The Quillan Games (30 page)

The trustees were sizing me up like a racehorse. To them I was nothing more than a dollar sign. They were too cool to be caught up in the excitement of the moment and break out in applause. Not these guys. I looked at each one in turn. They were a grim-looking bunch. From what I could tell, the course of Quillan was very much guided by these ten people. I needed to learn more about them, and how they'd come to power. And how Blok had come to power, for that matter. I looked at each face. All I got back was cold indifference. That is, until I got to the last person.

It was a man who hadn't been saying anything. Because of that, I hadn't been paying any attention to him. Until then. Where the other nine looked at me with cold dispassion, this guy had a smile. As soon as my eyes locked on his, I felt a cold jolt shoot up my spine. Maybe it was the way he looked at me. Maybe it was the smile. Or maybe his ice blue eyes gave it
away. It could have been all those things, but I think I would have known, no matter what. We held eye contact. He reached a finger up to his forehead and gave me a small salute. He didn't have to say the words. I knew what he meant:
Welcome to Quillan, Pendragon.

The biggest game was on. I had found Saint Dane.

(CONTINUED)

B
efore the applause had a chance to die, I felt a firm hand grab my arm. Two dados had appeared next to me and wanted me to go with them. I looked at LaBerge. He shrugged and gave me a confused look. For him, this wasn't part of the plan. For me, I didn't know what that plan was anyway, so nothing surprised me. The dado pulled me into the aisle and pushed me toward the trustees. I looked at Veego, who didn't seem to know what was going on either. The dados gently but firmly shoved me to the front of the clapping audience and toward the same side door that the guy had been dragged out of before. What was happening? A moment before, I was introduced as their big hope of making the Grand X successful. Now I was being hurried out of the room like a criminal. I feared that I would be the next sucker to be shipped off to the tarz.

The applause continued. Nevva Winter leaned over to the woman trustee in the center, speaking quickly. It didn't look like she expected this either. I hoped she was trying to save me.

I looked to Saint Dane sitting at the end of the row of trustees. He had taken the form of a thin needle-nosed guy with slicked-back dark hair. He didn't seem concerned at all, though when was Saint Dane ever concerned about my well-being? He actually winked at me. The dados pushed me out of the room and into a long corridor. The door closed behind us, cutting off the sound of the applause.

“What is going on?” I asked angrily, though I didn't expect an answer.

The dados pushed me down the corridor until we came to another door. One of them opened it and motioned for me to go inside. What else could I do? I stepped inside cautiously. Was this going to be the dreaded tarz that the trustees banished people to? Or was the Grand X going to start right then and there? I was ready for anything . . . and nothing.

I found myself in a big office. I'm serious. It looked like a supermodern, sleek office, like you'd expect an executive at a high-tech computer company to have. The place was decorated entirely in black and silver. There were black leather couches and a silver steel desk. Silver lamps hung from the ceiling and silver sculptures were placed in the corners. The rug was black and the tables were silver. I guess it was supposed to be fancy, but to me it was cold and lifeless. One whole wall was taken up by a window that looked out over the city. I walked toward it and looked out onto the gray sea that was the city of Rune. The screens were all still flashing:
WINNER—CHALLENGER RED!

Yay me.

“Congratulations, Challenger Red,” came a bemused voice from behind me.

I whipped around to see a man standing inside the door. It was Saint Dane. He was in the form of the trustee from Blok. He had quietly slipped into the room, like a snake. The character
he was playing on Quillan was short and thin, with long bony fingers that moved like the tentacles of an octopus. He was the kind of guy you wouldn't look twice at, but if you did, you'd see a mad fire behind his eyes and wish you hadn't.

“What am I doing here?” I asked.

Saint Dane crossed to the desk. I circled the other way, always aware of how dangerous he was.

“Don't be so suspicious, Pendragon,” he said with a smirk. “You're in no danger. I simply asked to have a private audience with the new challenger who everyone has such high expectations for. There's nothing sinister going on.”

“Nothing sinister?” I said. “This territory is a nightmare! The people here are zombies who have to gamble for food. They bet on games where people die. That's not sinister?”

“No,” he answered. “That's free will.” He chuckled and sat behind his desk. He put his feet up like he owned the place. If he was a trustee of Blok, I guess he did. “Whatever this territory has become, it is the fault of the people themselves. Doesn't that make you happy?”

“Happy? Because . . . ?”

“Because it's exactly what you're fighting for,” Saint Dane said innocently. “To make sure the territories can prosper without being influenced by the likes of me. Isn't that right? Look around, Pendragon. This is what becomes of a territory when man's true nature is left to take its natural course. Congratulations.”

“Give me a break,” I said. “You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this?”

Saint Dane stood and strolled toward the huge window. I was glad he didn't transform himself back into his normal image, the tall thin demon with the jagged red scars on his bald head. That would have sent me over the edge.

“As hard as you might find it to believe, it's true,” he said.
“I'm simply an interested observer. The people of Quillan have no one but themselves to blame for what they've become.”

“I don't believe you,” I said.

Saint Dane looked out over the gray, grim city and said, “Pendragon, you are blind. Or at least you choose not to see what is in front of you. You believe there is good in everyone, and if given the choice, the path to prosperity and peace will always be taken. Well, that simply isn't the case, as I've proved to you time and again, but you refuse to see.”

“All I see is you fooling people into thinking you're helping them,” I said. “Being tricked into disaster isn't the same as choosing disaster.”

“Ahh, but that brings us to Quillan,” Saint Dane said while clapping his bony hands together with glee. He enjoyed talking about people's misery. Creep. “The people have found themselves in this dreadful condition for one reason and one reason alone. Greed.”

