanted to share. It told me a lot about them.
As we left the apartment, I asked Nevva, “How can they survive on so little food?”
She answered, “You’re beginning to see why these people will grab at any chance to better their lives. Betting on one of the Quillan games might mean an extra slice of bread on everyone’s plate. Or something to drink with more calories than water.”
“Or it could mean losing it all,” I said soberly.
Nevva nodded. We walked several blocks until we came to a large, windowless building. Inside, I saw it was a manufacturing center. Nevva and I moved along a catwalk that looked down on a huge room holding row after row of people sitting at stations, assembling shoes. I’m serious. They were making shoes. These weren’t happy cobbler elves, either. It was a massive assembly line of people, all doing it by hand. It was one of the most depressing things I had ever seen. Nobody spoke or even looked at the person next to them. They worked diligently, hunched over their stations. Some sewed, others dyed, still others cut pieces out of material. The only sound came from the clattering of tools or the cutting of fabric.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Quillan isn’t a backward territory. Why haven’t they built machinery to do this work?”
“They have,” Nevva explained. “But machinery is expensive. People aren’t. At one time much of what you see being done here was automated. Blok had the machines destroyed.”
“But… why?” I asked. “It can’t be cheaper to have people do the work!”
“It is when you pay them slave wages,” Nevva answered. “Machinery must be serviced and repaired. People can be replaced. Besides, as long as these workers rely on Blok for their wages, the company controls their lives.”
It was like stepping through the looking glass. Blok was so completely in control of the territory and its people, it was more cost-effective to pay workers slave wages than to automate the manufacturing process. Blok was deliberately holding back the territory from advancing in order to keep control of the people. No, they were forcing the territory into taking a step backward. To the company, the people of Quillan were disposable. It was absolutely diabolical.
A horn sounded. The people stopped working, stood up, and filed out quickly and quietly. As hundreds of people exited to our right, a fresh group of workers entered from our left. The horn sounded, the new people sat down at the stations and picked right up where the other group had left off. The whole process from horn to horn probably took thirty seconds.
“They’re like living dados,” I said numbly.
“Oh, no,” Nevva said. “Dados have it much better. They don’t realize how bad off they are.”
I didn’t want to see anymore and asked to leave. Unfortunately, the worst was yet to come. Nevva took me to a building that from the outside didn’t look much different from any of the other buildings in the city. Big, gray, blah. The inside was a different story. It was a giant round space with a colossal domed ceiling. At one time it must have been a pretty fancy place. The walls were made of a light-colored brown brick. The dome itself looked like a stained-glass sculpture. The floor was made of a brilliant white marble. It reminded me of Grand Central Station in New York City. I wasn’t far off, because Nevva told me that at one time it had been a busy train station. There were dozens of gates ringing the circle that led to tracks. In the center was a structure that looked like a ticket booth with a golden ceiling. Along one wall was a big board that at one time must have shown the train schedule to travelers. I could imagine this place being a busy station with loads of people hurrying to far-off places.
It wasn’t like that anymore. The round structure couldn’t even be seen from the street because it was hidden by gray, windowless walls that made it disappear into the rest of the dismal cityscape. Inside, the place had gone grimy. The stained-glass ceiling had been bricked over from above so light wouldn’t shine through. The walls were streaked with dark stains. The marble floor was chipped up. The gold roof of the ticket booth was tarnished. It had been a long time since the place was used by travelers. Or at least, used by travelers who were there by choice.
The place was still busy, all right, but not with happy travelers. Nevva and I stood high above the floor, looking down from a window near the ceiling to observe the action below. I saw that the floor was loaded with people who stood in lines that snaked around wooden fences erected to keep them organized and moving. As if these fences weren’t enough, security dados wandered through the crowd, making sure there weren’t any problems. All the people in line had loops around their arms. I noticed in the street that not everybody had loops. But not in here. Each and every person wore a loop. They were all glowing yellow.
There were men and women of all ages, and some children. too. It didn’t look like the children were with adults either. They all looked to be on their own, and scared. They were pushed along by those in line in front or in back of them, or were prodded by a stern dado if they didn’t move fast enough. What made it even worse was that most of the little ones were crying.
The lines led to one of five tall desks. Behind each was a sour-looking person at a computer screen. As the next one in line reached the desk, this person referred to the screen, input something, then sent the traveler on his or her way to one of the gates that led to the trains. If I were on Second Earth, I’d say this looked like a busy train station and the people were checking in or buying tickets for their journey. But this wasn’t Second Earth.
