The Quillan Games (9 page)

That didn't last very long.

I suddenly had a rooting interest in this contest. The crowd wasn't impressed with Challenger Yellow. There was some cheering and applause for him, but nothing compared to the champion. That guy was cheered like he was the heavyweight champion of the world. He stood inside one of the squares on the floor of the platform, arms at his sides, glaring at Challenger Yellow. He looked calm. Challenger Yellow didn't. There was no doubt, he was in trouble.

Each of the challengers held something in his hand that looked like a short steel club. The word “weapon” sprang to mind. I would have been much happier if they'd had a ball. Or a Frisbee. Or anything else that said “game,” as opposed to a lethal-looking club that could break bones.

A loud, steady tone sounded, and everyone became quiet.

“The betting is closed,” boomed Veego's voice.

As the two challengers faced each other from across the
octagon, the platform began to lift up into the air. At the same time the crowd joined in with a loud, sustained chorus that sounded like they were chanting: “Taaaaaaaaaaaa. . . . ” The platform rose higher and higher, revealing a single heavy post underneath. The two challengers didn't move. I didn't blame them. The platform was getting pretty high. One slip and they'd go over the edge. I hoped they weren't afraid of heights. At least, I hoped Challenger Yellow wasn't afraid of heights.

“Taaaaaaaaa . . . ,” droned the crowd.

The platform continued higher. I'm guessing it rose four stories before it finally stopped. Whatever it was those guys were going to do on that platform, they had to be careful. It was a long way down. My fear rose along with that platform. This had gone beyond being just a game. The Traveler was in
real
trouble. He wasn't in danger only of losing some sort of Quillan game, he was in danger of getting killed.

“Taaaaaaa . . . ,” continued the crowd. They started to applaud. The beginning of the match was near. You could feel it.

LaBerge's voice rang out above the din, “Four, three, two, one!”

The crowd screamed in unison, “TAAAAAAAA . . . TO!”

The bout was on. The challengers crouched down and circled each other. I had no idea what the point of this contest was, but I didn't think these guys were about to play hopscotch. It felt like there was going to be violence.

Challenger Yellow made the first move. I cringed. If there was one thing I'd learned about fighting, it was never to make the first move. He dove at Challenger Green, trying to knock his legs out from under him. Green saw it coming. He casually jumped into the air and over a flailing Yellow. I had the sick feeling that the winner of this contest was the one who
stayed on the platform. That would have been fine if it were still on the ground, but up there in the stratosphere the drop would be deadly. Leaving the platform meant leaving life.

Yellow quickly jumped back to his feet and spun around, ready for an attack from Green. I was right. He was agile. Question was, was agility enough to win a game of Tato?

Green casually walked away from him. He was too cool to attack. Smart guy. Yellow crouched down and circled the octagon. Green mirrored his move. I didn't like this. The Traveler was trying to set the tempo, but it didn't seem like he knew what he was doing. Green looked to me like a sly cat, waiting patiently in the bushes for a dumb mouse to stumble by. Yellow's size made him look athletic, but he was tense and squirrelly.

The crowd shouted encouragement. Most of the people seemed to be rooting for Challenger Green, probably because he was the favorite. But I heard a handful of people cheering for Challenger Yellow. I would have been one of them, if I weren't so terrified for him. Yellow lunged at Green, taking a swing with the steel rod in his hand. Green blocked the shot easily, then rammed his own steel rod into Yellow's exposed gut.

Ouch. Yeah, it was violent. I cringed as if I had taken the shot myself. The crowd cheered. Yellow backed away quickly. I think his whole plan was to try to get in a lucky punch. That was a mistake. Green looked too smart for that. At this rate, I figured, it was only a matter of time before Yellow made a dumb mistake and Green took him out. The thought made me sick.

The Traveler then made a move I didn't expect, or understand at first. He backed away to the far side of the octagon. For a second I thought he was going to back off into oblivion. With his eyes trained on Green, he knelt down next to one of
the round black domes on the floor of the octagon. He raised his hand with the steel club and brought it down hard onto the dome's surface. The black dome shattered like glass. The crowd let out a collective gasp, as if they couldn't believe he had done that. Some people were horrified. Others laughed.

