I wasn’t prepared for the answer.
This guy had a crowd around him as well, but rather than console him, they slowly backed away. It was weird, as if they just got word that the guy had the plague. They all had dark, pained expressions. Nobody so much as threw him a casual, “Too bad, dude. Try again.” They were taking this loss very seriously. One person did break from the crowd. She ran up to the guy and hugged him. The guy didn’t move. I saw that her eyes were screwed shut and her lips pursed, as if she were holding back a scream. The two stayed that way for a few moments while the others continued to move away. That’s when the loop around this guy’s arm began to glow. Unlike my loop that had given off a bright purple glow, his loop glowed yellow. The woman saw this, gave the guy one last squeeze and a kiss on the top of his head, then turned and ran. Seriously. She ran away. By this time the other spectators had blended back into the arcade, disappearing among the other people. Some pretended to be playing games, others were gone entirely. It was like the guy who lost had suddenly developed leprosy.
I heard a crash come from somewhere. It sounded like a door being thrown open. It made the bald guy next to me jump.
“Dados,” he whispered softly, almost reverently.
I gave the guy a quick look and asked, “What’s a dado?”
He scoffed, as if he didn’t believe for a second I didn’t know. “Now aren’t you glad I put your loop back on?” he asked smugly. The next thing I heard was footsteps. It sounded like quick marching, as if a parade were about to pass through. This seemed to snap the guy who’d lost the game back to life. He looked around quickly. His eyes were wide and scared. I didn’t know if he was looking for help, or trying to see where the marchers were coming from, or choosing the best escape route. Or all three. He ran . . .
The wrong way. He took only a few steps before he ran right into the arms of two uniformed men who were headed his way. They grabbed him, held his arms, and without breaking stride kept on moving. The guy struggled to break away, but it was no use. They had him and weren’t letting go.
“This was my first try!” he complained nervously. “I’m allowed two tries, aren’t I? I thought those were the rules? If I’m wrong, I’m sorry, but I know I’m supposed to get two tries.”
Obviously he was wrong. Or the uniformed guys didn’t care. They kept marching him away. The guy was near panic. It was incredible. He lost at a video game, and by losing, some police-looking guys called “dados” came to take him away. It really didn’t make sense. What kind of games do you lose, and then get dragged away by the police? These dado guys weren’t fooling around, either. They were both big. I’m guessing they stood about six-foot-four. They had broad shoulders and wore shiny gold helmets. Their uniforms were dark green and looked like they’d just come from the cleaners. That’s how tight and pressed they were. Each guy had a round patch on his upper arm that was bright yellow, with a logo that looked like a “B.” On their hips they each had a shiny black holster that held a golden pistol that seemed to be made of the same material as their helmets.
As scary as all this looked, there was one more thing about these guys that told me you didn’t want to mess with them. It was their faces. I don’t know how else to describe this except to write that their faces were big. And square. They almost looked like cartoon bad guys, with sharp jaw-lines and deep-set eyes. They had no expression. Even as they carted off a guy who was yelling and squirming to get loose. Their faces remained stone blank. They didn’t give instructions. They didn’t tell the guy to calm down. They definitely didn’t say where they were going. They simply kept moving.
The guy didn’t have a chance.
They dragged him past two more police guys who were standing on either side of the aisle. They had entered from two different directions to surround their quarry. When the loser guy was dragged past these two other uniforms, I saw that the two new guys were standing stock still, their hands behind their backs, surveying the crowd. Nobody else in the arcade made eye contact with them. It seemed pretty clear to me that they were afraid of these police dudes. Heck, I would be too if I lost at a pinball game and my punishment was to get dragged off by a couple of Terminator-looking guys. I now understood why all the players were so intent on their games. Losing wasn’t a good thing.
The two sentries followed the others. One of them took one last look around the arcade, scanning the room, until his gaze came to rest . . . on me. The two of us made eye contact. I felt a chill. This may sound weird, but it was like I was staring into the eyes of a doll. A big, living doll.
