The Quillan Games (38 page)

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)

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 pulled 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.

“This territory is a nightmare,” I said.

“It is,” she agreed. “But we can change it.”

“I want to meet the revivers,” I said, gritting my teeth with anger. “Now.”

Nevva held up the black bag that had to go over my head, and shrugged. “I'm sorry,” she said. “They have survived by living in the shadows. Their trust isn't earned easily. Even I don't know all their secrets.”

“Like who Mr. Pop is?” I asked.

“That's a big one,” she answered.

“What do you know about him?” I asked. “I heard the challengers toasting him.”

“Mr. Pop is a false name, obviously,” Nevva said.

I didn't think it was so obvious. I'd heard plenty of wacky names since I left Second Earth. It wasn't like “Nevva” was so common either. But I didn't say anything.

“He is the heart of the revival,” she continued. “When the movement begins, he will lead us. But until then, he must live in secrecy, for obvious reasons.”

“Do the trustees know about the revivers?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” she answered. “They've heard rumors, but they don't take them seriously. The trustees believe their domination of the territory is complete. They aren't far from wrong. But they're arrogant. The idea that there might be a movement of tens of thousands of people with the single goal of bringing down the company is so alien to them, they don't take it seriously. They underestimate the spirit of the people. I believe it will be their undoing.”

“So they don't know about Mr. Pop?” I asked.

“There have been many stories about heroes who will rise up and rescue the people from oppression, but none have proved true. Have they heard the name Mr. Pop? Yes, absolutely. But they consider him to be a myth, born of desperation. They have no idea that Mr. Pop is real. The revivers want to keep it that way, until the time is right.”

“So how did you hook up with these guys?” I asked. “Isn't it kind of a stretch to be working for the trustees while being part of an underground organization trying to overthrow them?”

Nevva said, “That's the beauty of it! When Press told me of my destiny as a Traveler, I did a lot of soul searching. After visiting the other territories and seeing Quillan from a different perspective, I knew the best way I could help my own territory was to plot against the very people I work for.”

“And get revenge for what happened to your parents,” I said.

Nevva shot me a stern look. I wished I hadn't said that; it was kind of harsh.

“Sorry,” I said. “Sometimes I think out loud.”

“It's all right,” she said quickly. “I do blame the trustees and Blok for what happened to my parents. But this isn't about me, Pendragon. It's about what Blok has done to the whole territory. My story is one of millions. That's why I sought out the revivers.”

“If they're so secretive, how did you find them?” I asked.

Nevva chuckled and said, “I am very resourceful, Pendragon. There isn't much that gets by me. I listened, I asked careful questions, and I eventually found my way through to the leaders. I have to admit, it helped that I work for the trustees. Having someone on their side who is so close to their enemies was too tempting for the revivers to pass up. I've been training with them for nearly twenty quads now—”

“Just for the record, I have no idea how long a quad is,” I said.

Nevva didn't know how to answer that. How would you explain to somebody what a year is? Or a month? That's a tough one.

“Twenty quads is long enough for the revivers to accept me. In fact, I've proved to be so valuable they made me a unit leader.”

I didn't want to ask her what a unit leader was. That probably would have been just as hard as explaining what a quad was.

“But I still haven't been accepted on the highest levels,” she said. “Which is why I haven't met Mr. Pop. With my plan, that will certainly change.”

“And that plan is . . . ?”

“It's about you, Pendragon. That's why we must meet them now.” She held up the black bag and smiled sheepishly. “Until they learn to trust you, their location must remain secret.”

I took the bag reluctantly and asked, “What did you tell them about me? Not the truth, I hope.”

“Of course not. I told them you are someone who can help us,” she answered. “Nothing more.”

I didn't have to put the bag on until we stepped inside the building, and into an elevator. Nevva took me on another long journey down and through the bowels of the city of Rune. I figured we were descending very deep, because the temperature took a big drop. We were definitely going somewhere out of the mainstream. After walking for about twenty minutes, it felt as if we stepped into a large area. I say that because up until then everything sounded close, like we were walking through narrow corridors. The only sound came from our footsteps bouncing back at us from the hard walls. But this new place sounded open. We weren't outside—it was too quiet and cold for that—but it was definitely a much larger area. Like an airplane hangar or a basketball court.

“We're here,” Nevva announced, and pulled the bag off my head.

I had to blink twice to make sure what I was seeing was real. I looked around at the large space, trying to make sense of it. Nevva didn't interrupt. She must have seen my confusion.

“It—it's a mall!” I said.

It was a derelict, deserted underground mall. We were standing in a central courtyard. Directly above us was a skylight that was bricked over, like the stained glass of the train station. In front of us was a fountain that hadn't seen water in forever. There seemed to be three levels. We were on the lowest.
Four sets of wide marble stairs led up from this courtyard to the level above us. I wasn't sure how you got from that level to the highest. Maybe there were some escalators somewhere. If there were, I guarantee they weren't working. This place had been dead for many years. Or quads, whatever the heck they were. Like the malls at home on Second Earth, there were several storefronts lined up next to one another. Unlike the stores outside on the street that sold “Clothes” and “Food,” these stores had unique names like “Razzle,” “Storm & Kissner,” “Pookie's Place,” and “The Bountiful Table.” These were stores that sold the kinds of things you'd see at a mall at home. I saw a music shop, flower stands, bookstores, a toy shop, and even a store that sold nothing but candy.

They were all closed. Deserted. Empty. Dead. Their signs were dark, their windows were clouded with grime. The only clues as to what each store once sold were yellowed signs and empty shelves. I was never much of a mall guy. I know, some people hang out at malls with their friends like it's the center of their universe. Other people walk around and look at stuff like it's some kind of museum. I never quite got it, myself. If a mall had a store that sold something I wanted, I'd go. If not, I'd avoid it like the plague. But seeing this deserted ghost mall here on Quillan actually made me sad. It was proof that Quillan had once had free enterprise.

I was beginning to see the signs of a lost civilization. Like digging through the sands of Egypt to uncover ancient cities, the layer of gray cement here in the city of Rune had covered up a city that once had personality. I could only imagine what else had been hidden by Blok's quest to wipe away a society. There was no doubt, Blok had killed Quillan.