Yellow shot a quick glance into the broken dome. It seemed like what he saw in there disappointed him. His shoulders fell slightly. He shook it off, reached down into the wrecked dome, and pulled out . . . a whip! But that wasn't the only surprise. When Yellow stood up, the platform was no longer stable. It swayed a bit, teetering to one side. It wasn't a huge difference, but it made me wonder what would happen if more of those domes were broken. Would the platform become even more rickety?

Yellow switched the steel rod into his left hand and grabbed the handle of the whip with his right. He gave it a menacing crack. Yes! He knew how to use it. Green tensed up. Now that Yellow was armed, the odds had gotten a little closer. The Traveler stalked Green, his whip at the ready. I saw the platform tilt ever so slightly. He had to be careful. Yellow faked a whip crack. Green flinched. Yellow was quickly gaining confidence. He smiled. My confidence grew too. I wanted him to finish off Challenger Green and get the heck off that platform. After that I would find him, to learn what was happening on Quillan.

Green kept his cool. Now that his opponent had a second weapon, he was more guarded, but he wasn't in a panic. Yellow took a step closer to him. The platform tilted that way. Yellow wound up and faked another whip crack. Green flinched—and Yellow struck. He quickly flipped out the tip of the whip toward his opponent. The whip slashed across Green's arm. Green didn't back off in the slightest or even show pain. Instead he quickly grabbed the end of the whip
and spun it around his arm, effectively tying up the loose end. Yellow yanked on the handle; Green yanked back. Unless the Traveler let go of the handle, he and Green were now attached by either end of the whip.

I heard disgusted shouts of “No!” and “Amateur!” from the crowd. Most applauded with delight.

It was a standoff. The two contestants stood no more than six feet apart, waiting for the other to make a move.

It was Green. He knelt down and smashed his steel rod down onto another black dome, shattering it.

“What is he doing?” somebody shouted with dismay.

The platform instantly became more unstable. It started tilting back and forth with every weight shift. If any more domes were cracked, and the tilting got worse, both these guys would be going down. Green dropped the steel rod and quickly scooped something out from inside the broken dome. It looked like a boomerang. I was beginning to understand this match. The domes held weapons, but getting them came at a cost, because smashing the domes made the platform unstable. The challengers had a choice to fight it out without extra weapons, or risk making the platform dangerous by breaking the domes. I guess that wrinkle evened out the match. The weaker contestant could go for the weapons because it was the only chance he had. At first the weaker challenger was Challenger Yellow, the Traveler. Now it was Challenger Green.

The two circled. Yellow held the whip taut. The other end was still wrapped around Green's arm. Green held it tight with one hand and grasped the boomerang with the other. He faked a throw at Yellow. Yellow flinched. Green didn't throw. The Traveler was in a bad spot. If he let go of the whip, Green could haul it in and have two weapons. If he held on, he was in point-blank range of the boomerang. Green could easily whip it at his head.

The platform wobbled. My palms were sweating and my mouth was dry. I couldn't imagine losing another Traveler.

Challenger Green made a strange move. He quickly unwrapped the end of the whip and let Yellow draw it back. The crowd gasped. No kidding. Have you ever heard thousands of people all gasp at the same time? Neither had I, until then. Green had just given Yellow the weapon. I figured the only question now was, which weapon was more effective? The boomerang or the whip? Yellow stepped back quickly, coiling the whip, ready to attack. I didn't understand why Green had given it up.

Green faked a throw of the boomerang. The Traveler flinched. But Green didn't throw it. Instead he dropped to his knees and smashed another dome with one end of his weapon. The glass shattered. Instantly the platform tilted dramatically. This was it. Somebody was going to fall. The crowd went deadly silent. They sensed the end was near. But for which challenger?

A moment later I saw Green's plan. Yellow was near the center of the octagon, far away from any edge, but he wasn't safe. He was losing his balance. The platform was teetering so steeply, there was no way he could stay on his feet for long. He looked like a sailor trying to stay upright on the deck of a ship in thirty-foot waves.

Challenger Green saw that his opponent was in trouble. He threw away the boomerang and dropped down to his belly. At the same time he reached out and grabbed the lip of the dome he had just broken. With one quick move he threw his legs out toward the edge of the platform. His sudden weight shift made the platform tilt down dramatically to that side.

I now realized, with horror, that he knew exactly what he was doing. He was making the platform impossible to stand
on, while having the smarts to hold on to something solid. That's why he broke the dome. He didn't want the weapon. He wanted to make the platform completely unstable, while creating a handhold for himself.