“Greed?” I echoed skeptically. “These people have nothing!”

“It wasn't always like that,” Saint Dane said. “At one time Quillan wasn't much different from your Second Earth. It was quite the prosperous territory. Most people lived in comfort, which created the perfect opportunity for an enterprise like Blok.”

“What exactly is Blok?” I asked quickly. “A store?”

“Indeed” was his answer. “At least, at its core. Several generations ago a small market opened, right here in the city of Rune. Blok. Their plan for success was simple: They offered products at a lower cost than their competitors. Much lower. It was an innocent business decision. Nothing devious. At first they lost so much money they nearly had to close. But they stayed afloat for one simple reason. People couldn't resist
the lure of paying so much less for all the things they wanted. It was as simple as that. So the people of Rune abandoned the other merchants and tripped over themselves to buy their goods from Blok. Little by little the other merchants lost so much business that they had to shut down, which gave Blok even more business. As the competition dwindled, Blok slowly raised their prices, though they continued to keep them much lower than their remaining competitors. Slowly Blok became profitable and powerful. What started as a small store that sold simple items like clothing and furniture grew. Blok began selling food and automobiles, all at such low prices that thrifty consumers couldn't pass up the bargains, which made Blok even more profitable. As their business grew, Blok moved into manufacturing. They not only sold the items, they created them. Their mandate was to manufacture items as simply and cheaply as possible. They didn't care about style or beauty or even quality, they cared about speed. The faster and simpler an item was made, the cheaper it was to sell, and low prices are what lured people to Blok. Eventually they forced other manufacturers out of business because they couldn't create items as quickly or as cheaply as Blok.”

Saint Dane told this story with glee, as if it were the most fascinating bedtime story ever. I never thought much about stores and prices and who sold what and why, but I had to admit that the story of Blok was interesting . . . in a scary kind of way.

He continued, “Blok grew. It began buying other companies, folding them into their world. They moved into energy, real estate, banking, and communications. They bought hospitals and began providing medical services. They built their own schools. People followed like hungry sheep because whatever Blok sold, people bought. They simply couldn't
resist the prices. Blok lowered their workers wages, which increased their profits even more. They were becoming so huge, and employed so many people, the workers had no choice but to agree to the horrid terms of employment. If they refused, there was always someone ready to take their place, because Blok had become the number one employer on the territory. I think on your territory you would refer to it as ‘the only game in town.' Blok eventually moved into entertainment. They made movies and music and artwork, created by people who worked for them, with the prices they set and with their vision in mind.”

Saint Dane stepped away from the window and touched a sculpture that was a square piece of steel. There was nothing artistic about it. It was just a boring hunk of steel.

“Needless to say, the art they produced wasn't inspired, but they were able to mass produce it, while at the same time closing down the art galleries and museums, so the only works of art that people saw came from Blok. You see, art makes people think. Blok didn't want people to think. If that happened, they might have realized what was actually happening. After a time the people came to think the art that came from Blok was actually . . . interesting.”

What a horrible thought. A company that created all the art in the world in order to keep people from being inspired. It now made sense why the city was so gray and lifeless.

Saint Dane continued, “Blok grew so large that the economy of several small countries became dependent on the business they provided. At first governments welcomed them because Blok promised employment to so many. And not just in manufacturing. Blok needed farmland to grow food and research facilities to create new drugs. Blok swooped into these small countries with the promise of wealth and prosperity, only to become demanding slave masters. Workers
were paid measly sums for working long hours—all to meet the demands of their employers. By the time these poor people realized what was happening, it was too late. Blok had destroyed their economy while making everyone dependent on the company. It was brilliant.”

Saint Dane gestured out to the gray city beyond the window. “Everything you see has been touched by Blok,” he said, almost in awe. “The city of Rune is only one small example. It is not an exaggeration to say that Blok runs the territory. There are governments, yes. They make their laws and have their elections but they wield no real power. Everything is controlled by Blok because Blok controls the money and the minds of the people. They even have their own security force of dados. It's about greed, Pendragon. Blok offered something the people wanted, and they were all too quick to accept. And let's not forget the people who founded Blok. They are quite wealthy. You won't see them living in this wretched city. Oh no. The senior leaders of Blok live in a class by themselves, all over Quillan. And at the top of that pyramid are the trustees. If you think the castle of Veego and LaBerge is opulent, you should see how the trustees live. My name is Mr. Kayto, by the way. He lived on a particularly lush island that's only a short hop from here in my jet.” He held out his hands and looked at them as if they belonged to somebody else. “I think I chose my vessel particularly well, don't you?”

It looked as if there'd been a real Mr. Kayto at some point, but Saint Dane stepped in and took over his identity, which meant the real Mr. Kayto was dead.

“People have been fighting wars forever, Pendragon, simply to gain power. The history of each and every territory is written in the blood of those who died trying to fulfill the aspirations of their ambitious leaders. What happened here
on Quillan was so much more civilized and far more successful. There were no battles. Not a shot was fired in anger. You won't find military cemeteries crowded with thousands of tombstones. Yet make no mistake, an entire territory has been conquered and the spoils are huge.” Saint Dane gave me a twisted smile and added with a chuckle, “And the best part of all is that I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

I stood there, dazed, trying to understand all that he had thrown at me. Was it possible? Could a company grow so huge and powerful that it ruled an entire world?

“How do the games fit into this?” I asked.

“Ahhh! The games!” Saint Dane said with relish. “A particularly interesting sidelight. You see, my boy, greed is an addiction. It's a machine that must constantly be fed. The trustees of Blok saw that their business had grown as large as possible. There was nothing left to conquer, nowhere left to expand. Most importantly, there were no more products to create and exploit in order to increase their own wealth. So they created one.”