The Quillan Games (24 page)

“Oh, no,” she said. “I am quite impressed. Apparently you have had some training. We don't often get challengers with that much . . . experience.”

“Gee, wow,” I said sarcastically. “My day is complete.”

Veego kept her eyes on me but spoke to Nevva. “Miss Winter, please inform the trustees that I intend to meet their increased profit demands this quad. And be sure to thank them for bringing such a talented challenger to our attention. Challenger Red is going to become a valuable member of the Blok family.”

Blok. There was that name again.

“Thank you, Veego,” Nevva said politely. “I'm sure the trustees will be very pleased to hear of your enthusiasm.” She held out the stack of pages that she'd brought in earlier and said, “Now, if you would be so kind as to initial these pages I'll file them with the—”

“Don't push it,” Veego snapped harshly. “Unless you'd like to try your luck at a game of Tock yourself.”

Nevva stiffened, cleared her throat, and pulled the papers back. “Thank you, no,” she said formally. “I'll report back to the trustees right away.”

“You do that,” Veego said as if she couldn't care less.

“Thank you for your time, and for the, uh, demonstration,” Nevva Winter added.

“The pleasure was all ours!” LaBerge chirped.

Nevva Winter looked at me and said, “Congratulations, Challenger Red. I will be following your career with great interest.” She looked directly at me and opened her eyes a touch wider. It was a subtle signal that acknowledged that we would talk later. She pulled the pile of papers in tight and strode quickly for the exit. I can't tell you how badly I wanted to go with her, no matter where she was going. Any place would have been better than the castle. I was at the mercy of two sadistic psychopaths who got their kicks from making up games where people died. I needed somebody on my side. I needed help.

“Are you done torturing me?” I asked Veego, trying to sound as tired as I felt. “If I've got to play another one of your stupid games, you might as well just kill me now.”

“We would do no such thing! Not now!” Veego said cheerily. At least it sounded like she was being cheery. I couldn't tell with her. “Your value has just increased dramatically. Another few matches like that and you
will
be ready to compete in the Grand X!”

“What exactly is a Grand X?” I asked. I didn't care anymore if I didn't sound like I came from that territory. I was too burned out to care about anything except lying down and getting some rest.

Veego and LaBerge gave each other a surprised look. I guess pretty much everybody knew about the Grand X. Everybody but me, that is.

“You're tired,” LaBerge said. “Let Fourteen take you to your room.”

“No!” I snapped. “I'm not sleeping in that clown room again.”

“You don't have to,” Veego said. “As we told you, the challengers are treated like royalty during their stay with us. Now
that you've proven your value, you will be put in much more suitable accommodations.”

“I
like
the clown room!” LaBerge said, sounding hurt.

“Then
you
sleep in it,” I said. I saw that Fourteen was standing at the entrance to the arena. I walked away from Veego and LaBerge without saying another word and went right up to the dado. “Are you sure you're Fourteen?” I asked. “You wouldn't really be Thirteen and trying to mess with me, would you?”

Fourteen didn't crack a smile. Robots didn't have much of a sense of humor. “C'mon, robo boy,” I said. “Let's get out of here.” I walked past him, out of the gym, and back into the banquet hall.

“Get some rest!” LaBerge called. “Big day tomorrow! It will be the best day ever!”

I ignored him. As I passed the banquet table, I grabbed a few of those tribbun things. Who knew when I would eat again? I crunched them down quickly. Fourteen caught up with me and led me on a twisting route through the castle. I could see through the windows that night had fallen. That was good. I needed sleep in the worst way. We climbed the stairs back to the second story, but didn't head toward the corridor with the clown room, I'm happy to report.

“Isn't that where the challengers stay?” I asked.

Fourteen spoke in a monotone voice, though it wasn't as low and gravelly as the dado cops. Fourteen sounded more human. “Only when they first arrive,” he answered. “As their value increases, they are given more comfortable accommodations.”