The platform tipped over. Yellow fell to the floor.

“No!” I shouted out, as if that would help. Others were shouting too. They all knew the end was near. But none of them cared as much as I did. None of these people knew that the person who was about to die was working to stop a mad demon from destroying all time and space. To them he was Challenger Yellow, a nameless victim of their champion. To me he was a fellow Traveler . . . who was seconds away from death.

Yellow slid toward the edge of the platform. He let go of the whip and the steel baton so his hands were free to find something to grab on to. He needn't have bothered. There was nothing to grab. Yellow flipped onto his belly, clawing at the floor with his fingers. He dug his toes in, desperately trying to halt his slide. I didn't want to watch, but I had to. It would be a dishonor to him if I didn't.

He didn't scream, he didn't show fear. He fought to the end. Mercifully, it came quickly. Challenger Yellow slid to the end of the platform and disappeared over the edge.

I had been on Quillan for less than an hour and we had already lost another Traveler.

(CONTINUED)

T
he screens up and down the street turned white and the words
TATO CHAMPION—CHALLENGER GREEN
! flashed in glowing red letters. Most of the crowd went crazy with cheering and hugging and car-horn honking. Their champion had won. It was like New Year's Eve in Times Square.

I stood in the center of the swirling craziness, feeling very alone and very stunned. Another Traveler was dead. How could this have happened? Who was he and why had he played that deadly game? I didn't even know the poor guy's name! I knew I would find those answers. I had to. But I also knew that when I did, it wouldn't change the fact that he was dead. I had the faint hope that, like Loor, he could beat death. After all, Travelers weren't like normal people, right? But that was a fleeting thought. Travelers
did
die. Something had happened between Loor and me in that cavern on Zadaa. She was dead, and she came back. But that was different. I was there with her. Whatever bizarro cosmic power we Travelers had, it was stronger when we were together. Here on Quillan,
Challenger Yellow was alone. He had fallen from a four-story-high platform. Nobody could survive that.

Saint Dane was clawing his way back into the battle for Halla. Or maybe he was never out of it. Was he just toying with us? Was the battle for each territory secondary to his overall plan of conquest? It sure seemed like it. As I stood there on that busy, lonely street, I made myself a promise. I would avenge the deaths of the Travelers. All of them. I didn't know when. I didn't know how. I was certain that Saint Dane somehow played a role in Challenger Yellow's death, and for that I would make him suffer. It couldn't be as simple as killing him. I'd already discovered that couldn't be done. Besides, I'm not the killing type. Something else had to be done. Something significant. Saint Dane would pay for what he had done to Challenger Yellow, and so many others.

But first I had to find him.

Music echoed through the canyons created by the towering buildings. The crowd continued to celebrate. Most of them, anyway. I wondered how many people had actually bet on the outcome. Glancing around at the crowd, I saw that a disturbing number of “loops” on people's arms were glowing yellow. Could it be? Could that many people have actually bet on the outcome of this death contest . . . and picked the loser? I'm sorry to say the answer was, yes. No sooner did the loops begin to glow, than I heard a far-off siren. Followed by another, and another. The panicked look on the faces of the losers told me all I needed to know. If what had happened in the arcade was any indication, the sirens meant one thing:

The dados were coming for the losers.

The people with the flashing armbands scattered. Some jumped out of their cars and started to run. The people celebrating didn't do anything to help them, or show any concern. They were too busy being happy. Or relieved. Or, in
many cases, oblivious. A moment later I saw three dados on motorbikes charging along the sidewalk. They must have been inside the buildings, waiting for the Tato match to end. Waiting to begin the round-up. People scattered to give them room. One woman with a flashing yellow armband ran into the store behind me. A dado shot up on his motorbike, jumped off, and was right after her. She didn't stand a chance. More dados swarmed into the crowd, rounding up people with flashing loops. Some people fought the dados, refusing to be taken. Others seemed resigned and went quietly. It didn't matter either way. The dados would not be denied. They grabbed their quarry and quickly hauled them off. Their victims were every sort of person you could imagine. Older men, young women, middle-aged people . . . at least there were no kids. That's one consolation. This all led me to a really disturbing question: Why were so many people gambling? And what exactly were they betting so that as soon as they lost, the thugs came to get them? Did the people running the contests automatically assume they weren't going to pay? It made me wonder how big their bets were.