“What’s he looking at me for?” I asked the bald guy. “I wasn’t even playing.” I looked to the bald guy for an answer, but he was gone. I was alone. I snapped a look back to the doll-man-police-dado-whatever that was suddenly so interested in me, and my knees went week. He and his pal had changed their minds. They stopped following the others . . .
And came after me.
JOURNAL #24
(CONTINUED)
QUILLAN
I’ve been a Traveler for a couple of years now. I’ve learned more about time, the universe, and everything in it than I ever thought possible while growing up in sleepy little Stony Brook. Above all else I’ve learned a very important rule that I try to live by:
When big, scary-looking guys chase you, run.
I wanted to know who these dado police were. I wanted to know why winning and losing at these video games was so important. I wanted to know what “challengers” were, and why I was given a shirt that marked me as one. I wanted to know what this eerie “loop” thing was that wouldn’t let go of my arm. There was a whole lot I needed to know about Quillan, but I wasn’t going to find out by letting myself get dragged off to who-knows-where by a couple of Frankenstein-looking thugs. It had to be on my terms. So I took off.
Trouble was, I had no idea where I was going. The arcade was big and loud, but it wasn’t very crowded. I couldn’t lose myself among the people. Especially since I was wearing a bright-freakin’-red shirt that made me stand out like a tomato in a bowl of blueberries. My best shot was to get out of the arcade. At least that was my hope. I had no idea what I would find outside, either. We could have been in the middle of a desert. But I knew that if I stayed inside I’d be caught for sure. Outside was better. Or so I hoped.
I dodged around a couple of game machines, ducked low, reversed my direction, and walked calmly the other way. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself and alert the goons who were chasing me. It didn’t work. It was the red shirt. Many of the people in the arcade ran up to me, and with the same look of desperation that the bald guy had, they pawed at me while asking, “When do you compete? How good are you? What is your event? Please, tell me!”
I gave up trying to be inconspicuous and took off running. I glanced back to see if the dado dudes were following. They were. Their dead doll eyes were locked on me as they stormed their way through the arcade. People had to get out of their way or risk getting run down. Who were these guys? At least my misdirection bought me a little space. I had a few seconds to find the exit before they’d catch up. But the main floor of the arcade was huge and I had no idea which way was out. All I could do was run, and hope. I blasted through the rows of machines like a running back dodging tacklers. The strange electronic music offered an odd accompaniment to the chase. As I ran along, people would see me and start applauding, as if I were running a race. I wanted to shout out “Shhhh!” but figured that would have been a waste of breath. It was clear that I wasn’t going to make a quiet exit; all I could hope to do was make a fast one. But after running for about a minute, snaking through the arcade to ditch the dados, I still hadn’t found the exit.
The thought hit me that there might not be any exits, and that Quillan was all one giant arcade. I’m not sure if that would be a dream come true . . . or a nightmare. Right then it felt more like a nightmare. I was getting a stitch in my side and had to stop to catch my breath. I ducked behind a tall game and gulped air.
That’s when I saw it. It was nothing more than a thin shaft of white light on the floor, but it stood out amid the brightly colored flashing strobes. Daylight. I knew I had to be near a door. Or a window. It didn’t matter, whatever it was, I was going through it. I ran for the light, and after ducking past two more rows of games, I saw it: double glass doors leading to the outside and safety.
I was only a few yards from . . . what? I wasn’t sure. But I had to get there. As I ran for freedom, I saw something else that I knew would help my escape. Next to the door was a long row of hooks with jackets hanging on them. My first thought was that these people were pretty trusting to leave their jackets where anybody could steal them. My second thought was that I had to steal one. I’m not a thief, but this was an emergency. If I was going to blend into this territory, I couldn’t go around wearing a uniform that made me stick out like some kind of rock star. So I swiped one of the hanging jackets that looked to be my size, though the fit really didn’t matter. All it had to do was cover up the red shirt. Note to self: Return the jacket if you get the chance. Like I said, I’m not a thief. But this was an emergency.