I'm calling Fourteen “he.” Can a robot actually be a he? Or a she? He looked like a he, but it was a machine. The question didn't bother me enough to want to go the next step and ask to check his parts. Machine or not, that wouldn't have been cool.

“What about Challenger Yellow?” I asked. “Did you know him?”

“I did,” Fourteen answered.

“What was his deal?” I asked, hoping to find some clue as to why both he and I ended up as challengers. I figured the answer might point me toward Saint Dane.

“His deal?” Fourteen asked.

“Yeah, how did he end up here? As a challenger, I mean.”

“I am not involved with the decisions that are made concerning the challengers,” he answered. “I have to believe that he came here the same way all the challengers do.”

“And how's that?” I asked. “Did he get an invitation?”

“I do not understand that question. An invitation implies there is some choice. None of the challengers are here by choice. I do not believe that anyone would accept an invitation to play the games.”

Except for me of course. But I didn't feel like explaining that to him.

“None of the challengers are here because they want to be?” I asked. “LaBerge and Veego said it's a great life. Better than on the outside.”

Fourteen looked at me blankly. Of course, it was probably the only look he had. “I am but a dado,” he answered. “I do not have the same concerns as you. But I do not believe a citizen would choose to be here, no matter how comfortable it may be, knowing the high price for that comfort.”

“I know, it's dangerous. But some do well, right?” I asked. “I mean, aren't there champions that hang around for a while and then, I don't know, retire or something?”

Fourteen stopped walking. I think that was his way of showing confusion, dado style. “I regret to inform you of this, Challenger Red,” he said. “Challengers die. They all die. The only question is how long it can be avoided. This is your room.”

He stopped in front of a door that already had the sign
CHALLENGER RED
on it. I stood there, letting his last comment sink in.

“They all die?” I finally asked. “Every last one?”

Fourteen didn't answer. He didn't have to.

“Good night, Challenger Red,” he said. “I hope you have a restful evening.”

Restful evening? After having a death sentence dropped on you? Nighty night! Sleep tight! Yeah, right.

“Oh, hey, do you know where the octagon is?” I asked.

“Yes. It is a small garden across the courtyard from the front entrance to the castle,” he answered.

Wow, that was easy.

“Thanks,” I said. “Good night.” I started to open the door when—

“Remudi,” Fourteen said.

“Huh?” I said, thinking I didn't understand him.

“Remudi,” Fourteen repeated. “I believe that was the given name of Challenger Yellow.”

Remudi. The name meant nothing and everything to me.

“He appeared to be a talented combatant,” Fourteen added. “Yet he was oddly gentle. I cannot say that of all the challengers.”

I nodded. I knew what he meant. There were a few other Travelers who fit that description.

“Remudi,” I repeated out loud. I had a name for the face.

Fourteen added, “I do not know many of the challengers' given names. We are instructed to call them by their titles. But he was somehow different. Much like . . . you.”

The robot sensed that there was something different about us. About the Travelers. I was beginning to think that this dado dude actually had some feelings. Was that possible? I mean, aren't robots dispassionate machines? Like walking toasters? At
least that's the way it worked in sci-fi stories. I couldn't know for sure, because before coming to Quillan I hadn't run into any real robots.

“Did you like Remudi?” I asked.

“Like is not something I am familiar with, though I understand it,” he said. “I regret that he died.”

“What happened to his body?” I asked.

“He was cremated,” Fourteen said. “The ashes were scattered. That is always the way it is done.”

I nodded. Another Traveler turned to ashes.

“If you need anything, no matter what, touch the call light inside your door,” Fourteen said. “I am assigned to you and will make your stay here as comfortable as I possibly can. Would you like me to bring you food, or drink?”

“No, I'm fine,” I said. “I just want to sleep.”

“Very well. Good night, Challenger Red.”

“Pendragon,” I said. “My name is Pendragon.”

“Pendragon,” Fourteen echoed, as if trying it on for size. He nodded and left.

