The Quillan Games (43 page)

“The people need to see this,” I said.

“Of course they do,” Tylee replied. “What you're seeing here isn't just our history, it's our essence. Our very being. This room is filled with tragedy and triumph. There's a library of data where you can look up most every event of note. But this isn't just about grand events. It's about the little things that make up a life. There's creativity in here. There's individuality in here. It's everything we ever were, and lost. No, that's not right. We didn't lose it—it was taken away. You're right, the people desperately need to see this. They need to learn from it. They need to remember what we were and what we can be again. Our goal in preserving this is to have it ready for the time when the people are ready to take back their lives. It will be our guide to help us into the future. Hopefully, we can pick up where we left off, and not make the same mistakes.”

“But most people don't know it exists?” I asked, amazed.

“Only in theory,” Tylee answered. “People have heard of Mr. Pop and how he will help show us the way. He's a symbol in the form of a man. It gives people hope that there is more out there than the grim future that Blok has created. When the revival begins, and we can be sure that this collection is safe, these items will once again be shared with all the people of Quillan.”

Nevva was crying. It must have been pretty emotional to see what your life could have been. I didn't blame her one bit. But I think she was embarrassed by showing such emotion in front of us.

“I need some time,” she said, and left Tylee and me alone.

Tylee said, “Nevva has helped the revival in so many ways. She knows that before we can recapture Quillan, we must recapture the minds and the imagination of the people. I truly believe in her idea of creating a hero of the people, who will triumph in the Grand X. It's a brilliant way to charge
people's emotions. You've seen what's at stake. But I understand your reluctance. Whatever choice you make, I'll respect it. Now, I'll leave you to explore, and think.”

She left me alone. I have to admit, I was rocked. Up until that point, all I had seen was the horror of Quillan. But here, within these walls, I saw hope. Thinking of those masses of zombies walking along the city streets, I couldn't help but wonder what any of those brain-dead people would think if they saw Mr. Pop. It would be like a caveman seeing fire for the first time. I had to believe that learning the truth would change the course of Quillan. As I stood alone in that archive, I truly didn't know what to do.

“Is there something in particular you need?” came a pleasant voice.

It was an elderly woman with long gray hair and warm brown eyes. She wore the same green smock as all the other workers.

“Sure,” I answered. “Inspiration.”

The old woman looked deep into my eyes for a moment, then said, “Come with me.”

I followed her on a winding route through the history of Quillan.

“Is this your first visit to Mr. Pop?” she asked.

I nodded and said, “It's stunning.” It was the only word I could think of to describe it.

“The only thing stunning is that it needs to exist at all,” she replied.

She led me into another area of portraits that was similar to the first display we'd seen. Only the portraits in this gallery were all of children.

“Who were they?” I asked.

“Ordinary children who faced the same fears we all do,” she said. “I hope you find what you're looking for.”

She gave me a warm smile and left me alone. I walked into the gallery and stared at the faces in these portraits. There were kids of all ages, from toddlers up to young teens. I quickly scanned the histories that were printed below. These were regular kids who had each done something remarkable. One guy overcame blindness to graduate at the top of his school class. There was a girl who looked about twelve who was a champion swimmer, and a little guy who wrote poetry that was widely published. Some stories were dramatic, like the girl who survived for an impossibly long time in the wilderness. Others were simple, like the guy who raised puppies to be trained for use by the handicapped. One kid designed a simple toy that became very popular; another kid helped his single mother raise his younger brothers and sisters. Most of the stories weren't territory-changing, but they all had one thing in common: They were kids who weren't afraid to try.

I left the gallery in tears, knowing that Quillan didn't have kids like this anymore. Worse, parents gambled away their children in the hopes of finding a better life. It didn't get any worse than that.

I found Nevva and Tylee waiting for me at the elevator. They looked at me as if expecting an answer. I didn't have one. I truly didn't know what to do.

“We should get back” was all I said. I sensed their disappointment, but they didn't say anything.

Tylee had us put our blindfolds back on. As best as I could tell, we retraced the exact same route back to the car and back to Rune. Nobody said a word the whole trip. That was fine by me. I needed to think. I had too many conflicting emotions and concerns. The blindfolds weren't removed until we were back in the center of the city. When we were allowed to see again, we were on a side street somewhere in the heart of the city.

Tylee said, “I know this decision cannot be easy for you, Pendragon. When you have decided what you want to do, Nevva will contact us, and we will go from there.”

Tylee nodded to Nevva and left. I wanted more time to think, though I wasn't sure what more thinking would do. The facts weren't changing. It was entirely up to me. Nevva reached for my arm, and was about to lead me away when we heard music boom through the streets. The overhead screens had come to life. We walked out to the corner and gazed up at the nearest screen. All around us the people of Rune did the same.

Loud electronic music blared from the screens, getting everyone's attention. The geometric shapes danced and bobbed on the screen.

“What's going on?” I asked. “Is it another game?”

“No,” Nevva answered with certainty. “Unless they've changed the schedule.”

The next image we saw on-screen was a familiar one. It was Veego and LaBerge. Veego looked like her normal, intense self, while LaBerge looked like his normal, annoying self. He couldn't keep still as he sang, “Hiding hiding, running scared, maybe under a bed. Your name will bear the mark of shame, the coward Challenger Red!”