I was about to ask Nevva what it all meant, when I heard a scream coming from the floor. A man had just checked in and apparently didn’t like what the guy behind the desk had to say, because he turned and ran away. He shouldn’t have bothered. The dados were all over him. They tackled the guy, then picked him up and dragged him toward one of the gates to the trains. The guy was screaming and crying the whole way. The reaction from the other people was mixed. Some looked away, but I saw a few women burst into tears. As soon as any kin
d of emotion was shown, a dado rushed right to that person. They didn’t do anything, they just walked alongside them, being all intimidating. I think it was a warning in case they decided to bolt.
“Do I really want to know what’s going on here?” I asked nervously.
“You may not want to, but you have to,” Nevva said. “These are the losers.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Exactly what I said,” Nevva countered. “This is where they bring those who have placed the ultimate bet, and lost. They are processed, categorized, filed, and then shipped off to where they will be needed most. It’s all very efficient. My guess is that fellow who ran away was headed for the tarz.”
“Whoa, wait,” I said. “You’re telling me these are all people who bet on the games and lost?”
“Only the ones who made the ultimate bet,” Nevva corrected me. “They are here to pay with their lives, or the lives of their loved ones.”
I looked down on the crying children. It was too much to believe. People were being treated like cattle.
“They don’t all die,” she said. “Some only have sentences that last a few quads. Others aren’t as lucky, like those sent to the tarz.” As she spoke she looked down on the people coldly. There was no emotion in her voice; she was just stating facts. I didn’t think it was because she didn’t care. After what had happened to her parents, I think she had built up some kind of defense mechanism. But this was all new to me. I didn’t know how to deal. I wanted to cry myself.
Nevva added, “I’m sure some of the people are here because they bet against you in Hook and Tock. After all, you were barely known to them.”
That rocked me. I had actually played a part in forcing these people to be torn from their families, and their lives, to be slaves of Blok. Worse. Many wouldn’t be coming back. I wanted to scream.
A little boy beat me to it. He yelped and ducked under the wooden fence to run away. I found myself silently cheering. I wanted him to run as far away from this insanity as his little legs would carry him. He didn’t deserve this. None of these people deserved this. All they were guilty of was being driven to desperation by the greed of Blok. This wasn’t their fault. Two dados chased the little guy. I never saw what happened to him, because he ducked into one of the tunnels that led to the trains, with the dados right after him. In my mind I pretended that he had escaped. I knew I was kidding myself, but I needed to believe it was possible to escape from this insanity.
“I gotta get outta here,” I said.
Nevva nodded and led me away from the window. I knew I’d never forget the image of the little running boy. My experience of the last few hours left me sad and angry. Saint Dane was right. This territory was lost. How could this have happened? Was it like he said? Was it all because of greed? I couldn’t accept that. There had to be more.
“Who is Mr. Pop?” I asked.
“You’ve heard of him?” Nevva asked with surprise.
“I’ve heard his name,” I said. “Who is he? What part does he play in all this?”
“I’ve never met him myself,” Nevva answered. “But I know many who have. You need to meet those people. They will tell you more.”
“Who are they?” I asked.
Nevva answered, “I lead three lives here, Pendragon. I’m the special assistant to the trustees of Blok, that you know. I’m a Traveler. That you know as well. But I’m also a reviver. There are tens of thousands of us, all over Quillan. You look at this territory as being populated by mindless zombies. It isn’t. The revivers want to take back our lives, and our territory.
Nevva spoke with an intensity that I hadn’t seen before. She was on a mission, though not as a Traveler. She was putting her life on the line to take back her territory. It sounded as if there were others who were just as dedicated. Revivers. We stood looking at each other. I lifted my right hand and grabbed my left biceps. It was the subtle signal that I’d seen the people give to each other who had helped me escape from the security dados.
Nevva smiled and said, “You are full of surprises, Pendragon. So far you have lived up to your reputation.”
“Am I going to meet these revivers now?” I asked.
She grabbed her left biceps, returning the salute, and said, “They’re waiting.”
(CONTINUED)
QUILLAN
W e traveled along rooftops. Sky bridges connected many of the tall buildings, making it much easier to move quickly. I was surprised more people didn’t use them. At one point we stopped on a rooftop to watch a game that was being broadcast. We were on the same level as one of the giant screens. It was like watching an IMAX movie from the first row. It was big, loud, and exciting.
The match was between the champion. Challenger Green, and Challenger Blue. I recognized Blue from hanging around the castle, and from the two parties I had attended. Of course I also recognized Green. He was the man, after all.