As I put the jacket on, still headed for the door, I glanced back into the arcade. The police thugs were gaining fast. I had to get outside and get lost as quickly as possible. While still jamming my arms through the sleeves of the jacket, I backed into the door, banged it open, and spun outside.
I found myself on the sidewalk of a busy city, jammed with people. That was good. I could blend in here, no problem. I quickly pulled the jacket around me to hide any sign of the telltale red “challenger” shirt, and walked quickly through the crowd to get as far away from that arcade, and the dados, as I could. I kept my head down and moved as fast as possible without knocking anybody over. That wasn’t easy. The sidewalk was pretty crowded. Mark, remember when we’d take the train into New York City and walk up Fifth Avenue to go to Central Park? Remember how crowded it always was, with hundreds of people all going one place or another? I always wondered why people didn’t keep bumping into one another. Well, that’s pretty much what it was like. I was in the center of a very busy downtown of a very busy city, but I didn’t take the time to stop and look around until I was sure I had lost my pursuers. It wasn’t until I had made a couple of turns, crossed a few streets, and finally turned onto a wide boulevard that I felt sure I had ditched them. I slowed down. My heart stopped racing. I had escaped. But to where? It was time to take a look and see what a city on Quillan was all about.
Tall gray buildings loomed above me. Some were like skyscrapers that would rival anything you could find in the big cities on Second Earth; others were smaller. But by smaller I’m talking twenty to thirty stories high. The buildings themselves didn’t have much personality. Whoever designed them must have been the same guy who designed the drab clothing. There wasn’t a lot of imagination going on there. The buildings were big and gray and, well, boring. The windows were spaced out in uniform rows, floor after floor. Looking across the wide street and up and down the boulevard, I saw similar buildings as far as the eye could see. The only variation from building to building was in height. They were all boxy rectangles that reached up to a gray, cloudy sky. I felt that if I closed my eyes and spun around, I wouldn’t know which way was which. The sick thought hit me that finding my way to the flume was going to be a challenge. I was standing in the middle of busy foot traffic, so I backed away to the side and stood with my back to one of these big gray buildings to get a better look at what was happening on eye level.
The street was packed with traffic. They had cars, kind of like on Second Earth. I’m sure you can guess what I’m going to say about them. Yep. Boring. They all had the same basic shape, which was rounded front to back. They were kind of like VW Beetles, but not as interesting-looking. Some were black, some silver. That’s it. There were two-wheeled motor scooters as well. The people on those were able to move a little faster because there weren’t as many, and they could slide between the cars. I guess it was kind of like those busy Asian cities at home, where there’s so much traffic, many people ride motor scooters. It looked as if riding a scooter was the way to go because the cars were getting nowhere fast.
All the vehicles were pretty quiet, I’m happy to say, because the street was choked with them. They must have been electric powered, because I couldn’t hear any engine sounds. They were all moving in the same direction, slowly. Nobody seemed too angry about it. I didn’t hear any car horns or frustrated shouts. There were signal lights at the corners, but rather than the round red and green lights we’re used to, a single, narrow blue light stretched above the roadway from sidewalk to sidewalk. When the light was lit, the traffic could move. When it went dark, the traffic stopped. I couldn’t tell much difference between moving and stopped, but that’s how it worked.
It was the same with the pedestrians. Like the people in the arcade, everyone was dressed in simple, drab clothing. But unlike the arcade, which was next to empty, there were loads of people on the street. People walked on the sidewalk in front of me, slowly but relentlessly. Those moving to my right were closer to the building, those moving to my left were closer to the street. I didn’t see much interaction. Everyone was in their own little gray world, thinking about whatever they were thinking about, going wherever they were going. The looks on their faces were blank. Maybe not as blank as those dado guys, but definitely spacey. I didn’t see anyone laughing, or angry, or even talking. This was a busy, crowded city, yet it was eerily quiet.