Nevva shot me a look. I kept my eyes on the screen. The image changed and was replaced by another familiar face. It was Challenger Green. The crowd cheered. The big guy seemed to be looking right at me as he said, “Stay away, you frightened little boy. Is it because you know you can't beat me? Is that why you ran away? We're laughing at you, Challenger Red. We're all laughing at you. What made you think you could challenge me in the Grand X? I am the greatest champion Blok has ever known. You were nothing before, and you have returned to nothing. Thank you for not wasting
my time. Is there anyone else there brave enough to challenge me? The Grand X is nearly here. Who is brave enough to face me? Or maybe I should say, who is stupid enough?” Challenger Green laughed, the crowd roared its approval, and the screen went dark.

I turned to Nevva and said, “I'll do it.”

That's where I'm ending this journal. I'm going to enter the Grand X. I know it sounds crazy. I'm doing exactly what Saint Dane wants. But how can I turn my back on these people? Seeing that library they call Mr. Pop was what did it. Quillan had life once. If the revivers are successful, I think the territory can be turned around. Nevva was right, this definitely feels like the turning point for Quillan. I think Saint Dane was lying. Quillan isn't lost. Not yet. There seems to be a moment here where things can turn for the better. It's all about the revivers, and if they think my competing in the Grand X will help them, then I've got to do it. It's what I'm supposed to do. Yes, I think it's the way it was meant to be.

I can't say I'm not nervous about it. I am. But I'm confident, too. I can beat that guy. I know I can. Of course anything can happen, but all things being equal, I know I can take him. Whatever positive effect that will have on the revival is the main reason I want to take him on. But there's another. This guy killed a Traveler. I don't care if it was during a game. He killed a Traveler. I'm tired of being cautious. I'm going to take him apart.

And I haven't forgotten Saint Dane's offer. He told me if I competed in the Grand X, he'd reveal the origin of the Travelers. Do I believe him? Not really. But when I win, I'm going to do all I can to hold him to that. I'm beginning to understand that guy. As much as he's jerked me around, I've been able to get to him, too. If I compete and he doesn't live
up to his end of the bargain, I can turn it around on him as proof of his own weakness. He hates that. He wants to beat me. No, he
needs
to beat me. He won't.

That's why I think this can be the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning of my life as a Traveler. When I win the Grand X, I'm not only going to be helping the revivers save Quillan, I'll be taking another step toward stopping Saint Dane for good.

But first I've got to stop Challenger Green.

Bring it on.

END JOURNAL #26

SECOND EARTH

Courtney read the entire journal at the Sherwood house.

She couldn't wait. She took the envelope upstairs to the empty living room of the old mansion, sat on the hard floor, and read. Her heart raced the entire time. With each new turn in Bobby's story, she grew more upset. Bobby had announced that he was going to enter the Grand X. She wanted to cry. Bobby was changing. She feared he was becoming too aggressive, too cocky. It scared her to death.

She needed Mark. She
really
needed Mark. But Mark was gone. He had jumped into the flume and traveled to territories unknown. The only people who knew where he went and why were Mark . . . and Saint Dane. Saint Dane. Andy Mitchell was Saint Dane. He had been Saint Dane from the very beginning, which meant back in grade school. Courtney zipped through her memories of the creepy kid with the greasy hair who loved to torment others. The thought was impossible, yet strangely, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. It didn't make her feel any better, but it made sense.

Courtney put Bobby's pages back into the envelope, hugged her knees, and put her head down to think. Andy
Mitchell had tormented Mark all his life, then suddenly became his best friend. What was the point? To get Mark to like him? Courtney didn't know much about psychology, but she thought about how quickly Mark had accepted Andy as a changed guy. As a friend. Was Mark somehow drawn to Andy Mitchell because the former bully suddenly showed a different, better side? Did that make him more appealing as a friend? Now that she thought about it, the whole thing was so obvious. Mitchell had magically become a science geek. Saint Dane knew that's what Mark would respond to, so that's what he became. Was Saint Dane that smart? Of course he was, she thought. Saint Dane had tricked entire governments into trusting him. He worked his way into the confidences of princes and queens, of bandits and scientists. Saint Dane knew which buttons to push, all right. Mark didn't stand a chance.

Another thought hit Courtney. Saint Dane was Whitney Wilcox. Saint Dane was Andy Mitchell. Whitney Wilcox tried to kill her, but Andy Mitchell helped Mark save her. Why would Saint Dane try to kill her, only to then save her?

“Oh, my God,” Courtney said as the truth rushed at her.

Her accident was a setup. A devious, diabolical setup. By helping Mark save her, Andy Mitchell had cemented their relationship. It created a bond. They had saved Courtney. Courtney realized in horror that she'd been a pawn. It was about Mark all along. There was no doubt in her mind, Saint Dane had gone to great lengths to get Mark to trust him. Now Mark's parents were dead. If there was ever a time that Mark needed support from a friend, it was then. And who was there to give it to him? Saint Dane. Courtney wanted to scream. Whatever Saint Dane wanted with Mark, it had to have something to do with his plans for Second Earth. Why else would he bother? She squeezed her hands into fists. They'd been worried for years about what Saint Dane might do on Second Earth, without realizing he was
laying the groundwork right under their noses. Worse, they were part of it!