I was about to enter the room, when I stopped and took a look around. The corridor was wide, with large windows that looked out onto a starry sky. Thick ornate carpets ran the length of the hall, with various sculptures and elaborate lamps lining both walls. It was strange. I was being held captive. If I followed in the footsteps of the other challengers, I would die. This place may have looked like a fancy hotel, but it was death row. Yet my door wasn't locked. I had to believe that if I tried to leave the castle, I'd have a couple of dados on my butt firing their nasty little golden tranquilizer guns, but could I go wherever I wanted inside? As badly as I wanted to lie down and sleep for a week, my job wasn't to be a good little challenger and rest up so I could put on a good show for the zookeepers. My job was to find Saint Dane. To do that, I first needed to find Nevva Winter.

I watched as Fourteen walked to the end of the long corridor and disappeared around a corner. I actually liked that bald little robot guy. Mostly because he said some nice things about the Traveler Remudi. But he also treated me like a human instead of a commodity. Still, he worked for Veego and LaBerge. I didn't want to trust him and have it come back to bite me in the butt.

I walked in the opposite direction from the one Fourteen was going. The idea was to find my way down to the courtyard without running into one of those dado goons. Or a Veego or LaBerge goon, for that matter. I quietly crept along the dimly lit hallway, tuned for any sign of life.

I turned down another corridor and heard faint far-off sounds. I stopped and listened for a moment, and was surprised to realize that what I was hearing sounded like a party. It was muffled, but I definitely heard music. People were talking loudly and laughing. Not that a party is all that strange, but in this twisted death-house castle, the idea of people partying it up didn't compute. I followed the sound. It grew louder as I got closer. It was definitely a party. I figured it was probably LaBerge getting crazy, which for him wouldn't be a big stretch. Though I didn't want to know what kind of people that guy would party with. Probably clowns. Who else would hang with that loser? The thought made my skin crawl.

I approached an open doorway and cautiously took a peek inside. It wasn't LaBerge and a bunch of clowns, I'm happy to say. It was a full-fledged, raucous party of . . . challengers. The room looked to be a dining hall. It had long wooden tables and heavy padded chairs. There were plants and paintings and lamps that cast a warm, pleasant glow to the place. The table was heaped with food and drink. It was a feast! Servant dados scurried around, making sure that plates stayed loaded with steaming delicacies and that
tankards remained filled with drink. All the servants looked exactly like Fourteen. You'd think they would at least have them wear numbers to tell them apart.

None of what I just described was as interesting as the challengers themselves. There were about twenty of them, all young, all in great shape. They weren't all guys, either. There were just as many girls. I knew they were challengers because most wore their striped jerseys. But many had the jerseys off and wore T-shirts of the same color. They were laughing and telling stories, and clapping one another on the back and talking too loud and basically having a great time. One guy took a goblet of something and dumped it on the head of another guy. Everybody cheered and whooped like it was a frat party.

The music came from a band that was set up in the far corner. It was made up of more Fourteen clones. Dados. They played a weird tune that was kind of like rock, but had a haunting, loopy undertone. Their instruments were electronic keyboards. The band stood up and played like a regular house band, but it looked like they were standing at computers. Even the drum guy was on a computer. He was good, too. They played a dance tune with a driving beat. They may have been robots, but they could play! Yes, there was dancing. It didn't look like any couples were together, it was more like a mosh of gyrating, sweating bodies. They were having a blast.

I didn't get it at first. How could these guys be partying like high school kids when they were in such a bad way? I even recognized the three guys who'd tried to behead me in that gruesome game of Tock. They were dancing and shouting like everybody else. The only sign that they were any worse for wear was the blood stain on the sleeve of Challenger White.

One of the challengers leaped off the dance floor, jumped up onto the table, and held up a goblet, shouting, “To Mr. Pop!”

Everyone screamed in approval, raising their goblets and toasting. A chant started: “Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop . . . ” They stomped on the tables and clapped their hands. The chanting reached a crescendo, everyone cheered, and the party continued.