On the ground level of the buildings were stores. Each with its own entrance. But unlike stores on Second Earth that used names to try to catch your attention, the signs above the doors here on Quillan all used the exact same typeface. The silver metallic letters were about eight inches high and mounted on a shiny black background. Stranger still, they didn’t show the name of the store, all they said was exactly what you could buy there. I’m serious. I saw a sign that said FOOD. Another said HEALTH CARE. I saw signs that said CLOTHING, HOUSING, DOCUMENTS, EMPLOYMENT, CHILD CARE, and even one that said LIGHT. I’m not exactly sure what they sold there. Lightbulbs maybe? Every single store had the exact same kind of sign, no matter what they were selling. The lettering looked oddly familiar. It took me a minute to realize the style of the print was the same as I’d seen on the back of that plate that was being stored in the vast belowground warehouse. These signs looked the same as the one word on the back of those plates: BLOK.
I’ve painted a pretty bleak picture of this city. It was uniform, it was drab, it was dull. The best thing I can say is that it all seemed to function smoothly. It was like the workings of a fine-tuned clock where everything fit into place and operated the exact right way.
There was one more thing I haven’t mentioned yet. I was saving this for last because it was the single most interesting thing I saw. Erected on the roofs of the smaller buildings were billboards that looked like giant plasma TV screens. I’d say there was one on every block. They looked to be about twenty feet across by ten feet high. No matter where you stood, you could catch sight of one. Each of these screens had the exact same thing playing on it. For the longest time I saw nothing but colorful, animated patterns. Intricate 3-D geometric shapes danced and bounced and morphed into one another in a hypnotic dance. Along the bottom was a running crawl like you would see on those TV news channels at home. It gave information about the day, like the time—“17:2:07.” I thought that must be the time because it kept going up. The weather—“Clouds all day, followed by a chilly night with possible rain.” I also saw what looked like game results, but I had no idea who was playing or what the game was—“Pimbay d. Weej 14–2, Linnta d. Hammaba 103–100.”
Every so often the animated graphics would give way to the face of a pretty young woman or a handsome man. They were dressed the same as everybody else in the city, only they had small patches on their front pockets like the dado police dudes had on their arms. Each patch had a small “B.” These people were like TV ne
wscasters who would speak right to the camera with a pleasant, soothing voice.
“There is a program of music this evening,” one announcer said, his voice booming through the city. “Please set your digits to the blue location at precisely nineteen-zero-fifty-six. Have the best day ever.” Then the bright, lively patterns would return for a few moments. Followed by another announcer who came on to say, “Drivers are needed for dislocation work. If you are working in sections four-four-two-seven through nine-seven-five-two, please report during the next work period. Have the best day ever.”
It went on and on like that. Every thirty seconds or so an announcer would come on to give some kind of report or announcement and end it by saying: “Have the best day ever.” I expected a little yellow smiley face to pop on at the end. I hate little yellow smiley faces. Almost as much as I hate clowns.
The people walking along the street barely gave notice to the animated billboards. I didn’t know why. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Not that they were all that exciting, but there was nothing else to look at! The city was so . . . gray. These billboards were the only sign of life. Okay, they were creepy, too, because it felt as if the people were being spoon-fed information by some grander force. But it was kind of cool looking down the long, straight street to see hundreds of the big TVs lined up for as far as I could see. It was like looking at a mirror, with another mirror to your back. You know how that makes it seem like you can see to infinity? Well, that’s kind of the impression I got by looking down the street at these colorful TVs. If not for them, it would have seemed like a city populated by zombies. It was pretty depressing, but who was I to judge? Maybe these people were happy to be living this way.
Tweeeeeee!
The Quillan Games Page 5