The contest looked like an obstacle course. The challengers had to run through the woods, climb fences, swim, tightrope walk-you know, an obstacle course. I won’t bore you with the details. I will tell you the one thing about the contest that got my interest. Challenger Green wasn’t that good. I mean, he was okay, but the course gave him trouble, and Challenger Blue made it a good race.
“Green might lose,” I said as we watched the race.
“It is only a matter of time before he is beaten,” Nevva said. “He has been lucky.”
The crowd was definitely into it. I looked down to see thousands of people choking the streets, all staring up at the screen. It was like watching one of those massive crowds at a World Cup soccer game. The only difference here was that there was a lot more at stake for the spectators. I wondered how many of them would end up on that grisly line in that old train station after this game was over. If Challenger Blue pulled off the upset, I’d guess there would be a lot. I actually found myself rooting for Challenger Green, if only because he was the favorite and most people had probably bet on him.
“Challenger Green is slow footed,” Nevva said. “He’s strong, but clumsy. His real strength comes from his attitude. He’s ruthless. He never panics. I’m sure that when he is matched up against someone as confident as he is, he’ll lose.”
“You know a lot about these games,” I commented.
“It’s part of my job,” she said. “I may not like it, but I have to keep up with the games.”
“This race doesn’t look all that dangerous,” I said.
“Compared to many, it isn’t,” Nevva answered. “Both challengers usually survive, unless they make a wrong move on the course. There are many treacherous obstacles.”
The last obstacle of the course consisted of two ropes that spanned a wide pit. The challengers had to grab a rope and make their way across. Falling would hurt. It looked to be around a thirty-foot drop, which was bad enough, but there were no cushy pads down there. The span beneath the ropes was littered by what looked like chunks of sharp metal. Challenger Blue hit the ropes first. He had a comfortable lead. Unless Green could make up the huge gap, he was done, and Blue would triumph. Challenger Blue grabbed one rope and threw his legs up, hooking it with his feet. That was his technique. He moved head first, upside down, pulling himself along with his hands. Having his legs up on the rope took some of the weight off his arms. Smart move. It looked for sure that he was going to win.
Challenger Green wasn’t giving up, though it sure seemed like it at first. When he reached the spot where he was supposed to grab the rope, he stopped. The guy looked winded. I thought he was done. The crowd went nuts. They yelled at the screen, as if he could hear them, begging him to keep moving. I could almost feel the anguish rise up from the crowd below. The favorite was about to lose. There was going to be hell to pay, literally.
Challenger Green had other plans. He took a deep breath. I thought he was going to jump up onto the rope. He didn’t. He reached down to his ankle, lifted up the bottom of his pants, and from out of his shoe he pull
ed a knife. It was the same kind of knife we were given during meals. It wasn’t a weapon, but it was sharp.
“What’s he doing?” I asked. “Is that allowed?”
“Everything is allowed,” Nevva answered. “The only rule is to get to the finish line before your opponent. How you do it is your choice.”
Challenger Green casually reached up and began sawing through Challenger Blue’s rope! The crowd’s anguish turned to cheers of delight. They weren’t stunned by his cruel tactic, just the opposite. They saw this as a way for him to win, and they yelled for him to hurry. I guess when your life is at stake, sportsmanship doesn’t count. Neither does murder. Challenger Blue saw what was happening and tried to speed up. I couldn’t believe it. Nevva was right. Challenger Green was ruthless. He didn’t have the skill to beat Challenger Blue, so he had to cheat. But then again, if there were no rules, he wasn’t really cheating. Many in the crowd below screamed for Blue to hurry. They didn’t care that he might get hurt; they wanted him to win. He didn’t.
Challenger Blue was still a few yards away from the end when Green sliced through the rope. The crowd screamed with joy. Challenger Blue just screamed. He dropped straight down, headed for the jagged metal below. The cameras didn’t show him hitting, so I didn’t know how badly he was hurt. All I saw was Challenger Green looking down at his victim, then casually grabbing the other rope and hoisting himself up. He used the same feet-up technique as Challenger Blue, though he moved slowly and methodically. He was in no hurry. That told me Challenger Blue wasn’t going to be climbing out of the pit. As soon as Green touched down on the far side, the screen went blank and the words winner-challenger green! flashed.
There was jubilation in the streets, though the joyous shouts were quickly drowned out by the sound of sirens as the dados arrived to collect the losers. Nevva and I watched the scene below as people scattered. Some went quietly. Others ran and were chased down by the dados.
The Quillan Games tpa-7 Page 28
